Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭 | 𝗚𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘆

The ethereal gate stood before Persia, its exquisite carvings mesmerizing her. Delicate patterns adorned its surface, and a meticulously crafted dove perched above the symbols of Thread, Spindle, and Scissors. The most captivating feature was the Infinity symbol crown, gracefully positioned atop the dove.

Curiosity would typically consume Persia upon encountering such a symbol, but this was no ordinary situation. It surpassed all the strangeness and peril she had ever experienced. She had been en route to the main square of the Roman village for demigods when, inexplicably, the village vanished, and she found herself standing in front of this enigmatic door.

Her sea-green eyes examined the symbols with caution, darting between the thread, spindle, and scissors. These symbols represented the Moirai, the embodiment of Fate itself.

"Enter, daughter of Poseidon!" a seraphic voice resounded, gentle yet firm. "Do not keep us waiting."

Persia swallowed, her hands growing cold. She took a deep breath, attempting to steady her nerves. With measured steps, she approached the grand gate, which swung open of its own accord. As it did, her eyes drank in the breathtaking scenery that unfolded before her—an expansive, picturesque landscape.

A single, crimson thread beckoned Persia forward, leading her across a gracefully arched wooden bridge that spanned a colossal waterfall. She followed the thread through a vibrant garden adorned with lush grass, fragrant flowers, and cryptic stone archways.

Persia’s eyes widened as she beheld three figures awaiting her on a circular stone platform. They stood tall, radiating an aura of wisdom and authority.

"Welcome, Persia Jackson," greeted Clotho, her eyes shimmering with a vivid blue hue. She extended her slender fingers, drawing the red thread towards herself. "We have long anticipated this formal meeting."

"To meet me?" Persia repeated, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Formally?"

"Yes, dear child," Atropos chimed in, her smile conveying both amusement and delight at Persia's perplexed state. "We have indeed met you before. Have we not?"

Clotho's secretive smile persisted as she added, "The details of our previous encounters will be unveiled to you when the time is right."

"But before that," interjected Atropos, waving her hand, causing a tapestry to unfurl before her. "We have a proposition for you and others—"

"Since time is of the essence," Lachesis joined in, her voice finally heard. She knelt down to trace a few names on the tapestry, all inked in somber black. "Surely you are aware of the countless demigods who have met their end in recent years?"

Persia recoiled, her eyes scanning the tapestry, recognizing many familiar names etched upon its surface.

"We present you with a proposition, as Atropos mentioned," Clotho continued, her gaze penetrating Persia’s. "We invite you and your chosen family to journey into the past and delve into various books that document your adventures over the past six years."

Persia stood up from her kneeling position in front of the tapestry, her mind racing. "What prompts this sudden proposal?" she inquired.

Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos exchanged knowing glances, their smiles growing wider.

"Why don't you discover the answer for yourself, daughter of the sea?" Lachesis responded, her purple eyes reflecting the vast cosmos.

Persia glanced at them thoughtfully, her spine tingling with a sense of nervous fear. She asked, her voice filled with resolve, "I would have to consult with a few people before I can answer."

Clotho nodded with a serene smile, responding, "Very well. You have a day to ponder upon this idea. After which, we would discuss the details of the trip."

"Thank you," Persia nodded, her smile small but appreciative.

Nestled atop the mythical Mount Olympus, the throne room exuded an ethereal beauty that echoed the divine realm it represented. Soaring marble walls, meticulously crafted with intricate designs, and standing columns, tall and strong, supported a domed ceiling adorned with elaborate frescoes portraying epic battles, celestial beings, and celestial landscapes. The artwork appeared life-like, capturing the attention of anyone who saw it for the first time.

In the center of the room stood a magnificent golden dais, elevated above the marble floor. On this raised platform, resplendent thrones were arranged in a semicircular fashion, each one unique and ornately decorated to reflect the personality and domain of the deity it belonged to.

The air in the room hummed with an electric energy, an intangible presence of divine power and authority. Golden chandeliers, shaped like celestial orbs, illuminated the space with a warm, golden glow, casting ethereal shadows that danced across the polished marble floor.

The winter solstice had arrived, casting a festive mood over the entire Olympus. Lord Zeus, ruler of the Sky, glanced around at the gods and goddesses whispering amongst themselves, while several minor gods ambled around below their dais.

He let out a small cough, which hushed the entire room and restored order among the assembly. "Let us commence the meeting, after which we shall revel in the festivities." His electric blue eyes held a fond look as he glanced at his smirking sons. "Is there any pressing matter that requires the attention of the Council of Olympus?"

"At the moment, Father, none," Apollo responded, tilting his head back on his throne, his blond locks brushing against his exposed collarbones. His golden eyes twinkled merrily.

Zeus nodded. He was about to speak when the atmosphere on Olympus abruptly shifted. Tension gripped the Olympians as they stood, their chosen weapons at the ready, as the once-beautiful weather transformed. Inky black clouds rolled in, accompanied by winds that howled with an unrelenting fury.

"Zeus, brother, are you responsible for this weather?" Poseidon asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

"No," Zeus answered, shaking his head in bewilderment. His hand tightened around his bolt, as lightning crackled at its tips, poised to be unleashed at a moment's notice. The weather took a perilous turn, forcing the Olympians to abandon their throne room and survey the destruction.

Winds roared with ferocity, merciless rain pounded the ground, and nearby waters churned with turmoil. Minor gods, nature spirits, nymphs, and other immortal beings hurriedly sought shelter, while the decorations for the upcoming festivities were obliterated.

Never before had they witnessed such a drastic and uncontrollable change in the weather within Olympus, without their own intervention. The Olympians exchanged grim looks, their expressions filled with concern. However, another unexpected event unfolded.

Within moments, the entire atmosphere reverted to its previous state, as if the turmoil had never occurred. Even the decorations had been restored. Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd, as disbelief filled their eyes.

"What is happening here?" Hades questioned, his narrowed eyes reflecting suspicion. "This is deeply troubling."

"Indeed, brother," Zeus agreed, his face etched with worry.

Before anyone could react further, a white gossamer mist began to coalesce, giving shape to three ancient beings—the children of Ananke, the Moirai.

Stepping forward, Clotho commanded attention with her frigid gaze and regal presence. Her beauty was ethereal, accentuated by flowing golden threads woven into her midnight-blue gown. Her eyes, like icy pools, held a wisdom that transcended time itself.

Beside her, Lachesis exuded an aura of grace and authority. Her radiant countenance was framed by cascades of silver-white hair, which shimmered like moonlight. 

Atropos, the final member of the Moirai, exuded an air of mystery and power. Her piercing gaze, sharp as the finest blade, seemed to see through the souls of those in her presence.

The lesser deities knelt in unison, while the Olympians respectfully lowered their heads.

Zeus, his gaze shifting between the three Moirai, addressed them, "To what do we owe the honor of your presence among us?" Clotho spoke, her icy eyes piercing, "Typically, we refrain from interfering, as you well know, Lord Zeus." 

Zeus nodded in acknowledgment. She pressed on, "Yet, circumstances have compelled us to act. Destiny has been tampered with, resulting in individuals meant to be born in Ancient Greece appearing millennia later."

"We must also bear our share of responsibility. Our focus on weaving the lives of mortals caused us to neglect the threads of the immortals, leading them astray." Lachesis admitted, eliciting horrified expressions from the assembled gods. Her tone turned stern as she added, "But we shall not repeat this mistake. That is why we intervene now, before it is too late. Many minor gods have faded into oblivion in the future due to our inaction. Such a fate must not befall them again."

Zeus's eyes widened, and Athena furrowed her brow in concern. Speaking up, Athena said, "The minor gods play a crucial role among us, maintaining balance in the world and assisting us in our duties. Their absence would be devastating. This situation is deeply troubling."

Apollo and Artemis nodded in agreement, while Demeter, filled with worry, inquired, "Lady Moirai, how can we rectify our mistakes? We cannot allow our gods to fade into oblivion."

Atropos finally spoke, her voice laced with gravity, " Lady Demeter, are you even aware of your own missteps?" Demeter blinked, reluctantly admitting, "I must apologize, but no, I am not."

"Indeed," Lachesis interjected, "You must first comprehend the nature of your errors. We hope that you will learn and evolve from this experience."

"We will do everything in our power," Poseidon spoke earnestly, "but we humbly seek your guidance on this path."

"This is precisely why we have come," Clotho turned gracefully, addressing not only the gods but also the other listening immortals. "Gods, Goddesses, nymphs, satyrs, and Olympians," she began, commanding their attention. "Listen closely. In the future, there have been numerous wars, but the most devastating ones that nearly brought about the end of Olympus were the Second Titanomachy and the Second Gigantomachy."

"A Titanomachy?" Aphrodite gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. Poseidon, Zeus, and Hades exchanged grave glances, their concern evident.

"And Giants as well," Apollo's somber voice sent shivers through the assembled gods. "Last time, victory was narrowly achieved."

"Not just Giants," Atropos added, her tone grave. "Gaia and Kronos also rose."

Zeus's eyes widened in astonishment, Poseidon tightened his grip on his trident until his knuckles turned white, and Hades looked deeply troubled.

Artemis's voice trembled with fear. "Father, this is worse than we can imagine. Worse than before."

"I concur, sister," Athena chimed in, her own worry mirroring Artemis's. Fear flickered in her gray eyes.

Dionysus, eager for answers, asked the Moirai, who had remained silent as the gods conversed, "What happened in the future, my lady?"

Clotho spoke, and a hushed silence fell over the gathering. "A group of demigods aided you then. Without them, you would not have survived."

"A group of demigods?" Hera's disbelief dripped from her voice, unable to conceal her derision.

"Yes," Atropos replied, giving Hera a warning look that made her flinch. "Two immensely significant prophecies were given in succession, an occurrence that should never have happened."

Apollo frowned in response, nodding in agreement. He knew all too well the consequences of multiple prophecies intertwining—chaos rather than clarity would prevail.

Lachesis continued, "To rectify our own mistakes and to help you realize your own faults, we presented a proposal to the demigods, and they have accepted. The recent atmospheric changes you witnessed were the result of us bringing them back to the past."

As the gods exchanged meaningful looks, Hades, keenly aware of the significance of these demigods to their well-being, humbly inquired, "May you enlighten us regarding your proposal, my lady? Where can we find these demigods? We would be glad to settle them in our time, as they had been instrumental in our continued survival."

Zeus nodded in agreement, his regal expression matching his brother's sentiment. "I concur with Hades. We should extend our hospitality to these demigods, as they are aiding us in our time of need."

Lachesis smiled mysteriously. "You will meet them shortly. We have asked them to rest, as their journey to the past was perilous."

"Understood," Zeus replied with a nod. Atropos spoke next, her voice filled with purpose. "Regarding the proposal, you will have the opportunity to read crucial accounts of both wars from the demigods' perspectives."

Ares wore a bewildered expression as he questioned, "Reading? About wars?"

Clotho raised an elegant eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Indeed," she replied, "How else would you acquire such knowledge?"

During a moment of silence, Atropos engaged in a telepathic conversation with someone. Breaking the stillness, she spoke with clarity, gesturing towards Lachesis and Clotho. "I have spoken with them. They are ready to embark on another journey."

Clotho nodded in agreement, while Lachesis wore a frown of hesitation. Sensing her sister's internal struggle, Atropos reassured her, "It is Persia with whom I conversed, sister. She has consented to traveling."

Lachesis clenched her jaw, disapproval etched on her face. "You know very well her nature and how she neglects her own well-being. She bore the brunt of the..." Her eyes darted towards the intrigued onlookers, prompting her to let out a sigh. "Very well, let us grant them passage."

With a wave of their hands, the Moirai conjured an ethereal gate adorned with a striking ruby knocker. The gate, marked with their distinct symbols, swung open effortlessly, capturing the attention of all who watched.

A cascade of golden locks emerged from within the gate, framed by stormy gray eyes that surveyed the scene with a hint of nervousness. The woman's gaze flickered apprehensively toward the Olympians and the assembled immortals, before returning to the Moirai.

Clotho smiled warmly, extending her hand in a gesture of assistance. "Come," she invited, her voice filled with gentle reassurance.

Grasping Clotho's outstretched hand, the girl stepped over the threshold and entered the realm of Olympus. She appeared cloaked in unfamiliar attire, a fashion entirely foreign to the divine inhabitants of the sacred abode. It became irrefutable evidence that this young woman, along with her fellow arrivals, hailed from a future time. 

As she crossed the threshold, her gaze instinctively darted back towards the door she had passed through. She pivoted towards the Moirai, curiosity etched across her face.

Atropos, glancing towards the other side of the door where the remaining demigods stood, issued a directive. "As you each arrive, please introduce yourselves.”

Complying with Atropos' request, the blond girl nodded, her eyes now focused on the mighty gods assembled before her. Lowering herself in a graceful bow, she began her introduction with unwavering confidence. "I am Annabeth Chase, daughter of Lady Athena."

Athena, her own surprise evident, couldn't help but steal another glance at the young woman. 

Then, two young men stepped forward, capturing the attention of the gathering. The first was a strikingly handsome young man, his sun-kissed hair tousled in a carefree manner, and his piercing blue eyes glistening with confidence.The second youth possessed a rugged charm, his blond locks exuding a captivating aura. His intense electric blue eyes mirrored the very essence of Zeus, the king of gods. 

As the minor gods cast veiled glances at their king, Hera pursed her lips in disappointment, aware that one of these boys must be Zeus's child. The mighty Zeus observed with keen interest, his assumption validated.

The sun-kissed blond spoke with a formal bow, introducing himself, "I am Will Solace, son of Lord Apollo." His words resonated with grace, and his gaze shifted toward Annabeth, who greeted him with a warm smile. Apollo, raising an eyebrow, carefully observed his son, a self-satisfied smirk gracing his lips.

"I am Jason Grace, son of Lord Jupiter," Jason introduced himself, his every movement exuding a sense of authority. With a nod from Zeus, Jason approached Annabeth and Will, while the curious gaze of the king of the gods lingered upon him.

Next emerged a young woman with spiky black hair that barely grazed her shoulders, her eyes cautious and electric in their intensity. Beside her stood a pale-skinned boy with unruly black locks and cool brown eyes. Persephone's brows furrowed, and Hera let out a despondent sigh, resigned to her husband's infidelity.

"I am Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus," the young woman announced with an air of unyielding confidence, shocking many present. Her gaze swept the room, taking note of the numerous glances directed at both her and Jason. "And yes, Jason is my full brother," she added.

Zeus's curiosity piqued, while Hera gritted her teeth, struggling to contain her resentment. Poseidon and Hades, however, found great amusement in their reactions.

"I am Nico Di Angelo, son of Hades," Nico declared with a respectful bow before joining the circle of demigods. Hades, taken aback by the warm reception his son received, observed as each member of the group offered him a genuine smile. 

In the hushed stillness, an impatient tree nymph could no longer restrain herself and blurted out, "Are there any more?" Her words echoed louder than intended, and she couldn't help but feel self-conscious as all eyes swiveled in her direction. Her heart raced, and her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as she immediately regretted her lack of restraint. 

Atropos and Clotho remained unperturbed, their expressions unchanged, while Zeus cast a stern glare in the direction of the hapless nymph, who trembled under his intimidating gaze.

"Ah, indeed, there is one more," Lachesis, however, regarded the nymph's outburst as a genuine inquiry, her focus shifting towards the gate as she muttered in anticipation, "Where is she?"

A minute stretched on, surprising the gods that a demigod would dare test the patience of the Moirai. The tense silence hung heavily in the air as everyone awaited the arrival of the final demigod.

"I beg your pardon for the delay.” 

All eyes were drawn to the door as a sense of anticipation surged through the immortals. Moments later, a wooden box, finely engraved with intricate designs, materialized through the portal. It seemed to exude an air of ancient mystique, captivating the attention of the assembled gods. 

Following the enigmatic box, a young woman emerged, cradling it delicately in her arms. 

With an air of concern, Lachesis swiftly claimed the wooden box from the young woman's grasp, her voice laced with worry. "You should have sent this with them," she admonished gently, gesturing towards the other demigods who now waited with curiosity. 

Atropos couldn't help but chuckle at the exchange, her amusement evident in the corners of her eyes. "You forgot, didn't you, dear one?" she remarked, her tone warm and understanding

The young woman offered a sheepish smile in response, acknowledging her oversight. She possessed an ethereal beauty and an aura of command. 

When she turned to face them, the immortals nearly gasped in unison as they took in her features, for she bore an astonishing resemblance to Poseidon himself. Their shared coloring and facial resemblance left even the Olympians and minor gods astounded. Such a striking likeness was rare among their offspring.

As she bowed gracefully, the woman's eyes appeared strangely distant, lacking any hint of emotion. She introduced herself, "I am Persia Jackson, daughter of Poseidon." She extended her hands toward Lachesis, who hesitated for a moment before relinquishing the box into her care. Frowning, Lachesis inquired once more, "Are you certain you're alright, dear one?" But Persia responded with a warm, reassuring smile, nodding confidently.

Without any hesitation, Persia made her way toward the group of demigods, who instinctively made space to accommodate her presence. It was evident that she held a place of significance among them. 

A palpable sense of intrigue filled the audience as they observed the interaction between Persia and the Moirai. Hushed whispers echoed through the immortals, while the Olympians, in particular, felt a tinge of disapproval towards the young demigod's seemingly audacious demeanor.

Poseidon's expression bore disapproval as well, but Persia remained unperturbed, displaying no indication that she had noticed the stares and glances directed her way.

With the door-like portal now closed, Clotho's voice rose, commanding the attention of all present. "These demigods played an instrumental role in both wars. Persia," she gestured toward the young woman, "...is one of the primary reasons Olympus endures in the future. She is the Hero of Olympus, pivotal to both conflicts."

The words hung in the air, leaving the immortals awestruck.

Poseidon's eyes widened in astonishment as he directed his gaze toward the young woman. He found himself taken aback by her seemingly delicate appearance, a petite figure that could be easily overlooked amidst the grandeur of the gods. Her presence seemed almost unassuming, yet there was something in the way she carried herself that hinted at hidden strength and power.

Throughout the assembly of immortals, a palpable sense of disbelief hung in the air. Their gazes darted between each other, silently exchanging unspoken questions about this petite demigod. 

Zeus and Hades were keen observers, their perceptive eyes not missing a single detail. Despite her seemingly delicate appearance, Persia Jackson exuded an aura of power that rivaled even the mightiest of minor gods. 

Apollo, Artemis, Dionysus, and Athena too sensed the same. The way she carried herself and the air of authority she effortlessly emanated were unmistakable signs of her innate power. 

Clotho proceeded, emphasizing the significance of the forthcoming reading. "You may commence whenever you wish. Time constraints do not bind you, but as the timeline has been rewound, the events you read will unfold as they were destined in the original course of time."  

As Clotho proceeded, her gaze briefly drifted toward the demigods before returning to the gods, particularly the Olympians. "The prophecies will unfold as they were originally foretold," she warned solemnly. "However, be aware that during the reading, you are forbidden from inflicting harm upon the demigods in any manner." 

Her words carried a weighty authority, emphasizing the importance of respecting the course of events as they were destined to unfold, and ensuring the safety of those whose lives were intricately woven into the fabric of fate.

Agreeing with a subtle nod, Zeus cast a sidelong glance at his two demigod offspring, his eyes flickering with a mixture of concern and protectiveness. 

"Then we shall leave you to your tasks," Atropos declared, ready to depart. However, Lachesis intervened, realizing there was something more to be addressed. "But before we go, sisters, we must have a word with Persia," she asserted, turning to the young woman with gentle curiosity. "Dear one, if you would be so kind as to join us?"

Persia nodded gracefully, passing the box to Athena's daughter before approaching the Moirai. With a mere wave of Clotho's hand, a shimmering veil of magic washed over them, causing the assembled demigods to flinch in surprise.

The onlookers observed incredulously as Lachesis tenderly cupped Persia's cheek, engaging her in a conversation that remained hidden to their ears. Nonetheless, they caught glimpses of Persia's genuine smile, the subtle exchange conveying a depth of understanding and connection that intrigued them all.

Poseidon, Zeus, and Hades stood in stunned silence, taken aback by the interaction between the Moirai and Persia. Their gaze shifted towards the other Olympians, each one wearing a cautious expression, mirroring the astonishment they felt. What intrigued them further was the composed demeanor of the other demigods, who displayed no surprise at the encounter.

After a few brief minutes, Persia rejoined her group, her countenance marked with contemplation.

In unison, they all bowed, paying homage as the Moirai vanished from sight.

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟮 | 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗨𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗜

As the day drew nearly to a close, a sense of anticipation filled the air, and the gods and demigods alike found themselves once more within the grandeur of the throne room. 

Zeus sat regally upon his ornate throne, his thunderbolt staff resting by his side. Around him, the Olympians and other immortals assembled. Poseidon radiated an air of tranquility, while Hades exuded an enigmatic presence. All three brothers were contemplative as they watched Hestia taking charge.

Cushioned klismos chairs materialized, arranged in a circle, created a warm and welcoming space around her sacred hearth. She gestured to the demigods to take a seat. The demigods moved with a graceful unity as they made their way to the waiting seats. The air in the throne room seemed to shimmer with the palpable camaraderie that emanated from them—a bond forged through shared experiences. The throne room buzzed with quiet conversations and expectant glances. Everyone knew that important matters were at hand, and they awaited the words of Zeus. 

"Now that we understand the cause of these atmospheric changes," Zeus began, his voice resonating with power, "we must decide on the best course of action. I am aware that festivities were planned for tonight, but perhaps we should delay them until later. What do you all think?"

The gods exchanged murmurs and glances, their attention now focused on the wary demigods. Poseidon spoke up with a weary sigh, offering a thoughtful compromise, "Why don't we read just one chapter today before proceeding with our previous plans? This way, we can maintain our day-to-day activities while still making progress in the book."

Artemis chimed in, supporting Poseidon's suggestion, "Indeed, it would be unwise to disrupt our regular affairs entirely. One chapter a day seems like a sensible solution."

Zeus leaned back on his imposing throne, his expression thoughtful and contemplative. He regarded the gathered gods, his gaze shifting between them, seeking their opinions on the proposed compromise. The majority appeared to be in favor of the idea. As the silence lingered, Zeus finally spoke, his voice carrying the gravitas of his divine authority, "Poseidon and Artemis have offered a prudent suggestion. Let it be so; we shall read one chapter a day before we continue with our previous plans. This way, we shall honor the Moirai's directive while still partaking in our celestial duties."

Hera let out a weary sigh, "At this rate, we'll never reach the end of the book. Who knows how many more volumes await us?"

Upon hearing Hera's question, Poseidon's gaze drifted towards Persia. In response to his silent prompting, Persia rose gracefully from her seat, capturing the attention of everyone in the room.

Kneeling down by the hearth, she gently placed the chest on the floor, and a hushed anticipation filled the air. The flickering flames of the hearth danced in her eyes as she glanced at Annabeth in a silent query. Annabeth handed Persia one of her finely crafted knives, and without hesitation, Persia made a small cut on her palm, the pain failing to elicit even a flinch, to the surprise of the Gods.

Unfazed by the sight of her own blood, Persia smeared it on the lock of the wooden chest. The ancient chest responded to her touch, snapping open after a few drops of her blood had touched it.

However, before she could explore further, Will knelt beside her, gently taking her hand. With a practiced touch, he wrapped her palm in white cloth, applying a medicinal paste to ease the pain. Persia's fond gaze met his eyes, offering a thankful smile for his care.

With her hand now tended to, Persia retrieved a single book and a letter from the opened chest. The book's cover bore symbols that seemed both familiar and mysterious. After closing the wooden chest, she turned to face Zeus. Her countenance now devoid of warmth, replaced by an enigmatic blankness.

Zeus regarded the items in Persia's hands, his gaze lingering on the ancient symbols adorning the cover of the book. His gaze shifted towards Poseidon. In a firm but gentle tone, Poseidon commanded, "Read the letter, daughter."

Persia nodded, acknowledging her father's directive. She unfolded the letter with care, revealing intricate handwriting. As she began to read aloud, her voice resonated with a melodic quality they have rarely heard from a mortal. 

“To the assemblage of Immortals and demigods,

There have arisen certain misapprehensions, which we, the Moirai, must now address. It is with due acknowledgment, Persia, that we validate the veracity of your discernment. As for the demigods, all of you are indeed acquainted with the prerequisites set forth for this proposition, which have hitherto been made known to you.

However, unforeseen circumstances have arisen, necessitating the need for additional clarifications.

The immortals exchanged glances, their eyes widening in surprise. The Olympians furrowed their brows, their curious gazes lingering on the demigods, with particular attention drawn to Persia.

In the event that any of you have suffered injuries during the perusal of the book and its associated memories, such as a fractured limb or a state of unconsciousness, it is imperative to be aware that these injuries may resurface in the real world as you proceed with the reading process. Moreover, the burden of reliving unwanted emotions from the past shall be endured by the demigods, coexisting with their transient pain.

The Olympians bore a flicker of concern in their eyes for their children, though they chose not to voice these apprehensions. Their concern remained concealed beneath the mantle of composure. The demigods, deep in their own contemplations, did not catch the subtle expressions that passed among the gods. Instead, they exchanged resigned glances, acknowledging their fates.

To arrive at a harmonious accord, we have reached a compromise. Instead of subjecting the demigods to the entirety of their life's memories—an endeavor they express aversion to—we have resolved to exhibit only those recollections that bear direct relevance to both wars. In doing so, it shall be incumbent upon each demigod to furnish contextual details to the unfolding narrative, thereby enabling a comprehensive understanding for the reader.

In this vast expanse of existence, the principle remains unyielding—that every action undertaken bears profound repercussions. Likewise, we entreat the Immortals to fathom the profound sacrifices the demigods are embarking upon for your sakes.

Hushed whispers, laden with disbelief, rippled through the assembly. The murmurs, however, were swiftly silenced by a stern, penetrating glare from Zeus. Even the Olympians, though bewildered themselves, refrained from voicing their thoughts.

It grieves us to concede that we are unable to impede any fatal consequences, entailed by the episodes documented within the books, should you elect to pursue this reading.

Persia, the channels of communication you are familiar with, should they be requisite, remain open and accessible.

With utmost regard, Moirai"

With a quiet, almost somber tone, Persia concluded the reading, her sea-green eyes shifting from her fellow demigods to the attentive gazes of the immortals. Zeus furrowed his brow, signaling her to take her seat as he motioned with a dismissive gesture.

Breaking the silence, Zeus posed a question to the assembly, his eyes sweeping over the Olympians, "Who shall commence the recounting of the first chapter?"

Athena was quick to step forward, responding with firmness, "I shall, Father."

With a solemn nod, Zeus summoned the book from the hearth, and it glided gracefully through the air, finding its place in Athena's outstretched hands. 

The leather-bound cover, aged with the weight of history, felt cool and weathered beneath her fingertips as she traced the intricate symbols etched upon it. The faint aroma of ancient parchment added to the allure. As she turned her gaze towards the expectant room, a hush settled over the assembly. All eyes were fixed on Athena. With a deliberate gesture, Athena opened the book, revealing pages filled with words. Her voice, resonant and commanding, carried throughout the hall. 

Chapter 1 → Minotaur

Ares' eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned to the group of demigods gathered before him. He addressed them, "Which one of you faced the Minotaur? How old were you?"

The demigods exchanged glances, their eyes eventually settling on Persia, who gave a nod of confirmation to Annabeth to speak.

"Persia faced him, my lord," Annabeth responded, nodding towards the young demigod. "She was twelve."

Poseidon's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at his daughter with a mix of concern and pride. "Twelve summers?" he questioned, amazed. His gaze lingered on Persia's nonchalant expressions, "What made you seek the Minotaur at such a young age? Did you have prior training?"

Persia met her father's gaze. Her eyes held a hidden depth, like the uncharted waters of the sea. "I did not seek him," she replied with specific clarity. "He sought me out and I had no training."

"Did you defeat him?" inquired someone amidst the minor gods. Persia turned toward him, as she replied, "I cannot answer that question, for the answer resides within the chapter, Lord...?"

"Triton." He introduced himself, though Persia had already recognized him.

Triton, Persia's eldest half-brother, stepped forward, his own straight long black hair flowing down his back, complementing his piercing green eyes. He had an aura of power and authority about him.

"Lord Triton," She continued, with an air of formality. "The Moirai had tasked us with elucidating the content solely when it remains elusive within our memories. Since the answer is already bestowed within the chapter itself, I must respectfully abstain from responding.”

She added, as if in afterthought, "I assure you, no disrespect is intended."

Triton acknowledged Persia's response with a nod, though a sense of disgruntlement was evident in his expression. He then turned his attention to Poseidon, who, with a wave of his hand, conjured a throne for his eldest son at his side.  As Triton settled into his seat, the other minor gods couldn't hide their curiosity and amazement, their expressions reflecting a mix of wonder and intrigue. Meanwhile, Athena continued reading.

Have you ever experienced being chased by a monster you didn't even know existed? That's my life at the moment. 

The story unfolds like this – It was a fateful night when I received the most significant shock of my life, or so I thought. Little did I know that numerous other surprises lay ahead, far surpassing this initial one.

The relentless rain poured down that night, accompanied by powerful rumbles in the sky and violent crashing waves against the shore. A looming storm was making its approach when an urgent and rapid knocking startled us within the confines of the old cabin we were staying at. 

We found ourselves compelled to spend the night due to the recurring pattern of abrupt weather changes that had persisted for several months. Frankly, it had become quite exhausting! I couldn't help but wonder why the weather seemed to throw temper tantrums akin to a spoiled child. However, that was not the crucial matter at hand. What truly took precedence was the fact that my best friend, Grover Underwood, stood at our door, without pants!

Thalia couldn't contain her amusement and let out a snicker, "Seriously, Persia? Without pants?"

Persia nonchalantly shrugged, "I was taken aback by the sight of a satyr, and I was only twelve."

"Grover is a satyr?" Hermes inquired with curiosity. Thalia affirmed with a nod, "Yes, Lord Hermes. He's the one who discovered all the kids of the Big Three, as in us."

Poseidon, Zeus, and Hades exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by the revelation. Dionysus chimed in, "A worthy satyr indeed."

"Ms. Jackson, hurry!" He gasped, his breaths coming out harshly. "We don't have much time!"

My mom appeared to be familiar with Grover, which was rather strange. As far as I knew, they had never met before. Yet, she showed no sign of surprise at the sight of his furry legs and... were those hooves?

"Persia, hurry!" she urged me urgently, practically shoving me into the car. I got half-drenched in the rain during those fleeting moments it took to reach the car from the cabin door. Grover followed suit, equally swift. Taking the driver's seat, she turned the wheel abruptly and pressed the accelerator without a second thought. The speed we were going felt like it defied every state law. Not that I minded, but I couldn't help feeling curious. I observed my mom pushing the speed limit with uncanny precision, as if she knew exactly where to go.

Meanwhile, Grover seemed on edge, glancing anxiously behind us, nervously tapping his feet—or rather, his hooves—as we sped along.

"What is this car?" Athena inquired, her gaze shifting toward Annabeth, who responded, "It's a transport that's incredibly fast, Mother."

"Ah, I see," She acknowledged before resuming her reading, while Annabeth settled back into her seat. Conversing with the ancient gods was indeed taxing. They were capricious beings, quick to anger, and easily provoked in these archaic times. 

"So who exactly is after us?" I asked, seeking clarification.

"Not us, you!" Grover interjected, causing my mom to give a tight-lipped smile.

"Me?" I tilted my head, arching a mocking eyebrow at Grover. The dim light from the car's dashboard reflected in his guilt-ridden eyes. "Maybe you should have confided in me about whatever you were hiding all through the school year, Grover. Perhaps, then, we wouldn't find ourselves in this precarious situation."

Grover's expression was filled with remorse as he met my gaze. I let out a resigned sigh, acknowledging that at least he had the honesty to admit he had kept things from me. The tension in the car was high as Mom pressed on the accelerator. 

While Athena went on reading the text, the demigods shifted towards Persia. The demigods were well aware of the consequences that came with delving into these memories, and it had made them cautious. Annabeth, in particular, made sure to keep an eye on Persia.

Persia offered her a subtle yet reassuring glance in return, their bond providing a source of comfort amidst the unsettling revelations unfolding before them.

"I am fine," She whispered. Annabeth's response was a glare, her eyes speaking volumes. "You don't understand the meaning of 'fine.' I remember you had a high fever back then, and you sustained extensive injuries," she rebuked.

Persia let out a contented sigh, grateful for her friends. Yet, a shadow crossed her face as a specific memory resurfaced. Leaning in close, she whispered into Annabeth's ear, "I recall the Minotaur colliding with Thalia's tree. Ask Will to keep a watchful eye on her."

Annabeth nodded as she communicated the message to the others. Thalia's expression displayed a mixture of exasperation and concern, while Will responded with a firm nod. Each of them held genuine worry in their eyes as they glanced at Persia, showing their care for her well-being. 

Persia tried her best to appear reassuring, though a sense of discomfort had settled in since the start of the reading. While she hadn't lied to Annabeth about being fine, she couldn't deny the unease that gnawed at her from within.

The minor gods noticed the hushed whispers among the demigods, but since it didn't cause any disruptions, they chose not to intervene. Meanwhile, Athena had progressed almost to the middle of the chapter, where the narrative described Persia, her mother, and the satyr Grover arriving at the base of Camp Half-Blood.

"Sia, go!" Mom urged, pointing towards a tree atop a distant hill. "Cross the boundary line, and you'll be safe."

Persia's body trembled, and she mustered all her willpower to suppress the urge to flinch as an unexpected chill washed over her. Goosebumps formed on her skin, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself.

She discreetly scanned the surroundings, observing the engrossed expressions of the Gods as they listened intently to Athena's reading. In a matter of moments, they seemed to have completely forgotten the warning conveyed through the letter from the Moirai. While she hadn't expected anything different, a slight pang of disappointment managed to find its way into her heart. Her gaze involuntarily shifted towards her father, and a wistful smile graced her lips.

Locking eyes with Thalia, Persia sensed her discomfort, a shared understanding passing between them. Aware that relying on the Gods for basic necessities was futile, she subtly gestured to Thalia, silently signaling her to remain quiet. Taking a measured approach, she conveyed her instructions through Annabeth, speaking in hushed and deliberate tones. As the unsettling effect of the reading began to take hold, Persia felt a wave of nervousness and angst, reminiscent of the emotions she experienced during her mother's disappearance years ago.

"Should we be cautious about drawing attention to the fact that both of you are feeling the effects of the memories?" Annabeth inquired, her concern clearly evident on her face.

Persia struggled to maintain a composed facade, yet her eyes betrayed the pain she felt. "It is they who should be learning, not us, Annabeth," she said with a hint of frustration. "They should remember what they've been told, but it seems they forget within moments. Don't expect too much from them, Annabeth. You'll only end up disappointed, just like before."

Annabeth lowered her head, her hair concealing the pain etched on her face. Eventually, she raised her eyes, meeting Persia's gaze, and nodded in understanding. It was evident that hiding their condition would be a challenge, especially since Persia was already feeling feverish.

The once comforting rush of wind now felt ominous as I hurriedly moved in the direction my mom had gone, Grover following closely behind. In my haste, I collided with a sharp object that sent me sprawling to the hard ground, leaving me feeling dizzy and disoriented. My trembling fingers instinctively sought out my side, and I recoiled as they came back wet with something sticky. 

"It must be the Minotaur," Apollo hummed, his gaze shifting towards Persia. Unbeknownst to everyone, her eyes were glazed over, and her body tensed, tightly coiled to conceal the shivering that threatened to overcome her.

Apollo directed his question to her, "Were there any other monsters besides the Minotaur, daughter of Poseidon?"

No response came, and Annabeth noticed the troubling state of Persia beside her. Suppressing a gasp, she hurriedly got up and gently adjusted Persia's posture. As she touched the back of Persia's head, her fears were confirmed – she was injured and unconscious. 

Apollo's face flashed with annoyance, and he sternly stated, "I expect the question to be answered, girl."

Still, Persia remained unresponsive, and the intensity of Apollo's gaze intensified, his molten gold eyes blazing like miniature suns. His body emitted an oppressing aura, and the room grew warmer, filled with the weight of his power.

It was Will, who interrupted him. “Lord Apollo.” Apollo's gaze locked onto his son, causing Will to flinch involuntarily. However, despite the intensity of Apollo's eyes, Will remained steadfast, refusing to look away and meeting his father's gaze without wavering. 

“Lord Apollo, Persia is unconscious and injured. She was unconscious before you spoke. She does not mean any disrespect, my lord.”

Poseidon had been on the verge of interrupting Apollo, but he held back when Will began speaking. All present, immortals and demigods alike, turned their attention to the scene that unfolded before them. There, Annabeth stood with a grim expression, her hands stained with blood as she tended to the unconscious Persia in her seat. As quickly as Apollo's anger had flared, his genial nature returned, assured that no slight against him had occurred.

"I do not understand," Zeus's eyes reflected confusion, "How was she injured while seated right in front of our eyes?"

"You may have forgotten, my lord," Jason interjected, his eyes icy as he addressed his father, "but to have these memories read, we must suffer the same as we have in the future. Blood drawn in the memories is blood drawn in reality."

Zeus recalled in that moment what Persia had read, “ It grieves us to concede that we are unable to impede any fatal consequences, entailed by the episodes documented within the books, should you elect to pursue this reading.” 

Zeus exchanged alarmed glances with Apollo, Athena, and Artemis, a sense of concern passing among them. Poseidon's expression shifted, momentarily revealing a stricken look before he swiftly composed himself, concealing his emotions.

"Lady Moirai, I beseech your aid," Annabeth whispered, her plea filled with urgency. Almost instantly, they responded to her request, a glowing area forming and compelling the minor gods, nymphs, and dryads to step back.

A silken red curtain elegantly partitioned the area from the rest of the throne room, with intricate symbols of the Moirai meticulously embroidered onto its surface. Within this designated space, a large mattress adorned with neutral-colored sheets served as a comfortable resting place. A well-stocked table occupied a corner, displaying an array of essential supplies: herbs, bandages, fresh water, and white cloths neatly arranged. Alongside these provisions, a carefully placed selection of nectar and ambrosia stood at the ready, awaiting their potential use.

With a sense of urgency, the demigods sprang into action. Jason swiftly and gently lifted Persia from her seat, while Will began preparing a herbal paste to tend to her injuries. Nico swiftly transported Thalia to her side, the girl shivering intensely from the ordeal. He settled beside her, using dampened strips of cloth to help alleviate her fever. 

Meanwhile, Jason carefully tended to the small cuts that had appeared on Persia's skin, ensuring they were properly cleaned. Annabeth skillfully took over, deftly bandaging her head after Will had applied the herbal paste. 

As a brief lull allowed Will a moment of respite, he turned towards the gathered assembly with a stoic expression. He bowed respectfully and spoke in a measured, mechanical tone, "Please, my lords, continue with the chapter. The faster it is over, the better."

The gods took a moment to process the unfolding events, but Hestia nodded in understanding. Addressing Athena, she requested, "Niece, kindly finish reading the chapter."

Athena acknowledged her aunt's request with a nod. The room fell into an anticipatory silence as the goddess resumed the narration of the chapter.

The heavy scent of blood hung in the air, confirming my fear – I was bleeding. A sudden cough erupted from my throat, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood. Panic welled up inside me as I realized the gravity of the situation. A monster, the Minotaur, was pursuing me. Why? How? I had no answers. There was no time to ask questions, only the urgent need to escape and survive.

A surge of energy coursed through my body as I witnessed my mom thrashing in the air, the monster's grip tight around her throat. Despite my trembling limbs and blood trickling down my sides, my sole focus was on rescuing her. With a disoriented mind, possibly due to a concussion, I barely had time to think before my mom vanished before my eyes, dissipating into shimmering golden sparks.

Grover's voice barely registered as I collapsed to the ground, clutching my head, a trail of blood mingling with rainwater cascading down from my temple. Breathing became a struggle, and an overwhelming coldness enveloped me, rendering my body and mind numb. The loss of my mom weighed heavily on my heart, and a sense of helplessness washed over me. She was gone.

The gods exchanged a medley of worried, bewildered, and surprised looks, clearly unsettled by the events unfolding before them.

Poseidon watched with a heavy heart, as Annabeth and Jason held down Persia's thrashing hands, knowing that reopening her wounds could have fatal consequences. Despite their efforts, the bandage on her head had already been soaked in red, evidence of the reopened injury. His concern for his daughter deepened, and he could only hope that their quick and careful actions would prevent any further harm to her.

Apollo's watchful eyes followed his son's adept movements as he mixed nectar into the herbal paste and skillfully applied it to the reopened wound. Will's expertise and knowledge were indeed impressive, and Apollo couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his son's abilities.

Though Apollo couldn't shake the twinge of guilt for nearly cursing Persia without any fault of her own, his insatiable curiosity about the battle with the Minotaur took precedence. His curiosity yearned to know how the daughter of Poseidon had confronted and triumphed over such a formidable foe. Despite his feelings of remorse, his fascination with the details of the encounter was undeniable. 

"Persia! Watch out!" Grover's urgent yell barely registered as I blinked blearily amidst the torrential rain and sudden flashes of electricity. The Minotaur charged at me, leaving me frozen and unsure of what to do. Instinctively, a saying echoed in my mind – 'Always trust your instincts. It will probably save you more than you can count.'

Summoning all my courage, I swiftly moved sideways, causing the Minotaur to crash headfirst into a large pine tree that had been hidden at the base of the hill, unnoticed until now. 

In that moment, Thalia's piercing scream filled the air, capturing everyone's attention as they turned towards her. Panic flitted across the faces in the room as they saw her shirt stained with red.

Will's instincts kicked in, and he immediately took charge, his eyes laser-focused on the situation. "Nico, draw the curtains, then switch with Ann. Ann, bandage Thalia. Here's the paste. I'll re-bandage Sia." He swiftly handed over the remaining paste to Annabeth, just as Nico drew the curtains, providing a semblance of privacy.

The seamless cooperation and swift obedience of the demigod children of the Big Three to Will's commands caught Apollo off guard. He found himself impressed as he watched their efficiency in action, particularly noticing how they followed each instruction without hesitation. His gaze lingered on the drawn curtains.

Meanwhile, Zeus, though concealing his concern, issued a firm order to Athena, urging her to continue reading. The gods resumed their positions, listening intently as the narration of the chapter pressed on, even as they remained attentive to the well-being of their demigod offspring.

My heart raced with anxiety as I scanned the surroundings, desperately searching for anything that could serve as a weapon against the monstrous foe. I knew that even the simplest things could be turned into weapons if wielded skillfully.

The pine tree caught my attention, and I considered running toward it, but I couldn't leave Grover behind. He looked anxious, and the distance uphill was daunting. I couldn't risk him getting harmed. My mind raced, trying to find a solution. "Persia, what are you thinking?" Grover called out, his concern evident. "Go! Run! Don't worry about me!" he urged as he approached.

Shaking my head firmly, I replied, "Don't move! Stay there. I won't go anywhere without you!" My determination to protect my friend outweighed any fear, and I knew I had to think of a way to face the Minotaur while keeping us both safe.

Poseidon swelled with immense pride. Triton frowned at the reaction but remained quiet with discontented look on his face. The rest of the Olympians exchanged impressed glances, acknowledging her remarkable strength and determination.

A seemingly foolish idea began to take shape, but I knew it was better than doing nothing. Swiftly, I discarded my red rain jacket and waved it like a flag, taunting the enraged monster as it growled with fury and charged towards me. My mind drifted momentarily, struggling to stay focused on the task at hand. Why was I getting distracted at a time like this?

Ares murmured his disapproval, feeling disgruntled, and Athena nodded in agreement with his sentiment. Poseidon, on the other hand, offered a momentary explanation, "Perhaps she has a plan."

As the Minotaur drew closer, I mustered all my strength and leaped up, somehow using its head and body as a springboard to land on its back, gripping onto its horn tightly. The rain and thunder persisted, providing an electrifying backdrop as the monster thrashed wildly, blindly crashing into the tree once more. A nauseating stench of decaying flesh wafted in the air as I clung tightly to the creature. It became clear that this monster had only one direction in mind – forward. It relentlessly rammed into the tree, and I had to shift my weight, trying to steer it away, lest I be crushed against the tree.

As I battled with the Minotaur, vivid memories of my mom being choked by the bull surfaced, vivid as a mirage amidst the water particles. The initial fear transformed into a blazing anger. Channeling that fury, I exerted force, pulling on the bull's horn like a leverage, and with a resounding SNAP, the horn gave way.

Jaws dropped open, and astonished expressions spread across their faces as Athena reread the remarkable feat once more. "A demigod with no proper training had defeated one of the fiercest monsters at the tender age of twelve summers?" exclaimed an incredulous-looking nymph, voicing the incredulity shared by many.

Even Poseidon couldn't help but be both impressed and surprised, though his pride for his daughter was unmistakable. However, the moment was abruptly interrupted by Will's urgent yell from behind the curtains. “Nik, Jase, hold her still!!”

The concern in Hestia's eyes was evident as she briefly glanced towards the curtains before turning her attention back to her niece. "Finish the chapter, Athena." 

Once again, I was violently thrown back, clutching the horn in my hand. The ground beneath me felt unforgiving, and I couldn't help but hope that my spinal cord remained intact. The pain threatened to overpower me, yet sheer stubbornness kept me conscious as I knelt on the bloodied ground.

Summoning every ounce of strength, I thrust the horn straight up the monster's ribcage. A mighty cry echoed through the air, and I knew that if this desperate move didn't work, my fate would be sealed. Strangely, a faint smile crossed my lips at the thought of facing death. However, I barely had time to process the situation as the monster suddenly disintegrated into a burst of golden light, akin to crumbling sand.

Still clutching the horn tightly, I could feel my grip slipping as darkness beckoned. Surrendering to the impending unconsciousness, my mind blissfully went blank.

"Thank goodness!" Jason’s voice rang out in relief, "At least Persia stopped shivering and moving so much. Was it that bad before?"

"Much worse," Annabeth's voice carried a mix of concern and tenderness, "We discovered them much later. Persia had lost a significant amount of blood by then. She was delirious with fever. Compared to that, this is minor."

"Minor?" Triton murmured, exchanging an incredulous look with his father, who shared the same sense of shock. The severity of Persia's past condition surprised them both.

"The demigods have much to explain." Zeus commented, with many Gods agreeing with him. 

As if in response to the statement, Annabeth emerged from behind the curtains, a striking transformation evident in her demeanor. Her hair was hastily tied up in a messy bun, secured with a sheathed dagger. Her clothes were marred with splatters of blood. Weariness was evident in her eyes, but her posture remained relaxed, displaying a readiness for swift movement at a moment's notice. In short, she appeared battle-worn, as if she had been in the throes of war, rather than attending to her fellow demigods.

"How is Thalia?" questioned Zeus, his tone betraying curiosity while his eyes shimmered with concern, though he attempted to hide his emotions behind a façade of composure. He would never openly admit to anyone that his daughter's sudden scream had frightened him.

Hera shot Zeus an unreadable look, her distaste evident in her body language. However, Zeus chose to ignore her reaction.

"She is stable, Lord Zeus," Annabeth responded, addressing the king of the gods directly. "With a day's rest and some nectar, Thalia should be back to normal again."

Poseidon, too, sought an update on his daughter's condition. Gazing at the child of Athena, he asked, "And Persia?"

"Persia lost a significant amount of blood," Annabeth explained. "However, she is faring well. If she avoids further injury, she should recover within two days."

"How long did it take last time?" Hades inquired with curiosity.

"A week, Lord Hades." 

Poseidon's brow furrowed in contemplation and worry before he gave a small nod. However, Hades wasn't satisfied and probed further, "And how many of you will be getting hurt when we continue with the story? How frequently will it occur? Explain in detail if you can..." he trailed off, quickly amending his question, mindful of the Moirai's restrictions on revealing information mentioned in the book.

"All of us, except Will, my lord," Annabeth's response elicited raised eyebrows and several frowns among the gods. She explained, her tone holding a tinge of resignation. "Persia would be hurt frequently because she is present in every quest, and her involvement will naturally expose her to dangers."

Poseidon's frown deepened, while Zeus appeared surprised, and Hades nodded as if anticipating such an outcome. Athena's gaze sharpened as Annabeth added, "I am second in line to be injured the most. Nico will not be featured in the book until the third quest, but he will face severe injuries in the war with the Giants." Hades's eyes held concern as he glanced towards the drawn curtains.

"Jason doesn't appear until the war with the Giants, I think." Annabeth continued, her voice steady, "...and Thalia will experience severe pain during the second quest." 

Zeus appeared troubled at the thought and posed another question, "Why doesn't Jason appear before? Surely Thalia knew about her full brother?"

Annabeth shook her head, and a flicker of disdain crossed her features, making the Gods wary. "It's complicated, my lord," she replied, her tone tinged with unresolved emotions. "All I am allowed to reveal is that Thalia believed her brother was dead, and Jason thought his sister had met the same fate. The intricacies of their connection will be explored during the war with the Giants."

Zeus's frown deepened further, and the rest of the Gods shared his bafflement.

A hushed silence settled over the room as the assembled gods processed the information they had received. Athena broke the quiet, her voice composed and rational, "Reading the book in several sittings would be impractical. We should schedule the readings based on the demigods' injuries and recovery. Ignoring their well-being would be unwise, especially for the children of the Big Three."

Her wise counsel found unanimous agreement. The gods, especially Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, were deeply concerned for the safety of their children and wanted to minimize any unnecessary harm they might face during the readings.

Apollo's brows furrowed as he noticed the omission in Annabeth's explanation. He directed his question at her, "Why is Will not included in your explanation?"

A small smile crept onto Annabeth's face, laced with pride. "Will won't be injured in any of the readings, Lord Apollo," she replied. "He is our most skilled healer. He prefers to focus on taking care of his comrades rather than engaging in direct combat."

Apollo frowned. Meanwhile, Zeus's curiosity got the better of him. He asked Annabeth, "What is going on in the first chapter? Why would the Minotaur seek out Persia in such a manner?"

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Annabeth's face, and she humbly asked, "May I have permission to consult the book before answering the questions?" Her request was granted by Zeus with a nod. Athena gently levitated the book towards Annabeth. With a mix of emotions flitting across her face—affection, anger, and sorrow—she skimmed through the pages, delving into the story's contents. The immortals watched, intrigued by her reactions.

Finally, Annabeth looked up at Zeus, her gaze cautious. "My lord, I would suggest that you read the second chapter as well. It contains the gist of the matter. If there are any other questions, we are here to answer them." 

Zeus considered Annabeth's request with a thoughtful expression, glancing around at the other immortals and receiving approving nods from his fellow Olympians, including Poseidon and Hades.

Hestia, interjected before any decision was made, "Before we agree to read the second chapter, we must address certain matters. Annabeth, will any of your comrades be hurt in the process?"

"No, Lady Hestia," Annabeth assured, "But I would advise against reading the third chapter until Persia has fully recovered. She faces another injury in that chapter."

Poseidon's brow furrowed as he inquired, "How often does she get injured?" Annabeth's response carried a nonchalant tone, "Every other chapter, probably. Although in the second quest, she is not hurt severely."

Hestia nodded in understanding, "We will take it into account. Brothers, I suggest we postpone the festivities for tomorrow." Hades concurred, "I was thinking the same. We have much to think about, and it won't allow us to enjoy the festivities fully. Postponing it would be preferable."

"Agreed," Zeus said decisively, "Let us then commence with the second chapter." Annabeth requested permission to return back to her injured comrades and she was granted her request. 

“Who shall read then?” asked Athena, after she watched her daughter disappear behind those curtains. 

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟯 | 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗨𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗜𝗜

“I shall,” Poseidon volunteered, accepting the book from Athena. Gently flipping to the second chapter, he began reading aloud.

Chapter 2 → The Lightning Bolt.

"What?" Zeus's eyes narrowed, his tone becoming stern. "The Lightning Bolt? What does my weapon have to do with anything?"

Poseidon replied dryly, "We can only find out once I've read ahead."

Zeus gave him a stern glare, but Poseidon paid it no mind.

Weird situations always seem to find me, but this one takes the cake. Currently, I'm wandering around Mount Olympus, trying to process the whirlwind of events that have unfolded in just a few short days.

To sum it up, I woke up after a bizarre encounter with the Minotaur, still convinced it was all just a strange dream and that I would soon be back home with my mom. Unfortunately, reality had a different plan in store for me. I discovered the shocking truth that the Greek/Roman Gods actually exist. Even more astonishing, I learned that my own father was among them—Poseidon, the God of the Sea.

Now, I find myself entangled in a web of countless rules and divine complexities I had no inkling of before. The Gods, as it turns out, are not benevolent and merciful beings, but rather short-tempered, intolerant entities who wield their power without restraint, stepping over anyone who dares to cross their paths.

As the words were read, the curtains suddenly opened, cutting off any chance for comments. All attention was immediately drawn to the presence of the demigods among them.

Persia lay still, her eyes closed, and her breathing steady. Fresh bandages covered her head and midsection, evidence of recent injuries. She remained unconscious, and Will, sitting by her head, worked meticulously to keep her fever under control using damp strips of cloth. The weight of concern was visible on his face.

Thalia, however, was awake, though weariness showed in her cautious eyes. She found comfort among numerous pillows providing support for her reclined form. By her side sat Jason, appearing completely at ease despite the tense circumstances.

Meanwhile, Annabeth and Nico settled at the foot of the mattresses, their weariness evident in their expressions as well. The events of recent times had taken a toll on them.

"Just so you know," Nico commented in a light tone, "The future is vastly different–" " — and while it seems like she is being disrespectful," Thalia continued, "Persia is blunt and honest. If she thinks you’re being an idiot, she’ll tell you that to your face."

Poseidon’s eyes widened, while Zeus looked annoyed.

"But, only if you’re close to her," Annabeth added, her voice carrying a hint of explanation. "She has never spoken her thoughts aloud unless asked."

Poseidon appeared relieved that his demigod daughter possessed some sensibility, while Zeus and Hades exchanged irritated glances. Among the other Olympians, curiosity mingled with surprise.

Hestia found herself intrigued, her gaze lingering on Persia's peaceful sleeping face. "I see," she murmured, her interest piqued.

"Is she not afraid?" grumbled Ares, seemingly not expecting an answer. However, he took notice of the demigods exchanging knowing glances, which only fueled his curiosity further.

After finding out about my divine parentage, I was suddenly thrust into a daunting quest. Apparently, Lord Zeus suspected me of stealing his lightning bolt. How absurd! At the time of the theft, I didn't even know Lord Zeus existed, let alone consider stealing anything from him. Did the Gods not bother to investigate before accusing someone?

Zeus's voice was cold and tense as he questioned, "My Bolt was stolen, and we did not investigate?" The air seemed to carry the scent of ozone, adding to the charged atmosphere in the room. All eyes turned toward the demigods, who appeared surprisingly relaxed despite the intensity of the situation.

Thalia, whose voice seemed slightly scratchy from disuse, replied. "While I can't say for certain if there was an investigation or not, I do know that the Lightning Bolt was indeed found and safely returned," she explained, trying to alleviate the tension in the room. "You will find the details in the chapter."

The other demigods nodded in agreement, however, Zeus's stern expression didn't waver as he listened to Thalia's explanation. 

"Why would anyone even steal Father's bolt?" wondered Apollo, his golden eyes thoughtful as he glanced from the demigods to his fellow Olympians, all of whom nodded in agreement to his question.

"That is the main question, isn't it?" said Annabeth, her expression serious. "And it's not just Lord Zeus' bolt that was stolen; another weapon was taken as well."

"Whose weapon, child?" asked Athena, concern evident in her eyes. Annabeth shook her head, replying, "It's in the chapter, Mother. But rest assured, both of them were found and safely returned."

Poseidon frowned and continued reading as everyone in the room focused intently with tense looks, eager to understand the unfolding events.

To make matters even more challenging, I was now tasked with finding the stolen bolt myself, a task that even Zeus's own children in the council had failed to accomplish. 

"How is that possible?" Hera interjected, her voice laced with skepticism and a hint of competitiveness. "Ares had played with his father's bolt from a very young age. He always could sense where it was from the very start. If no one else, then at least Ares should be able to find it."

Zeus nodded in agreement, acknowledging his son's unique ability to sense the whereabouts of his weapon. The tension in the room heightened as the gods pondered this baffling situation.

Apollo and Athena exchanged knowing glances, their frustration evident. Hera had always been keen on showcasing Ares's capabilities to compete with them, as they were considered Zeus's favorites. Her attempt to elevate Ares's skills once again earned her a sly look from the God of War, who seemed to be relishing the attention.

Artemis, on the other hand, appeared genuinely puzzled by another aspect of the situation. She agreed that Ares had an uncanny eye for Zeus's weapon, so why did he fail to locate it this time?

Her gaze shifted to Ares, who was smirking confidently. Artemis couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the story, something hidden in the background that explained his unusual failure.

How was I supposed to find something I had never even seen before? Even I couldn't believe in myself as much as Zeus seemed to believe in my abilities. Please note the heavy sarcasm in that statement. It appeared that common sense was a scarce commodity among the Olympians.

Thalia couldn't contain a soft chuckle, finding the situation absurd. Annabeth swiftly clarified, both of them receiving incredulous looks from the gods, "It's amusing because Persia had never set foot in Olympus at that time."

Zeus couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Had I truly blamed her?" he asked, disbelief evident in his voice. "And expected a twelve-year-old child to find my Bolt?"

Will's voice was deceptively light as he added, "Not only that, you also accused Lord Poseidon of stealing your Bolt."

Poseidon's eyes narrowed in shock. "Stealing is not my forte. Everyone is aware of that, including Zeus."

The ruler of the gods had a permanent frown on his face, and concern flickered in his eyes. He turned his attention to the demigods and said, "Elucidate on the happenings of when the Bolt was stolen."

Annabeth sighed, taking a deep breath as she began to explain how the Bolt had been stolen during the Winter Solstice. The gods listened with astonishment as they learned that demigods were allowed to witness their solstice meetings and partake in their feasts. The revelation that there was an entire area designated for demigods also surprised them. But what truly shocked them was the account of the Bolt being stolen right from the throne room during the solstice.

The gods exchanged glances, unable to fathom who would have such audacity to commit such an act under their very noses.

"There you are!" I heard Annabeth's voice call out with a relieved expression on her face.

Seizing the opportunity to escape the rigid scrutiny of the Gods, I hurried to her side and looped our arms together.

"Let's go back home," I suggested, longing for some semblance of normalcy amidst this overwhelming chaos.

She gave me a heartfelt smile, pulling me along towards the exit. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but reflect on how quickly I had come to accept the camp as my home.

"We would like to know more about this Camp in all details," Zeus leaned back in his throne, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"Perhaps at a different meeting, brother," Hades suggested quietly, "Now is not the right time."

Zeus followed his brother's gaze to where Hades was referring and took note of the tired looks on the faces of the demigods. He nodded in agreement, recognizing the need to address the matter at a more suitable occasion.

We hailed a taxi heading towards Long Island, the passing sights providing little distraction from the weighty thoughts about Olympus that I had been avoiding.

Despite all the melodrama surrounding the search for the lightning bolt and the helm of darkness, the identity of the thief remained a mystery, and strangely, no one seemed bothered by it. Something just didn't sit right with me.

"My weapon was stolen as well?" Hades's voice was low and dangerous.

"Yes."

The soft voice sounded abruptly loud in the tense silence, especially when everyone was on edge due to the revelations in the book. All eyes turned to find Persia awake, reclining against the pillows with curious eyes fixed on them.

"How long was I out?" Her question was directed towards the demigods around her. Annabeth replied, "Two hours at most. How do you feel?" Then, with a firm glare, she added, "And do not say 'I am fine'."

"Like I have been asleep for centuries in a deep cave, while being half dead. Was that alright enough for you, dearest Ana?" 

Persia's response was laced with sarcasm, eliciting chuckles from the demigods, while Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Can't you answer my question in a simple manner?"

"I will," Persia's expression turned serious, contrasting with Will's amused smile, "when you stop asking silly questions."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow, defending her question. "It wasn't a silly question."

"It is," Persia replied, raising an eyebrow back. "How do you think I will feel after getting the injuries I had suffered eighteen years back? Especially after everything else."

"You know," interjected Nico, his eyes sparkling with amusement and a hint of agreement, "Persia is right. The Minotaur fight was insignificant compared to everything else she has gone through. The worst is yet to come."

The Olympians exchanged astonished looks, and Poseidon furrowed his brow in worry.

"Don't remind me, Nic," Annabeth sighed, exasperated with both of them. "Fine, you win. It was a silly question. Happy now, Sia?"

"Very, darling. Your sentiment, though, is appreciated."

Annabeth rolled her eyes again at Persia's reply. Athena, in turn, was immensely surprised by the depth of their friendship. She had never thought that a child of hers would form such a strong bond with a child of Poseidon.

The banter had lightened the atmosphere, and Will handed Persia a tall glass of nectar. She raised an eyebrow at that, and he explained, "I do want to know whether the wounds hurt or not. And the faster you are alright, the better."

"I see. Where did we reach in the book?"

"The quest," Poseidon answered this time, earning the complete attention of the six demigods. He continued, "I believe it is about a quest to find the weapons of Zeus and Hades. Apparently, you were blamed despite no fault."

Persia shrugged, quickly downing the nectar. "Oh, that one. Yeah. Are we in Olympus? In the book?"

"Yes, we are."

"Oh. I came to Olympus to return the stolen Bolt to Lord Zeus."

"Yes, we got that. However, I wonder where my Helm is. Do you have something to say on that?" Hades asked, his eyes flashing eerily as he folded his leg and leaned back on his throne, creating an intimidating posture. However, Persia was neither affected by his leaking aura nor intimidated by his look. It surprised everyone that a demigod, no matter how powerful, was least bothered by one of the Big Three Gods' aura. They all noticed that the other five demigods were equally relaxed, not showing any signs of tension.

"Returned. Alecto and her sisters took it with them."

Hades raised an eyebrow, questioning further. "And how do you know them?"

Persia went to reply but then blinked, realizing she was about to reveal something yet to happen in the book. "Oh. You haven't read that part yet. I apologize, I can't say anything else other than I have known her before the Minotaur?"

Hades sighed, and Poseidon questioned. "Was the Minotaur not your first monster, daughter?"

"No," Persia replied, "it was the second."

Everyone looked curious, but Zeus signaled Poseidon to continue reading.

"Persia?" Annabeth's voice brought me back to the present. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Defeat Lord Ares. You even made him bleed," she said with awe in her voice.

Poseidon reread the statement in shock. The entire throne room fell into an eerie silence, with even the faintest sound suppressed.

In contrast, Ares seethed with anger. His eyes locked onto Persia, who seemed completely unfazed by his sudden outburst. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'What's your problem?'

"You insignificant woman…" Ares spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

Before Poseidon could intervene to prevent any further confrontation, Annabeth stepped forward, her posture straight and her gaze unwavering.

"Lord Ares," she spoke with an air of calm authority, "Let it be known that it was you who challenged her. Persia did not seek you out."

The assembled gods and goddesses murmured in surprise, exchanging disbelieving glances.

Ares sneered, "Do you expect me to believe that a mere twelve-year-old girl could defeat me and that I would bother to challenge her?"

Annabeth's response was measured and composed, "If you read further, you'll discover the truth."

A flash of anger lit up Ares's eyes, "Very well, but if you're lying…"

Persia was about to interject, but both Thalia and Will quickly intervened, urging her to remain silent.

"Don't say anything," Thalia whispered urgently, and Will added a pleading, "Please?"

In the face of the threat directed at Annabeth, even Jason and Nico tensed up. In a hushed voice only audible to them, Persia declared, "If he dares to harm her, I won't hesitate to repeat my actions. I won't tolerate any threats to my family."

"We'll back you up," Nico's hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his stygian iron sword, which had materialized at the mention of Lord Ares' threat. Jason nodded in agreement.

Thalia and Will exchanged exasperated looks, but they too acknowledged they would do the same. 

Athena broke the tense silence, her voice steady and composed, "Let us not act hastily in the heat of the moment, Ares. Accusing my daughter without due consideration serves no purpose. We shall read further and uncover the truth before making any judgments."

To further placate the heated atmosphere, she added, "If Poseidon's daughter is indeed at fault, she will face the appropriate consequences for her actions."

"Indeed," Zeus agreed, trying to restore some semblance of peace. He glanced at Poseidon, signaling for him to remain calm as well, though he couldn't hide his own displeasure at Athena's words.

Meanwhile, Annabeth's anger was palpable, causing Thalia to mutter a curse under her breath. She struggled to sit up from her reclined position, sensing that Annabeth was about to speak words that might offend the gods.

Just as Annabeth was about to speak out, Persia's voice echoed through the tense hall, cutting through the mounting tension.

"Annabeth, take your seat," Persia commanded.

The immortals finally noticed the rage etched on Annabeth's face. Following Persia's command, Annabeth complied, turning around and resuming her seat. Persia offered a comforting smile, placing a reassuring hand on her friend's.

"Calm down, Ana," Persia's words were meant for both Annabeth and the watching immortals, "What do you gain by speaking to a wall?"

Ares bristled, and the rest of the gods were equally shocked. Annabeth replied with tightly controlled composure, "So, one deserving of punishment receives only a scolding, while an innocent is accused?"

Athena's gaze widened, and Zeus frowned, a glint of anger flickering in his eyes at Annabeth's audacious words.

"The same beings who forget the Moirai's words and warnings moments after their departure—what else could be expected from them?" Persia's eyes darkened, almost turning black as she locked eyes with Zeus, her gaze unwavering, "Expectations always lead to disappointment, especially when they concern the Gods."

The accusation struck a nerve, pricking at their ego, for there was a grain of truth to it. Nonchalantly, Persia continued, "Shall we resume the reading, or are we done for the day?"

"Your words are disrespectful and audacious, child," Zeus said with a hint of restraint, reminding himself that Persia had not been proven guilty yet and that Poseidon would not take kindly to any harm befalling his daughter.

"Indeed," Poseidon added firmly, "While I understand your frustration at our disregard for your well-being, it does not excuse your disrespect."

A cold chuckle escaped Persia's lips as she gazed at her father with a disappointed expression that tugged at Poseidon's heart. She replied, "I shall admit to being disrespectful and audacious." Poseidon let out a sigh of relief, but his tension returned when Persia continued, "However, I am not here to be meek and compliant. We are here to uncover the truth. Can anyone in this assembly claim that I have spoken falsehoods?"

Zeus clenched his teeth, unable to respond to her question. Poseidon sighed, recognizing his own stubbornness reflected in his daughter's demeanor.

Hestia intervened before the situation escalated further, knowing that prolonged conflict could lead to demigod casualties. Her firm words silenced them all, and she requested Poseidon to resume reading.

"Luck, I suppose," I replied nonchalantly, though her question stirred a host of my own inquiries. 

Persia seemed unfazed by the incredulous looks directed her way, choosing to pay them no mind.

Meanwhile, Annabeth had reclined with her head resting on Persia's lap. Persia gently massaged her friend's head, trying to soothe the anger that still lingered.

As I gazed out the window, I decided to share my thoughts with Annabeth.

"Say, Annabeth, are Gods allowed to interfere in quests?"

"No. It is against the rules," she responded firmly.

That confirmed my suspicions. Ares's interference had indeed been against the rules. From the moment he sought us out, my instincts had been on high alert. Gods rarely did anything without a motive, as their reputation for selfishness and self-interest preceded them. Why would he help us and give us the bag containing Zeus's bolt? We hadn't sensed it at all.

"What?" Zeus bellowed, springing up from his throne, his gaze fixed on Ares. A mix of interest and fear flickered in Ares's eyes, both startled by the revelations in the book and his father's intense reaction.

Hestia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Enough, brother. We must gather all the necessary information before passing judgments," she admonished, casting a stern glance at everyone present. "No one shall speak or react until we understand the full picture."

"Agreed, Aunt," Athena chimed in, already prepared with parchment and quill to take notes. Apollo and Artemis exchanged a knowing look as they assisted their sister in her task.

Zeus nodded, offering a faint smile to his three children, who had taken it upon themselves to unravel the mystery surrounding the stolen weapons. Hades gave them a nod of approval as well.

Hera, however, wore a displeased expression, clearly not pleased with the unfolding events.

And then there was the peculiar matter of the Helm of Darkness. Why did Ares challenge me to a fight for it? What did he gain from that confrontation, apart from a defeat and injury? Instead of returning the helm to Lord Hades directly, he had sent us on a quest involving the Underworld.

Furthermore, I couldn't shake off the absence of a curse from Ares. Gods were infamous for their inability to tolerate defeat. It was unnatural for Ares not to retaliate after our victory.

I clutched my head, feeling overwhelmed by the multitude of questions swirling in my mind.

"Headache?" Annabeth's voice reached my ears. I shook my head in response, trying to convey that it wasn't a physical ailment bothering me. "No. There are too many questions," I finally explained.

"About what?" she asked, looking puzzled. Perhaps she was just relieved that the quest was over. Should I share my suspicions with her? I took a deep breath and decided to take a leap of faith.

Turning to face her, I could see the worry in her eyes as I began, "Don't you think it was weird?"

"What was weird? You're not making any sense, Persia!" she replied, clearly perplexed.

"Look, The God of War got defeated and injured, and he didn't curse me," I stated, raising a small frown on her face. "I thought that was the norm. Isn't it suspicious? And what was that heavy presence..."

Before I could continue, Annabeth suddenly pressed her palm against my mouth, her eyes filled with an unexplainable fear.

Athena's eyes widened with surprise, while Artemis's expression remained inscrutable as she glanced at the daughter of Poseidon. Meanwhile, Apollo appeared absent-minded, his thoughtful gaze briefly lingering on Persia for a few seconds.

"Don't, just don't," she muttered urgently, her voice barely audible. "We... you didn't get cursed, so be happy about that."

I raised an eyebrow, suspicious of her odd behavior. Why was she so afraid? Her cold hands trembled slightly as she clutched onto her cap of invisibility, seeking reassurance.

Annabeth suspects something, I realized. She's terrified of whatever she has managed to figure out.

Athena's brow furrowed but she did not interrupt the reading to find out what had her daughter so terrified.

No matter, I thought to myself, determination rising. I would figure it out as well. The quest might be over, but the prophecy has yet to be completed.

Apollo and Poseidon exchanged perplexed glances. How could a prophecy be considered incomplete when the quest had already been successfully accomplished?

Upon our arrival at the camp, the air was filled with cheers and celebration, but I couldn't immerse myself in the joy. I needed answers, and I needed them fast. Excusing myself from the crowd as quickly as possible, I made my way to Poseidon's cabin, seeking a moment of solitude to figure out what was going on.

The moment I closed the cabin door behind me, a sense of relief washed over me. The familiar surroundings provided a much-needed comfort, but at the same time, I felt an unexpected fatigue creeping in. The adrenaline from the quest must be wearing off, and I realized I hadn't slept in two days.

"Get a shower, Sia," my grumbling stomach reminded me. "Right, food as well," I replied to myself.

I swiftly took a warm bath, washing away the grime and exhaustion from my body. After changing into a fresh tank top and shorts, hunger led me to the kitchen.

Choosing to eat here instead of going out to the pavilion for lunch, I quickly prepared a meal and grabbed a notebook and pen to jot down my thoughts. Writing everything down would help me connect the dots and make sense of everything that had transpired.

Poseidon offered an approving glance at his daughter, while Athena reluctantly bestowed a look of approval on Persia. However, their gestures were met with nothing more than a blank stare from the demigod.

Plopping down on the rug next to the fireplace, I appreciated the cabin's blend of modern amenities with an ancient touch. It had a unique charm that I adored.

As I settled in, I noticed an ancient-looking book on the table, covered with a piece of archaic paper. I frowned, trying to recall if it had been there before I entered.

"Who kept the book here?" I mused aloud, not remembering it from my previous visits to the cabin.

I reached out for the paper and read the words out loud.

The message was from my father, Poseidon.

"Persia, This book contains all kinds of information about our world. Monsters, Gods, Heroes, known Demigods, Herbs, Weapons — name it, and the information regarding it should appear. Most of all, the rules of our world are mentioned here. I hope it gives you less incentive to anger half the people you meet. Your father."

His words startled me, but soon I couldn't help but laugh at his sarcasm.

Poseidon couldn't help but offer a small smile at the words of his future self. Even now, it seemed reasonable, considering that within a single day, his daughter had managed to infuriate several important council members.

Zeus let out a weary sigh, wondering if he should start getting used to the defiant behavior of Poseidon's child, as even the words of the future Poseidon had no impact on her.

"Thanks, Dad," I whispered, my voice catching with emotion as tears welled up in my eyes

Taking a bite of my food, I began jotting down the incidents from the very start of the quest, focusing on the details that had caught my attention.

First on the list was the Fury, Alecto, whom I accidentally killed at school with a single strike. It turned out she was searching for Hades's Helm, not the stolen lightning bolt, and their attacks during the quest were for the same reason. So, the Furies and their mission were ruled out as suspects.

Hades's eyes widened in surprise. Many were left amazed by the fact that she had accidentally defeated a Fury.

The next puzzling incident was the encounter with the three old ladies spinning and cutting yarn. I couldn't help but wonder why they would be sitting in the middle of nowhere doing such a thing. Opening the book Dad had given me, I marveled at its ancient motifs of a lion, spindle, and flowers. I curiously murmured the description, "Three ladies spinning yarn," and immediately writings appeared. 

Moirai. Fates. 

Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades furrowed their brows in concern. The rest of the Olympians sat up straight, while the minor gods observed the scene with keen interest.

The revelation was enough to make me feel faint, but I forced myself to focus on the matter at hand—the identity of the thief. I had to put the creepy Fates aside for now and get a grip on the present situation.

Next, I noted the involvement of the Minotaur. That's probably all on me. Chiron had said I had an exceptionally strong scent for a demigod. 

Then came the account of the quest itself—the discovery that the lightning bolt was  found by Ares, who had decided to interfere instead of returning it back to its master. 

Poseidon's face darkened, his eyes narrowing with a piercing glare fixed on Ares. Zeus mirrored the same intensity in his expression, while Hades straightened up, his demeanor becoming more serious.

We then found ourselves trapped in Aunty Em's, or Medusa's lair, but managed to escape and proceeded westward. In the west, we encountered the Underworld, but it became evident that Hades was not at fault for the theft.

Something indeed happened in the Underworld. The shoes that Luke had given me unexpectedly acted up while we were there. They led Grover down a direction opposite to Hades's actual underworld.

The sensation was chilling, and I nearly shuddered at the memory. It felt so repulsive, and the energy in that direction was incredibly depressive and dark. The experience was unnerving, to say the least.

"Father," Hestia whispered under her breath, her concern evident as she observed the dark looks of the oldest Olympians.

Could it be that the shoes had malfunctioned? That seemed like a plausible explanation, though I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to it.

As I pondered over the prophecy, I quickly jotted it down on another piece of paper for reference.

The prophecy stated: "You shall go west, and face the god who has turned."

Apollo grabbed a sheet of paper and began jotting down the points mentioned. Athena swiftly contributed, connecting the dots with her own words.

We did travel westward, and the god who had turned out to be a threat was Ares. That part seemed to be fulfilled.

"You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned."

We successfully found and safely returned both the Lightning Bolt and the Helm of Darkness to their rightful owners. This part was also accomplished.

"You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend."

This part remained unfulfilled. I didn't have any godly friends, and I couldn't understand how or why a demigod might betray me.

"And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end."

This part, unfortunately, came true. Despite retrieving the stolen items and accomplishing the quest, I failed to save my mom, who was captured by Hades. Although he released her after his Helm was returned, the fact that I couldn't protect her from being captured was a failure on my part.

What remained was the prophecy's prediction of being betrayed by a friend, and that was something I couldn't shake off my mind.

As I mentally eliminated Grover and Annabeth from the list of potential betrayers, I thought about the few other people I had interacted with during my time at camp. There was a little boy named Will from the Hermes cabin, but he was just a nine-year-old child and couldn't be involved in such matters.

But then my thoughts wandered to Luke. He was the only one I had spoken to before being thrust into this quest, and he had seemed nice and reliable. However, I couldn't ignore the fact that he was a son of Hermes, the God of thieves.

My mind began connecting the dots I didn't want to believe. Luke had been present when both the Lightning Bolt and the Helm of Darkness were stolen. He had given me the shoes that led Grover astray during the quest. He even contacted us during the ongoing mission, which was unusual.

And then there was his backstory—a failed quest and complicated feelings toward his father, Hermes.

Athena gasped audibly, her eyes widening in realization. Hermes appeared stricken, and Apollo's expression grew grave.

Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon exchanged somber glances, acknowledging the severity of the situation. Hestia issued a word of caution, "No more words for now. Finish the chapter, Poseidon."

Poseidon complied, eager to uncover more details. Everyone present listened in tense silence, absorbing the unfolding events.

I exhaled, feeling angsty as the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit together. I looked out the window and noticed that the sun had set, and night had fallen.

As I stepped out of the cabin, I felt a sense of relief after being cooped up for so long. Time had become a blur, and I couldn't help but wonder how long I had been inside.

Leaving the book and notebook behind, I took a moment to wash the utensils before venturing out. I needed some fresh air and space to make sense of everything I had figured out.

Murmuring to myself, I followed my instincts once more, asking the cabin's door to stay closed and not let anyone in. The door handle seemed to glow in response, as if understanding my whispered words. Exhaling in relief, I turned my gaze towards the sea that lay beyond the back of the cabin.

As I approached the bonfire, the camp was abuzz with demigods running, playing, and chatting. The children, especially, were full of excitement and energy.

I smiled at the lively scene and made my way towards them. As I got closer, I noticed that Annabeth and Grover were in the midst of retelling the entire quest to the enthralled audience.

"And here comes the Hero!" Some of Ares's children jeered, while others cheered wildly as I approached. I felt a bit self-conscious under their attention but found a spot to sit beside Annabeth around the bonfire. I folded my legs under me and leaned against a large boulder, feeling the warmth from the flames.

As I settled, I noticed the chatter quieting down, and all eyes were on me. Clarisse, with a sneer on her face, asked, "So Jackson, how does it feel?" I shrugged, not quite sure what she was getting at.

Apparently, my nonchalant response didn't sit well with her, and she bristled like an insulted cat. "No words?" she added with venom and bitterness in her tone, "Find yourself too important after defeating an Olympian?"

I blinked in surprise, taken aback by her sudden hostility. I met her eyes with a hint of challenge in my own. "I don't have the bad habit of feeding my ego, La Rue," I replied evenly. "Remind me, when did I owe you an explanation again?"

"So this is how she is," Zeus murmured quietly, observing the exasperation that crossed his brother's face as they learned more about Persia's character.

As the others snickered and smirked, I maintained a blank expression. I couldn't stand this kind of aggressive mentality, where people jumped to conclusions without understanding the truth.

The Olympians fell silent, each feeling a bit unsettled by those words, recognizing that they had indeed behaved in a similar manner just moments ago. 

Clarisse's face flushed red, but I didn't bother to investigate whether it was embarrassment or anger. I had no interest in entertaining such hostility.

"Still," a soft familiar voice spoke up, breaking the momentary silence, "How do you feel? I remember Luke feeling so angry when he failed his quest."

Will Solace, with his mop of blond hair and blue eyes, approached me. I smiled genuinely and motioned for him to come closer. "I feel nothing," I replied honestly. "Just happy that no one is blaming me for something I did not do."

"Aren't you proud?" Another voice chimed in, this one belonging to a younger demigod, probably around six years old. I shook my head in response, my thoughts clear on the matter. "Not at all. What is there to be proud about?"

The incredulous looks I received made me realize how differently I viewed my accomplishments compared to others. Grover even gave me an exasperated look, pointing out all the challenges I had overcome during the quest.

But I stood my ground, knowing that my successes only painted a bigger target on my back. I didn't want unnecessary attention or expectations.

Once more, incredulous looks were directed at Persia from the assembled Olympians. Poseidon experienced a mix of disbelief and pride. It relieved him that his daughter had a good head on her shoulders, despite her defiance. The other gods and goddesses were equally surprised and grudgingly impressed by her words.

Chiron's wise presence interrupted the discussion, and we all turned to face him. To my surprise, he admitted that I was right in my outlook. However, he also expressed pride in my achievements. 

My eyes widened in response to his unexpected praise, and I hoped I didn't look as flushed as I felt. Chiron's amused smile hinted that he knew exactly how uncomfortable I was with being the center of attention.

"Umm…." I twisted my charm bracelet, trying to change the subject to a more neutral topic, "When is dinner?"

Chiron chuckled and announced that dinner was ready, with marshmallows for dessert. The prospect of food brought a cheer from the others, and I gave Chiron a grateful smile for easing the tension.

As everyone headed towards the dining pavilion, I decided to retreat to the sea. The cool waters brushing against my feet provided a sense of relaxation, and I unknowingly let my guard down.

"Not coming for dinner?" a voice interrupted my solitude. I turned to find Luke Castellan, the tall sixteen-year-old son of Hermes, standing beside me.

I forced my muscles to relax, trying not to show any discomfort. I returned my gaze to the sea and replied, "I will be there in a moment."

He offered me congratulations, acknowledging the significance of the quest I had just completed. I couldn't help but wonder what he truly wanted to know. But instead of pressing further, he gave a small smile and vanished, leaving me to my thoughts.

As he disappeared, I felt a mix of emotions—curiosity, suspicion, and a hint of fear. Time would tell whether my assumptions about him were correct, but I hoped that they wouldn't be proven true.

Hermes didn't mince his words when he asked bluntly, "Is my son, Luke, the thief?" His face was grim with worry.

"Yes," Persia responded in a clipped manner, though Hermes paid no heed to her tone. Anger filled his expression as he declared, "Then he is no son of mine. I hope he has been dealt with accordingly?"

Thalia's smile turned grim, and she looked pained as she answered, "He is dead, Lord Hermes."

"Good riddance, I say," Hermes retorted harshly.

Athena followed up with her question, her expression serious, "The Titans were involved, weren't they?"

Annabeth sat up, maintaining a neutral tone as she replied, "Yes, my lady."

Artemis furrowed her brow, asking with thoughtfulness, "What about Ares? All we found in the book was that he knew the thief, found the bolt, but did not return it. Why did he challenge Persia then?"

Annabeth responded, "Lord Ares not only had the Bolt but also possessed the Helm at the same time. He gave us the Bolt, hoping to frame us for a crime we didn't commit. Simultaneously, he declared that if Persia didn't defeat him in combat, he would keep the Helm for himself, refusing to return it to its rightful owner. Persia had no choice but to fight and win. She had promised Lord Hades that she would retrieve and return it. If she failed, her mother's life would be at stake, as you read."

As Annabeth explained, Hades's aura darkened, shadows writhing around him. Zeus appeared furious, and Poseidon remained composed but grim.

Hera gave Persia a disbelieving look while being skeptical of Annabeth's claims. "Why should we believe you? What proof do you have? It's unimaginable for Ares to behave so recklessly."

Persia's eyes flared with anger, while Annabeth stood up, her eyes blazing with fury. Jason, Nico, and Will also rose to their feet, ready to react if needed. Thalia got up with Nico's help, while Persia, disregarding her injuries, quickly stood on her own.

The Olympians were taken aback by this vehement reaction, while the Minor Gods were a mix of entertained, surprised, and shocked at their behavior.

"And what proof can be more truthful than the words of the Fates, Lady Hera?" a chilling, soft voice mocked, "Are you suggesting that the book containing the memories of these demigods is false?"

At these words, everyone in the room jumped to their feet. The Olympians bowed their heads in respect, while the Minor Gods knelt in reverence.

"Lady Lachesis, welcome," Zeus greeted, weariness evident from the events of the perplexing day.

"At ease, immortals," Lachesis said with a smile before turning her attention to the demigods who hadn't knelt or bowed their heads. Instead they gave her a curious glance, wondering the reason behind her presence.

Persia reached out with her hand, which Lachesis grasped tightly. In a gentle and kind tone, Lachesis reprimanded, "Persia, my dear, look at you. You have pulled your stitches again." With a wave of her hand, she banished the seeping blood, replacing it with fresh bandages. She caressed Persia's hair, "I thought you had better control over your explosive temper. Why did you let it rule your actions?"

"The Gods threatened my family. I could not remain silent," Persia replied firmly yet respectfully, displaying a different demeanor with Lachesis than with the Gods.

"Yes, they did, didn't they?" Lachesis glanced at the surprised and somber-looking Olympians. "Then I shall not fault you. But change takes time, my dearest Persia."

Her attention shifted to the other demigods, and she smiled gently, "You have agreed to give them a chance. Do not be too quick to judge."

"We will try," Annabeth murmured, "but we cannot promise. Their actions may elicit reactions from us."

"Understandable," Lachesis nodded, surprising the Gods with her understanding. "But before we proceed, I'd like to have a talk with the Gods. Would you mind exploring Olympus in the meantime?"

"We would gladly leave," Thalia replied, "I feel suffocated here, even if Olympus is nothing new to us."

"Who knows?" Lachesis gave a mysterious smile, "You may discover something intriguing."

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟰 | 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗕𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀

Thalia found herself standing in sheer awe, her eyes fixated on the breathtaking scenic beauty that lay before her. A lush and vibrant forest, teeming with life and enchantment, stretched out at the very base of majestic Mount Olympus. This place seemed to be blessed by the very essence of nature, inhabited by playful nymphs and graceful dryads, who danced among the verdant foliage with an ethereal grace.

As her gaze meandered through the emerald expanse, Thalia discovered a hidden gem—a modest clearing nestled amidst the thick canopy. On one side, a small grove of towering trees stood like ancient sentinels, their branches intertwined as if in silent camaraderie. On the other side, a natural cliff embraced the clearing, offering a sense of protection and seclusion.

A delightful cascade tumbled down the cliff's edge, cascading with elegance and grace. The falling water formed a crystalline waterfall that added a harmonious symphony to the serenity of the place. The glistening stream snaked its way through the clearing, encircling a charming wooden cabin that seemed to have sprung from the very heart of the forest.

The cabin, fashioned in the style of a rustic forest abode, perched gently on the flowing stream. It was a haven crafted with care and love, every detail carefully chosen to harmonise with the natural surroundings. Several open balconies adorned its façade, each offering mesmerizing views of the nearby Mount Olympus—the abode of gods—standing proud and majestic in the distance.

"Absolutely stunning," Annabeth breathed, her gaze sweeping around in reverent admiration. Her fingers traced the intricate wooden carvings adorning the porch's railings.

Meanwhile, Persia had ventured inside and was met with a delightful surprise—a space elegantly furnished, surpassing her expectations. The porch transitioned seamlessly into a cosy interior. Twin rectangular mattresses draped in pristine white silk claimed their place, surrounded by an array of cushions arranged in an inviting 'L' shape on the polished wooden floor. A fireplace stood as a centrepiece, radiating warmth. Twin spiral staircases beckoned toward the upper levels, while a hallway hosted two more doors. Another entrance led to a balcony—one distinct for its accompanying step stairway descending to a patio adorned with stone furniture, reminiscent of an era long past.

"Persia, you won't believe it, but the kitchen is fully stocked," Jason exclaimed, his brows furrowing with intrigue. "Could someone be living here?"

A pensive expression crossed Persia's face as she closed the balcony door behind her. "I've been entertaining the same thought. Let's step outside for a moment."

Jason's gaze lingered on the cabin as he spoke in a subdued tone. "I must admit, I've grown quite fond of this cabin."

Persia nodded in agreement, her gaze filled with a blend of appreciation and curiosity.

Stepping outside, they discovered Thalia comfortably settled on the wooden swing, engrossed in conversation with Annabeth, who perched on the porch's small staircase.

"What's going on?" Thalia's raised eyebrow conveyed her curiosity. "Why the long faces?"

"We suspect this cabin might belong to someone," Jason began to explain, his tone tinged with concern. "The kitchen is fully stocked, and it appears lived in."

A furrow formed on Thalia's brow, while Annabeth chimed in with a sceptical inquiry, "Who would choose to reside here? It's quite a distance from the nearest immortal town, and its entertainment offerings are rather limited..."

"...and we all know immortals thrive on a healthy dose of drama," Jason concluded with a wry smile. Nico, having explored the surroundings, joined them with a casual stride. "This place seems tailor-made for us. I spotted several fruit trees and berry shrubs nearby. Seems like a haven of resources."

Persia's suspicion grew as the situation unfolded. "Convenient, isn't it?"

"Hey, guys! Gather around. You won't believe what I've found," Will's voice called from the second-story balcony. Their attention turned upwards to see him waving energetically. Ascending the stairs, they joined him to find him engrossed in a collection of clay pots, each brimming with vibrant herbs. He greeted them with excitement, gesturing enthusiastically toward the plants. "These herbs are extinct in our time! This place is incredible! There's even a healing chamber reminiscent of the one back at camp!"

A deep frown etched across Persia's features. The question loomed larger: Who could possibly be living in this secluded abode? And why did it resonate so profoundly with all of them?

"Your conduct leaves much to be desired, Olympians. We held higher expectations for your behaviour. Is this the manner in which you interact with your own offspring?" Lady Lachesis' gaze bore into the uneasy assembly of deities.

"We extend our apologies, my lady," Hestia stepped forward, taking the initiative to express their regrets, sensing Zeus struggling to do the same.

"Regrettable as they may be, apologies cannot undo what has transpired, can they?" Lady Lachesis' words held a weight of finality.

Hestia's expression tightened, her concurrence evident as she nodded. "Indeed, we concede to your point. The behaviour exhibited by the demigods is a defiance we are unaccustomed to. The path they tread in the future seems to diverge significantly from our established norms. Have we truly undergone such a profound transformation?"

"Change is an inexorable facet of existence," Lachesis' gaze shifted towards the apprehensive deities gathered before her. “If your evolution had been just, the demigods of the future would not find themselves standing here in the past, in your presence."

"What about the conduct of the demigods?" Athena interjected with a neutral tone, her intention respectful. "Forgive me, Lady Lachesis, but during this era, no mortal, nor any other immortal inhabitants of this realm, nor even demigods, would dare manifest such anger or voice such impertinence in our presence."

Numerous minor deities nodded in accord, their support evident, while the Olympians observed the unfolding conversation with keen interest, awaiting Lachesis' response.

Lachesis' smile held a touch of amusement as she acknowledged those words. "Athena, indulge me by addressing a few queries. Did you assert your willingness to punish Persia should she be found at fault? And did Lord Ares indeed issue a threat to your daughter, Annabeth?"

At Lachesis' inquiry, Athena offered a measured nod and responded, "My intent was to maintain harmony, my lady. As for Ares, he did indeed make a threat toward my daughter."

The weight of Lachesis' gaze shifted to settle upon Ares, causing him to straighten in his seat. Hera's concern was palpable, while Zeus remained seemingly unperturbed by the sudden focus upon his son.

Lachesis directed her words to the gathered assembly, leaving them astonished by her pronouncement. "In light of these circumstances, I fail to discern any wrongdoing on the part of Persia or Annabeth," she elucidated. "Ares' threat against Persia's family compelled her response. The same rationale applies to Annabeth."

"I merely uttered a few words," Ares grumbled under his breath, his discontent audible despite his attempt at subtlety.

"Words spoken are indelible, Ares," Lachesis reproved with firmness. "Choose your words with care, for the consequences can be lasting."

Her gaze then shifted to Zeus. "Rest assured, as long as you refrain from unjustly threatening their family, they shall conduct themselves accordingly," she warned, her tone unyielding. "However, should you provoke them for unjust reasons, remember my caution. These children are capable of feats beyond imagination."

"We shall heed your counsel," Hestia affirmed with a nod. "Is there anything else you wish to convey, my lady?"

"There is," Lachesis responded. "The demigods should not remain confined within Olympus. Nonetheless, their past experiences have made them wary of newcomers. It would prove advantageous for them to acclimate to and explore this unfamiliar realm."

"We were already considering this matter," Zeus concurred, aligning with Lachesis' perspective.

"Excellent," Lachesis expressed her approval with a nod. "We have designated lodgings for them within Olympus."

"Forgive the interjection, my lady, but we had intended to offer them accommodations," Hades interjected, his tone respectful. "Our own chambers were to be at their disposal."

Poseidon and Zeus concurred with a shared understanding. Lachesis' smile remained as she responded, "I comprehend your intentions. However, the demigods may not yet find comfort in such arrangements. In time, you shall come to understand why. For the present, grant them their space, at least for a few days."

"As you wish," Zeus acquiesced, his nod confirming the agreement.

Lachesis concluded with a slight nod. "Then I shall take my leave." And with that, she vanished from their presence.

Zeus let out a sigh of relief, the tension in the room ebbing as the weighty presence of the Moirai dissipated. Hades pinched the bridge of his nose in contemplation, while Poseidon rubbed his forehead wearily. The minor gods, nymphs, dryads, and other immortals visibly relaxed as the intense atmosphere eased with Lachesis' departure. Among the Olympians, concerned and thoughtful gazes were exchanged.

Apollo spoke up, drawing everyone's attention. "That was quite the conversation, wasn't it? I'm curious about the Moirai's personal involvement with these demigods."

"Indeed, my son," Zeus responded, traces of fatigue marking his face. "Whatever their motivations may be, we must exercise extreme caution for the time being. Attracting the Moirai's focus to us would not yield favourable outcomes."

The room was filled with nods of agreement, the seriousness of the situation palpable.

"Furthermore," Hades murmured softly, his words capturing the room's attention, "it's apparent that the future they come from is grim. Their casual response to attacks by formidable monsters, their disregard for injuries that should incapacitate them, and their pervasive distrust all paint a rather unsettling picture, don't you think?"

"I concur, Lord Hades," Dionysus chimed in, his brows furrowing. "There's another perplexing aspect. Why wasn't a thorough investigation launched? Why did Ares not immediately return Father's Bolt once he located it?"

Hera's frown deepened in contemplation, while Ares glowered at Dionysus for broaching the topic.

Poseidon's expression turned pensive as he weighed the situation. "Ares may be aggressive, but he has not shown signs of disloyalty. In the records, my daughter sensed an undercurrent of hidden motives. I suggest we await further confirmation before passing judgement."

A sense of gratitude passed between Ares and Poseidon; the unexpected support warming Ares' demeanour.

"Do you align with Ares, then, brother?" Zeus inquired, his tone devoid of emotion. Poseidon shook his head gently. "No, Zeus. This pertains to a version of Ares from the future. Patience and vigilance are wiser than hastiness when all the facts are not before us. Acting with prudence is crucial."

Athena, Artemis, Dionysus, Hephaestus, and Hermes voiced their agreement, fostering a united sentiment.

Zeus nodded, his gaze shifting to rest upon Ares with a measured air. Hera released a sigh, grateful that her son was temporarily spared. Apollo's subtle nudge to a tense Hermes didn't go unnoticed by Zeus, who addressed his son. "Hermes."

"Father," Hermes responded cautiously.

With a faint smile, Zeus reassured him, "Worry not. You shall not be held accountable for your son's actions. I assure you, my son. None shall cast blame upon you."

Apollo offered a warm pat on Hermes' back, his smile genuine. Artemis and Athena shared approving nods, and Hermes returned their expressions with gratitude.

Hestia suggested, "With immediate matters addressed, let us retire. We will reconvene for further discussions once the demigods have recuperated from their injuries."

"Wait," Hades interjected, delaying their departure. "Where are the demigods? It's been a while since we last saw them."

Zeus called upon Iris, the goddess of the rainbow, to locate them. After approximately ten minutes, Iris returned with information about the demigods' whereabouts deep within the heart of the surrounding forest.

Zeus sighed, his decision made. "Let them be for now. We'll reach out to them tomorrow. Dismissed."

The room began to clear as the gods and immortals filed out, while the Olympians utilised their abilities to teleport back to their individual domains within Olympus.

Two dawns had passed since Apollo had a chance to speak with his eldest son, Will. It was now nighttime, and Hermes had been given the task of informing the demigods about the upcoming reading scheduled for tomorrow. However, Apollo wanted to have a private conversation with his son before that.

The past two days had been a mix of relief and anxiety. Festivities had indeed graced the realm, overflowing with ambrosial feasts, nectar, and wine fit for the gods. Yet, there was an underlying tension in the air due to the absence of the demigods from the celebrations.

When Hestia went to invite them to the festivities, she had noticed their weary appearance. She wisely advised the other gods to leave them be, allowing the demigods some much-needed respite and time to adjust to this new era.

At present, Apollo had numerous children, ranging in age from ten to twenty summers. By age, Will had become his eldest child, and there were pressing questions in Apollo's mind that needed answers before the next chapter unfolded.

As Apollo approached the clearing where the demigods had established their home, he was struck by the serenity of the atmosphere. Faint whispers of conversation, joyful laughter, and the enchanting aroma of food gently wafted through the air. However, what immediately caught his attention the moment he entered the clearing was the presence of Poseidon's daughter.

Persia presented a striking image in her cream silk chiton. The garment's elegance lay in its simplicity, accentuated by a singular, exquisite shoulder brooch jewel gracefully hanging from the fabric. To define her waist, she had chosen a white silk sash, carefully tied in place. Her long, glossy black hair had been meticulously styled into an intricate chignon, secured with a jewelled hair stick. Leather sandals adorned her feet, their straps fastidiously arranged. Her choice of accessories remained understated yet tasteful. A delicate gold charm bracelet adorned her wrist, while a discreet gold chain peeked out from beneath her chiton. Crowning her head was a slender circlet of gold intricately adorned with diamonds and pearls. As she sat on the wooden steps, the delicate fabric of the chiton cascaded gracefully around her.

There, amidst her weaving of a pliable bamboo basket, she exuded an aura of serene elegance.

Apollo was well aware that attire had been provided for the demigods to allow them to blend effortlessly among the populace. Each god (that had an offspring amongst the future demigods) had thoughtfully supplied appropriate accessories, including brooches, shoulder clasps, necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings, all intricately engraved with their respective symbols for their respective offspring to choose from.

However, Poseidon had chosen to dress his demigod daughter in a manner befitting her elevated status within his own domain, as evident from the ornate circlet adorning her head.

In the present moment, Apollo's arrival had captured Persia's attention. Their eyes met, and he detected a flicker of surprise in her gaze before it swiftly transformed into cautious wariness. Persia carefully set aside her unfinished basket and approached him with deliberate, measured steps.

"How may we assist you, Lord Apollo?" she inquired.

Apollo chose to remain silent, intending to disconcert the woman. His gaze roamed the surroundings. Moonlight provided ample illumination, rendering a fire unnecessary. In the center of the clearing, they had set up a designated cooking area with a well-constructed cooking pit fashioned from carefully stacked stones. Around the pit, there was a seating area, with neatly arranged bamboo-made elevated platforms. In the corners of the clearing, several bushes flourished, bearing edible berries.

Apollo was surprised to find that she patiently awaited his response as he surveyed the scene. Slightly impressed, he finally replied, "I would like to speak with my son."

"He is not here," Persia replied, gesturing to her right where a trail began. "He went in search of medicinal herbs. Our supplies are running low."

Apollo arched an eyebrow in surprise. "At this hour?"

"He believes certain herbs must be gathered at the right time," Persia explained.

"Is he armed?" Apollo inquired further.

"Yes," she confirmed.

He gave a regal nod before ambling down the trail she had pointed at. 

From a distance, he noticed a figure gracefully moving amidst the verdant foliage, clutching a woven basket in one hand. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that it was his son, carefully scouring the bushes in search of the herbs he required.

Will, much like his peers, was attired in the resplendent garb of ancient Greece. His himation, a radiant expanse of pristine white, was crafted from the most luxurious silk, its fabric caressing his form with a gentle touch. A finely wrought leather belt, cinched at his waist, provided a harmonious contrast to the ethereal garment. From the belt dangled two pouches, each a repository of various herbs and delicate glass flasks, clinking softly with every movement.

Apollo caught sight of the sun-shaped brooch on a chain that he had sent among other accessories, pinned to his son's garment. An unexpected surge of fatherly affection swelled within Apollo, momentarily unsettling his composed demeanor.

"How may I be of assistance, my Lord?"

Will's voice broke through Apollo's reverie, prompting him to swiftly conceal his emotions. Before him stood his eldest son, wearing a gracious smile.

"We must converse," Apollo remarked, his brows furrowing as he noted the absence of any visible weaponry on his son. "I was led to believe you were armed."

Rather than verbalizing a response, Will raised the hem of his garment to reveal a dagger securely strapped to his thigh. Apollo's discerning gaze also caught sight of a knife discreetly nestled within his leather sandals. Satisfied, he nodded approvingly.

"Join me," Apollo instructed, "We can procure all the herbs you require from my personal apothecary."

A sense of astonishment flashed across Will's visage, yet he acquiesced, falling into step behind his father. Apollo couldn't help but notice that his own palace in Olympus was remarkably close to the dwelling of the demigods.

Bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight, a colossal marble palace sprawled before them. Though not quite rivaling the grandeur of Olympus's principal palace, it dwarfed all others by a significant margin.

This magnificent edifice had been Apollo's reward, a testament to his exalted standing among the Olympians. Commissioned directly by his father, it radiated opulence with gilded embellishments that shimmered like molten gold and was adorned with an array of precious gemstones. Guiding his son with an air of quiet authority, Apollo led him towards one of the outer structures adjacent to his palace. With a deliberate flourish, he swung open the richly hued mahogany door, ushering his son into the room.

A mischievous smirk tugged at Apollo's lips as he observed the wonder flickering within his son's widened eyes. He was well aware that stepping into this enchanting place felt akin to crossing the threshold into another realm altogether. With a graceful sweep of his hand, he extended a welcoming gesture.

"Welcome, my child, to my personal sanctuary," Apollo declared, his voice a gentle caress of pride at his own creation. As his son's appropriately awestruck gaze met his, he continued, "You hold the honor of being the first among my offspring to set foot in this sacred space."

This was no ordinary greenhouse; it was a verdant sanctuary infused with divine magic. The moment one crossed into the heart of the greenhouse, a subtle and magical transformation occurred. Despite the nighttime shroud that cloaked the world beyond its walls, a warm, ethereal radiance suffused the chamber. Moonlight, as if enchanted, filtered through the crystalline canopy overhead, bestowing a soft and silvery glow that bathed the entire sanctuary in an otherworldly luminescence. It was as if the very essence of daylight danced within this nocturnal sanctuary. 

Rows upon rows of verdant life stretched before them. Towering olive trees, their gnarled trunks adorned with silvery leaves, created a soothing canopy that filtered the moonlight. Cypress trees, slender and proud, reached for the celestial ceiling, their dark foliage contrasting with the gentle silver glow.The herbs of Greece, both common and rare, thrived in abundance. Fragrant thyme, its leaves a vibrant green, carpeted the earth beneath the trees, releasing an intoxicating aroma into the air. Artemisia absinthium, the sacred wormwood, stood tall and proud with its silver-gray leaves, hinting at its mystical properties. Delicate clusters of lavender graced the garden, their calming fragrance a testament to their therapeutic value. And the hauntingly beautiful oleander, its toxic allure veiled by elegant pink blossoms, held its place among the others.

Apollo arched an inquisitive eyebrow as he addressed his son, a spark of curiosity glimmering in his eyes. "Pray tell, which herb had you been so fervently seeking?"

Will responded, "Ocimum basilicum." He looked around in awe at the sanctuary. His gaze, now brimming with excitement, darted towards another verdant specimen. "And could that be the sacred mistletoe?" he inquired, pointing with eager anticipation.

With a graceful gesture, Apollo plucked a vibrant sprig of basil and handed it to his son. A knowing amusement danced in Apollo's eyes as he confirmed, "Indeed it is. Here is the basil you sought."

As if suddenly recalling the purpose behind their meeting, Will inquired, "What was it you wished to discuss, Father?" 

Apollo's gaze took on an unexpected seriousness, and a furrow creased his brow. "Tell me," he began, "do you possess the knowledge and skill of warfare? What manner of weaponry do you wield?"

Caught off guard by his father's sudden interest, Will's initial bewilderment was cloaked in a cautious reserve. He answered, "I am proficient in the use of daggers and knives, but my favoured weapon is the bow and arrow."

Apollo's intrigue deepened as he pondered this revelation. "Why, then," he inquired, "...do you not actively engage in combat alongside your comrades?"

Will's response was thoughtful. "I prefer saving lives than taking them," he explained. "Healing is my passion."

A flicker of surprise crossed Apollo's countenance at this revelation. His emotions, a mix of surprise, confusion, and an underlying sense of impressed curiosity, danced beneath the surface.

He spoke thoughtfully, "Your compassion is commendable, but your skills in archery and warfare should not be dormant." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I wish to put your abilities to the test, to see if they match your convictions. Would you be willing?"

Without hesitation, Will met his father's gaze with determination. "I will gladly accept your test, Father."

Apollo nodded, a calculating look in his eyes. With that, he dismissed his son, leaving Will to prepare for tomorrow.

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟓 | 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗨𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝐈𝐈𝐈

The throne room welcomed back its familiar occupants, with a few notable additions. The Olympians regally occupied their thrones, and among the assembly of minor gods and immortal entities, the family of Lord Poseidon, including his wife, made their presence known. 

Within moments of their arrival, the demigods joined the assembly, each clad in the attire of Ancient Greece, their silken garments adorned with understated jewels. Observing the newcomers, Poseidon's family, excluding Triton, couldn't help but be taken aback by the uncanny resemblance between one of the demigods and their Lord Father. 

The demigods, however, displayed no discomfort under their scrutinizing gaze. They conversed in hushed tones, taking their designated seats within the space the Moirai had created for them. Though Hestia felt a pang of resentment at their evident choice, she concealed it behind a stoic visage.

Persia, holding the box in her hand, cast a brief glance toward the gods before offering a respectful nod. The box, however, prevented her from executing a full bow.

“Shall we commence?" Zeus inquired, his gaze shifting to his brothers and other council members, all of whom nodded in agreement. "Let us begin," he declared.

Persia acknowledged his words and proceeded toward Hestia's hearth to place the box. Once again, she smeared her blood across the lock before opening it. Those who had not witnessed the previous reading watched with rapt curiosity.

With deft precision, Persia opened the book and checked something, before handing it to Hestia. 

"What did you check?" Athena inquired with genuine curiosity.

Persia met Athena's gaze and replied, "I was refreshing my memory regarding the extent of injuries we will endure in the forthcoming chapters."

Athena raised an eyebrow in response to Persia's statement. Poseidon seized the opportunity to inquire, "And how is your health?"

Persia met her father's gaze, her eyes curiously devoid of the warmth and affection she bestowed upon the demigods. "I am well enough to be injured again, Lord Poseidon," she responded with measured politeness.

Her reply was delivered with a formality that struck Poseidon deeply, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow. He couldn't quite fathom why his daughter's formal demeanour affected him so. Her words triggered a collective surprise among the Olympians, who exchanged quizzical glances. Persia then returned to one of the cushions, seating herself with legs folded.

Hestia held the book aloft and asked, "Who will read?"

Apollo extended his hand, and the book found its place within his grasp. He cast a brief glance toward the demigods who watched intently before turning to the relevant page.

Chapter 3 → The friend who betrayed. 

An air of tension gripped the room as the title of the chapter was announced. Apollo shot a reassuring look at the visibly angered Hermes before proceeding.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across Camp Half-Blood, a full month had drifted away like the gentle summer breeze. Luke remained inactive. 

The end of summer was fast approaching, and with each passing day, the camp had transformed into a bustling hub of young demigods, their laughter and camaraderie filling the air.

Among the newcomers, some were mere infants, left abandoned at the very base of Thalia's protective tree, their innocent eyes glistening with vulnerability. 

I had two options. I could stay year round like Luke and Annabeth or I could stay only for the summer. Yet, amid the choices laid out before me, the decision was not a difficult one to make.

It came down to a simple, heartfelt longing - I missed Mama.

Ares couldn't resist a derisive smirk, his gaze drifting toward the attentive demigods. "Pathetic," he sneered.

Zeus swiftly shot his son a warning glare, then shifted his attention back to the demigods, who remained stoic and unruffled by Ares' provocation.

"Hey," a voice broke the stillness, jolting me from my thoughts. I turned swiftly, my eyes meeting Luke's as he stood there with a gentle, almost enigmatic smile gracing his lips. In response, I couldn't help but mirror his expression, my own lips curving upward. "Hey."

His voice held a quiet warmth as he broached the topic at hand. "I heard you were departing in just a few days," he remarked, his head tilting slightly, a pensive glint in his eyes. "I always thought you loved the camp."

A sigh escaped my lips as I nodded, my gaze momentarily distant. "I do," I confessed, "but I miss Mama."

Luke nodded, his expression betraying little of his inner thoughts. "How about lending me a hand with some of the chores?" he suggested. 

I shrugged, agreeing, "Why not?"

Following his lead, we made our way to the Hermes' cabin. Every cabin within the camp bore its unique characteristics, each tailored to house the offspring of specific deities. 

Hermes' cabin, in particular, served as a refuge for the children of Hermes, as well as those newcomers to Camp Half-Blood who remained unclaimed by their divine parents. It also accommodated the progeny of minor gods, which meant that Hermes' cabin was constantly brimming with a diverse array of inhabitants.

"What?" Hermes murmured, clearly taken aback. "Why would the children of the Minor Gods reside in a cabin intended for my children?" His inquisitive gaze swept over the demigods, searching for an answer.

Thalia responded, "There are no cabins designated for the minor gods. As the God of Travel and Hospitality, they are allocated to your cabin once claimed by their divine parents."

A golden-haired goddess, her countenance radiating youthful curiosity, inquired further, "Why are there no cabins for the minor gods?" She observed the puzzled expressions on the demigods' faces and offered a gentle introduction. "I am Hebe, the goddess of youth. What does 'unclaimed' mean?"

Thalia's eyes widened slightly at the realization that Hebe, daughter of Zeus and Hera, was addressing her. Suppressing her apprehension, she replied with a courteous tone, "Lord Zeus decreed that only the Olympians would have cabins within the camp. Lord Hades, Lady Hestia, and all other minor gods were excluded. Consequently, the children of minor gods were instructed to stay at Cabin Eleven, which belongs to Lord Hermes."

Surprise and shock registered on the faces of those present. Hestia cast a sorrowful look toward Zeus, her disappointment palpable. Zeus, in turn, fought to suppress a flinch as he observed his beloved sister's reaction. He couldn't help but notice the blank expression on Hades' face.

Zeus, his voice resolute, interjected, "Such shall not be the case if the Camp is constructed anew. Every god, minor or Olympian, shall have dedicated cabins for their children."

Thalia offered further clarification, her voice steady. "Claiming occurs when the gods acknowledge their demigod offspring, typically by sending a hologram of their symbol of power to appear above the particular child's head. The specifics vary depending on the respective gods."

Nods of understanding rippled through the assembly. Hades, his demeanour now contemplative, directed a question at Nico. "So, where did my children stay before this change? In Hermes' cabin?"

Nico felt a touch uneasy under the sudden scrutiny, but he cleared his throat and glanced at Persia before responding. "Well, um, I am your only demigod child, Lord Hades. Besides, I have no knowledge of where they might have stayed before my birth."

Hades blinked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "And how old are you?" He frowned slightly. "You barely look past twenty winters, child."

"I apologise for the interruption," Persia interjected, capturing Hades' attention. She continued, "But there are a few essential matters that require discussion before we proceed." Persia then turned her gaze to Annabeth and requested, "Could you brief them on the wars in the mortal world and the Prophecy?"

Annabeth nodded, and a hushed anticipation settled over the gathering at the mention of a prophecy. Apollo observed the unfolding events with rapt attention, while Athena appeared ready to transcribe every word of the prophecy.

Persia keenly observed the transformation in Hades' demeanour as he absorbed the account of what had transpired with his children and lover. His eyes grew harsher, colder, his emotions veiled beneath an icy veneer. She couldn't help but notice the astonishment etched across her father's face, while a furrow of concern marred Lord Zeus' otherwise regal countenance.

This version of King Zeus was a stark contrast to the future deity she had known. He appeared far more composed, open to the input of others, and capable of reasoned discourse. Yet, like all gods, he retained his inherent cruel streak, volatile temperament, and simmering anger. It was as if, in the future, his negative traits had eclipsed his positive ones.

Hades, turning his attention back to Nico, inquired about a matter that had gone unspoken until now. "You have a sister?" His voice held a mix of curiosity and concern. "What happened to her?"

Nico's eyes bore a tinge of sorrow as he replied, "Bianca met a heroic end, father. She has found peace." He offered a bittersweet smile and glanced at Persia. "She is to be mentioned in the third quest, isn't she?"

Persia nodded, meeting Hades' gaze as he turned towards her. "Bianca was a brilliant and courageous young woman," she affirmed with a touch of pride in her voice.

"I see," Hades' eyes softened, losing their earlier harshness. "You have yet to answer my question."

Nico took a deep breath before responding, his voice steady, "Typically, I reside in the Underworld as your Heir and Crown Prince." His statement was met with sharp intakes of breath and a chorus of astonished expressions. "However," he continued, "when I am not in the Underworld, I spend my time with Aunt Sally and Persia. I've visited Camp, though I have never spent a night there since I was claimed."

"Aunt Sally?" Persephone couldn't contain her curiosity about the child who was her husband’s heir. She struggled to conceal the disappointment and sadness that her own legitimate children had not been chosen as heirs to the Underworld.

Nico clarified, observing the raised eyebrows and confused looks, "She's my godmother, Lady Persephone. She's also Persia's mother."

This revelation elicited an even more profound sense of astonishment. Poseidon shot Hades an incredulous look and questioned, "Persia's mother?"

Persia, her eyes twinkling with mischief, confirmed, "Yes, my mother."

Nico's smile mirrored Persia's mischievous glint as he added, "My father, Lord Hades, is Persia's godfather. So we practically grew up together."

Hades' eyes had visibly widened, Zeus raised his eyebrows even higher, and Poseidon wore a deeply surprised expression.

"I am Persia's godfather?" Hades' voice betrayed a mix of disbelief and incredulity.

"Last time I checked, you were," Persia responded, tilting her head to the side. Her mischievous eyes shone brightly from beneath her long lashes as she added, "Uncle Hades."

Nico stifled a chuckle, unable to contain his amusement at his father's gobsmacked expression. Poseidon, on the other hand, shook his head with a clear exasperation on his face. The other demigods watched the unfolding drama with entertained expressions, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

Hestia found great amusement in the sudden twist of events, though she soon steered the conversation back to its main purpose. She turned her attention to Persia and inquired, "Well, we are now informed of the Prophecy. But, child, what does that have to do with Nico's age?"

Persia, her demeanour turning serious once more, nodded and began to explain. She detailed the solemn Oath that the gods had sworn, with a particular emphasis on the Big Three's commitment to it.

Hera, her eyes tinged with bitterness, rolled her eyes at the mention of the oath. "It proved utterly useless," she remarked with a trace of disdain. "The oath was not upheld."

Persia responded neutrally, "No, it wasn't. The only god who remained true to the oath until the day we arrived in the past was Lord Hades."

The revelation prompted a series of surprised glances among the assembly. Persephone cast a glance at Hades, who met her gaze with an indifferent expression. She shifted her eyes to her lap, her thoughts dwelling on the evolution of their relationship.

Athena pieced together the information. "So, Nico is approximately eighty winters old? He doesn't appear to be of that age."

"There is indeed a story," Persia replied, "After the oath, Thalia was born first, then myself, and finally Jason. Chronologically, Nico is the eldest among us. However, due to certain circumstances, he is also the youngest."

Apollo, his curiosity piqued, inquired, "And will this story be detailed in the book?"

Persia confirmed with a nod, "Yes."

After a brief pause during which the weight of the revelation settled in, Zeus cleared his throat, directing his gaze at his contemplative son. "Apollo, let us continue reading," he urged.

Apollo acknowledged his father's request with a nod and a respectful response, "Yes, Father."

Among all the cabins, the one belonging to Hermes stood out as the biggest, oldest, and most weathered. Surprisingly, the children of Hermes, who should rightfully call this place home, struggled to find room for themselves. They had to make way for other demigods.

Even though no one openly complained, I could sense the bitterness that simmered beneath the surface. I had witnessed Hermes' eldest children, including Luke, spending nights out in the open, without any shelter, simply because there was no space left inside the cabin.

A furrow of concern etched Hermes' brow, while Zeus and Poseidon exchanged worried glances. Amidst the demigods, Thalia and Annabeth drew closer, seeking solace in each other's company. Nico, Persia, Jason, and Will respectfully gave them space, fully aware that the mention of Luke was a source of pain for the two girls who had been closest to him.

Artemis keenly observed the demigods' reactions to the mention of the betrayer, puzzled by their expressions of sorrow rather than anger.

To be honest, it was a rather pitiful situation. Luke and I pitched in to help the new campers settle into the cabin, while some of the older Hermes' kids put on brave smiles as they moved out. I could sense the tension in Luke's gaze as he looked at the unclaimed demigods, ranging from about five to thirteen years old, occupying every inch of the cabin's floor since all the rooms were already taken. He was likely considering how to provide them with blankets and essential items.

He whispered to me, "Hold on for a moment, Persia. I'll be right back." A few of his younger siblings followed him.

I was correct, as he returned moments later carrying a load of blankets, toothbrushes, pillows, and clothes. He personally distributed these items and took the time to speak with each of the newcomers.

Dionysus, perplexed by the actions of the future betrayer, mused aloud, "If he was truly so kind, why did he choose to betray us?"

Persia remained silent, her gaze distant, fully aware of what lay ahead. To this day, she had not managed to fulfil the promise she had made to a dying Luke. Thalia and Annabeth, too, remained quiet, their thoughts shrouded in the painful memories of their friend.

Will, with a resigned sigh, broke the silence. "Luke had his reasons, Lord Hermes," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of truth. He briefly closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. "Many, including Minor Gods, were driven to betray the Olympians."

These words prompted gasps from the group of minor gods in the assembly, who were clearly taken aback by this revelation.

Artemis questioned, "You do not harbour hatred for this Luke, do you, nephew?"

Will shook his head in the negative, a melancholic smile gracing his lips. "He will forever remain a friend."

Apollo furrowed his brow at his son's words, while Zeus shared a similar expression of disquiet.

I felt a sense of curiosity tugging at me. I yearned to understand why Luke held such strong animosity towards the gods. While it wasn't difficult to make educated guesses, I had a genuine desire to hear his perspective. After all, Luke didn't strike me as someone who acted impulsively; he possessed a formidable intellect. I couldn't help but wonder whether he truly believed in the narratives grandfather had said to him. 

A palpable tension settled in the room. Poseidon cast a concerned glance at his daughter, who appeared lost in thought, her faraway eyes paying little heed to the ongoing reading. She idly twirled a lock of her braided hair, her mind clearly preoccupied elsewhere.

Initially, upon learning that his son, Luke, had been the thief responsible for stealing both his father and Lord Hades' weapons, Hermes had been consumed by anger. He had harboured a fierce desire to confront his son personally. However, as he witnessed Poseidon's daughter's curious intent to delve into Luke's perspective on the matter, a newfound curiosity crept into his thoughts. Could there be more to the Titans' war than he had previously considered?

His pensive gaze shifted toward the demigods, all of whom, save for Jason, bore expressions tinged with melancholy. He couldn't help but take note of Apollo's son regarding Luke as a friend, and the fact that none of the demigods had refuted this claim. It left him wondering why they would consider a known betrayer as a friend.

"What's the plan now?" I inquired after Luke had finished attending to the newcomers. He responded with a genuine smile, though his eyes carried a weight of sadness and gravity. "I was thinking of heading to the stables. Would you like to help with feeding the horses?"

I raised an eyebrow in pleasant surprise, nodding in agreement. "Sure."

Together, we made our way toward the stables, nestled alongside the vast strawberry fields that the camp maintained as a source of income. These fields were guarded by Demeter's cabin.

Out of the blue, Luke posed a question that caught me off guard, his demeanour serious. "What are your thoughts on the gods, Persia?" I shrugged, not having contemplated the topic deeply before, and replied, "Not much, to be honest."

Poseidon blinked in surprise at the lackluster expression his daughter had displayed in the book. Did she truly not find the gods impressive?

He chuckled softly and remarked, "Not much of an opinion, huh? You're one of the lucky ones, you know?"

I turned to him, my curiosity piqued. "Why do you say that?"

"Your father cares enough about you to go to war if you were ever harmed," he explained.

His words left me wide-eyed and bewildered. "What? How do you know that?"

Luke's smile took on a bitter tinge as he confided, "I overheard it during the last Camp visit. The King was threatening to cast you into Tartarus for a crime you didn't commit, and your father declared war in response. Their conflicts have only intensified since then. You must have sensed the tension between them, haven't you?"

I nodded, feeling somewhat dazed. Why on earth would Lord Poseidon take such drastic action? Was it because I was his only demigod child at the moment, or was it because I had been falsely accused of something?

"Only demigod child?" Poseidon turned toward his daughter, his expression a mixture of astonishment and curiosity. Nico, noticing his inquiry, prompted Persia to respond. She affirmed with a nod, "Yes, I am your only demigod child, after the oath."

Zeus, still perplexed, struggled to comprehend why his brother would be willing to wage war over his daughter. He voiced his disbelief, "Did Poseidon genuinely declare that he would go to war if Persia were harmed? Would he risk disrupting the hard-won peace for a single demigod?"

Poseidon's glare at the insinuation was intense, while Persia let out a weary sigh at the blunt question. However, it was Annabeth who responded, her irritation was barely concealed at the implication that her friend's worth was in question. "Yes, Lord Poseidon would have done far more than just wage a war for Persia."

Hades couldn't help but overhear the whispered murmurs about Poseidon's betrayal of his own child. His gaze flickered toward his brother, who continued to regard Persia with proud eyes. The question of why Poseidon would betray her lingered in Hades' mind. 

Many details seemed to be deliberately omitted unless very specific questions were asked. He observed how Persia had discreetly halted Annabeth from revealing more.

"Well," I sighed, my hand gently caressing the horse I was busy feeding, "I can't really pretend to understand what's on my father's mind."

After a brief pause, I ventured to ask, "Aren't you planning to go back to your family?"

Luke shook his head, a sombre expression on his face. "I am home."

I blinked in surprise, my confusion evident. Luke noticed my perplexed look and explained, "My mother lost her sanity when she attempted to host the spirit of Delphi. She suffered from fits of madness, barely recognizing me. I left home when I was just nine years old."

"The spirit of Delphi does not drive its host insane," Apollo murmured, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why, then, would Luke's mother have succumbed to madness?"

Nico responded in a neutral tone, "It was a curse. After my mother's death, Lord Hades placed a curse upon the Oracle who delivered the Great Prophecy. Her body wasted away, rendering her incapable of passing on the spirit of Delphi to another. The curse was lifted only when the prophecy was fulfilled. Anyone who attempted to take on the role would be driven mad."

Apollo directed a glaring look at Hades, who shrugged nonchalantly.

I was taken aback, completely unaware of this aspect of Luke's past. I ventured to ask, my voice hesitant, "You mean you came to the camp when you were just nine years old?"

A bitter smile played across Luke's features as he replied, "No, I survived on the streets without a shred of help from my father. That's how I crossed paths with Thalia. Has Annabeth shared the tale of how we met?"

Zeus cast an intrigued glance at Thalia, whose eyes glistened with unshed tears. Annabeth had her head resting on Thalia's shoulder, wearing an equally sombre expression. 

Zeus couldn't help but wonder what had prompted his daughter to appear so melancholy. On the contrary, his son listened with a sense of curiosity that indicated he had no prior knowledge of his sister's history with Hermes' son.

I nodded, recalling that Annabeth had mentioned it briefly, but at that time, we were on a time-sensitive quest. It was impossible for her to delve into an emotional story while we were fleeing from monsters and searching for important weapons.

Annabeth let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to grasp Persia's hand. Persia gave her an affectionate smile in response. 

Luke's gaze seemed distant as he motioned towards the shade of a willow tree that stood near the forest's entrance. "Let's sit down. I'll tell you," he suggested.

I nodded, finding a comfortable spot on the grassy ground. He leaned against the tree's trunk, his eyes filled with memories as he began to recount his tale. "I was eleven when I encountered Thalia. She was just nine at the time. I had already spent two gruelling years on the streets, resorting to theft just to survive. It was a brutal existence. I hardly possessed a single weapon to defend myself, and the constant presence of monsters added to the ordeal."

Apollo ceased reading, his attention shifting to where the demigods were seated. "That is a cruel burden for a child barely eleven moons old," he remarked, his brows knitted in concern. "Did Hermes not offer any assistance?"

Thalia shook her head in response. "No, Lord Zeus had decreed that the Gods could not intervene in the lives of their children. Lord Hermes provided no aid to Luke."

Athena chimed in, her voice tinged with disbelief. She glanced at a similarly bewildered Zeus and remarked, "Such a rule seems preposterous."

Hades interjected, his voice quiet yet commanding, effectively silencing all ongoing conversations. "In the present day," he began, "children are cherished, and demigods are revered. No mortal would dare harm a child of a god."

Zeus nodded in agreement, appending his thoughts. "Rest assured, no such rule exists in the present, and under my rule, such a decree shall never be imposed."

Persia regarded them with calculating eyes, her thoughts shrouded in mystery.

He let out a small chuckle, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Of course, nothing like Pasiphae's son, I assure you. But to a hungry, weakened, and dehydrated eleven-year-old, those monsters were absolutely terrifying. I crossed paths with Thalia while she was battling a monster twice her size."

A tender expression washed over his face, his gaze shifting towards Thalia's tree, which seemed to harden his features. I furrowed my brow, absorbing his narrative in silence.

"A nine-year-old girl, with scraped knees, tangled hair, and blood trickling from her head, and yet she exuded defiance. There was an unyielding fire in her eyes, even as she was tossed around like a ragdoll," Luke recounted with unmistakable admiration in his voice as he spoke of Thalia.

Thalia let out a fond, almost affectionate chuckle, murmuring softly, "That fool."

Zeus, sitting up straighter in his throne, couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. His daughter, Thalia, revealed herself to be a bold and courageous demigod. She was proving to be more akin to Athena and Artemis than his other daughters. However, he couldn't help but wonder about the circumstances that had driven his daughter to run away.

A soft smile graced my lips as I whispered with genuine admiration, "She sounds truly amazing."

"I'm well aware of my awesomeness," Thalia quipped with a playful wink directed at Persia.

Persia rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Oh, behold the humility," she retorted.

Jason let out a snicker, while Will wore a small, amused smile. Nico and Annabeth shared a look of entertainment, thoroughly amused by their playful banter.

Luke's eyes held a mixture of fondness and melancholy as he continued, "She was truly one of the best people I've ever known." He took a deep breath and resumed his story. "After helping her defeat that monster, we formed a bond. Thalia, like me, knew her divine parent, and we made a pact to find a way to endure. With Thalia at my side, the monsters I faced became even more formidable."

Concern filled my voice as I inquired, "Were both of you okay?"

Luke replied with a hint of weariness, "Not really, but we managed to survive. And that's when we encountered Annabeth, a five-year-old girl who had also run away from her home."

"You ran away from home as well?" Athena directed an exasperated look at her child. "What is it with all of you running away?"

Annabeth gave a slight shrug, her tone carrying a sense of complexity. "Well... it's a bit complicated. I was considered a threat to my family. My father wasn't exactly thrilled to take care of me. And then, there was Arachne."

Athena's brow furrowed in confusion. "A threat to your family? Why was your father reluctant?"

Annabeth explained in a matter-of-fact manner, "Dad wasn't actively seeking to have a child back then." Her words, though casual, conveyed the sense of being an unwanted child, causing Athena's heart to ache. Her grey eyes held a mix of conflicting emotions as she looked at her daughter.

Annabeth, unaware of her mother's internal turmoil, continued, "We reconciled later on."

Athena nodded, her expression contemplative. Apollo affectionately patted her hand before resuming the reading.

As Luke spoke about Annabeth, a mix of exasperation and tenderness coloured his words. He carried on, "Brilliant and astute Annabeth became a part of our group. Along with her came the influence of her mother, Lady Athena. She led us towards this very Camp. The journey took us several long months to complete. But the day we finally arrived here, everything changed, and it changed our lives forever."

The Olympians, nymphs, dryads, and minor gods leaned in eagerly, their attention fixed on discovering what had occurred.

The demigods, with the exception of Jason, wore expressions of solemnity as they exchanged knowing and resigned looks. Jason, having already sensed that something had transpired involving his sister, remained composed.

As Luke delved into this part of the story, his tone grew sombre, and his eyes seemed to carry the weight of his memories. "Lord Hades learned that Lord Zeus had broken the oath by fathering a child, Thalia. In response, he unleashed a group of the cruellest and most vicious monsters, with the Furies at the helm. Our satyr friend, Grover, courageously urged us to seek refuge at the camp while he tried to thwart the monsters. But Thalia was resolute."

I could see the sadness in Luke's eyes, a glistening moisture he tried to conceal as he blinked rapidly. "Brave and selfless Thalia chose to confront the monsters alone. She refused to jeopardise our lives. She entrusted me with the task of taking Annabeth to safety, reasoning that her presence had triggered the attack, and she was willing to sacrifice herself."

My own eyes welled up with tears, mirroring the raw anguish in his voice. Tears escaped his eyes as he closed them, as if reliving the painful memory. I remained silent, my gaze shifting towards the towering pine tree, Thalia's tree. It was no wonder that campers revered and respected her; she had earned my respect as well.

"And then," Luke's voice quivered as he concluded the tale, "Then she battled those monsters single-handedly. She didn't emerge victorious, but her sacrifice was recognized. Impressed by her bravery, her father, Zeus, transformed her into a pine tree." There was a clear distaste in his voice as he mentioned Zeus. "Thalia's tree now guards the camp, offering the same protection she once bestowed upon us."

There was some silence as everyone processed what they had learned. 

We both remained silent for a few moments, absorbing the weight of the story that Luke had shared. Eventually, I stood up, dusting off my pants. Extending a hand to Luke, I nodded toward the dining pavilion, where the bell was still ringing, signalling lunchtime. "It's lunchtime, Castellan."

He accepted my hand and pulled himself up, his expression still carrying the remnants of the story he had just recounted. "Let's go."

I hoped that lunch would bring some comfort and normalcy after the emotional and tragic tale Luke had shared.

Apollo halted his reading, raising a pertinent question, "Why did Hermes' son harbour such contempt for Father?"

The demigods exchanged glances, uncertain of who should field the query. In unison, their eyes settled on Persia, who responded with an irritated glare at being chosen as the spokesperson.

Facing their attentive audience, Persia issued a warning, her tone unyielding, "Do you prefer an unvarnished truth or a sugar-coated fabrication? I won't shoulder the blame for bruised egos if my answer doesn't align with your preferences."

Apollo appeared momentarily surprised by her audacious reply, though he couldn't help but be impressed by her boldness. Zeus, on the other hand, pinched his temples in frustration, exasperated by the forthrightness of Poseidon's daughter.

"Speak the truth, child," Zeus instructed, his annoyance palpable.

Persia arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued by the subtle distinctions between the Zeus before her and the Zeus she knew from the future. After a brief pause, she began to articulate her response, carefully choosing her words. "You must grasp a fundamental concept: the Gods we were familiar with were markedly different from each of you."

"We are aware of that," Athena interjected, earning herself a scathing glare from Persia. Gritting her teeth, Athena remained silent under the weight of Poseidon's scrutinising gaze.

"You are aware, yes, but understanding is another matter altogether," Persia continued in a subdued tone. "Knowing is mere awareness; understanding delves deeper. The Lord Zeus, whom Luke regards with disdain, has earned it."

Zeus shot her a warning glance, while those in the assembly, except for the demigods, looked at her with widened eyes. Persia, however, shrugged in response to their gazes.

Hestia sought clarification, "Could you explain your perspective?"

Persia obliged, her tone measured, "The King of the Gods in our time is unreasonably stubborn, extraordinarily erratic in his decisions, resistant to sound counsel, possesses an uncontrollable temper, and is excessively arrogant to the point of his own downfall."

Zeus's voice turned cold, and the scent of ozone permeated the air as he warned, "You test my patience. Advise her not to insult me, Poseidon, or else..."

Before Poseidon could intervene, Persia responded, "Insulting you, Lord Zeus? Not at all. I am merely describing you."

Poseidon glared at his daughter, while Hades, now aware of Persia's status as his goddaughter, felt protective. Hades calmly broke the charged silence, "Persia did forewarn that she would speak the truth, Zeus. She issued her warning."

Zeus turned his gaze to Hades, his eyes reflecting a maelstrom of emotions. He snarled, barely containing his anger, "Are you taking the side of this insolent child?"

Hades's voice remained calm, his posture graceful, concealing his inner tension. "There are no sides, Zeus," he replied. "Remember, she is describing the future Zeus, not you. Do not punish her for speaking the truth; that would be unjust."

Zeus struggled to regain control over his anger. After several tense moments, he shifted his attention to the demigods.

None of them exhibited fear. Their eyes shone with wariness, their postures firm, and their gaze vigilant. In the centre of it all stood Persia. Her head was tilted, her eyes a mix of curiosity, contemplation, and calculation. For a brief moment, Zeus felt as though she were scrutinising his very soul. Her lack of fear both frustrated and annoyed him. 

As if she were privy to his thoughts, she spoke up, "Prepare yourselves, Olympians. Such truths will shatter your arrogance into countless pieces. If the future were a blissful place, we would not be sitting here."

A nymph, in awe, asked, "Are you truly unafraid of the gods? Of their immense power?"

Her mind flashed to the past she came from. 

Barren lands, hands grasping for food; 

blood staining her hands…; 

"It is a favour I can never repay. I cannot allow you to do this, child."

Persia blinked, coming out from her sudden thoughts and smiled, "No, I am not afraid of them."

The assembly exchanged shocked and perplexed glances. Zeus pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, directing Apollo to continue the reading. "Let us finish this chapter."

As the chapter resumed, Persia retreated into her own thoughts. Since her arrival, she had noticed distinct differences. Even before the fall of Olympus, it hadn't held the same aura that now enveloped the Olympus of the past.

A palpable undercurrent of power coursed through the air. The surroundings appeared more opulent, the structures grander, and the people markedly happier. In contrast, her initial impression of Olympus had lacked this sense of contentment. While the residents had been joyful, a lingering dissatisfaction had shadowed their lives.

The murmurs of the people around her barely registered in her mind as she remained deep in thought, contemplating a theory she had been carefully formulating.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to notice when they reached the section of the story where she had been poisoned. It was only when a slight, almost imperceptible sting registered that she looked around, her expression one of bewilderment.

Annabeth and Will leaned over her, their concerned faces hovering in her fading vision. The sensation of Will patting her cheeks barely registered before she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟲 | 𝗖𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗘𝗻𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗜𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱

Persia's return to consciousness was a hazy one, and when her awareness fully returned, she found herself in the presence of Jason. The throne room they were in seemed deserted, devoid of any other occupants.

Jason's expression was a mix of concern and admonishment. His voice carried a gentle reproach as he spoke, "Do you have any idea how much you've frightened us? Even Lord Apollo paid a visit, though it turned out we didn't need his assistance. Will handled it."

Persia couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as she gave Jason a sheepish look. "I apologise," she admitted, her voice tinged with remorse. "I hadn't even noticed the sting."

Jason sighed wearily, his eyes reflecting the exhaustion of recent events. He moved with purpose, fetching a tall glass of nectar and offering it to Persia. "You weren't even paying attention?" he asked, his tone a blend of exasperation and concern.

Taking a sip from the glass, Persia nodded, her gaze momentarily distant. "No," she confessed, "I was lost in thought."

Jason, too tired to argue with her further, simply shook his head, the worry in his eyes lingering.

As Persia took a moment to observe her surroundings, she couldn't help but notice the conspicuous absence of any bandages or visible signs of injury. This realisation only added to her growing sense of confusion. It seemed the venom had taken more of a toll on her than she initially thought, leaving her with a nagging loss of appetite.

She felt a bit disoriented, her senses dulled by a lingering weakness that seemed to course through her. A persistent headache pulsed at her temples with a vengeance. 

Blinking to clear her thoughts, she turned her attention back to Jason. With a weak smile, she inquired, "Where are the others?"

Jason's concern deepened as he noted her general malaise. "The Gods have extended an invitation for us to dine with them," he explained. "Lunchtime is drawing near, and the others reluctantly accepted the invitation. I stayed behind to ensure you were alright."

Despite her lack of hunger, Persia nodded gratefully. "I'm not particularly hungry," she admitted, "but I'd like to come along with you."

Jason offered her a supportive arm, helping her to her feet. "That's a good idea," he said softly, his concern for her evident. "We should go join the others. Even if you don't feel like eating, being in the company of friends can do wonders."

With a sigh, Persia leaned on Jason as they made their way out of the empty throne room, her thoughts still wandering as she tried to shake off the lingering effects of the poison. Her attempts, however, yielded no success.

The dining hall was a magnificent space, nestled within a sacred grove that blended earthly and celestial beauty seamlessly. It stood proudly, supported by towering columns adorned with sculpted symbols of the Olympian gods, all crafted in the iconic Ionic style. These columns had bestowed upon the structure an aura of timeless grandeur.

This spacious chamber lacked walls or a roof, allowing the deities to dine while fully immersing themselves in the awe-inspiring natural landscape that surrounded them. A splendid wooden colonnade encircled the hall, forming a picturesque pathway through the woods.

Inside the expansive area, semi-circular klinai had been placed, each exquisitely decorated with intricate carvings and embellished with vibrant textiles. Here, the minor gods and goddesses had congregated, engaging in lively conversations about recent events.

The placement of the klinai had been carefully designed to accommodate multiple deities, fostering a strong sense of togetherness and camaraderie among the gods during their feasts. In front of these couches, low tables made of marble had been thoughtfully positioned, bearing platters brimming with an abundance of food and nectar.

At the heart of the dining area, a magnificent altar had taken centre stage, where nymphs and satyrs had diligently offered their tributes to the Olympians before indulging in their own meals. These offerings consisted of the finest fruits and wines, and the gentle waft of lavender incense had filled the air, creating a soothing atmosphere that had even calmed the most anxious beings.

Amidst the general hustle and bustle of the gathering, a distinct space had been reserved for the Olympians. Situated at the far end of the dining pavilion, closest to the sacred grove, they had all sat with contemplative expressions, their recent experiences weighing on their minds. Nearby, beneath the shelter of an oak tree, the demigods had spread out a large blanket to create their own seating area. Most eyes in the vicinity had been drawn to the demigods, their presence commanding a hushed and curious attention.

Annabeth's eyes lit up as she suddenly spotted Persia and Jason making their way through the crowd. Unable to contain her surprise and delight, she couldn't help but exclaim, "Persia!"

Annabeth's enthusiastic greeting drew the attention of those nearby, causing concerned murmurs to spread through the gathering. With the assistance of her friends, Persia was gently lowered to the ground, and the demigods gathered around her, their expressions reflecting a mix of worry and relief.

Thalia was the first to scold Persia. "Honestly, Persia, you really need to take better care of yourself. It's like you're allergic to self-preservation sometimes. Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

Agreeing with Thalia, Annabeth nodded, her concern etched deeply on her face. "Thalia's absolutely right. I asked you to be cautious, didn't I? Why didn't you let us know you were starting to feel the after-effects?"

Nico reached out for her, gently grasping her hands while asking, "Are you feeling alright?"

Meanwhile, Jason couldn't resist snitching on Persia as he took a seat beside her. "Well," he began playfully, "She's feeling dizzy, has a pounding headache, and seems to have lost her appetite." Persia shot him a half-hearted glare, to which Jason responded with an easy shrug, not taking her ire too seriously.

Will cast a critical eye on Persia, checking for any signs of fever. "You should at least have some fluids to prevent a fever from cropping up. Thankfully, the poison is out of your system, but the symptoms will persist for a few days."

Persia let out a sigh, feeling somewhat self-conscious under the scrutiny. "I'm sorry, everyone. I wasn't paying attention to the story, and unlike previous times, I didn't experience any sudden feelings. It just happened."

The concerned group exchanged glances at her explanation. Amidst the momentary silence, Persia inquired, "Have all of you eaten?"

Nico shook his head, his worry evident. "Not yet. We've been too preoccupied with our own thoughts."

Annabeth’s expression was stern as she clapped her hands together. "Well, that changes now. You're all far too stubborn."

Thalia teased, "Coming from you, Annabeth?" She rose from her seat and addressed the group. "I'll go get some food. Any specific requests?"

Will chimed in, "Stew for Persia, please. And some fruits."

Thalia nodded, taking note of the requests. Jason added, "I'd like some bread, sis."

"Got it," Thalia said with a nod. "I'll be right back."

Annabeth, wanting to lend a hand, got up as well. "Wait, I'm coming with you. You shouldn't have to carry all that food alone."

Persia offered a gentle reminder, "Don't forget to make offerings to the Olympians."

Thalia and Annabeth nodded before strolling toward the altar and the marble tables laden with food. 

With several plates of food before them, they all began to dig in. Thalia, while scooping some skordalia with her flatbread, broached the topic. "By the way, Persia, I couldn't help but wonder why you spoke to Father in such a manner. It seemed like you were deliberately provoking him."

Unbeknownst to them, the Olympians had surreptitiously eavesdropped on their conversation. Lord Zeus raised his eyebrows at Thalia's words, while Poseidon wore a furrowed expression.

Persia delicately set her wooden spoon down, her expression turning serious, her eyes filled with contemplation as she considered Thalia's inquiry.

Choosing her words with care, she responded, "Ordinarily, I wouldn't speak on such matters without the support of those more knowledgeable than myself. However, as long as this conversation remains confidential among us, I can share a theory I've been pondering."

Jason leaned in, curiosity piqued. "A theory? About what?"

Persia took a deep breath, preparing to explain her observations. "Since the very beginning, I've noticed a stark contrast between the Gods we knew and the Gods we've encountered here. It's quite peculiar that such differences exist."

Thalia nodded in agreement, though still puzzled. "You've mentioned that before, but I'm not entirely following. What are you getting at?"

Persia's expression reflected a touch of disappointment as she responded, "Have you not noticed anything unusual? This significant change seems to have occurred only in certain Gods, while others have remained largely consistent. Take Uncle Hades, for example. He may have grown more bitter over time, but he retained his fundamental characteristics, even in this time."

Annabeth's face gradually brightened with understanding as she mentally reviewed the Gods' behaviour and interactions. She let out a soft gasp, finally grasping Persia's point. "Lord Zeus! He's one of the Gods who has undergone a dramatic transformation. Lord Apollo is another. Think about what we've observed so far."

Persia nodded appreciatively at Annabeth. "Exactly. Thalia, consider this: Lord Zeus here is amiable, just, keeps his temper in check, seeks counsel, and carefully deliberates on decisions. Can you honestly say the same for the Zeus we knew in our time?"

Thalia bit her lip, her eyes reflecting deep thought. "No, I can't argue with that. So you provoked him to see how he'd react."

Nico chimed in, his voice soft but contemplative. "And he even took Father's advice, something he would never have done in the future."

Persia nodded, relieved that they were starting to connect the dots. Jason acknowledged her perceptiveness, saying, "You've always been the most observant among us. You notice things we tend to overlook. I understand the part about Father, but could you elaborate on the theory you mentioned?"

Persia fell silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Her response came in a near-whisper as she explained, "It's evident that over time, some Gods have mellowed out. Their tempers and behaviours have evened out. But for others, it's as if their negative traits have intensified."

Annabeth agreed, pondering the idea. "Yes, that's a valid observation."

Persia continued, her voice still hushed, "Now, I need more interactions, to see different places, before I can be entirely certain of my assumption. However, in the future we came from, there was a cascading effect. Just look around you now. Olympus is thriving. Compare this to the Olympus we left behind."

Annabeth's eyes met Persia's with a dawning realisation, and she nodded, comprehending the gravity of the situation.

Will, sensing the weight of the conversation, interjected, "Well, this is quite a heavy topic for lunch."

Jason agreed, attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Indeed. Let's focus on the food for now. We can revisit this discussion later."

Annabeth brought up another topic, saying, "Persia mentioned that Apollo spoke with you, Will. What was that about?"

Will shrugged. "It was nothing serious. He just wanted to know which weapons I'm proficient in."

Persia's lips curled into a slow smile that made everyone eye her warily. "Speaking of weapons, we haven't practised since our return."

Nico groaned, voicing his concern. "You're injured, Persia. Should you be thinking about that?"

Persia brushed off the concern. "I'm fit for some light exercises." She glanced at Will, who frowned but reluctantly nodded.

Thalia chimed in with a chuckle, "Nico, you're just being lazy."

Nico, still disgruntled, complained while glaring at Persia, "She's cutting into my sleep time."

Persia remained resolute, "I can handle your crankiness as long as you get up on time. We'll start tomorrow."

"You're back," Thalia remarked, casting a glance as Annabeth settled down beside her. "I didn't think you'd leave Persia alone."

Annabeth shrugged. "She promised me she wouldn't leave the cabin."

Jason arched an eyebrow. "Why the thoughtful look, Annabeth?"

"It's Persia's words," Annabeth replied, her eyes wearing a grim expression. "We had a conversation, and it reminded me of the past we've left behind."

"Have you reconsidered your stance?" Nico inquired. "If even the Moirai themselves believe that this information could save Olympus and its gods, then who are we to oppose it? They must have thoroughly considered all the possibilities before proposing such an action."

"It's not the probabilities that make me question this endeavour," Annabeth responded. "You all know I initially agreed to this plan. However, I can't help but wonder about our future once this is over. Will we remain in this constant state of war? None of us can sleep through the entire night, and none of us can finish a full plate of food." She gestured toward the mostly uneaten meal. "We continue to be distrustful, both of immortals and mortals. Olympus feels like hostile territory, and the world beyond is unknown to us. We'll never truly be able to relax. How long can we keep going like this?"

Nico avoided meeting her gaze, while Jason and Will exchanged a knowing look. Thalia placed a comforting hand on Annabeth's shoulder, her eyes filled with understanding.

Annabeth ran a hand through her dishevelled hair. "I'm exhausted, and Persia is running on fumes. If someone questions us about matters we have knowledge of, Thalia, I can guarantee there will be a confrontation."

"I understand," Thalia nodded. "I won't deny I feel the same way. How about we all take a break? The gods didn't mention anything about starting the next quest. Maybe we could explore the mortal world for a while?"

"Not a kingdom," Annabeth immediately disagreed but then conceded to a compromise. "Anywhere with a very small population will do. I can't handle too many people at once."

"Let's discuss it together," Will suggested, rising and straightening his ankle-length chiton. "And we should take the food."

"Is that even allowed?" Jason wondered, brushing a stray leaf from his shoulder.

"It is," the warm voice of Hestia confirmed as she approached them. She frowned at the meagre amount of food consumed and noticed the cautious expressions on the faces of the young men and women before her. "Why have you eaten so little? Shouldn't children your age be able to eat more than a few morsels?"

Annabeth let out a bitter chuckle. "When you're always at war, my lady, you learn to eat sparingly."

A deep sense of sadness crept into Hestia as she observed the grim countenances of the youngsters before her. "I won't press for details, although I am curious. You're allowed to take as much food as you desire. I'd even extend an invitation for you to join us during meal times here. We didn't ask you before because the Moirai requested that we give you some space."

"We're grateful," Will nodded, bowing his head. Hestia hesitated for a moment before inquiring, "Is Persia alright?"

"She'll recover, my lady," Thalia replied with politeness. Hestia nodded, her gaze shifting to the watching Olympians. She offered a small smile to Poseidon, who relaxed in his seat.

The Gods took their seats on their thrones, filling the room with a solemn silence. Not all of the Olympians were in attendance; Aphrodite had withdrawn to her palace, and Hera had also retired for the day. Amphitrite and Persephone had chosen not to linger. 

Poseidon let out a weary sigh as he spoke, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, "With each passing day, the situation becomes increasingly troubling. The wars have left a chilling impact on the demigods, and there are countless untold stories..."

Zeus nodded, his gaze shifting among the assembled gods and goddesses, all of whom shared a common sentiment, "Undoubtedly, the circumstances are intricate, and the demigods themselves are enigmas."

Amidst the hallowed stillness of their divine council chamber, Apollo, leaned forward in his illustrious throne, a glimmer of concern dancing in his crystalline eyes. "It's worth noting that they seem to be intentionally concealing information from us," he remarked, “They employ a crafty art of answering only the inquiries put forth to them."

Athena sat with an air of contemplation, her keen gaze sweeping across her divine brethren. "Father," she began, her voice resonating with a gravitas befitting her intellect, "I propose a more enduring bond with these demigods. We should uncover the full extent of their powers. And, should they exhibit extraordinary abilities, we must consider nurturing them into leaders for the impending conflicts."

Apollo interjected thoughtfully, "I don't believe we need to groom them to lead in battle, sister. They are already commanders in their own right. Instead, we must facilitate their seamless integration among our ranks."

Dionysus chimed in, raising his goblet in agreement. "Furthermore," he added, "we must make an effort to acclimate ourselves to them. Most of the time, they make a deliberate effort to avoid our presence. If we truly are as distinct in the future as they claim, then both parties need time to adjust to one another. Regular interaction will allow us all to get better acquainted."

Zeus cast an approving and fatherly smile upon his children, their insights impressing him deeply. "Your suggestions are nothing short of brilliant, my children," he proclaimed. He then asked, "Brothers, what are your thoughts on this matter?"

Poseidon took a moment to collect his thoughts before sharing his sentiments. His voice held a touch of vulnerability as he spoke, "I must confess, I am quite eager to become better acquainted with my daughter. Her demeanour is unlike that of any woman I've encountered, and I find myself developing a fondness for her that both surprises and perplexes me. Even her most audacious words, instead of fueling anger, seem to evoke a unique sense of exasperation within me."

Hades chimed in, his agreement echoing Poseidon's sentiments. "I concur. My feelings toward my son are much the same," he admitted. "Persia possesses a captivating charisma that draws people to her. However, each of them is distinct, with their own remarkable qualities. They have truly left an impression on me."

The revelation appeared to surprise Apollo, Artemis, Athena, and Dionysus, their expressions reflecting astonishment. Demeter and Hestia were equally taken aback, their eyes widening in disbelief. Zeus, on the other hand, struggled to find the right words to respond, his usually commanding presence momentarily faltering in the face of his brothers' candid admissions.

He cleared his throat before reluctantly adding, "I concur with both of you." It was a rare moment for Zeus to openly discuss feelings, and the unusualness of it earned him wide-eyed looks from the other gods.

Artemis, lost in thought, broke the brief silence. Her fingers intertwined as she rested her elbows on the arms of her throne. "I find myself pondering that theory they were discussing," she mused. "Persia appeared deeply troubled by her own speculations."

Athena, her gray eyes meeting Zeus's contemplative gaze, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, it is a matter of concern. Perhaps we should summon her and inquire about it directly?"

However, Poseidon, his voice carrying a tone of caution, shook his head decisively. "No," he stated firmly. "Absolutely not. Pursuing this line of questioning could lead to unintended consequences."

Athena raised a quizzical eyebrow, her jaw set with a stubborn resolve. "Surely, your daughter wouldn't decline a direct summons," she argued. "No matter how different our paths may be in the future, I can hardly imagine we've changed so fundamentally in this regard."

Poseidon shot her a stern glare, “Do not presume without evidence, child ." His voice carried a patronising tone that irked Athena.  She clenched her jaw in response to his condescension, her eyes narrowing as she bristled at his words.

He continued, his tone unwavering, "I don't believe it's wise to compel Persia into revealing something she may not be prepared to share. Moreover, it could prove counterproductive in our efforts to earn their trust."

Zeus reluctantly nodded in agreement, while Hades tilted his head in acknowledgment. Athena, however, appeared reluctant to let the matter drop. Her inner turmoil was evident in the furrowed lines on her forehead, but a stern glance from her father ultimately dissuaded her from pressing the issue further.

"It would be prudent to consult with the demigods before hastily deciding on a contest," Hephaestus interjected, his voice drawing the attention of all present. He had maintained a quiet presence throughout their discussions, preferring to listen rather than speak. While he had been somewhat surprised by his father and uncles' candid admissions about their feelings toward their future children, he disagreed with the idea of testing their combat abilities.

The demigods had emerged from a war, and their behaviour still bore the scars of that conflict. Placing them in a battle scenario might inadvertently trigger a return to their war-like mindset, which he found concerning. Hephaestus believed it would be wiser to allow them time to acclimate and settle in before considering any such sparring arrangement.

Hephaestus held hope that the demigods would demonstrate more wisdom than their godly parents.

Hades locked eyes with Hephaestus, a nod of approval evident in his expression. "Well stated, nephew," he acknowledged. "Summoning my son could be prudent to gauge their preferences."

Zeus concurred with a nod. "Indeed, I will have both Nico and Jason summoned."

Without delay, a servant was dispatched with instructions to bring Nico and Jason to the assembly. After nearly ten minutes had elapsed, the two demigods were ushered into the room. They both executed semi-formal bows and exchanged curious glances.

"We've been contemplating an assessment of your combat abilities," Zeus began, noting their exchanged glances. "Would you be open to such a proposal?"

Nico spoke, his polite tone tinged with a hint of apprehension. "We wouldn't object. However, we won't be ready for an immediate assessment. When would you like this evaluation to take place?"

Zeus exchanged subtle glances with Poseidon and Hades, deep in thought. After a brief pause, he spoke, "Very well, how about we schedule it for a week from now? We will initiate the reading of the second quest following that."

Jason cast an appraising look at his father before responding politely, "May we have your permission to consult with the others before confirming, Father?"

Zeus nodded in agreement. "Of course, you may. Please inform us of your decision before the day is over."

Jason acknowledged his father with a respectful, "Yes, Father," concealing his astonishment at Zeus's unusually agreeable demeanour. Nico chimed in, "We will make our decision promptly. Are we excused?"

Zeus waved his hand in dismissal, and Nico and Jason exited the room after offering a customary bow.

Clothing-making had become a solace for Thalia. The rhythmic repetition of each stitch provided a comforting distraction from the haunting memories that sometimes resurfaced.

Her journey into the art of tailoring began during her difficult days with her abusive mother, a necessity born from the responsibility of caring for her vulnerable younger brother. Without her diligent care, he might not have survived his toddler years.

Back then, it had been a demanding chore, a lifeline for her family. However, as time passed, it morphed into a therapeutic coping mechanism, eventually evolving into a cherished hobby, especially in the aftermath of the relentless wars that had consumed her life.

Lately, Thalia had been engrossed in a particular project: the creation of a fresh design for pants, something more suitable for her family. Even though they refrained from explicitly expressing discomfort with the local attire, she could sense their unease.

With just one week left, she was determined to seek inspiration and fashion a new pair of pants that would alleviate their discomfort.

At this moment, Thalia sat upon her porch bench, clutching a piece of charcoal in her hand. Before her lay a parchment, upon which she fervently endeavoured to visualise the process of crafting a pair of pants. Arrayed beside her were the garments gifted by the Gods, all fashioned from the luxurious materials of silk and wool. However, these exquisite fabrics lacked the rugged durability she sought.

Drawing upon her recollections of history lessons, Thalia recalled the existence of hemp, even in these ancient times. Combining hemp fibres with either silk or cotton held the promise of yielding the robust material she aspired to acquire. Regrettably, neither hemp nor cotton were readily accessible in her current location. It was a fruitless endeavour to imagine such fabrics being available within the Olympus market.

She must journey to the mortal world. Her gaze shifted momentarily towards Persia, who sat nearby, engrossed in crafting mud pots. Persia's unwavering concentration was evident as the pottery wheel spun with remarkable speed.

The lump of clay started to take shape, obedient to her guiding hands. With a gentle pressure of her fingers, she coaxed the clay to rise, creating the basic form of the pot. Her touch was precise, yet it carried an air of fluidity and grace. With a wooden tool, she refined the shape, smoothing the curves and edges, ensuring symmetry and balance.

Thalia couldn't help but marvel at how Persia managed to exude grace despite her mud-stained hands, dishevelled clothing, and tousled hair.

After the tumultuous events of the Gigantomachy, the world had been thrown into disarray. The demigods, who had fought valiantly alongside their divine parents, now felt slighted and abandoned. They bore the scars of the battle, not just on their bodies but also in their hearts. They had needed their parents' guidance and protection during those trying times, but it had been in short supply.

In the aftermath, there had been a fragile peace. Thalia and her demigod friends had seized the opportunity to pursue their education, determined to lead normal lives despite their extraordinary heritage. Yet, their hopes for a return to a semblance of normalcy had been short-lived.

Thalia had initially believed that the limited formal interactions between the Gods and the demigods might signify a return to equilibrium. She had hoped that their estranged relationships could be mended, and the wounds of abandonment could heal. However, she soon realised that such hopes were nothing more than wishful thinking, especially when it came to her own father, Zeus.

Apollo's sudden transformation into a mortal and the quest he had been sent on had raised suspicions and doubts. While Zeus had offered explanations for the events surrounding the Gigantomachy, Thalia had sensed that there was more to the story than met the eye. Her father's behaviour had grown increasingly paranoid, and he seemed haunted by the fear of a fate similar to that of his predecessors.

Thalia had not been able to shake the feeling that the fragile peace they had fought for was on the brink of collapse.

The tension between Apollo and Zeus had reached a breaking point, and the consequences were far-reaching. Despite the completion of Apollo's quest to find the Oracles, Zeus remained resolute in his decision to deny his son's return to immortality. The unjust demand for Apollo to seek forgiveness and vow never to raise a weapon against his own father had been a bitter pill to swallow, and Apollo had chosen a different path.

Refusing to submit to Zeus's demands, Apollo had forsaken Olympus and returned to his birthplace. The cold war between father and son had cast a long shadow over the divine realm, leaving a void in Apollo's domains that needed to be addressed.

The control of Apollo's domains, once a source of immense power and influence, needed to be redistributed among the available Gods. However, the Minor Gods had unanimously refused to participate in any decision that would disrespect Apollo's legacy. The responsibility had then fallen upon the remaining immortal sons and daughters of Zeus, who now found themselves grappling with unfamiliar domains.

Athena had attempted to oversee Apollo's domain of knowledge. However, her innate rigidity clashed with the fluidity of the domain, causing imbalances and disruptions in the flow of information. Her struggle to maintain control ultimately led to her relinquishing her hold over the domain of knowledge.

Ares had briefly assumed dominion over the Sun. Yet, the fiery power of the Sun proved overwhelming even for the God of War. Its intense heat and radiance had nearly consumed him, driving him to the brink of madness. The allure of such power was undeniable, and Ares's inability to control it had dire consequences. In a moment of unchecked strength, he had inadvertently melted the ice of Antarctica, threatening to disrupt the balance of the natural world.

The repercussions of these events were felt not only among the Gods but also rippled through the mortal realm. The divine order had been disrupted, and the consequences of Zeus's actions and the subsequent struggles for power were far from over.

Lord Poseidon had assumed control of the realm of prophecy and the future, yet the weight of his responsibilities in his own domain had left him with little time to manage these added realms effectively. As a result, imbalance had begun to creep into the world.

Plague had descended upon the mortal realm, causing widespread illness and suffering. Health deteriorated as diseases ran rampant, and even the simplest of wounds refused to heal. Mortals were perishing far too easily, and the delicate balance of life was severely threatened. Nature itself had become unhinged, leading to a rapid decline in civilizations. Within a mere few years, barren lands outnumbered thriving ones.

Lost in her thoughts, Thalia was jolted from her reverie by a gentle pat on her shoulder. She turned to see Persia wearing a concerned expression. Persia's voice broke through the sombre air, "You alright?"

Thalia offered a small smile as she looked at Persia. "You know," she began, "I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining me on a trip to the mortal world."

Persia arched an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh? Is there a particular reason for this excursion?"

Thalia nodded. "Yes, there is. I need to find out if hemp is available in mortal markets. It's a sturdy material, and I think it could be incredibly useful for us."

Persia thought for a moment, her lip caught between her teeth. "I suppose I wouldn't mind accompanying you," she said. "But how do we even begin? We know next to nothing about the mortal lands."

Thalia's eyes sparkled with an adventurous spirit. "Well, let's just wander and explore. I'm sure we'll figure things out as we go."

"Fair enough," Persia agreed, glancing down at her somewhat muddy clothes. "But first, let me freshen up a bit."

Thalia nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a plan. I could use a change of clothes too."

The visitors to their island caught Xanthias' interest because they were unlike anyone he had ever seen in his life. Two women had graced their marketplace with their presence, both appearing to be of substantial wealth and stature.

The eldest of the two women was looking over the fabrics that were for sale. Her outfit was expensive, with an ankle-length, deep green chiton woven of the finest silk. A gorgeous brooch with an elegant picture of a lightning bolt fixed her chiton at the shoulder—undoubtedly an emblem of power and affluence. Her raven-black hair was elegantly tied back in a modest updo with a braided leather hair tie. Her loose tresses framed her firm face, radiating authority and allure. Her ensemble was completed by sturdy sandals made of leather and a brown belt holding a little purse whose contents were uncertain.

If the elder woman emanated competence, remarkable beauty, and an aura of authority, her companion was heavenly. She wore a similar chiton, but in an exquisite ivory silk, with her long locks collected in an uncomplicated plait. Despite sporting only a few minimal gold ornaments, she exuded an irresistible beauty that needed no jewellery.

However, it was not just their outward appearance that drew the focus of everybody in the marketplace, but also the gracefulness with which they strolled along. The two women walked through the brimming marketplace with a leisurely approach, seemingly unperturbed by the spectators' attention and civil query.

The two women's mesmerising presence had undoubtedly captured the whole marketplace, turning the heads of everyone in the vicinity.

Xanthias decided to approach them, intrigued by their arrival and his own fascination getting a stronger hold of him. He bowed courteously and addressed the oldest of the two with respect. "Can I assist you, my lady?" he asked smoothly, nodding towards the baskets of fabrics they had purchased during their market trip.

"Of course, we appreciate your assistance," the younger woman responded with a warm smile exchanging a meaningful glance with her partner. "I am Persia," she introduced herself, graciously gesticulating towards her friend. "And that's Thalia."

Xanthias smiled graciously, but he was unable to resist feeling a little bashful. Lady Persia's exquisite tone had astounded him. He maintained the chat while he helped them in carrying the two enormous baskets. "My pleasure, Lady Persia," he responded, "and may I ask why you've come to this foreign island? Such resources must be easily available in your own kingdom."

"Please, do not feel obligated to be so formal," she quietly said, her voice a soothing melody. "I much prefer being called by my given name."

Persia's smile carried an enchanting allure that captivated Xanthias for a brief while. "We're here without alerting our parents, you see," she continued, her sea-green eyes glowing with a gentle warmth. "They would be unhappy with our purchases. But Thalia here has a flair for sewing and wanted to try out more fabrics beyond silk."

Xanthias beamed with pride as he related some of his personal history. "My parents are weavers," he explained, his voice full of delight. "Do you require any additional assistance? Considering the fact that I'm certain you have servants to perform these chores."

Thalia responded with a friendly laugh and a sincere response. "We prefer to be hands-on regarding our endeavours," she said. "So, if it's not too much trouble, we would like to extend your assistance a little bit further."

Xanthias nodded, delighted to help these intriguing newcomers who had brought an element of wonder to their market. "Certainly, it would be an honour to lend a hand," he answered enthusiastically.

As they set foot on the shores, a sprawling landscape of untamed vegetation greeted them, stretching endlessly in every direction. Towering trees, their leaves glistening in the Mediterranean sun, formed dense groves that generously offered respite from the scorching heat. Venturing further, they found themselves atop one of the rolling hills, where a vibrant tapestry of wildflowers blanketed the landscape, framing the central village where the majority of the island's inhabitants resided.

The houses, though modest in scale, exuded an unmistakable air of rustic charm. Crafted from sun-bleached stones and sturdy timber, these dwellings had been meticulously designed to withstand the island's occasional tempestuous weather. Whitewashed walls gleamed brilliantly under the intense sun, while terracotta-tiled roofs completed the picturesque aesthetics. Each abode bore wooden shutters adorned with a palette of vibrant colours, infusing a distinct touch of personality into the village's quaint and inviting atmosphere.

Persia and Thalia headed off on their exploration, following a meandering road that led them to the centre of the village's market. This meandering route was lined by fragrant citrus trees, whose boughs were full with colourful fruit, and covered with an assortment of wildflowers, which added splashes of colour to the scene. The enticing aroma of jasmine blooms hung thick in the air, mingling beautifully with the salty sea wind.

They passed by locals going about their daily lives, who responded with warm smiles and curious looks as they walked.

When they arrived at the local market, they were greeted with a bright and bustling scene. The lively rhythm of merchants eagerly bargaining over their items filled the air. Stalls were brimming with a rainbow of fresh, ripe fruits in red, orange, and yellow hues. Nearby, fishermen proudly showed their day's haul, which was still gleaming with sea shine. Skilled artists displayed their handcrafted wares, each item a monument to their artistry.

A huge oak tree loomed over the market square, its old branches extending aloft, offering a large and refreshing shade on those seeking relief from the merciless Mediterranean heat. The market was alive and vibrant, encapsulating the heart and spirit of this charming Greek island community.

Persia and Thalia were lured inexorably to the kiosks draped with an alluring assortment of materials. Their fingertips stroked across silk bolts, delighting in the luscious smoothness of this heavenly substance. Woollen textures enticed them with their warmth and comfort, but their hunt for sturdiness led them to the tough hemp textiles they desired.

Persia couldn't help but feel relieved that they had stumbled upon Hephaestus that day. Without his discretion, their clandestine foray into the mortal world might have come to the attention of the Olympian gods. Fortunately, Hephaestus proved more than willing to turn a blind eye to their adventure.

In an unexpected act of kindness, he even guided them on the path to Olympus from the mortal realm. Persia couldn't help but reflect on how Hephaestus seemed to have changed the least over time. Much like Hades, he had been bitter, notably reserved, and inclined towards suspicion. However, Hephaestus had retained his practical wisdom. Even in the future, the cabin of Hephaestus remained one of the most stable and settled among all the campers.

They had also learned about the Olympians' intention to evaluate their abilities. After consulting with Thalia, who assured them that a version of pants would be prepared by then, Persia agreed to the week-long break. While Nico went to inform the Olympians, Persia made plans to revisit the island. She had developed a fondness for Xanthias, and the prospect of having a friend who wasn't burdened by the same inner turmoil was quite appealing.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 | 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐧.

The sun hung high in the sky over the tranquil island village of Aetheriōs, casting a warm, golden glow on the whitewashed buildings and cobblestone streets. The villagers went about their daily routines, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they prepared for another peaceful day. Children played in the shallow waters of the crystal-clear sea, and the scent of freshly caught fish wafted from the bustling marketplace.

In the heart of the village, nestled amidst the olive groves, stood the modest dwelling of the village chief, a wise and weathered man named Dimitrios. 

Persia couldn't help but warm to his presence immediately. He possessed a rare blend of mirth and sagacity, never coming across as patronising, and his playful spirit was a breath of fresh air. A widower who had seen his fair share of seasons, Dimitrios had been blessed with two children and the joy of four mischievous grandchildren. It was Xanthias who had first introduced Persia to him during her visit on the second day of their week-long break. Xanthias, with a hint of bashfulness, had revealed that he was one of Dimitrios' beloved grandchildren. 

Xanthias exuded a gentle demeanour, often radiating a sense of serenity and composure. Persia held great respect for her friend's inherent modesty, all the while harbouring a quiet concern that his insatiable curiosity could someday thrust him into uncharted and potentially troublesome situations.

However, on this particular morning, she found herself reclining on the porch, engaged in a leisurely conversation with both Dimitrios and Xanthias. Xanthias, in his animated fashion, was regaling them with the freshest tidbits of gossip circulating within their close-knit village, while Dimitrios indulged him with an affectionate smile as he listened to the embellished account of his grandchild's latest escapade.

In these moments, Persia cherished the simplicity of these mornings, relishing the rare opportunity to unwind. It was the first time since the wars had ravaged her life that she felt such ease in the company of people who were not her own. In this idyllic setting, she was simply Persia, a privileged young woman from a family burdened by societal constraints. Dimitrios and Xanthias had astutely recognized her discomfort with revealing her true identity and had never probed for answers, nor allowed other villagers to pry with invasive questions. In this village, she luxuriated in the comfort of anonymity.

The tranquillity of their morning was abruptly shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps. Persia swiftly straightened from her seat on the porch, gracefully leaping down to a poised stance on the ground. Concern creased Dimitrios' brow as he peered out from the shelter of his home's porch.

A frantic figure came charging toward them, his frantic pace stirring up dust and drawing the attention of villagers in the nearby vicinity. The young boy was Nikos, a youthful fisherman with a mane of unruly, wind-tousled hair, his face etched with sheer terror. He stumbled to an abrupt halt before Dimitrios, his gasping breaths punctuating the tense moment.

Evadne, the eldest daughter-in-law of Dimitrios, stepped forward gracefully, a glass of water in hand. She gently soothed him, her voice filled with concern as she inquired about the unfolding situation.

"P-please, Chief," Nikos stammered, his voice quivering, "you have to listen! It's an omen, a terrible omen! One of our own has angered Poseidon!"

Dimitrios' weathered countenance turned sombre, deep lines etching his forehead. "What has transpired, Nikos? Who has incurred the wrath of the god of the sea?"

Nikos swallowed hard, his anxiety palpable, before responding, "It's Pericles, Chief. He dared to defy the sea god by casting his nets near the sacred coral reef. Poseidon has sent an immense wave, and it's headed directly for us!"

Persia's eyes widened in astonishment. Her father was unleashing a colossal wave just because someone had ventured too close to the sacred coral reef? He would submerge the entire island, condemning innocent souls, including children, pregnant women, and countless others who bore no responsibility for this transgression. 

"How could he?" Persia whispered, her voice quivering with incredulity. In that moment, she was reminded of the harsh and capricious nature of the gods with an intensity that shook her to her core. Xanthias, who overheard her, stood beside her with astonishment etched across his face, taken aback by the audacious words that had escaped his typically calm and gentle friend.

On the opposite side, Dimitrios' heart sank like an anchor into the depths of the sea. He understood all too well the dire consequences of arousing Poseidon's ire, knowing that the entire village would bear the burden for one man's reckless actions. Panic spread like wildfire through the crowd, a palpable fear that clung to villagers like a heavy shroud. Loved ones clung to each other, their faces etched with dread as they braced for the looming disaster.

An atmosphere charged with frenetic energy gripped the once-idyllic village, transforming it into a chaotic realm of dread and turmoil.

In the midst of this tumult, Dimitrios, a pillar of strength, guided his fellow villagers to their modest, timeworn temple dedicated to Poseidon. Within the temple's hallowed walls, they knelt and offered fervent prayers, their voices quivering with a desperate plea for mercy from the sea god. Their supplications reverberated through the sacred space, mingling with the anxious wails of children and the hushed murmurs of apprehensive parents.

Meanwhile, Pericles, the man at the heart of this impending catastrophe, stood before his parents with a heavy heart, his head bowed in shame. His parents castigated him sternly, their voices a potent blend of anger and disappointment. The weight of his reckless actions bore down on him, and he grasped the gravity of the dire consequences now looming over the village.

Observing these events, Persia's heart ached, her eyes glistening with tears. Her very essence quivered with an urgent impulse to intervene. Yet, she faced an agonising choice. Would she reveal herself as a demigod and risk everything she cherished in this village?

The lives of countless innocents teetered on the precipice of disaster, their fate hanging in the balance. Persia grappled with her inner turmoil. Would she sacrifice her cherished anonymity for the greater good? Could anything be more important than preserving the lives that hung in the balance, poised on the brink of oblivion?

Xanthias' fingers gently encircled her wrist, but before he could fully register it, his hand was twisted back. Persia blinked, suddenly realising what she had done. She bit the inside of her cheek, her voice filled with regret as she murmured, "I apologise. I didn't realise it was you."

"No, it's fine," Xanthias assured her, though he couldn't help but wonder how his friend knew such techniques. Has she ever been in a fight?

"What was it?" 

"I know of a secret way off the island," Xanthias explained. "The back of the island connects to a series of small rocks that can serve as stepping stones to reach the mainland. You shouldn't have to face danger because of us. Come with me."

He turned to leave, taking a few steps, but then he realised Persia wasn't following him. He cast a confused look at her contemplative expression.

"What are you thinking?" Xanthias urged, his tone growing frantic.

"No," Persia said in a single, decisive word, stunning him into silence.

Conversations ceased abruptly as the weather took a menacing turn. What had once been a tranquil sea now churned ferociously, its waves frothing with fury. The wind howled, its relentless force tearing through the landscape, uprooting the once steadfast trees, and hurling them mercilessly onto homes. Some villagers found themselves trapped beneath these fallen giants, their cries of distress bringing tears to Persia's eyes. Numerous children were pinned down by massive branches, their weight proving fatal. 

Her brow furrowed with displeasure and anger, and her gaze hardened with resolve. She rushed forward to aid the mothers and other villagers in their efforts to rescue those in peril.

Suddenly, the temperature plummeted as the severe storm transformed into a hailstorm. The storm had intensified, causing waves to pound the shores, nearly submerging the island. In that moment, a feeling of imbalance washed over her, as if the very island were sinking.

Amidst the storm's chaos, a terrifying tornado materialised, spiralling down from the menacing cloud cover. Its dark, twisting funnel extended to the sea, whipping the water into a monstrous whirlpool. Debris from the island was catapulted into the air, forming a deadly ballet of destruction.

Persia's eyes clouded with anger and profound disappointment. That was the last straw. She raised her hand and conjured a towering wall of water, shaping it into a dome that reached impressive heights. With a skilled manipulation of her powers, she drew the moisture from the surrounding air, transforming it into ice to add an additional layer of protection to the dome.

"Persia?!" Xanthias exclaimed in astonishment, his eyes widening with wonder. However, the woman in question paid him no heed, her focus now entirely on mastering the water currents. She was determined not to let that tornado draw near the island.

A formidable force seemed to vie with her for control of the water. This power didn't resemble her father's at all. One force felt slippery, almost like oil, and incredibly rigid, while the other was wild and uncontrollable, scattering in all directions.

It could only be Triton and Kymlopiea.

A surge of anger welled up within her, rising like an enormous wave, provoked by the callous behaviour of her half-brother and half-sister. They had clearly inherited their father's capricious and cruel disposition, a grim legacy passed down from their paternal grandfather.

Gone were her tentative efforts; replaced by confident and determined actions. Her entire being radiated with a bluish aura as her blood pulsed with newfound vitality, now fully utilizing her powers to their utmost potential. The power coursing through her veins left her feeling slightly light-headed. With practiced control over her emotions, she harnessed her abilities, directing them towards the sea and effortlessly wresting control away from her half-siblings.

In a matter of moments, the entire atmosphere transformed. The sea once again regained its tranquillity, the tornado vanished, and the skies cleared as the sun's rays glistened off the protective ice dome.

Persia gently lowered the dome, allowing it to dissolve into the air. To her astonishment, she realised that using her powers was no longer as physically taxing as it had been before. Instead, it responded readily to her commands, and her refined control remained unchanged.

"Persia, look!" Xanthias exclaimed, pointing above her head. She turned to see a towering mass of water, nearly thirty feet high, taking on a distinct form. Her Father stood at its centre, flanked by Triton and Kymlopia. Their lower bodies appeared as tails as they emerged from the water, looming impressively.

"What is the meaning of this, Persia?" Triton thundered, his anger evident in his eyes. "Have you no respect? What drove you to interfere in matters of the empire? Do you comprehend the consequences of such meddling?"

His ego had suffered a blow when this audacious, illegitimate daughter of his father not only interfered but also effortlessly defeated them.

"I have no concern for your punishments," Persia responded with nonchalance, her gaze fixed on her Father, who, to her surprise, remained silent rather than speaking as expected.

Persia's gaze briefly shifted to the enraged Triton as she asked, "May I inquire why you are harming innocent people?"

"Innocents?" Kymlopiea sneered, clearly displeased with being ignored. "One of those fools dared to fish in the sacred coral reef, dedicated to Father! Such an act deserves death."

Her beautiful visage contorted with a cruel sneer, and her eyes gleamed with bloodlust. Poseidon let out a weary sigh, pondering how his daughter had grown to be so prone to violence. His curious gaze returned to his other daughter, who had just displayed astonishing power that had left him stunned.

For a fleeting moment, Poseidon felt as though he had witnessed the embodiment of the words Oceanus had once imparted to him when he had first assumed control of the domain. The words echoed in his mind:

Water—the mighty, the pure, the beautiful, the unfathomable—which element is so glorious?

Persia had demonstrated an indomitable might, a pure vision, and an unfathomable power as she effortlessly commanded the waters, appearing as though she had melded with them. Such mastery could only come from centuries of practice. Poseidon was shaken from his reverie as his daughter's cold voice cut through the shocked silence.

"If that's the case, why are others being punished? What have pregnant mothers, elderly fathers, and innocent children done to you and our father? Why should they suffer for the actions of one?"

"They are mere insignificant mortals," Triton replied dismissively, igniting a fierce fire in Persia's gaze that left Triton with an unsettling sense of unease.

"Your words are hardly befitting of the Crown Prince of Atlantis," Persia retorted, struggling to maintain control over her intense emotions. She took satisfaction in the involuntary flinch Triton gave in response. Poseidon intervened, shrinking in size and appearing on land, "Agreed. I would like to hear your decree as well, dear one."

He waved his hand in a graceful gesture, the diamonds and emeralds adorning his fingers catching the light and shimmering. "Leave us, Triton and Kymlopiea. I will handle this matter."

"But Father—" Triton began to protest, and Kymlopiea wore a dissatisfied expression, but Poseidon silenced them with a stern glare. "Allowing you to handle this matter was a mistake. Both of you, go."

The flinch from his children went unnoticed. Instead, Poseidon turned his attention to a contemplative Persia, who regarded him with a watchful gaze. Behind her, everyone knelt in respect. Persia lowered her head slightly before stepping aside, granting him a full view of the devastation that had befallen the island. Poseidon's heart softened as he observed the sniffling children, the injured villagers, and the tear-streaked faces of those affected by the recent events.

"Father," Persia murmured softly, her gaze shifting to a young man whom she gestured to approach. The young man, clearly fearful, wore a threadbare chiton soaked in sweat and trembled as he knelt before Poseidon. "This is Pericles. He is the one at fault."

Poseidon glanced at Persia with a quizzical expression, his eyes wandering toward the softly sobbing old couple. His daughter sighed, giving him a thoughtful look. "You asked me what I would do. I would inquire about why he did what he did. If he shows remorse, I would consider leniency for a first offence. If punishment is necessary, his sense of remorse should be taken into account."

A faint smirk crossed Poseidon's lips, his sea-green eyes softening further at her words. He turned his attention to the trembling young man and gestured for him to stand. Poseidon inquired, "Do you know who speaks on your behalf, mortal Pericles?"

"N-No, my Lord," Pericles stammered.

A genuine surprise graced Persia’s face as he lovingly placed a hand on her head. He spoke with a noticeable sense of pride in his voice, "This is Persia, my daughter."

Gasps of astonishment rippled through the gathering, and Dimitrios stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "Lady Persia had not revealed her true identity to us, my Lord. Nonetheless, she has always received the hospitality extended to guests. Please forgive us if we have erred in any way."

"You have done nothing wrong, Dimitrios," Persia interjected. "However, I am eager to hear your decision regarding Pericles, Father."

Poseidon's heart swelled with warmth at the sound of his daughter calling him 'Father'. He hadn't expected to grow so attached to her so quickly. Perhaps it was her bravery, her refusal to tolerate unjust behaviour from anyone, or the compassion that radiated from her. Even her defiance of authority and lack of obedience endeared her to him.

"Your words hold wisdom, dearest," Poseidon acknowledged with a small smile. "Very well, I shall show mercy. But be forewarned, if such actions are repeated, not even my dearest daughter will be able to shield you from my retribution."

Dimitrios' heart leaped with hope, his eyes glistening as he looked at the woman who had made this possible. He bowed deeply and expressed his gratitude, "We are profoundly thankful, my lord. Such actions shall never be repeated. I give you my word."

Poseidon nodded, appearing pleased with the man. He then turned his gaze to his daughter, receiving a genuine smile in return. He tilted his head, making a mental note that his youngest daughter was an exceptional beauty, and her smile added to her ethereal allure. It seemed he would need to keep a watchful eye on the gods of Olympus.

"Will you be returning for lunch, my dear?" Poseidon inquired.

Persia shook her head, her gaze encompassing the silent villagers and the widespread destruction. "No," she replied, "I'll stay and assist them with the rebuilding."

Poseidon smiled and nodded. "As you wish. Just ensure you return to Olympus before Apollo descends, alright?"

"No promises." 

Her retort caused Poseidon to huff in exasperation before he disappeared in a gossamer swirl of mist after giving her a look of affection.

Poseidon materialised at the dining pavilion in Olympus, his late arrival drawing the attention of those gathered. As he joined the assembly of Olympians near the hearth, the other spectators gradually returned to their conversations, leaving behind a lingering air of curiosity.

His contemplative expression piqued the interest of the Olympians, and he absentmindedly filled his plate with an assortment of delicacies and berries.

Hestia exchanged a puzzled glance with Zeus and Hades before leaning forward to gently place a reassuring hand on Poseidon's arm. "Is everything alright, Poseidon?"

Poseidon blinked, as if shaking himself free from a reverie, and offered a tentative smile to Hestia. "Yes, of course. What could be wrong?"

"I noticed some commotion on an island not too long ago," Apollo remarked casually as he leaned against the wall, his tone laced with curiosity. "Something to do with your daughter, I presume?"

Poseidon sighed, aware of the inquisitive looks directed at him by his fellow Olympians. He shot Apollo an irritated glare but begrudgingly nodded in agreement.

"What did Persia do this time?" Zeus muttered, casting a sidelong glance at his brother, who appeared lost in thought once more.

"Nothing of great consequence," Poseidon murmured, taking a bite of a berry. "It wasn't anything important."

"Something that isn't important has you deep in thought, brother?" Hestia raised a skeptical eyebrow, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You can always share your thoughts with us. I, for one, am rather curious to know what's on your mind."

The corner of Poseidon's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. He shook his head and finally replied, "I don't quite understand what sets my daughter apart, but I've come to realise that I act very differently when I'm with her."

"And how did you come to this realisation, dear uncle?" Athena's voice carried a hint of curiosity as she watched Poseidon, her fascination piqued by the twinkle of a light she had never seen in his eyes.

Poseidon began recounting the events on the island, his words drawing sharp breaths and expressions of surprise and astonishment from his audience.

"—at least that girl has a good head on her shoulders, no matter how much I worry about the power she wields," Zeus spoke up once Poseidon had finished speaking.

Hades asserted confidently, his gaze lofty as he met Zeus's disgruntled and suspicious eyes. "There's nothing to be worried about. If you haven't noticed, let me enlighten you. That child is immensely responsible and highly aware of her own duties. Her emotions are tightly controlled even in the most stressful of situations. The power she wields is in safe hands."

Zeus questioned, his concern evident, "How can you be so sure? I don't want a threat on our hands, especially with the looming Titans and Giants to worry about in the near future."

Hades shook his head, disappointment and disbelief evident in his expression. "When did you become so paranoid? She may be an unknown, but she is trustworthy. If she were a threat, why would she be here to help us?"

Zeus looked contemplative, his demeanour softening as he murmured, "While I am anxious about Persia's power, I agree that my assumptions were baseless. I didn't mean to accuse her. It was simply my worries manifesting in the face of our suddenly turbulent future."

"Until the first Great Prophecy is spoken, our futures remain serene, Father," Apollo interjected with a mischievous tone in his smooth voice. "Unless, of course, your lovers are in the equation. I cannot promise safety from such endeavours."

"Must you pour oil on a burning fire, nephew?" admonished Hestia, shooting a wary glance at Hera, who looked cross at the comment. Zeus ignored their banter and turned his attention to Poseidon, who had been observing the exchange with a speculative expression. He addressed his brother, "You have nothing to say, Poseidon? The woman in question is your child."

Ignoring Zeus, Poseidon met Hades's gaze and commented on his earlier words spoken on behalf of Persia. "While I am thankful for your defence, brother, I am surprised by your protectiveness of Persia."

Hades finished his glass of nectar and stood up to leave, addressing Poseidon as he did. "If you have chosen to adopt the culture prevalent in the realm you rule, Poseidon, then the reason behind my protectiveness would be less of a mystery to you. I have much work to attend to. I shall see you all on the day of the spar."

With that, Hades swiftly disappeared into the shadows, leaving the Olympians in contemplative silence. Poseidon took in a sharp breath, regretting that he had not paid closer attention to the nuances of the culture within his realm.

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟴 : 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝘆𝘀𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀 : 𝗔𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗶ō𝘀

The island of Aetheriōs lay in ruins beneath the relentless gaze of the sun. Houses that had once stood tall and proud now lay crumbled, their walls shattered like fragile glass. Debris from the destructive tornado was scattered everywhere, a testament to the devastation that had befallen this once-peaceful land. Yet amid the chaos, a ray of hope emerged, personified by a woman of extraordinary courage and compassion.

The air was thick with the scent of salt and freshly turned earth as Dimitrios surveyed the scene. His eyes were drawn to the aforementioned woman, tirelessly tending to an injured child.

"It's nothing short of a miracle that she saved us.”

Dimitrios turned towards Pericles' father, whose face bore a complex mix of emotions – guilt, sorrow, and awe. Pericles’ father continued his remark, "When our son incurred the wrath of the Sea God, I feared the worst. I believed our island would suffer the same fate as those before us. But Persia arrived like a beacon of hope. We owe her a great debt, do we not, Chief?"

Dimitrios smiled faintly at these words. "Persia is an enigma," he responded, his voice laced with respect. "Her responses to situations are unlike anyone I've ever known. Yet, in these few days, I've come to understand that this woman possesses a spine of steel and a willpower that can make even the mightiest bow in admiration."

He turned his attention back to the concerned parents of Pericles, offering them advice with a gentle tone. "You should speak directly to her about this debt you speak of. Assumptions can often lead to misunderstandings, my dear friends."

The elderly couple nodded, grateful for Dimitrios' guidance, and they made their way towards Persia, who was engrossed in conversation with a young woman nearby.

"You sent them my way, didn't you?" Persia's voice carried a mixture of exasperation and curiosity as she approached Dimitrios. Her sea-green eyes, usually so fierce, now held a warmth that could melt even the coldest heart.

Dimitrios met her gaze with a nod, his weathered face breaking into a small, knowing smile. "I thought it was best," he admitted. "They wanted to express their gratitude for what you've done, for saving our island and their son."

Persia's fingers lingered in her wind-tousled hair, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she watched the villagers diligently going about their tasks. The errant locks that had escaped her tight braids swayed gently in the warm breeze. 

She changed the topic, her eyes reflecting the genuine admiration she felt. "I am happy to see enthusiasm instead of fear amongst the villagers. It's thanks to everyone's efforts that rebuilding has already started. Mortals are such resilient beings."

Dimitrios gave a nod in agreement, his gaze shifting from Persia to the bustling activity around them. His chest swelled with pride as he observed the young men of his small village, their muscles straining as they moved heavy trunks aside to create space. Women worked tirelessly, bringing water and scavenged fruits to nourish the workers. The youngest members of the community darted to and fro from the nearby woods, collecting precious herbs to heal the injured.

Many of the village men had taken it upon themselves to clear the debris, determined to salvage whatever essentials they could from the wreckage. A small clearing was slowly filling with items that had survived the tornado's wrath, and it was a testament to the resilience and unity of Aetheriōs.

Dimitrios's appreciation for Persia's actions was palpable as he spoke, his voice filled with gratitude and admiration. He took her hand gently in his own weathered ones, his gaze sincere and earnest. "We may be mortals, but we are not without strength, and we are certainly not without gratitude. How can we truly repay you for the mercy you had obtained from your Lord Father? Ask, dear child. If it is within my power to do so, I shall grant whatever you ask."

A gentle smile played on her lips, her sea-green eyes twinkling with warmth. “Dimitrios, can mercy ever be measured in terms and conditions? I seek no repayment from Aetheriōs. I’ve simply done what I was able to do. Moreover, I could not have allowed my Lord Father to make such a gross mistake. What kind of a daughter shall I be then?”

Dimitrios looked at Persia in awe. It was rare to encounter a person with such selflessness. However, he felt compelled to make some gesture of gratitude, for allowing such an act to go without acknowledgment felt highly inappropriate.

"Since you insist," Persia's voice held a note of reluctance as she spoke, "I would advise you to maintain the upkeep of the temple on the island. Furthermore, you can create temples for all the other gods and goddesses as well—Lord Hades, Lady Hestia, and all the Olympians. It should help you garner their blessings rather than their wrath."

Dimitrios considered her words, his gaze sweeping over the hardworking villagers. "It will take time and resources, but I am sure we could build small temples for all of them."

Persia shook her head gently, her sea-green eyes reflecting understanding. "I'm not asking for grand structures like those in the kingdoms that the Gods patronise, Dimitrios. This is a long-term plan. However, there's no need to go above your means. Do what is possible for the village."

“But —” Dimitrios looked conflicted, his brows furrowed in worry as anxiousness danced in his eyes, “The Gods may not like such small temples in simple styles.”

Persia's smile held a touch of wistfulness as she spoke, her words carrying a deep wisdom. "What is the use of huge temples with grand structures if those who visit and pay their respect to the deity that resides there have ill intentions in their heart?"

Her gaze wandered briefly toward the small, weathered temple of her father, Poseidon, which stood a few steps away from the main village square. The aged structure held an air of reverence, its timeworn stones a testament to the enduring faith of the villagers.

Her voice carried a note of contemplation as she continued, "I have noticed how you continuously prayed for mercy even during turbulent times. Rare is a person whose respect and faith remain untarnished by greed and want. This is the reason why I advised you to build temples to honour the Gods."

Persia locked eyes with the contemplative chief, her expression earnest. "I ask you not to hurry, Dimitrios. Let your community prosper, and then continue with this project only when everyone consents."

Dimitrios's eyes held a mixture of sadness and understanding as he replied, "You have suffered, haven't you? Such words can only be spoken by a person who understands the duties and responsibilities attached to a position of power. It is also probably the reason you hid your parentage. You didn't want those duties to follow you here, did you?"

"Let my past remain in the past," Persia replied, her tone gentle but firm, deflecting the question about her personal history. She then lightened the mood, her stomach grumbling in agreement. "I am quite hungry. It is nearly lunchtime. Let me see what Evadne has planned for lunch."

"We come bearing gifts!" The familiar baritone caused Persia to spin around in surprise. She watched in undisguised awe as her friends—her family—arrived, each carrying baskets filled with various vegetables, bread, and fruits.

With a bright smile, she walked toward them, unable to contain her joy. "Not that I'm not happy to see you guys here, but who told you?"

Thalia waved off Persia's question with a grin as Xanthias joined them. "Hey there, Xan. I hope we aren't causing too much trouble."

"After her surprise," Xanthias pointed playfully at Persia, who rolled her eyes, " — and the morning brush with death, nothing can be troublesome, m'lady."

Thalia chuckled, "Well, we might as well come clean about our introductions then." She turned to Xanthias, who looked wide-eyed and pale. He murmured, "You too?"

Thalia offered a sheepish smile as her gaze shifted toward the approaching, curious villagers. She humbly introduced herself, "I am Thalia, daughter of Zeus," and continued to introduce Annabeth, Nico, Jason, and Will.

The villagers exchanged astonished glances and gasps rippled through the crowd as they realised they were hosting the children of the most significant of Gods in the Greek Pantheon. They understood that even a single breach of xenia, the ancient Greek concept of hospitality, could bring annihilation to their island, as it would be a direct insult to Lord Zeus.

Dimitrios and Xanthias shared a nervous glance before bowing lower than required. Dimitrios stammered, "It is an honour to be able to host you, my lords and ladies."

Annabeth waved off his words with a warm and kind smile. "None of that overbearing formality. We have come to help you."

Dimitrios appeared ready to protest, his unease evident, but Persia stepped forward to take charge of the situation. She addressed him, "Dimitrios, just two days ago, you called me a friend. How can I be a guest when I am a friend? Will you behave formally with a friend?"

Reluctantly, a fond, exasperated smile appeared on Dimitrios's face as he gave in to her insistence. He said, "Very well. Do as you wish. I will not restrict you."

A radiant smile illuminated Persia's face as she turned to her friends. Gesturing toward the baskets they had brought with them, she said, "Bring those over to the area they've set up for making lunch. Evadne would be grateful for the additional food supplies. I know there's some shortage, although she refuses to admit it."

Jason smiled, effortlessly picking up one of the baskets. "Show us the way."

The gentle breeze caressed her skin as she softly hummed to herself. Lunch had been a scrumptious meal, delighting the little children of the village. After the meal, Persia had sought out some solitude, wandering the tranquil island.

She had always been an introvert, but something inside her had changed after the tumultuous events involving Tartarus. Crowded places now felt suffocating, and the thought of socialising beyond her small, close-knit circle was daunting. For a while, things had improved, but a relapse had sent her into a downward spiral.

However, meeting Xanthias and leaving Olympus behind had brought a sense of ease. Perhaps not complete comfort, but it was a far cry from the anxiety she had experienced in Olympus.

It could be attributed to her proximity to the sea. The tempestuous waters had always had a calming effect on her.

"A drachma for your thoughts?" Jason's voice pulled Persia's attention as he leaned against a solitary olive tree, his warm eyes filled with curiosity. She smiled and turned her gaze back to the serene waters.

"It's such a relief to have left Olympus," she began, "I was feeling restless."

Jason nodded in agreement. "You've been surprisingly patient ever since you started training. Staying still was never really your style."

She offered a wistful smile. "I just miss Mama in these moments. She would have known how to comfort me when I feel uneasy."

Jason stepped forward, gently wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and planted a tender kiss on her hair. "We all miss her terribly," he whispered. Persia didn't respond with words but instead encircled her arms around his torso, leaning into the embrace. In moments like this, she truly appreciated Jason's steadfast and supportive nature.

After a few moments, they separated, and Jason's concern was evident in his eyes. "I've noticed that you've been feeling out of sorts lately. Is something worrying you?"

Persia responded with a dry tone, "Everything is worrying me, Jase. From these readings to the actions of the Gods. I've been feeling anxious all week." Worry filled her eyes as she looked up at him. "It feels like something significant is about to happen, and I don't know what could go wrong because everything is in such a precarious balance at the moment. One wrong move could create problems for all of us."

Jason nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. The upcoming spars have been on my mind as well. However, you must realise that your anxiety is affecting others, making them stay on guard too."

Persia sighed, "I know, and I'm trying not to let it show. But it's just that sometimes, it's overwhelming."

Jason gently squeezed her hands, his tone soft and pleading. "We'll deal with it, like we always have. Together. Please, try to ease up a bit. Your tension is worrying all of us."

Persia let out a deep breath and nodded in agreement.

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟵 : 𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀

The amphitheatre was a sweeping semicircular structure meticulously carved into the stone. Its tiers of stone seats ascended in perfect symmetry, offering an unobstructed view of the central arena. 

At the heart of this celestial amphitheatre resided a trio of thrones, each an exquisite masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship. Hewn from the finest marble, these majestic thrones were befitting of the deities who occupied them. The thrones stood elevated on a raised platform, commanding attention and respect. The backrests were tall and regal, upholstered in rich, velvety fabrics, displaying the insignia of the ruler. Armrests, elaborately sculpted and gilded, curved gracefully to provide comfort and support. 

The seat itself was cushioned and plush, designed for hours of dignified occupancy. The legs of the throne were solid and sturdy, often embellished with decorative motifs that reflected the authority and heritage of the one who sat upon it. 

In the centre, Zeus sat regally. To his right, Poseidon claimed his seat, while to his left, Hades held a throne. The seating areas designated for the other Olympians were no less magnificent. They encircled the central thrones in a semi-circular fashion, with each seat designed to reflect the essence of the god or goddess it belonged to.

The stands, teeming with spectators, stretched upward into the celestial heights. Here, immortals of all kinds gathered to witness the grand event. Minor gods, nymphs, satyrs, muses, and many other mythical beings crowded the stands. 

The demigods made their way into the amphitheatre through a discreet entrance at the rear. Walking through a long corridor, they finally arrived at the only balcony that offered them an unobstructed view of the Olympians' seating area and the clearing within the amphitheatre. As they ascended the steps to their designated spot, they noticed the sudden hush that swept through the Olympians. Conversations ceased abruptly, replaced by curious whispers and exchanged glances, though the demigods paid little heed to the attention they garnered.

Annabeth leaned casually against one of the towering columns, her sharp eyes scanning the expansive clearing where the upcoming spars were to be held. Her attire consisted of loose combat pants and a matching top. Crafted from durable yet flexible earth-toned fabric, these garments afforded her a remarkable range of motion. Her leather sandals were not just functional but also comfortable. Her hands were encased in fingerless gloves, providing protection without compromising her tactile sensitivity.

Thalia's skilled craftsmanship was evident in the creation of their attire, blending fabrics that offered both comfort and utility. What set them apart was the uniformity of their clothing as they readied themselves for the coming contest. 

The anticipation in the air was palpable, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. The demigods stood at the ready, their hearts echoing the rhythm of anticipation in their chests.

In a sudden and resounding declaration, an announcer's voice thundered through the vast expanse of the amphitheatre, its echoes reverberating off the polished walls. "Esteemed guests, the time has come to initiate this grand competition!"

The announcer's voice persisted, "And now, to elucidate the rules and inaugurate this legendary contest, we are honoured to welcome none other than Lord Zeus himself." A reverent and awed hush swept through the amphitheatre as the sovereign of the gods prepared to address the eager audience.

Zeus surveyed the amphitheatre, his speculative gaze sweeping across every corner and landing on the relaxed and confident demigods.

"When I initially proposed this contest, I had a different vision in mind," he began, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "However, I've had a change of heart. The demigods have journeyed across great expanses of time to stand before us. It has become clear to me that only the most remarkable of beings are deserving of a sparring match with them."

His gaze shifted to the vigilant demigods, his eyes filled with both challenge and intrigue as he carried on, "Therefore, I have decided that the Olympians, excluding the three of us, shall be granted the opportunity to assess their skills and abilities."

Excited whispers rippled through the stands, and disbelief was unmistakably etched on the faces of the onlookers. The prevailing sentiment was that the demigods would surely face defeat. Many felt satisfaction in the prospect, viewing it as an opportunity to remind the presumptuous demigods of their rightful place. Their overpowering abilities, ethereal presence, and perceived haughtiness had left them disenchanted. The demigods' nonchalant attitude towards the immortals had worn on their nerves.

Persia whispered, her gaze briefly drifting toward her friends. "I've got a pretty good idea of who's going to step up to challenge me," she confided.

Annabeth offered a half-smile. "I'm quite certain you've got a plan for that too," she remarked.

Persia's eyes sparkled mischievously as she responded, "Oh, you wound me. How could I, a mere demigod, hope to stand against such a formidable warrior?"

Suppressing their smiles, her friends shifted their focus back to the Olympians, who were engaged in discussions. The sly grin Ares directed at Persia made it abundantly clear who would be facing whom.

The announcer was promptly informed, handed a parchment listing the decided pairings, and given the green light to proceed with the contest.

The amphitheatre buzzed with anticipation as the announcer stepped forward, his voice carrying a hint of hesitance. The announcer's voice wavered slightly as he spoke, well aware of the gravity of the upcoming duel. His words were delivered with formality and respect. 

"Esteemed guests, we present to you the first battle of the day," he began, his words filled with formality and reverence. "In one corner, we have the mighty Lord Ares, born of the union between Zeus, King of the gods, and Hera, Queen of the heavens. He presides over the domains of war, strife, and bloodlust."

A murmur of respect rippled through the spectators as they focused their attention on the battlefield.

"And in the other corner," the announcer continued, "we have Persia, daughter of Lord Poseidon, god of the sea."

The hushed crowd turned their attention towards the entrance, where Ares made a dramatic entrance. With a flourish, the God of War strode into the arena, his imposing presence radiating power and dominance.

All eyes turned toward Persia, her gaze filled with a gleam of clear amusement. Her composure seemed unshakeable, even in the presence of the formidable god of war.

Ares, however, frowned as he noticed his usual intimidation tactics falling flat. His irritation grew as the daughter of Poseidon leisurely descended the central stairs, taking her sweet time to reach the arena.

During her descent, he couldn't help but observe the reactions of those present. He noticed Poseidon's exasperated expression coupled with fond eyes, the demigods suppressing their smiles, his mother's disapproving frown, and Lord Hades' quietly amused demeanour. The raised eyebrows of the other Olympians conveyed their curiosity and anticipation.

Ares seethed as he realised that Persia was seemingly making a mockery of him in front of his own parents and the esteemed council members of Olympus. His brows furrowed, and his eyes took on an ominous glow as he wrestled to keep his temper in check.

He scrutinised Persia, noting her relaxed posture as she observed him with amused eyes. What perplexed him further was her lack of weaponry in hand, making her audacity all the more confounding.

Unable to contain himself, he snarled, "Not going to attack?"

Her half-smile, her tone dripping with innocence, only fueled his frustration. "How can I attack before you? Won't it be disrespectful?" she remarked.

It felt to Ares like she was openly mocking him. In response, a cruel smirk twisted his typically handsome countenance as he allowed his control over his essence and aura to waver. His bloodlust, strife, and recklessness bled into the atmosphere, casting a dark cloud over the arena. These malevolent energies had the potential to push his opponent towards irrational violence, impairing their ability to think clearly and driving them toward self-destruction. Many had killed themselves upon facing the War God. 

Ares watched with growing surprise as Persia remained unaffected by the malevolent essence he exuded. To his amazement, her only response was a simple blink of her eyes and a subtle tilt of her head. This unshaken demeanour left him perplexed and slightly unnerved.

Ares summoned his precious sword into his hand, its form materialising with an ethereal flourish. As he observed, a sword appeared in Persia's hand as well, her posture straightening but still radiating a sense of relaxation. She still remained unaffected towards the energies swirling in the arena. 

The anticipation in the arena grew palpable as the divine battle between the God of War and the daughter of Poseidon was about to commence.

The clash of swords resounded with a thrilling intensity as Persia and Ares engaged in a sword fight. Persia's movements were nothing short of mesmerising, embodying a graceful dance of evasion and precision. With each fluid step, she teased Ares, her agile form slipping through his attacks like a wisp of wind. 

Persia's every motion was an elegant response to Ares' aggression. Her blade moved effortlessly to deflect his attacks, and she remained just out of reach of his furious offence, swaying and gliding away with an almost ethereal grace.

As Ares lunged forward, Persia sidestepped his assault with a swaying step, her sword barely a whisper away from his. She twirled gracefully, almost tauntingly, and countered his thrust with a calculated parry. Her expression bore a playful glint that seemed to infuriate Ares further.

The Olympians watched the spar between Persia and Ares with a mix of surprise and fascination. 

Zeus, observed the spectacle with raised eyebrows, his expression filled with a sense of fascination at the unexpected turn of events. Poseidon couldn't hide the pride in his eyes as he watched his daughter's fluid movements in the arena. Hades allowed a rare smile to grace his features, his soft appreciative gaze following Persia’s movements. 

In the stands, the immortals and minor deities, who had initially doubted the demigods' abilities, now found themselves in awe of Persia's mesmerising display. 

The atmosphere shifted from scepticism to amazement as Persia's graceful movements continued to defy expectations.  No one had ever lasted so long in front of the Olympians, especially not a demigod. The grand amphitheatre was abuzz with a mixture of astonishment and appraisal. Her extraordinary grace and skill were nothing short of a revelation, defying all expectations and traditions.

As the spar between Ares and Persia unfolded, the tension in the arena continued to mount. 

Ares was growing increasingly frustrated and irritated as Persia consistently defied his every attack, her graceful movements leaving him seething with anger.

Their swords clashed in a flurry of sparks, the ringing of steel echoing. Ares swung his sword with immense force, attempting to corner Persia, but she gracefully sidestepped his attacks, her lithe form dancing away from his reach. With each move, her swordplay became more elegant, more fluid, as if she were engaged in a carefully choreographed dance.

He roared in frustration, his attacks growing more aggressive and reckless. He lunged at Persia with all his might, but she effortlessly parried his strikes again. Ares felt his frustration boiling over, his pride wounded. 

He was unaccustomed to such defiance, especially from a mere half-mortal woman. The spar had become a test of wills, a battle not just of physical prowess but of sheer determination and grace. 

In a heartbeat, Persia seized an opportunity, exploiting a brief lapse in Ares' focus. With a lightning-fast move, she disarmed him, her sword pressed firmly against his neck. The amphitheatre fell into an eerie hush as everyone watched, their breaths held, unable to fathom what they were witnessing.

Even Ares seemed momentarily bewildered, his eyes locked onto the blade at his throat. The announcer, hesitant at first, glanced toward Zeus for approval. After a moment's pause, Zeus gave a nod of agreement, signalling that victory should go to Persia.

With a sense of solemnity, the announcer declared, "Victory goes to Persia!" The words hung in the air, echoing off the walls as the spectators tried to process the unbelievable turn of events. The amphitheatre erupted with a mix of astonishment and applause as the immortals alike acknowledged her triumph.

As the tension began to dissipate, Persia withdrew her sword and stepped back, her expression composed and her hand extended toward Ares. It was a gesture of respect and sportsmanship, one that few expected from a demigod after defeating a god.

Ares hesitated but then reached for her hand. He was taken aback by her deceptively strong grip as she effortlessly hauled him to his feet. The crowd looked on in amazement, stunned not only by her skill but also by her absence of arrogance, which was rarely seen in such a display of prowess.

Persia gave a gracious nod to Ares, acknowledging the defeated god with the dignity he deserved. In an instant, she disappeared from the arena, re-materializing beside Annabeth on the balcony in a whirl of water and mist.Persia was met with smiles and cheers from her friends. Annabeth greeted her with a confident smirk and a knowing look in her grey eyes as she said, "Well, I expected nothing less."

Persia's lips curled into a pleased smile. Thalia playfully teased Persia, leaning on the parapet with folded arms. "I was really looking forward to seeing those twin blades in action or your trident, Persia. You didn't give us the full show."

Jason chimed in, nodding his agreement. "Yeah, what about those signature moves that have ended wars? We were all set for some grand theatrics."

“You possess a trident, daughter?” Poseidon inquired with curiosity, his gaze on her. The Olympians had tuned in to the conversation, catching the demigods by surprise. Thalia gave a slightly apologetic look to Persia.

Persia gave a small nod and replied, “Yes, I do.”

Ares leaned in, his voice low, and asked, “So why didn't you use it then?”

As Persia met Ares' inquisitive gaze, she maintained her calm composure. "I didn't see the right opportunity to use it," she replied, her voice steady, "It was a spar, Lord Ares. Not a full-blown war. I didn't find it necessary to showcase all my abilities or weapons in a simple spar. Did you expect me to?"

Ares paused for a moment, his irritation from the battle slowly dissipating. “No.” He replied, his demeanour much milder than expected after his recent defeat. 

Persia exchanged a perplexed glance with Annabeth, both uncertain about Ares' change in demeanour.

Sensing the conversation dying down around him, Zeus signalled the announcer to proceed with the next spar.

The announcer's voice resonated throughout the amphitheatre as he declared the next match, "Esteemed guests, the stage is set for our next thrilling contest. In the upcoming bout, we will witness a formidable clash between two offspring of the mighty Lord Zeus. Presenting the highly revered Lady Artemis, daughter of Lord Zeus and Lady Leto, the noble Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon, and Thalia, the demigod daughter of Lord Zeus."

The audience erupted in applause.

Thalia couldn't help but chuckle upon hearing the pairing, which prompted Artemis to regard her with a raised eyebrow. Realising she might have appeared disrespectful, Thalia quickly raised her hand in a gesture of peace and explained, "I find it amusing because, in the future, I held the position of your lieutenant amongst the Hunters, and now you're my opponent in this spar."

Artemis's stern expression softened, and she nodded. "A curious coincidence, indeed. What happened to Zoë?"

Thalia's expression darkened, and she bowed her head slightly in remembrance. "She is with the stars, Lady Artemis. She will probably be mentioned in the third quest."

Artemis's eyes widened in shock, her gaze briefly misty before she admirably composed herself. She nodded and said, "Shall we continue to the arena?"

Thalia nodded, regarding her with a knowing look. "Of course."

Thalia and Artemis appeared in the arena. A spear materialised in Thalia's hand, its bronze tip glistening in the light. Artemis called forth her hunting knives, regarding Thalia with a curious look at her choice of weapon. 

The crowd hushed in anticipation of this intriguing battle between two fierce daughters of Zeus.

Nico leaned closer to Persia and whispered, "Who do you think stands a better chance of winning?" 

Nico's quiet question was like a ripple in the otherwise hushed atmosphere. It drew the attention of Zeus and the assembled Olympians, but Persia remained unfazed, her gaze locked onto the contestants in the arena, her eyes analytical.

"In this bout, they are well-matched, taking everything into consideration," she replied thoughtfully. "It could go either way."

Apollo arched an eyebrow, his voice laced with a hint of mockery, "So, you believe Thalia can truly compete with my sister? Keep in mind, Artemis possesses greater power and experience than Thalia."

Persia calmly responded, choosing to overlook Apollo's condescending tone, She replied firmly, "Yes, she is.  However, Thalia has fought alongside Artemis in numerous battles and is well-versed in her powers and techniques. Artemis, on the other hand, lacks that advantage."

Apollo's sceptical expression persisted, but he didn't press the issue any further, instead turning his attention back to the ongoing spar.

In the arena, the battle between Artemis and Thalia was nothing short of spectacular. Thalia's strength was formidable, and her agility far surpassed that of any mortal or demigod. With every move she made, it was as though the wind itself danced around her, augmenting her speed and grace. She was like a whirlwind, striking with precision and power, her spear a deadly extension of her will.

Persia smiled, observing Thalia in her element, demonstrating considerable abilities while keeping a few hidden tricks up her sleeve.

Artemis, on the other hand, was a paragon of focus and flexibility. She didn't rely on her godly abilities but instead met Thalia on equal terms, using her unparalleled hunting skills and agility to anticipate Thalia's moves. Her hunting knives flashed through the air, narrowly missing their mark as Thalia gracefully evaded each strike.

As the exchange of blows reached its climax, Artemis managed to get dangerously close to Thalia, pushing her to the ground with a knife menacingly poised at her throat. The arena was hushed in anticipation.

Yet, to everyone's surprise, Thalia had not conceded defeat. With unmatched swiftness and cunning, she had her own dagger poised perilously at Artemis's midriff. 

It was a daring and audacious move that showcased Thalia's strength, quick thinking, and unyielding determination.

Zeus, with an approving glint in his eyes, signalled the end of the spar, his daughters Artemis and Thalia heeding the command and stepping back. A thunderous applause filled the air. 

Thalia concealed the knife she held, while Artemis regarded her with a sincere admiration. She commented, "That was a delightful duel."

Thalia responded with a genuine smile, "I thoroughly enjoyed it as well." They both ascended the stairs amicably, engaging in a conversation about their respective missteps. Artemis noted how Thalia consistently favoured her left side, while Thalia pointed out the lack of fluidity in Artemis's movements.

Upon ascending the stairs, Thalia cast a brief glance at her friends, all of whom greeted her with affectionate, warm smiles. Her inquisitive gaze met Persia's gentle and approving stare. Persia raised a closed fist, "You did impressively well."

Thalia's face lit up with a grin as she fist-bumped Persia in acknowledgment. Nico, draped an arm around her shoulders, drew everyone in, creating an impromptu group hug.

Artemis assumed her seat, and a fond expression graced her features. Apollo quirked an inquisitive eyebrow in response to her demeanour, to which she responded with a casual shrug.

The following spar featured Nico facing off against Demeter.

The spar had prompted an unexpected response from the demigods. Thalia, Jason, and Will maintained neutral expressions, their faces devoid of any emotion. Persia wore a slight expression of distaste, with her lips curling disdainfully, while Annabeth furrowed her brows, showing concern. In contrast, Nico's eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, and his lips curled into a smirk reminiscent of his father.

Nico reassuringly patted Persia's hand before he casually strolled into the arena. Demeter casted a scrutinising look in his direction, summoning her gleaming golden sword into her hands. Nico drew his Stygian sword in response, prompting raised eyebrows from several onlookers.

Hades' eyes shimmered with anticipation, his gaze briefly shifting toward a contemplative Persia. He focused back on the spar. 

In the arena, Nico displayed a remarkable blend of ruthlessness, precision, and sheer force in his swordplay.  With every strike, Nico's movements were fluid and deliberate. His blade moved like an extension of himself, seeking out vulnerabilities in his opponent's defences. His strikes were merciless, aimed with deadly accuracy, and backed by an incredible force. Each swing of his Stygian sword resonated with a lethal intent that seemed almost enhanced.

Demeter found herself pushed to her limits. Her golden sword gleamed with raw power as she countered Nico's relentless attacks. She began to channel the forces of nature, summoning vines to entangle Nico, causing the earth to shake beneath him, and even conjuring gusts of wind to disrupt his balance. 

Nico skillfully parried the vines by slicing them down with his sword, sidestepping her onslaught with an inhuman grace. In a swift and calculated move, he conjured the infamous black hellfire, hurling it at Demeter. The searing flames scalded her hand as she tried to move out of harm's way. 

Nico's gaze sparkled with unwavering determination, a glint of cold resolve in his eyes. Demeter's face bore the unmistakable signs of frustration and determination as she grappled to keep pace with Nico's relentless onslaught. In a matter of moments, he harnessed shadowy vines, skillfully entangling the goddess, with one tendril of darkness solidifying into a sharp spike, poised perilously at her temple.

Hades' obsidian eyes brimmed with pride, and his son hardly waited for a formal declaration of victory before he whisked himself back to the balcony using shadow travel. He had left Demeter alone in the arena without a second glance. From his vantage point, he observed Persia embracing Nico, whispering something in his ear, which prompted a soft smile to grace his son's lips. Hades witnessed the warm and gentle smiles directed at his son by his friends. 

A heartwarming sensation swelled in his chest as he saw his son triumph over the goddess who had harboured enmity towards him, despite his previous apology.

Submerged in the cool embrace of the adjoining pool, Persia allowed the water to envelop her, shutting her eyes to the outside world. The soothing touch of the water worked its magic on her skin, healing the scratches and cuts acquired during their prolonged battles. Their fights had gone for a long while, and while they had won some and lost a few, they had to fight hard. 

In the midst of her respite, Persia reflected on the internal conflicts that sometimes turned her instincts against her. In this tense atmosphere, where her mind perceived every situation as a potential threat, maintaining composure was a delicate balance. It was crucial to differentiate between a mere spar and an all-out war, a distinction she often had to emphasise to herself.

A gentle rustle disrupted her contemplation, and Persia's eyes fluttered open to meet the affectionate gaze of Annabeth. "Hey Ana," she greeted, observing as Annabeth gingerly entered the pool, visibly reacting to the cold water. She patiently awaited the moment when Annabeth would voice her thoughts.

"Persia?" Annabeth's voice carried a hint of nervousness, a departure from her usual confident demeanour.  She responded with a curious hum.

"Do you ever ponder about your mother?" The unexpected question prompted Persia to sit up, an air of melancholy settling in the space between them.

"Sometimes," She admitted, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability, "I've been missing her terribly these days."

Annabeth ventured cautiously, "Do you think she is here?" Persia gently shook her head, her tone softening as she murmured, "She should be. Although, now I regret not learning more about her past when I had the chance."

A comfortable silence settled between them before Annabeth broached another topic. "That theory you were pondering about... have you thought of it further?"

"Nature was dying, Ana," She stated, a grim smile playing on her lips as she observed Annabeth's reaction, "There was an imbalance. With time, everyone would have faded away. Perhaps even the primordials."

As the weight of Persia's words hung in the air, Annabeth asked tentatively, "Do you think nature is dying even now?" Her voice carried a sense of uncertainty, and her eyes flickered with doubt. "It doesn't seem like that, though."

Persia remained silent, her gaze meeting Annabeth's with a depth of contemplation in her grim sea-green eyes.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 | 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐕

The attendance in the throne room dwindled significantly compared to the initial three gatherings. Poseidon's family had retreated to their underwater palace. Persephone was notably absent, as she would be spending the day with Demeter, and Aphrodite chose not to engage further. Many satyrs, nymphs, and Minor Gods found themselves tied up in their respective duties, preventing their presence at the gathering.

The diminished crowd in the throne room brought relief to the demigods. Being confined to a space where distinguishing between friend and foe became challenging had started to grate on their nerves.

Prior to commencing the reading of the next chapter, Persia signalled to Thalia, indicating that she should sit on the mattress instead of around the hearth like their friends.

"Right, I'm going to be poisoned in these chapters," Thalia's hushed words resonated prominently in the quiet of the hall.

"Ugh, don't even bring it up," Will grumbled, bringing out some excess nectar from his satchel bag. Persia shot them an amused look and then pulled out the book. She flipped through the chapters swiftly before handing it over to Hestia.

"How many chapters are we dealing with in the second quest?" Hestia inquired as she accepted the book.

"Three chapters, Lady Hestia," Persia replied, offering a small smile. Despite the smile, there was a hint of concern in her eyes. Hestia noticed her gaze briefly flicker over to Thalia, who was watching nearby.

"Don't worry, my dear. She'll be fine," Hestia reassured, sensing Persia's concern.

Persia's eyes softened as she responded, "I hope you're right."

"Let's get things underway, shall we?" Zeus interjected, putting an end to any ongoing conversations as all eyes turned to him. "Hermes, my son, would you do the honours and read the next chapter?"

"Of course, Father." Hermes took the book from Hestia and briskly made his way to the assigned chapter. He blinked at the title, stealing a glance at the group of demigods gathered around.

Chapter 4 → Unearthing ventures. 

Annabeth’s pov.

Annabeth sat up straight, shooting an annoyed glance at the amused Persia. Persia responded with a playful wink, causing Annabeth to huff. Athena focused intently as her daughter's perspective was being narrated.

The summer was peculiar about several things. It was amazing how… 

As the words of the narrative washed over her, Persia's gaze turned distant, her eyes fixated on an unseen horizon. The dulcet tones of Hermes became a mere backdrop in her mind which had wandered back to a time when her mother's laughter echoed through the air, and the world bore the luminescence of untarnished innocence. 

A melancholic longing, heavy and sweet, settled in Persia's heart. The air carried the bittersweet essence of nostalgia, a fragrance that stirred the dormant embers of emotions long tucked away. These readings made her yearn for a world where innocence reigned, and the weight of destiny had not yet etched its marks on their lives. It reminded her of those pockets of happiness in the bygone time. 

The throne room of Olympus continued its divine proceedings, unaware of the storm raging within Persia. Her outward demeanour remained composed, a facade of stoicism concealing the tempest unravelling beneath the surface.

The thoughts of happy times changed into terror within moments. A surge of irrational fear coursed through her veins, though the cause eluded her conscious mind.

Was it by product of the readings or her mind creating panic for some reason? 

As the voices around her melded into an indistinct murmur, Persia's senses heightened to an almost painful degree. The air, once crisp and invigorating, now felt stifling, each breath a struggle against an invisible force closing in. Her chest tightened, a vise-like grip constricting around her heart.

Panic had stealthily infiltrated the sanctum of her thoughts. Persia's jaw clenched in a desperate attempt to stifle any audible manifestation of her turmoil. The once-stoic mask she wore threatened to crack, revealing the vulnerability she sought to keep hidden. 

Persia's eyes darted erratically across the room. She tried to focus on the ongoing narrative, but the words blurred into an incomprehensible jumble. Her hands trembled imperceptibly. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to dissipate. 

Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead, betraying the internal struggle she fought valiantly to conceal. Her breaths, shallow and rapid, mimicked the rhythm of an untamed heartbeat.

She needed a distraction. She scanned the surroundings with an unsettled gaze. It was then that her eyes landed on Thalia.

Thalia’s usually vibrant face had dulled to a sickly pallor, and beads of cold sweat glistened on her forehead. The vitality that usually radiated from her had dissipated, leaving behind an unsettling hollowness. The colour drained from Thalia's normally lively eyes, replaced by a haunting emptiness that sent a shiver down Persia's spine.

Persia got up hurriedly, her balance uncoordinated from her recent panic attack. “Thalia!”

All eyes went to her as she ran towards Thalia. The other demigods were just behind her. 

Persia’s arms went round Thalia’s frame, gently patting her cheeks, “Thalia, love, hold on.” 

A tremor coursed through Thalia's frame. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle against an unseen adversary. Thalia's hand instinctively pressed against her chest, fingers searching for a solace that eluded her.

“This is bad!” Will’s voice was panicked, “Her condition is worsening rapidly.” 

As the realisation of Thalia's poisoning settled like a dark cloud over the throne room, Apollo descended from his throne. His typically playful countenance was marred by furrowed brows, a rare glimpse of seriousness that mirrored the gravity of the situation.

“Move.” 

The demigods heeded his order, making space for him. Only Persia remained by Thalia’s side. 

With a swift yet gentle motion, Apollo touched Thalia's temple, his fingertips grazing the tainted skin. A warm glow surrounded his hand and the demigoddess winced at the contact, and Apollo's expression tightened further.  

"Python venom," he muttered under his breath, a revelation that sent ripples of disbelief through the divine assembly, “It is far more potent that I remember it being.” 

Will’s eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and recognition, and he couldn't contain his question. "The same Python you defeated, Father?" he asked, voice trembling with uncertainty. 

Apollo nodded at his son with a grim look, "Yes, the very same, son.”

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the laboured breaths of Thalia. 

Zeus looked tense, eyes darting between his son and his poisoned daughter. 

"Apollo, my son, what can we do to aid Thalia?" He inquired, his expression reflecting his deep concern.

"I've infused Thalia with my own essence," Apollo announced, his tone grave. "It will temporarily stave off the poison, Father. However, we need a lasting solution."

"Can't you extract the poison from her body, brother?" Artemis inquired, approaching them. She felt a sense of responsibility for Thalia, as she was her lieutenant in the future. Additionally, Artemis admired Thalia for her maturity and composure.

"I can attempt it," Apollo responded, "but the poison is spreading faster than I can extract it. It would be an exceedingly risky procedure, sister."

Persia's thoughts drifted to a fragment of a conversation she had with Luke. While keeping one eye on Apollo's words, she strained to recall what she had once learned.

Luke had mentioned something about the venom used to poison Thalia's tree, a venom found in the darkest depths of the Tartarean pit. The puzzle pieces clicked together in her mind, and her eyes widened with the gravity of the revelation.

“The Golden Fleece.” She murmured, slightly dazed. 

Apollo raised an eyebrow as he caught her murmured words. He prompted her to elaborate, “Pardon?” 

Persia’s mind raced with an  urgency, as she gently laid Thalia’s head down on the pillows. "Then there's only one way to cure her," She said, her eyes meeting Annabeth as the same thing dawned on her. Will and Jason exchanged glances, their concern evident, while Nico observed with a quiet intensity. 

Persia stood up as she repeated, “The Golden Fleece, Lord Apollo.” She met his gaze, “It was the second quest. It had healed her once. It will heal her again, right?” 

“It should.” Apollo’s gaze turned pensive, “Yes. It would be an ideal solution.” 

Persia asked, a plan forming in her mind questioned, "Do we know where it is now?" 

"We can find where it is," Zeus interjected, the weight of his authority underscoring the urgency of the situation. Before anyone else could speak, Ares, his gaze surprisingly devoid of malice, spoke up, "It is at my grove, in an island called Colchis."

The room buzzed with a renewed sense of purpose. Zeus commanded the Anemoi to swiftly gather all available information about Colchis. 

In a swift flurry of ethereal winds, the Anemoi departed on their task and returned moments later with the sought information. 

"Aeëtes is the current king of Colchis," they reported, their voices carrying the winds of distant lands.

Zeus, weighing the options, turned his gaze to Apollo and Persia. "Both of you shall go to the kingdom and retrieve the fleece. Time is of the essence. Go at once."

Ares, surprising the assembly, said without hesitation. "I'll come along as well." 

Hera frowned at that, not at all liking Ares’ changing nature. Zeus nodded in approval, gesturing for them to take leave. 

The throne room of Colchis buzzed with muted whispers as King Aeëtes held court. Suddenly, the air itself seemed to shimmer, and the room was filled with a blinding radiance.

The first, a golden flaming chariot, held the unmistakable figure of Lord Apollo, his divine presence illuminating the room. He stood tall, clad in garbs of white, shimmering with the brilliance of the sun. His golden hair cascaded in waves around his shoulders and rested gently down his back; each strand seemingly touched by the very rays of the sun he commanded. A weaved crown of gold laurels rested gently on his temple, enhancing his splendour. 

Beside him was an exquisite female figure, her countenance radiating grace and power, leaving Aeëtes and his courtiers in awe. She was a captivating vision in silken beige robes. A circlet of gold and pearls adorned her brow, crowning her with an air of regal elegance. Her raven hair, intricately woven into a braided bun, added a touch of sophistication to her ethereal presence. 

They struggled to name the celestial woman in their midst for they have never seen her. 

The second chariot, a manifestation of dark elegance, was manned by Lord Ares. Horses made of literal frames carried the God of War, a sight that both intimidated and fascinated the onlookers. His attire, a manifestation of warlike splendour, consisted of armour forged from celestial metals. His gaze was intense and unyielding, surveying the room with a silent challenge. His features were chiselled with the raw power befitting the god of war. His dark hair, falling in untamed strands, added to the aura of controlled chaos that surrounded him.

As the chariots touched down, the atmosphere crackled with the residual energy of their celestial descent. Apollo extended a hand to the lady beside him, who accepted his help as she descended. Aeëtes and his courtiers bent low in a gesture of profound reverence. The grand hall, once abuzz with the hum of curiosity, now fell into a sacred hush as the king and his attendants awaited the purpose behind this celestial visitation.

Apollo addressed the king with a voice that carried the weight of authority. "King Aeëtes, we come bearing a request from Zeus, the king of gods." 

Aeëtes nodded, "You have but to ask, Lord Apollo. How can we help, my lord?"

Ares replied, his tone respectful. "We are in need of the Golden Fleece, King."  Aeëtes blinked, a baffled smile on his face, "My lord, it is kept in the sacred groove dedicated to you. It is to do with as you please."

"Then show us the way, Aeëtes," commanded Apollo. With his hands folded behind him, he was a picture of casual elegance and refined power. 

Aeëtes bowed, "As you wish. Please follow me." 

He briefly glanced at the silent female, but dropped his gaze on noticing the two Olympians looking at him. 

Sunlight filtered through the thick foliage, casting dappled shadows on the ground below. Hidden beneath a canopy of ancient trees, lay a sacred grove dedicated to Ares.  At the centre of the grove stood a majestic oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching skyward. Nestled within the branches of the oak tree, bathed in the gentle glow of sunlight, rested the coveted Golden Fleece. 

Coiled at the foot of the ancient oak tree, the guardian of the Golden Fleece lay in eternal vigilance. 

The dragon was magnificent. 

Scales, the colour of twilight shadows, adorned its serpentine form, shimmering in the filtered sunlight like a cascade of obsidian jewels. The dragon's sinuous body, sinewy and powerful, seemed to meld seamlessly with the roots of the oak tree. 

Each scale, meticulously arranged, caught the light in a mesmerising dance. His azure eyes, the hue of a cloudless sky, glowed with an intelligence that transcended mere instinct. They held the wisdom of ages.  These eyes were watchful and unyielding. The dragon's head, crowned with curved horns reminiscent of crescent moons, lowered in a regal stance. From its maw, adorned with razor-sharp teeth like a row of unsheathed swords, emanated a quiet hiss. The limbs terminated in claws that would rend the earth itself. Each step, though seemingly languid, betrayed a coiled energy ready to unleash at a moment's notice. Its wings unfurled in a majestic display. 

Ares, sensing the impending confrontation with the dragon, summoned a protective shield—a shimmery wall of red that enveloped them like a cocoon. The trio, Persia, Apollo, and Ares, stood shielded from the dragon's piercing gaze, anticipation hanging in the air like a tangible force.

As Persia took a step forward, Ares restrained her, a firm hand on her shoulder. "The dragon is a dangerous beast," he warned, his eyes flickering to the watching creature.

"I do not think he will harm me." Persia said, a silent plea in her eyes, "Allow me to try, Lord Ares. Time is running out." 

Ares glanced at Apollo, an unspoken question in his eyes. Apollo, after a contemplative moment, exhaled a breath. He questioned Persia, "How are you so sure that the beast will not attack you?"

Persia looked at him, a fleeting smile gracing her lips. "Instincts, Lord Apollo."

Apollo gestured her to go ahead, while Ares turned to him with an unspoken question in his eyes. Apollo explained, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Stopping or arguing with her would be detrimental. She is stubborn and at the moment, restless." 

"Allowing her to go ahead could hurt her," Ares voiced his concern, his eyes fixed on Persia who was nearing the beast.

"I did not know you cared, Ares," Apollo remarked, his surprise concealed beneath a veneer of nonchalance. "I thought you would be slighted after…" He paused, his gaze assessing his half-brother with curiosity.

"Lord Poseidon would have both of our heads if his precious daughter was harmed in our presence," Ares replied neutrally. Apollo acknowledged, "Yes, he did get attached to her very quickly, didn't he? It's a good thing she's not a defenceless damsel."

By then, Persia had reached the dragon, who watched her with curious eyes. Instead of attacking, the dragon unfurled himself, standing upright on his two back legs with magnificent wings spread. To the observers, it felt like an imminent attack, but to their astonishment, the beast landed on his front legs, bowing his head in a semblance of a bow. His head was nearly placed at the feet of Persia.

Astounded gasps echoed through the entourage of King Aeëtes as they witnessed the dragon's unexpected act of submission. 

Aeëtes was bewildered by the unforeseen turn of events. He murmured, "How is this possible?" The question lingered in the air, unanswered, as the two Olympians—Apollo and Ares—remained unmoved, their attention fixed solely on Persia.

Meanwhile, Persia stood in front of the dragon, her demeanour transformed from cautious to affectionate. With a tenderness, she caressed the dragon's head. In a voice as gentle as a breeze, Persia spoke to the dragon, murmuring softly. "A dear friend has been poisoned by the Python's venom. There exists no other known remedy but the Golden Fleece. I need your permission to take it."

The dragon, its azure eyes reflecting both ancient wisdom and a spark of understanding, listened to Persia's plea. With a grace that defied its fearsome exterior, the dragon extended its formidable claws, delicately plucking the Golden Fleece from its place on the oak tree.

With a slight bow of its head, it placed the Golden Fleece into Persia's hands. The fleece, a radiant tapestry of shimmering gold, seemed to glow with an ethereal light in the demigod's grasp.

Persia’s eyes were misty with gratitude as she gazed at the Golden Fleece with a profound reverence. 

A soft smile graced her lips as she murmured her thanks to the dragon, a silent promise echoing in her words. "I shall return it to its rightful place after it has fulfilled its use."

Despite the unexpected actions of the dragon and Persia's words, Apollo and Ares maintained stoic expressions, revealing no sign of surprise. On the other hand, King Aeëtes and his retinue gazed at Persia with eyes brimming with awe. 

They departed from the Kingdom of Colchis, heading back to Olympus with the Golden Fleece secured on the chariots directly from the sacred grove.

The chariot descended gracefully, touching the marble floor of the throne room with a subtle hum. Persia wasted no time; the moment the chariot made contact, she leaped from its platform, her movements a blend of urgency and determination. Half-walking, half-running, she raced towards the place where Thalia lay, the Golden Fleece clutched tightly in her hands.

Will joined her in swift steps, the fleece unfurled and ready for its intended purpose. As they reached Thalia's side, a hushed anticipation settled over the room, and the air thrummed with the energy. 

Persia and Will wrapped the Golden Fleece around Thalia, the fabric cocooning her in a shimmering embrace. The ancient and potent magic of the fleece stirred to life. Thalia's bluish skin, a haunting reminder of the venom's grip, slowly yielded to the transformative power of the artefact. Colours returned to her complexion, and the telltale signs of distress began to dissipate.

Thalia's breathing eased, the tremors that had racked her body subsided. Then, as if emerging from a restful slumber, Thalia's eyes fluttered open. Persia watched with misty eyes as she stood by as the healing magic of the Golden Fleece completed its work. A relieved expression was evident on her affectionate gaze.  Annabeth leaped towards Thalia, enveloping her in a tight hug that spoke volumes of worry and relief. Thalia reciprocated the embrace; she blinked reassuringly at Persia when she noticed her standing beside her. 

“Let’s finish the reading as soon as possible.” Persia said, wiping a few stray tears that had slipped. Although she did not turn to face the Olympians, her words addressed them. “The faster we finish reading about this quest, the better for us all.” 

Zeus, who had been observing the unfolding events, agreed with a nod. He swiftly concealed any trace of relief behind an indifferent gaze, signalling to Hermes to commence the continuation of the reading. Apollo and Ares, resumed their seats amidst the council. Thalia lay against the pillows, still cocooned in the comforting embrace of the Golden Fleece. Jason held her tightly in his arms. The recent ordeal had left him with a lingering fear of losing his sister once again, and his embrace served as a reassurance for the siblings. 

The narrative unfolded, weaving a tale of post-poisoning events that left the council in a state of disbelief. As they learned that Chiron had been accused of poisoning Thalia, a collective murmur of astonishment rippled through the assembly.  Zeus himself expressed incredulity, unable to fathom that Chiron, a figure held in high respect, could be capable of such heinous acts.

The disbelief deepened when they discovered that it was Chiron who had suggested that the Golden Fleece would be the only thing that could save the camp. Apollo glanced at Persia understanding the implication of her earlier suggestion. 

"Tantalus?" Hades exclaimed, astonishment etching his features. A sneer graced his lips as he spoke in a cold drawl. "That's unexpected."

“When Lord Zeus ordered him to take over as the Camp’s Director, we were just as surprised, Uncle,” Persia revealed, glancing at Zeus. The King of Gods looked stricken by his own decisions in the distant future.

The surprises persisted as the narrative unfolded, unveiling that a daughter of Ares had been sent on the quest alone. Ares, once again, defied expectations by expressing curiosity about his future offspring.

Will replied, “Clarisse did go alone, but she was later joined by Annabeth, Tyson, and Persia. At least, that’s what I know.” He gently nudged the absent-minded Persia, who nodded along to his explanation.

Ares refrained from pressing for further explanations, though his dissatisfaction with the response was evident.

The council delved deeper into the narrative, learning how the trio encountered Luke again on a ship, where he revealed his intention to revive Kronos. This proclamation was met with stony silence, creating an agitated atmosphere.

Hermes reluctantly continued to read, his voice stilting as the narrative progressed. They discovered how the trio narrowly escaped on a boat and sought refuge in a hideout that Annabeth, Thalia, and Luke had built as children. There, a hydra found and attacked them, only to be thwarted by Clarisse on her ship.

“Do the clan of monsters hold a personal grudge against you, dearest?” Poseidon sounded exasperated to his own ears. He watched with concern as small cuts and scrapes bloomed on Persia’s skin, promptly attended to by the attentive son of Apollo.

Persia shrugged, a small, helpless smile tugging at her lips in response to her father’s reaction.“That hideout was still there?” Thalia murmured to Annabeth, who nodded. Annabeth whispered back, “We can talk later. Conserve your strength. You aren’t healed yet.”

When the part about the Sea of Monsters unfolded, Poseidon sat up with an attentive look on his face. He was astonished to learn that his daughter was more than capable of controlling the currents of the Sea of Monsters, even though that area fell under the exclusive territory of Lord Oceanus.

The narrative abruptly halted when Annabeth groaned, a sudden distress evident in her expression.  Athena asked with a slight worry in her eyes, “Is everything alright, child? Are you hurt?”

“No, I am alright.” Annabeth replied, her brows furrowing in displeasure, “I just realised that the part with the Sirens will be there too!” At once, her eyes widened as she realised what she had blurted out. 

“Sirens?” Athena was taken aback, while Poseidon raised an eyebrow. A flush of embarrassment marred Annabeth’s cheeks as she waved them off, gesturing for them to read ahead.

The segment involving the Sirens arrived, and Annabeth avoided meeting anyone's eyes as her fatal flaw was laid bare. Athena's face remained impassive, while Zeus concealed his own unease as the book detailed Annabeth’s vulnerability. However, when he stole a glance at the woman seated at the hearth, stark differences between them became apparent.

Zeus and Athena promptly brushed aside the resonance of the fatal flaw — Hubris, as Annabeth had named it in the book.

Ares furrowed his brow, his chin resting on his palm as he listened to Hermes' voice reading. A realisation dawned on him as the narrative progressed, especially when Annabeth confessed her insecurities to Persia.He marvelled at how the daughter of Poseidon refrained from mocking her friend, offering a supportive shoulder instead. She didn't judge Annabeth for her weakness.

Ares belonged to a world where strength dictated reputation, a sentiment fueled by his envy of his older half-brother Apollo. Encountering someone who defied the integral thought process he had always known was a novel experience. While he was engrossed in his musings, the story continued to unfold.

The demigods in the book found themselves on an island belonging to Persia's half-brother, the cyclops Polyphemus, who had captured Clarisse.

Persia's soft chuckle rippled through the group, drawing everyone's attention. Beside her, Annabeth couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips.

"What brings about such laughter, dear ones?" Hestia inquired, her eyes softening at the genuine amusement reflected in the eyes of these women, whose expressions rarely betrayed emotion.

Persia replied, her voice carrying a hint of laughter. "Our satyr friend Grover was playing the part of Polyphemus's bride. It was truly the most amusing scene. What do you think, Ana?"

"Please," Annabeth chortled, "Even Clarisse was trying not to laugh. And she was kidnapped!" Ares raised an incredulous eyebrow at those words.

"Grover does find himself in the oddest of situations," Thalia remarked, her gaze softening at the rare sound of genuine happiness in her friends' laughter. It was an uncommon sight to witness Annabeth and Persia genuinely enjoying a moment of mirth.

Hermes continued weaving the narrative, a small smile playing on his lips as he observed the banter among the demigods. For those fleeting moments, the tale allowed him respite from thoughts of his son betraying Olympus.

The collective eyes of the immortals widened as Persia uncovered the Golden Fleece. Ares nodded in acknowledgment towards Persia as they made their escape on hippocampi. Poseidon felt a surge of relief as his daughter navigated out of harm's way, his joy amplified by her departure from Oceanus' territories. The assembly of immortals found themselves once again surprised when Persia, Annabeth, Grover, and Tyson allowed Clarisse to claim the Golden Fleece and bask in the glory of a successfully completed quest. Their amazement deepened as they witnessed the cunning way the daughter of Poseidon utilised Luke's confession to absolve Chiron of any blame.

Zeus scoffed at Chiron's reasoning for being suspected, dryly stating, "By that logic, we, the oldest children of our dearest father, are just as culpable."

The admission from Zeus drew wide-eyed looks from the demigods. However, the assembly paid them little mind, aside from a few curious glances. Their primary focus remained fixed on the unfolding story.

They discovered that Thalia's tree had been miraculously cured by the Golden Fleece. Its potent magic proved formidable, not only restoring the tree but also resurrecting Thalia herself, presenting another potential demigod for the Great Prophecy.

Despite the uplifting turn of events, the final thoughts documented by Persia left an uneasy undercurrent among the assembly.

Persia had again sat down by the hearth to analyse the recent quest. She had always been taught to trust her instincts. 

Her mother always said that the eyes were the easiest to deceive. It was the instincts that caught information before their brain. 

Persia felt that she had missed several vital clues. Hence, she again had a paper and pen in hand so she could write down her thoughts. It helped her to organise all the information.

As she revisited the entire quest, a realisation struck her: Luke had openly disclosed his intention to raise Kronos. The question echoed in her thoughts – why? 

If the very basics of strategy was followed, informing a probable enemy of any future plans was a blunder of the worst sort. Why did Luke say what he did? 

Above all, he went on proclaiming that he did not care about Annabeth anymore. Yet, he did not hurt her – he did not even allow his minions to put a single scratch on her. A bit contradictory, wasn't it? 

Then, the matter of Thalia's tree getting poisoned. She could bet the entire wealth of her Godfather that it was Luke who had poisoned her. 

How in the name of the three realms had he managed to enter the Camp and leave without even Chiron noticing was a mystery to be solved another day. 

Persia was getting a headache just by trying to think in circles.

She grumbled, "Why can't you be a simple villain, Luke? It almost seems like you have your own agenda, irrespective of what my beloved grandpa wants!"

There was another thing – Thalia. 

For a single second, Persia had caught relief and a glimmer of genuine happiness in Luke's indifferent eyes when he had heard the news of the Golden Fleece being with Clarissse. 

At that time, she had dismissed it, thinking it to be a play of the firelight. Was the true objective to revive Thalia? 

Given Luke's affection and attachment to Thalia, it was highly probable. 

However, she wondered whether the plan was Luke's or Kronos. 

After all, both had reasons to revive Thalia. 

The three chapters of the second quest were finished. The conclusion of the second quest left them with more questions than answers, the lingering uncertainties casting a shadow over their understanding.

"I…" Thalia licked her lips, her throat a bit dry as several eyes turned to her. " …Persia, do you truly think it was Luke's plan all along?" 

Annabeth glanced at her curiously as well. She had made peace with Luke's actions long back, but the hurt had remained. It had turned into a scar that still hasn't healed. 

Persia tilted her head, considering her question. She kept quiet for a few moments wondering how to answer the question.  "I will ask a few questions in return, Thalia." 

Thalia began to protest, but Persia silenced her with a stern look. She spoke, meeting Thalia's gaze, "If Luke's goal was to resurrect our grandfather, then why was he traversing the oceans? He was well aware that he couldn't contend with me in my father's domain. Yet, he always knew our whereabouts. Suspicious, isn't it?"

Thalia gulped, her eyes misty as she stared at the flames in the hearth without blinking.

"Perhaps Lord Oceanus was assisting him?" Annabeth countered after a brief pause for thought. "After all, we were in his region. Didn't he command the ancient sea monsters to attack Atlantis?"

Persia and Poseidon stiffened and so did Hera, which went unnoticed. 

Poseidon frowned at where this conversation was going. He highly respected both Lord Oceanus and Lord Nereus. The mere thought of Oceaus fighting against him, made him wince. 

"No. That matter was completely different." There was an undercurrent of avoidance in Persia's voice. "Lord Oceanus did not help Luke in any way."

"How are you so sure of it?" Thalia cross questioned. "As far as I remember, Lord Oceanus sided with the Titans." 

"He did not side with the Titans. Trust me on this." She tried to keep her voice gentle, knowing Thalia was being stubborn as a defence mechanism. Persia was hoping she would let the matter go.

Thalia questioned, "How can you ask me to trust you when you won't even reveal the reason behind your belief?"

A sudden silence hung in the air as Thalia realised the weight of her words and the audience to whom she had spoken. She winced at her impulsive blunder, cursing her tendency to let her emotions run ahead of her thoughts. Speaking such words in front of the Olympians was undoubtedly a misstep.

All eyes turned to Persia, waiting to see how she would react. Persia's shoulders slumped slightly, sensing the hidden accusation in Thalia's tone. She massaged her temples, feeling the onset of a headache.

"You're angry and confused," Persia began, her gaze blank as she addressed Thalia, who flinched at the cold tone. "We will speak once your logic is not clouded by your emotions."

With those words, Persia took the Golden Fleece from Thalia and briskly strode out of the room. As soon as Persia left, Nico reached out and gave Thalia a none-too-gentle slap on the back of her head.

Thalia grumbled, "What was that for?"

"Just making sure your brain cells are working properly," Nico retorted, giving her a pointed look. "They looked like they needed a proper jolt."

"Nico!" Thalia glared at him before turning her attention to the door with a despondent expression. "I think I crossed a line."

"You think?" Jason raised an eyebrow, pointing out, "That was uncalled for and rude, sis. Isn't it obvious that she would know more about the affairs regarding the Sea than you or I?"

"It doesn't hide the fact that she is hiding something from us," Thalia said petulantly, crossing her arms.

"She is," Annabeth conceded easily, surprising many. "However, as long as it doesn't affect our present, I don't see how knowing about her personal affairs is any of our concern." Thalia's stubborn look melted into a guilty one. "I should go and apologise."

Annabeth stopped her with a hand on her arm, shaking her head negatively. "Not now, Thalia. Give her some time to cool down. Once she returns, you can apologise."

As Thalia settled back, Nico turned to the highly interested assembly, rolling his eyes at their stunned expressions. He addressed Zeus, "Are we done for the day?"

"Yes, I suppose we are," Zeus replied quietly, his gaze shifting from Thalia to Poseidon, who seemed lost in thought. Nico met his father's eyes and asked, "Can we go have lunch then?"

"Absolutely, son," Hades said, giving a small smile to his child. "We will join you after a few moments at the pavilion."

Nico shrugged, helping Thalia up, who appeared completely healthy, with not even a speck of poison in her body. The other demigods followed suit, leaving for the dining pavilion.

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟭  | 𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝗟𝗲𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗵

"Remarkable, wasn't it?" Athena remarked, her voice carrying an air of quiet authority. Her discerning eyes gracefully traversing the countenances encircling her. "The courage, the honesty, the cunning, and the humility those demigods and the satyr displayed during the quest were truly commendable."

Zeus inclined his regal visage in agreement. "Agreed, Athena," he rumbled, "These demigods are turning out to be far more interesting than any of our time."

Apollo interjected with an air of casual contemplation. "Not only interesting, Father. They are highly mysterious as well."

Dionysus raised an eyebrow inquisitively, a sardonic smile on his face. "Why would you say that? Did something peculiar happen in Colchis, Apollo?"

Poseidon’s stern visage softened with paternal concern. He focused as the conversation veered toward his daughter.

Apollo nodded solemnly. "The Dragon that guards the grove dedicated to Ares did not harm her. Instead, when she requested it, the dragon yielded to her."

Athena interjected, "It must have been because Father ordered it, Apollo. It is hardly surprising."

“No.” Artemis countered with a measured glance, "The dragons are independent beings, much like the monsters. However, I do not remember that specific dragon to be an ally of ours."

Hephaestus' gaze swept over the divine assembly. "It isn't," he remarked, "I do not recall we have any Dragon allies."

“It was not the only surprising thing,” Ares proclaimed, “The Dragon bowed to her when she approached it.”

The revelation prompted an array of raised eyebrows and incredulous expressions. Unbeknownst to the divine assembly, Hades' eyes had subtly widened at those words before he skillfully masked his reactions.

Poseidon voiced his perplexity upon hearing of this unprecedented event. “Why would the dragon do so?”

Hephaestus, redirected the discourse to a more pressing matter. "It is a peculiar thing but not a highly serious topic to discuss," He declared, steering the conversation back to the matters at hand. "When are we convening the next meeting for these readings?" 

Zeus released a sigh, deliberating on the words spoken by Hera’s son. "Yes, correct," he conceded. "I was thinking about a month later. What do you all think?"

“Acceptable, Father.” Artemis nodded with a gentle smile, “It would afford me the opportunity to converse with my Hunters and apprise them of the current situation.”

Poseidon shifted his attention to Hades. “Hades, you have been rather quiet. What do you think?” 

Hades found himself unexpectedly addressed. The Olympians awaited the counsel of the older son of Kronos, their gazes resting upon him. Hades pinched his temple momentarily, remaining silent for a brief pause, gathering his thoughts.

"I think," he finally spoke, his tone measured, "... we should seek counsel from the demigods regarding the Camp they speak of so fondly. The earlier we commence the preparations for this war, the better."

“So soon, Hades?” Hera objected, not liking the increasing involvement of the demigods in their affairs. “What is the need of spreading fear amongst the masses?” 

Hades lifted his shoulders with a graceful shrug. "It is a mere suggestion, Hera," he intoned with a touch of detached indifference. "The future is not certain. What guarantee is there that we will face the Titans and the Giants in two separate wars? What if they ally against us in one grand conflict? There are several variables in the present time beyond any of our control. How long has it been since we fought a war? A true war of immortals?"

"We are out of practice," Zeus admitted, bestowing a nod of agreement upon Hades as he pondered the weight of the statement. "I concur with Hades. He is correct."

Apollo nodded in affirmation, “Lord Hades' suggestion bears merit and foresight. I am in agreement as well. I will also keep a lookout for any prophecies or visions."

Zeus shot a look full of pride at him, before his gaze flickered to Artemis, “My dear, will you be able to bring your Hunters to Olympus tomorrow? They may also attend the meeting.”

"I will see to it at once, Father," Artemis replied with a demure smile.

"Perhaps for now, we should depart," suggested Hestia, the goddess of the hearth, sensing the lull in conversations.

Zeus nodded in acknowledgment, allowing the assembly to disband. As the Minor Gods and other immortal beings vacated the throne room, their typically lively whispers took on a more solemn tone.

Hera, Hephaestus, Ares, Hades, Athena, Poseidon, Dionysus, and Artemis swiftly exited, leaving only Zeus's sons, Hermes and Apollo, still seated. Hestia, perceptive as ever, also halted as she observed their lingering presence in the throne room.

Zeus cast a glance at the contrite Hermes, while Apollo attempted to reassure him with a soft and considerate voice. He approached Hermes, laying a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "My child, I sense your concern for Luke and his future actions. However, rest assured that the events you worry about have not transpired. As I've mentioned before, you are not accountable for your son's choices."

Apollo chimed in, "That's precisely what I've been trying to convey. The demigods view Luke as a friend, not an enemy. Will has already emphasised this, Hermes. There's no need to be disheartened by actions that have yet to unfold."

Zeus added his support, gently squeezing Hermes' shoulder. "Don't dwell on him, my child."

Hermes expressed his inner turmoil, murmuring, "It's the betrayal that troubles me, Father. If Luke faced such issues, why didn't he confide in me? If demigods were to join our feasts in the future, he would have encountered me. I'm perplexed about where I went wrong with him. It seems he holds me responsible, yet I'm oblivious to my children's personal feelings on several matters. Have I truly been so negligent?"

Hestia stepped forward, offering a gentle smile. She took Hermes' hand in hers, providing reassurance. "The story is not complete, nephew. Let's not rush to conclusions without all the facts. I understand you're emotionally conflicted, but I urge you to withhold judgement. Strive to remain as neutral as possible."

Hermes managed a faint smile, saying, "My gratitude, Aunt Hestia."

The dragon raised its head as Persia approached him. Gently patting the head of the colossal creature, she felt the rough scales beneath her fingertips, a stark contrast to the softness of the Fleece she now handed over. The Fleece floated away on the groove, retaking its original place.

As the golden strands disappeared into the sacred place dedicated to Ares, Persia couldn't shake the heaviness in her heart. 

Thalia's distrust, unveiled before the watchful eyes of the Olympians, lingered like a shadow. Disappointment crept into her thoughts. Her family had always been a pillar of trust, and Thalia's sudden scepticism shattered the foundation she had taken for granted.

With a sigh, Persia lowered herself to the ground beside the dragon, who sensed her distress. The great beast laid its head on her lap, a gesture of comfort from the part of the beast. 

She looked into the intelligent gaze of her scaly companion, finding solace in the serene environment around the groove. A breeze whispered through the sacred grove, rustling the leaves and carrying with it the weight of Persia's emotions. The dragon was a silent confidant, seeming to ask a silent question with its eyes — a question that cut through the stillness of the sacred sanctuary.

Persia mustered a brittle smile, an attempt to reassure both herself and the dragon. "I am alright," she spoke softly, her voice carrying the echoes of inner turmoil. Yet, the dragon remained by her side, a steadfast presence in the midst of uncertainty. 

The sacred grove seemed to stir with a subtle energy as a gentle breeze carried the music of small bells. The rustle of leaves made Persia turn her head. 

Standing there was a regal figure with the grace befitting her lineage. Queen Idyia, the daughter of Oceanus and Tethys, was a gorgeous figure, befitting the rumors that say enchanters were born in the sea. 

Persia managed a tentative smile when she approached her. While she had never met her, her mother had told numerous stories of her sisters. 

"I thought I would see you here," Idyia remarked with a knowing twinkle in her eyes, her voice soft. Persia, unable to rise or bow in her current position, offered a polite apology, "I apologise that I have not arrived through the front door. I should have told someone of my arrival."

Idyia laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the grove, and gracefully took a seat beside Persia. "None of that formality amongst family, niece. I am your aunt," she reassured, reaching out to take Persia's hand in hers. There was a warmth in the touch, "You seem sad. May I know of the matter?"

Persia hesitated, her eyes reflecting a conflict of emotions. She chose not to divulge the intricacies of her disappointment with Thalia, instead opting for a more neutral response. "I have never met any of my mother's sisters. It is nice to meet you, Aunt Idyia."

Idyia was perceptive and wise. She understood the unspoken shield Persia had raised. With a gentle nod, she let the matter go, shifting the conversation to a lighter note. She extended her hand, a gesture of  invitation. "Come, child, meet your cousins. Perhaps meeting them would improve your mood."

Persia was still nestled in the embrace of her own emotions. She shook her head in a silent refusal, not wanting to impose on her newfound family. "I do not want to be a bother, Aunt," she admitted with a touch of humility. Idyia shook her head with a smile, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Not at all, dearest," she reassured, her tone lighthearted. Her smile turned mischievous as she continued, "I get to brag that I know about you much earlier than my other sisters. That can hardly be a bother, darling!"

Persia couldn't help but laugh at the playful remark, a genuine sound that echoed through the grove. With a warmth that transcended words, Idyia pulled her niece to her feet as she led her towards the main palace. 

To say Persia was surprised, would be an understatement. 

Gossamer drapes woven from threads of silk cascaded from the lofty pillars, creating a celestial canopy that rippled with hues of ethereal blues and radiant golds. 

In the distance, the halls echoed with the laughter of the immortals. She could make out women twirling in gowns made of bright colours, and satyrs adorned with wreaths of ivy. Everyone revelled in the joyous atmosphere, their divine essence adding to the kaleidoscope of colours that bathed the mountain top in brilliance.

The fragrance of ambrosial flowers lingered in the air, intermingling with the subtle notes of incense. The banquet stretched as far as the eye could see, filled with ambrosia, nectar and exquisite dishes. The entirety of Olympus had been decorated in a manner befitting the immortal rulers of the land and there was a jubilant atmosphere all around. 

Persia was immensely amused as she observed the drunk gods making a fool of themselves. Nymphs and gorgeous women, presumably the Muses, indulged in mead and wine, their laughter echoing through the halls. Her amusement took an unexpected turn when a tipsy god, fueled by the revelry, attempted to embrace her. With swift reflexes honed on the battlefield, she ducked beneath his arm, gracefully evading the inebriated hug.

“Hush!” Persia muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing at the chaos before her. “What is going on here?”

“A banquet worthy of the gods.”

The deep voice brushed against her ear, sending a jolt through her. Instinct took over, and in a blink, her dagger was halfway to the intruder’s throat. Before the cold steel could find its mark, strong fingers encircled her wrist, halting the blade’s advance. Persia’s heart raced as she jerked her gaze upward, irritation flashing in her stormy eyes, only to lock with golden irises that shimmered with playful amusement.

Her breath caught. Realization sank in, and she immediately stepped back, lowering her dagger. Heat crept into her cheeks, though her expression remained composed. “I apologize,” she said stiffly. “Old habits. After two wars, it’s instinct.”

Apollo’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile. He inclined his head, the teasing light in his eyes undimmed. “No need. It’s not often someone tries to put a blade to my throat.”

Persia’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, at his words, but she said nothing, her hand now resting loosely at her side. The air between them buzzed with something unsaid, something lingering just beneath the surface.

Sensing her silence, Apollo eased the tension with a casual gesture toward the bustling gathering. “Let me show you where the Olympians and demigods are seated.”

Without a word, Persia nodded. He guided her through the throng, their steps moving in sync. As they neared the grand table, Thalia, catching sight of Persia, sprang from her seat, enveloping her in a fierce hug. The suddenness of the embrace would have toppled Persia if not for Apollo’s hand at her waist, steadying her with a touch so brief she almost doubted it happened.

When Thalia finally released her, Apollo joined his siblings, his eyes lingering on Persia for a heartbeat longer, curiosity and something else flickering in his gaze as the two demigods shared a quiet smile.

Thalia spoke in a soft murmur in Persia's ear, "I am so sorry, Sia. I had no intention to distrust you."

"I know," Persia whispered back, tightening her arms around Thalia. "Let's go, take a seat."

Once they were seated, Annabeth directed a question to Persia. "Where were you for so long?"

"Colchis," Persia replied, her thoughts momentarily drifting to the memory of her aunt and cousins. "I met my Aunt and my cousins."

"The Queen?" Annabeth queried, Persia nodded in confirmation.

Amid the exchange, Will, in an off-handed manner, threw a question into the mix, unknowingly causing a ripple of discomfort. "How is the Queen of Colchis your aunt?" The unexpected inquiry caught the attention of those at the table, and Poseidon's eyes fixed on his daughter.

Hades seized the opportunity to divert attention, rising from the table with purpose. Zeus, noticing his brother's departure, questioned, "You are already leaving, Hades?"

Hades nodded, "Indeed. I need to have an important talk with Persia."

"Important?" Poseidon raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between Hades and Persia. "What is so important that you cannot ask her in front of us?"

"It is not about you or the Olympians," Hades remarked, his tone final. "I do not see any reason to inform you about it. Do not try to eavesdrop on us." With a gesture towards Persia, they departed from the gathering.

Once they left, Annabeth casted a stern look at Will. "You are well aware of how sensitive Persia is regarding her mother. Why did you ask her such a question?"

Will gave a bit sheepish look at her as he gulped as if realising the impact of his inquiry. He murmured softly, "I didn’t realise."

"It’s fine," Annabeth replied, her tone holding a mixture of understanding and caution. "Just don’t do it again. It’s a miracle Persia is actually speaking about her mother. It’s also a good thing Lord Hades took her away. She was so uncomfortable." 

“Why would she be uncomfortable?” asked Athena curiously.

“It is a personal matter, Mother.” Annabeth deflected the question, “I will not break Persia’s confidence.”

Athena frowned but did not pursue the matter further. 

"I appreciate your help in getting me out of there, Uncle," Persia expressed gratitude as they strolled along the trail toward the cabin. "I felt so unprepared."

Hades regarded her with a thoughtful look. "In the books, I refer to your mother as Zia," he mentioned cryptically. His gaze remained fixed on Persia's calm and composed face, wondering if there was more beneath the surface that he couldn't discern.

The name 'Zia' held a special significance, a connection that spanned centuries. It was unlike him to use that specific name for a mortal woman named Sally. Over the past two weeks, he had observed Persia's reluctance to discuss her mother. She rarely mentioned her and avoided answering questions about her.

Choosing to remain silent, Hades awaited her response.

Persia tightened her grip on the door handle, turning slightly to face her contemplative godfather. A turmoil played out in her eyes, and her voice dropped to a whisper as Hades strained to catch her words. "Aunt Idyia mentioned that she came out of seclusion about a week ago."

Hades instinctively took a step back, his eyes widening with a mix of wonder and shock as Persia entered the cabin. Turning away from the door, he grappled with a cacophony of emotions swirling within him—undiluted hope clashing with tentative longing. Standing there with eyes tightly closed, he clenched his fists, slowly quieting the turmoil that surged through him. With a shuddering breath, he finally entered the cabin.

Inside, he discovered Persia in the quaint kitchen, skillfully chopping herbs. As he approached, she inquired, "Would you like to eat? I was planning on making a simple stew for dinner."

"I wouldn't mind," Hades replied. "Why didn't you eat at the feast?"

"The food at the feast is excessively rich, with oils and fats," Persia explained with a casual shrug. "I don't consume those types of foods frequently."

Hades nodded in understanding, indicating the boiled chicken pieces nearby. "Do you want me to shred those?"

"Please," Persia readily handed him a knife and a wooden board, seemingly unsurprised by the offer.

As he shredded the chicken, Hades reflected on the information he had uncovered. Engaging in the task provided a cathartic outlet for his emotions. Throughout their interaction, Persia had displayed no surprise at his words or actions. This could only suggest a future familial connection with the woman. She appeared at ease in his presence, her shoulders relaxed—a stark contrast to the guarded demeanour she exhibited with other gods, including her own father.

It was Persia's next question that snapped him out of his thoughts, "Would you visit Papou* now that she is back, Uncle?"

Hades pondered the question before responding with a noncommittal shrug. His voice was gentle, "I haven't been there in a long while."

"How long has it been?" Persia inquired.

Hades answered, a distant expression in his contemplative eyes, "The last time I visited was before the births of Artemis and Apollo." He chuckled at Persia's wide-eyed reaction, "Your mother has been absent for quite some time." Casting a shrewd glance her way, he added, "It makes me wonder why Zia chose the path of mortality."

"Discovering her reasons wasn't a priority when I found out she was more than what meets the eye," Persia admitted, sounding disgruntled. "Although I can't claim to be an expert on her past. When I had the chance, I didn't delve much into it; it seemed highly irrelevant then."

Hades gently probed, "And now?"

"Never thought I would ever travel to the past," Persia replied with a wry smile. "Now? It seems highly important."

"Do you at least have an idea of who your mother is?"

"Yeah. The youngest primordial."

As Hades observed the stew simmer and then boil, Persia deftly manipulated the water's temperature with casual grace. In these few minutes, he gleaned more about his goddaughter's abilities than during their previous spar. It made him wonder how much she had concealed in that duel.

"Tell me," he inquired while watching Persia cut fresh-baked bread into pieces, "Can you manipulate blood as expertly as water?"

He noticed her immediate stiffness, a momentary looseness in her grip on the knife before she tightened it again. Confirming his suspicion, Hades waited patiently for her acknowledgment.

Persia gave a barely perceptible nod, easily missed if one wasn't attentive.

Hades smirked, a pleased expression on his face. "Excellent, child."

Persia's guarded expression faltered at those words, clearly anticipating censure rather than acceptance. Carrying bowls of stew and plates of bread and fruits to the small dining room table, she seemed to have lost some of her tension. As they both broke a piece of bread, she inquired, "So, what important topic did you want to speak about?"

Hades gave her a bemused look. "What important topic? That was merely a diversion."

Persia rolled her eyes in response to his words. Despite everything, she found comfort in the familiarity of her godfather. He hadn't changed in the past, remaining as sharp as he was in the future.

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟮 | 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗮𝗺𝗽’𝘀 𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀

The next day dawned with a spectacular sunrise as Apollo rode his chariot across the sky. The sky was ablaze with hues of pink, orange, and gold as the first rays of the sun painted the mountain peaks with a warm, ethereal glow. The light gradually descended, illuminating the serene woods that surrounded the divine land of Olympus. 

The room exuded a rustic charm, its wooden furnishings creating a warm and inviting ambiance. The dominant feature was a sturdy four-poster bed, its frame intricately carved with delicate patterns that spoke of skilled craftsmanship. As the morning light filtered through a window adorned with simple curtains, it bathed the room in a gentle glow. The golden rays caressed the wooden surfaces, casting soft shadows that danced with the gentle breeze.

Persia lay asleep on the bed, surrounded with plush pillows and a luxurious canopy of white linen curtains drawn around it, creating a cocoon of comfort and tranquillity. The sun's first rays broke through the curtains, gently coaxing her into the waking world as the room itself seemed to sigh in the tranquillity of the dawn.

She had spent a night of uninterrupted sleep, a rare luxury for someone who had been on edge for so long. She could hear the echoes of her friends moving around the entire house. Their soft chattering and footfalls soothed her hyperactive mind and ingrained senses of danger. 

As she lay on the bed, her mind wandered as the last vestiges of sleep left her. Something had shifted within her. There was an unspoken hope whispered by the dawn. For a moment, she lingered in the embrace of that optimism, allowing it to weave through the fabric of her being.

The burdens of past failures and the weight of responsibilities that plagued her seemed momentarily lifted. It was as if the morning had brought with it a fresh canvas, inviting her to paint a future that held the hues of newfound possibilities. She could sense a longing, a quiet desire for something better, something brighter, threading through her thoughts.

In the quietude of the room, Persia pondered the source of this unexpected hope. She couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but the feeling of something good happening on the horizon was undeniable. 

Her sense of hope was mingled with a gentle longing. The weightlessness of the morning infused her mood with a lightness she hadn't felt in a long while. 

Persia rose from her bed, choosing to join her friends rather than lounge on her bed. After freshening up and having a hearty breakfast, she stepped outside the cabin into the crisp morning air. The scent of pine and earth enveloped her, relaxing her further. 

A nymph had informed them of Lord Zeus' summons, hence they made their way out of the woods, towards the main square. The early morning marketplace stirred with a vibrant energy that hinted at the bustling day ahead.

Several generations of immortals, draped in flowing garments and unbound hair, moved purposefully through the streets, preparing for the day's activities.

Satyrs’ hooves clattered against the cobblestone paths as they tended to the flower beds that lined the streets. Buckets of water in hand, they nourished the blossoms, coaxing vibrant colours to unfurl under the tender touch of morning dew. In the distant pastures, the gentle sounds of sheep and goats grazing harmonised with the whispers of nature, creating a symphony that echoed through the air. 

Several nymphs were perched on ancient trees playing enchanting tunes on flutes. The melodies wove through the atmosphere, soothing the waking city like a lullaby, infusing the air with a sense of calm and magic.Persia inhaled the fresh air and smiled. The air carried the mingling scents of blooming flowers, freshly baked goods, and the invigorating aroma of herbs and spices. The streets, still in the quietude before the daily bustle, held an air of serenity. 

Ambling down the streets, she noticed Jason and Nico buying warm buns that had just come out of the oven.  They purchased a selection of these delectable treats. She took a bite of the bun, the food melting in her mouth as she was assaulted with a burst of heavenly flavours. 

The sky above gradually transformed into a clear blue canvas as the sun continued its ascent, casting a golden glow on the mythical city of the gods. 

They have finally arrived at the palace gates, when Persia finished the last piece of her bun, savouring the treat. 

The massive doors to the grand throne room swung open, revealing the opulent chamber where the gods convened. Persia entered, her steps silent against the marbled floor, and beheld a gathering of Olympian deities. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Persephone, Athena, and Artemis sat on their thrones. Arrayed beside Artemis were several women, the formidable hunters, their gazes a blend of curiosity and aloof observation.

A soft smile graced Zeus's countenance, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of paternal warmth as his eyes settled on Thalia and Jason. "Welcome," he declared, his voice resonating through the majestic hall. He addressed Thalia,  "Dear child, are you well after the recent poisoning incident?"

Thalia met Zeus's gaze with a confident nod. "I'm alright, Father," she affirmed, returning his smile. The casual and familial exchange drew a flicker of disgruntlement from Hera, whose eyes flickered with an unspoken irritation. The goddess's features tightened, and an air of tension hung around her. The interaction seemed to fuel whispers among the hunters, who exchanged glances. 

"We have decided," Zeus declared after a momentary silence, his gaze settling on Persia, "The reading of the third quest will take place a month from today." The other demigods looked relieved at the proclamation. Noticing their reactions, she gave a composed nod in acceptance at Zeus’ words. 

The serene figure of Hestia emerged from the Hearth, casting a warm light that danced across the hall. Poseidon beckoned the demigods to take seats around the hearth. "There is much to discuss," He intoned, “The reading announcement was not the main part.”

The demigods—Jason, Nico, Thalia, Persia, Annabeth, and Will—settled into their seats as the hearth's flames flickered and crackled, casting a cosy glow over the assembly. Zeus resumed speaking, delving into the topic of a camp in the future that they had decided to create.

Annabeth's eyes sparkled with delight, and she couldn't contain her curiosity. "Why the decision for a camp?" she asked.

Poseidon considered her question with a thoughtful expression, eyes flickering towards a watchful Hades. He said, "Hades suggested that perhaps instead of two separate wars, we could have a single war of great magnitude," He revealed, "The initial idea was to train armies of demigods, mortals, and immortals, preparing for a foreseeable conflict."

Persia tilted her head to the side, eyes flickering to Hades as she listened quietly to the ongoing discussion.

Annabeth nodded in agreement,  “Lord Hades is certainly wise.” Her gaze flickered towards her fellow demigods, “What do you all think?”

Jason suggested, getting comfortable in his seat, “If the camp is made and its main function is to train armies, I suggest a similar structure to Camp Jupiter.”

Will asked curiously, “A structure similar to the senate? Won’t that be too strict?” 

Jason shrugged, “Perhaps? Although, it is useful in keeping track of armies. A chain of command is a must if that is the main aim.”

“Then I propose Persia becomes the Head of the Camp.” Thalia said, “She is far more experienced than any of us in these matters.”

“You don't want to become the Head yourself?” Zoe asked, baffled. She had heard of this daughter of Lord Zeus. Lady Artemis had spoken of her fondly. It was evident that even Lord Zeus was favourable to her. However, she found Thalia to be rather foolish. What kind of a person gives up the opportunity to become the commander of an army of immortals? 

“Goodness, no!” Thalia laughed, a small knowing smile on her lips, “I prefer staying far away from this specific responsibility. I will help out in any way possible as I want to be involved but leading the camp? Not at all.”

"Why not, my child?" Zeus inquired, a slight furrow appearing on his forehead as he faced his daughter's firm rejection. "Certainly, your capabilities are beyond question. No one here doubts your competence."

"It's not about belief or ability, Father," Thalia responded with a gentle smile. "I am well aware of what I can achieve. Equally, I am acutely conscious of my vulnerabilities."

Zeus frowned, questioning, "Vulnerabilities?"

"Yes, Father. My pride mirrors Annabeth's. While you may have confidence in my ability to hold a position of power, I lack confidence in myself in such a role," Thalia declared with determination. "Until I have mastered my pride, I cannot entrust myself with such responsibilities. A position of such prestige deserves someone truly deserving. I am not that person."

Zeus reluctantly acquiesced with a nod, saying, "Alright, I won't press you." His gaze shifted to the silent daughter of Poseidon, and he questioned, "But, child, what leads you to believe Persia is qualified?"

"She's already proven herself in the past, Father," Thalia replied with a smile. "I'm merely proposing that the role be reinstated with the same individual."

"Very well," Zeus nodded, exchanging a glance with Poseidon, who looked at Persia with evident pride.

Persia concealed her reservations behind the decision, avoiding contradicting Thalia to spare her any embarrassment. However, Nico, with his keen eyes, didn't overlook his godsister's hesitance.

In a composed tone, he suggested, "While I agree with Thalia's sentiments, I'm not sure overwhelming Persia is the best approach. Perhaps we could consider selecting another co-leader from the Council."

A smile adorned Zeus's lips in response to the suggestion. He genuinely praised Hades’ son, saying, “An excellent idea, child.”

Nico bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment, his gaze flickering towards Hades, seeking approval. Hades nodded at him with satisfaction evident in his eyes.

Poseidon was not unaware of Zeus’ disappointment. He did not want his daughter to become the recipient of Zeus' anger in any prospective future. Hence, he suggested, “Perhaps, Apollo could become the co-leader?”

“Why not Ares, Poseidon?” Hera interrupted immediately. Jealousy was evident in her expressions. 

“I agree with Poseidon.” Zeus’ looked stern and his voice boomed with authority, “Apollo, my favourite son, would become the co-leader.”

“A bastard son is your favourite, my Lord.” Hera sneered, “What of our legitimate children? It is Ares’ birthright to succeed his father.” 

In an instant, the ambiance underwent a dramatic shift. The once serene atmosphere now crackled with tension. Brooding clouds gathered in the skies, the wind intensified its currents, and the scent of ozone hung thick in the air.

"Mind your words, wife," Zeus's eyes flashed with anger. "You will not disrespect my son. In doing so, you show disrespect to me. I've tolerated your attempts to redirect my attention to Ares, but I've allowed it because none of my other children seemed bothered. However, be cautious not to overstep. Choose your words wisely."

Hera’s beautiful face contorted with anger, indifference, and cruelty, although her eyes betrayed a different emotion – fear.

"Father!"

Apollo's voice resonated through the once-silent hall. All eyes turned to see Apollo and Ares standing at the threshold.

Zeus closed his eyes, attempting to rein in his anger. When he opened them, the atmosphere eased back to normal, though the lingering scent of ozone kept everyone on edge.

“Father, please calm down.” Apollo entered gracefully, casting a grateful glance at Hestia before addressing Zeus. He knelt on one knee, placing a soothing hand on his father's thigh. “Why does it matter who the co-leader is? Whether it's Ares or me, the symbolism remains the same, doesn't it?”

"Symbolism?" Zeus mumbled, meeting Apollo's composed gaze with a perplexed expression.

“Yes. Persia represents the Sea and the Underworld, being the child of Lord Poseidon and the goddaughter of Lord Hades. Whoever assumes the co-leader role will represent you. Thus, balance is maintained, symbolising harmony across the three major domains.” Apollo smiled as clarity dawned on his father's face. “Tell me, Father, am I mistaken?”

“Never.” Zeus smiled warmly, placing a hand on Apollo's head and tousling his golden locks. “You remain as sharp as ever. Tell me, my son, do you wish to become the leader? I will honour your desire.”

Before Apollo could answer, Ares interrupted them. He said quickly, not wanting to direct his father's ire at himself, “I want to make it clear that I have no intention of becoming the leader. Recent events have given me much to ponder, and I don't believe I am in a position to do justice to the responsibilities of the post.”

Zeus was taken aback; he had anticipated Ares siding with his mother.

Hera shot her son a disbelieving glance, scolding him openly, “And why are you withdrawing, Ares? I've noticed a change in your behaviour since the spar.” She cast a disgusted look at the indifferent Persia. Hera's anger simmered as the daughter of Poseidon remained unmoved by her words. “Has this illegitimate woman influenced you? Those born of the sea are known for their enchantments, after all.”

A brief silence hung in the air before Ares thundered, “Enough, Mother!” He couldn't fathom his mother humiliating him in such a public setting. Demigods, Artemis’s Hunters, his siblings, Lord Hades, and Lord Poseidon were all present. Did his mother doubt his credibility in front of them?

Poseidon's eyes darkened at the insinuations in Hera's words. He tightened his grip on his trident and interjected, “Zeus, rein in your wife. Persia is my pride, and an attack on my pride will not be tolerated. I hope you don't want the peace we achieved after the war with Father to be short-lived.”

Hera paled at Poseidon's words. Hades chimed in, “I concur with Poseidon. I will not allow anyone to question my goddaughter without sufficient evidence.”

Hera's face grew even paler at Hades' declaration. She turned to Ares, hoping for her son's support, but he only shot her a disgusted look before striding out of the room. Artemis cast a worried glance at Ares's retreating figure, contemplating whether he should be given some space after such an episode.

Thankfully, Hestia assumed command, “Brothers, let us remain composed. There is no need to take offence. Neither Apollo nor Persia paid any attention to Hera's words. Let us return to the matter at hand.”

Poseidon nodded, his eyes meeting his daughter's, and she offered him a reassuring smile, further soothing his emotions.

"Shouldn't someone go after Ares?" Artemis voiced her concern, the tone coated with worry. She pleaded with her father, “He has been insulted, Father.”

As Zeus appeared indecisive, Hestia offered a piece of advice, “Why don't we inform Athena? As they share domains, she would be able to relate with Ares.”

Artemis hesitated to leave the meeting, so Annabeth volunteered, “I can go and inform Mother.”

“Do you know where her palace is?” Zeus inquired, and upon Annabeth's affirmative response, he allowed her to leave.

“Returning to the matter at hand,” Apollo redirected the discussion, “It would be an honour, Father.”

Zeus smiled, “Certainly, my son. I am pleased you've accepted. There can be no one more deserving than you for such a prestigious position.”

Hera clenched her fingers, stung by those words like venom, while Poseidon frowned. However, catching a glimpse of his amused daughter, he decided to let the matter rest.

“Is the meeting concluded?” Poseidon, eager to leave the stifled atmosphere, inquired, “I have a domain to attend to.”

“Just a moment, Poseidon.” Zeus turned to his son and Persia, “Apollo, Persia, I need both of you to discuss your plans for the camp and then inform us. If the entire council agrees, we will commence construction immediately.” With their nods of agreement, he declared, “The meeting is adjourned.”

Poseidon promptly vanished in swirls of vapour.

The exterior of the palace was crafted from marble, as was the norm. There were Gargoyles with wings outstretched and eyes ablaze, guarding the entrance with their bronze forms gleaming in the golden light. 

Annabeth casted a wary glance at the looming figures of gargoyles that guarded the entrance. She hesitated, glancing back at the winding path that led to her mother's palace. Yet, a nagging sense of responsibility urged her forward. 

Her mother was nowhere to be found. She had left a message with one of the maids, expressing that she had news from Zeus that required Athena's attention.  Hopefully that would convey the appropriate importance to her mother. 

With a deep breath, Annabeth pushed open the doors. The grandeur of Ares' palace did not phase her, as the tension in the air was palpable. The atmosphere hummed with the residual energy of the god's wounded pride.

Hera truly had been unkind to her son. 

As she ventured deeper into the palace, the distant clash of weapons grew closer. Following the noise, she reached the very back of the palace. There stood a small private amphitheatre. She went towards the balcony that overlooked the grounds to find Lord Ares. 

He was practising with his twin swords. The air crackled with the intensity of his anger, each swift and agitated movement echoing the tumult within his godly being. The blades danced through the air, a blur of celestial steel guided by a relentless force. Sparks flew with each strike, and the room reverberated with the symphony of aggression, a manifestation of the god's indomitable spirit and the storm that raged within him. 

Annabeth pondered the gravity of Ares' anger. There would be dire consequences upon the mortal lands if his unchecked emotions continued to reign freely. His excessive energy was threatening to spill beyond the confines of Olympus. As the God of War and courage, Ares wielded dominion over the brutal and indiscriminate aspects of conflict. The mortal lands, already fragile in their pursuit of peace, stood vulnerable to the impending tempest of tumult, strife, and confusion. 

A sudden clash sounded on the grounds. Ares’s eyes widened when a short sword clashed against one of his twin swords. 

Annabeth had decided to engage Ares in battle, not as an adversary, but as a diversionary force. If she could hold her own against him even for a few moments, the shock of the sudden battle should be enough to bring him out of his unruly emotions. 

"A duel, my lord?"

A smirk adorned Ares' countenance, a glint of surprise and interest shimmering in his eyes as he parried against her short sword. Annabeth gave a small smile; she had effectively diverted his attention.

Engaging in combat with an enraged Ares was an entirely different experience. The last encounter she had with Lord Ares was when she was just a twelve-year-old girl. Since then, the god hadn't occupied much of her thoughts. Her focus had been consumed by grappling with conflicting emotions for Luke and the relentless effort to safeguard Persia's well-being.

The god now sparring with her possessed a keenness and a ruthless intensity that had been absent when he duelled against her best-friend. When he duelled with Persia, he had underestimated her. However, it appeared he had learned a valuable lesson. The god facing her now kept her on her toes, his skills demanding her utmost attention.

Annabeth was glad he kept it to a martial duel with their swords. She was also thankful that he had been able to reign in his emotions and his unruly powers that had been on the verge of leaking towards the mortal realm and influencing those lands. 

Perhaps, Annabeth mussed, all he had needed was a distraction from his thoughts. Lost in that momentary distraction, she hadn't even realised when she found herself at sword point.

"That was a commendable duel," Ares remarked, his posture now relaxed compared to their earlier tension. He sheathed his sword and added, "You seemed distracted in the final moments, didn't you?"

Annabeth blinked, admitting, "Yes, I was."

“Ares?” Another unlikely voice called, and Annabeth cursed herself at being caught by that woman. The possible presence of Aphrodite in Ares’s palace had completely slipped her mind. She had been really unmindful today. 

Ares remained silent, but Annabeth turned to see a curious Aphrodite and a concerned Athena. She was surprised when her mother walked quickly towards her, placing a gentle hand on her head, “Are you alright, my child? Did Ares hurt you somewhere?”

From the corner of her eye, Annabeth noticed Ares tensing and Aphrodite approaching. Exhaling, she offered a small smile to her mother. "Just a few scratches here and there. We were merely duelling, Mother. Why would Lord Ares harm me without cause?"

The surprise in Ares' eyes was evident before he quickly masked his emotions behind a neutral gaze. Athena scrutinised her for a moment before nodding at her words. "I was informed that you wished to speak with me urgently."

"Yes," Annabeth nodded carefully, avoiding eye contact with Ares and Aphrodite, who were listening intently. "Lord Zeus instructed me to inform you of something. Can we go to your palace to speak?"

"Certainly, my child."

Just as they were about to leave, Ares called out, "Annabeth?" Annabeth glanced back at him with a questioning look, "Uh, yes?"

"May I call upon you for a few more duels?" he asked, "I haven't had a good partner to duel with in a while."

Annabeth was taken aback, a hint of suspicion creeping into her thoughts. She inquired, "May I know why? Wouldn't practising with an immortal be much better?"

Athena wondered if she needed to protect her daughter in case Ares took offence, but Ares surprised her again. He shrugged, "You are a much better duelling partner than them. Although, you are free to refuse."

Annabeth tilted her head in thought before giving a small bow to the War God, "It would be an honour to learn from you, Lord Ares."

Aphrodite noticed a fleeting smile on Ares' face that unsettled her. There was a small stirring of a foreign emotion at the corner of her heart that she remained completely unaware of.

Hades hesitated before the gates. It had been a considerable span of time since he last stood at this threshold. His mind wandered back to the goddaughter who had with a wistful smile urged him to make this visit. Her demeanour had betrayed a certain absent-mindedness, a poignant undercurrent that didn't escape his notice. Whatever impediment kept her from visiting her own mother had evidently left deep scars, and she continued to grapple with those restless emotions.

He observed the numerous changes Persia had wrought upon their realm simply by her presence. Even his brother Poseidon found himself intrigued by a daughter who surpassed his sons. Not surprising at all, honestly. 

It was evident in the way she conducted herself that she had been raised in the culture of the Sea.

The Olympians found themselves taken aback by her perfectly polite yet aloof demeanour. What surprised them even more was the unapologetic defence she mounted for those she considered her own. Accustomed to deferential behaviour and used to getting their way, the Olympians were now confronted with a different kind of strength. Since their war with Father, they hadn't encountered many challenges. Apart from a brief struggle with the Giants, the current Olympians had been complacent. 

Initially, he had been profoundly surprised, pondering how a mortal woman became acquainted with such customs. For a fleeting moment, he considered the possibility of Poseidon having taught his daughter. However, that notion was promptly dismissed. It seemed implausible. Poseidon wouldn't defy Zeus so swiftly and without reason. Consequently, Hades played along, observing his goddaughter and permitting her to engage in numerous antics that would have incurred severe punishments for anyone else.

The puzzle he sought to solve finally unravelled, when he learned about the name he called Persia's mother with. It made somewhat sense when he thought about the mother being her . 

Yet, several questions lingered. Why was the Primordial of Power, a mortal in the future? The curse hadn't specified such a condition.

"Are you planning to linger here for the foreseeable future?"

At the sound of the unmistakably familiar voice, Hades turned around. That voice had an uncanny ability to quicken his heartbeats and infuse warmth into his veins. She called out again, "Hades?"

Facing her, he met her soft blue eyes.

"Greetings, Leto."

Chapter Text

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟯 : 𝗜𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲.

Golden eyes grazed the mirror, gently tracing the reflection. Draped in silken finery and adorned with gold, Apollo was prepared for dinner.

Tonight marked a special occasion as he would be hosting a guest. For the first time ever, a demigod would set foot inside his personal palace in Olympus.

Observing the sand clock on the table, Apollo noted that there was still some time before the daughter of Poseidon would arrive. He retreated to the secluded balcony, allowing his thoughts to drift to the events of the past week.

A major deity in their pantheon for an extended period, Apollo, as Lord Zeus's eldest son, had once been assigned the quest to proliferate his name across the lands. His success was attributed to his adept control over his domains and the powers accompanying them. This had made him a favourite of his father, much to Queen Hera's frustration.

Being an Orphic deity, Apollo possessed exceptional skills in reading individuals, both mortals and immortals alike. With a single glance, he could effortlessly discern a person's entire future if their tapestry had been woven by the Fates. If not, he gained insights into their behaviour, thoughts, and character traits, skills he had leveraged to his advantage on numerous occasions.

However, upon the arrival of the demigods at Olympus, Apollo was surprised to find that he couldn't read any of them with his instinctive powers. This had left him uneasy. Initially, he considered it might be a side effect of their time travel. Yet, with continued interaction, he began to experience some flashes, albeit blurry, from them.

His thoughts shifted to the evening's guest, the demigod he had invited to dine with him in his palace. He had observed her reluctance to engage with the gods beyond the absolute requirements. Inviting her required a public offer during lunch at the bustling dining pavilion before she accepted. She was indeed peculiar.

Apollo had noticed the woman's highly unpredictable nature. One moment, her eyes would sparkle with intelligence, and the next, they would dim with a weariness that seemed to reach into her soul. She could casually dismiss comments from even the most volatile Olympians and, in the same breath, intentionally provoke his father just to gauge his reaction.

The question of whether she was reckless or highly cunning remained unanswered. Swirling the wine in his gold goblet, he eyed the clear liquid thoughtfully. Before he could delve into the various instances swirling around his mind, a tentative knock echoed on his door.

"Come in."

A servant entered with a bowed head, "My Lord, Lady Persia is here."

He glanced at the last trickle of sand falling inside the clock, a small smirk gracing his lips. She was precisely on time.

Draining his goblet, he dismissed the servant with a wave. He took a moment to study his reflection once more, tousling his long hair so it fell in deliberate, silk-like waves over his back. His golden skin gleamed under the candlelight, every detail perfect, as befitting a god of his stature. Satisfied, he strode toward the entrance hall, where Persia waited.

Nearing the grand staircase, Apollo leant against the balustrade, his eyes catching sight of her. Persia stood in the center of the hall, utterly still. There was no trace of awe at the opulent surroundings—no gaze wandering over the towering columns of marble, the intricate gold-leaf decorations, or the shimmering, celestial tapestries that adorned his palace. Instead, she seemed to stand outside it all, her hands clasped behind her back, her expression as placid as still water.

He almost chuckled. Few, mortal or otherwise, ever entered his palace without at least a flicker of reverence. She, however, remained as calm and composed as if she were in her own home. She was peculiar. He descended the central staircase, immediately capturing her attention. Their eyes met—hers the sea green of Poseidon's, unreadable and calm as the sea itself. She offered a small, respectful bow, nothing more than a tilt of her head. He returned the gesture with a nod.

"This way," he said, gesturing toward the garden pavilion. She followed without a word.

Palaces in Olympus were private spaces for the presiding deities, each with its own rules. Apollo valued solitude in his abode, rarely allowing anyone, not even his father, to enter without prior notice. However, faced with the need for a discreet conversation, he compromised, choosing the garden pavilion—an extension of the outer palace—as the setting.

The air outside was warm, perfumed by night-blooming flowers. They passed under a grand archway, entering a secluded pavilion that stood like an oasis of calm within the palace grounds. Sturdy marble pillars, wrapped in delicate flowering vines, framed the square structure. The marble floor glistened under the moonlight, each tile polished to perfection. At the center, a low table sat laden with an extravagant spread—delectable meats, fresh fruit, bowls of olives, figs, and fine cheeses. Instead of chairs, plush cushions were arranged on the floor, inviting comfort. The ambiance of the place was enhanced by the soft glow of several candles strategically placed, casting a warm light across the pavilion. 

Apollo watched as Persia lowered herself onto the cushions opposite him with graceful composure. A flicker of something—perhaps mild appreciation—crossed her face as she glanced at the beauty of the garden. But just as quickly, her expression returned to its usual neutrality. She was skilled at guarding her thoughts, a quality Apollo found both intriguing and irritating. They broke their fast, savouring the delectable spread meticulously prepared by Apollo's diligent servants. A silence lingered between them, broken only by the sounds of indulgence in the culinary delights before them.

Finally, Apollo broke the quiet. His voice was soft but carried a subtle authority. "Tell me about the camp. The book didn't explain much."

“The camp used to be a sanctuary for the demigods. A place where they could fight and prepare.” She began, her voice soft, carrying a subtle undercurrent of melancholy. “It was a place of survival. There were many classes that were given including martial training and history lessons.” He raised an eyebrow when a slight distaste crossed her face at the mention of history. 

"Did the history lessons not meet your expectations?" he inquired, inwardly perturbed by the confirmation of their diminishing influence in the mortal realm. Her response, delivered with a hint of indifference, only fueled his dissatisfaction. "It was informative," she had remarked.

Apollo smiled, though his eyes glittered with amusement. "I prefer your sharp words to these indifferent answers, Persia."

Her gaze sharpened, but she said nothing in reply. He took a sip of wine, his golden eyes studying her carefully. She was still an enigma, but the tension between them simmered like heat before a storm. He needed to push further. "What is your vision for the camp?"

Instead of answering, she hesitated for a moment, then asked, “May I ask a question?”

He arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Certainly."

"Why seek my opinion, when you could dictate the process yourself?"

Apollo's smirk deepened. He leaned forward slightly, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on his sharp, godly features. "Should I not seek your opinion?"

Persia held his gaze for a moment longer, something thoughtful passing behind her eyes. She nodded, accepting his cryptic response. He noted her keen attention to detail—a trait that distinguished her from the others. Normally, the opinions of demigods held little weight in his mind, but Persia, with her hidden allies and a vault of secrets, required a different strategy. If he hoped to unlock the enigma she carried, a measured, respectful conversation would serve him better than outright dismissal.

"Now, your answer," he pressed, his gaze fixed on hers, watching as she carefully considered her reply in the silence that followed.

"In the future, the camp faced myriad issues right from the start," she began, her eyes meeting his as she weighed her words. "The exclusion of Uncle Hades, Lady Hestia, and the minor Gods bred discontent. The children of the Minor Gods lacked proper accommodations, while the offspring of Lord Hermes had to relinquish their own spaces for their counterparts."

He interjected, seeking clarification, "Am I to infer that the camp wasn't intended for permanent residence for demigods?"

"No," she shook her head, "It was meant to be a training ground where heroes could hone their skills with weapons. However, the mortal world has undergone a spectacular transformation from your era. Belief in the Gods dwindled, and though demigods weren't persecuted, explaining their existence to disbelieving mortals became a challenge. Those who discovered they bore the children of Gods often feared their own progeny. Some refused to care for them, leading to neglect and abandonment in orphanages worldwide."

As she concluded her explanation, a visible frown marred Apollo's countenance. He voiced his dismay, "The mortal realm has changed so drastically. Why did the Gods cease their visits to the mortal lands?"

Taking a sip of her soup, she cautiously responded, "This transpired long before my birth, so my knowledge is based on what I've been told." Apollo nodded in understanding, prompting her to continue, "As far as I know, Lord Zeus decreed that immortals needed to maintain distance from mortals, as the two were becoming increasingly alike, or something along those lines."

Apollo's expression morphed into bemusement, a rare occurrence for someone who usually kept his emotions well-guarded. This deviation from his father's usual tendencies struck him as suspicious. Zeus, notorious for his fondness for women, even if he would never openly admit it, rarely imposed such strict restrictions on immortals travelling to the mortal world. Apollo made a mental note of this, but he ensured not a trace of his thoughts flickered across his face.

As the main course concluded, servants gracefully ushered in desserts. Seizing the opportunity and noting Persia's continued evasion of his question, Apollo spoke up, a hint of annoyance and a subtle undercurrent of anger in his voice. Observing her posture tense even further, he pressed on, "While you've given me a background to work on, you haven't yet answered my question. I would prefer it if you could get to the point."

The tension in the air lingered as Persia's indifferent voice finally broke the silence. Taking a gulp of water, she maintained her composure, "I cannot say I've devised several plans for the camp. However, it would be preferable if we could work with a small group of chosen demigods of this era to build this camp."

Apollo's brows furrowed as he scooped some yoghurt with his bread, pressing for clarification, "Your reasons behind it?"

Her reply was measured, "Neither I nor you, I presume, would be able to give our entire attention to this camp once it starts running." Apollo considered her words, nodding along. She continued, "Perhaps a council of demigods could oversee the camp's daily activities. Hence why I suggested choosing a small group of demigods to begin with."

His curiosity unabated, Apollo probed further, "And how do you propose to choose them?"

A pregnant pause hung in the air as he watched her contemplate the question. Hesitation painted her features before a determined glint shone in her eyes, signalling her resolve. "I wish to test their integrity, humility, and tolerance. I wish to evaluate whether they understand the true meaning of respect, duties, and responsibilities."

A burst of laughter erupted from Apollo, his disbelieving gaze fixed on Persia, who neither smiled nor joined in his mirth.

""Values? You would test values over strength or skill? This is no courtly contest. We are preparing for war." He arched an incredulous eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face.

Despite the bite in his words, Persia’s expression remained tranquil, her voice steady as she replied, "I do not jest, Lord Apollo. I understand well why the camp was established."

Apollo’s lip curled, his gaze hard. "Then how can you make such a suggestion? Is this the strategy that won your future wars?" His tone dripped with disdain, a mocking edge cutting through the air. "Or have you, like that slippery son of Hermes, found it easier to point fingers at the gods?"

Persia’s calm did not waver. Her eyes, however, held a flicker of something sharper as she met his gaze. "Why do you dismiss these values so easily?" Her words were soft, but the question hung between them, challenging. "What harm is there in testing for them?"

Apollo’s jaw tightened, the subtle glow of his skin deepening, betraying his rising temper. "These values won’t stop spears from piercing flesh," he growled. To him, her quiet persistence felt like arrogance, a refusal to see the realities of war. "Do not assume that because you bested Ares, it means the rest of us will fall so easily."

The air between them seemed to shimmer, charged with the barely contained heat radiating from Apollo’s temper. Yet Persia remained still, refusing to bow to the intensity of his anger. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shift. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across her face, highlighting the serene mask she wore, but beneath that calm exterior, the slightest narrowing of her eyes betrayed a flicker of defiance. It was as though she was silently weighing his words, letting them settle like a blade poised at her throat—acknowledged, but not feared.

Apollo's amusement had evaporated in an instant. His eyes blazed, and an orange glow rippled across his skin—a flash of his godly power slipping free, untamed. The temperature in the pavilion surged, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to sizzle, the space between them warping under the sudden, searing heat. His anger radiated outward, like the rising heat of the midday sun, threatening to scorch everything within reach.

A soft voice cut through the tension, cool and steady as a moonlit breeze. "Is everything alright, brother?"

Apollo's eyes squeezed shut, his breath taut with restraint. The calming presence of Artemis settled over him like a balm, her nearness quelling the simmering flames within. He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes, the glow around him receding, the heat dissipating like the fading light of dusk.

When his gaze returned to the table, Persia was already standing, her movements quiet and measured, as though unaffected by the storm that had passed mere moments ago. Bowing gracefully, she spoke, her voice cool but deferential. "I apologize if my words were misunderstood. I believe I have overstayed my welcome. With your leave, I shall depart."

Apollo's jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features as he leaned back against the pillows, his golden skin still faintly glowing from his earlier outburst. His eyes were half-lidded as he waved her off, a casual gesture brimming with restrained frustration. "You may leave. But if you truly believe that's the way to choose the council... then prove it."

He dismissed her with a glance, reaching for his goblet, the wine swirling as he took a slow sip, his focus deliberately shifting away from the retreating demigod. He didn't watch her go, but he could feel her departure—her quiet footsteps fading into the night, leaving a faint ripple in the air where she had once been.

As the tension settled, Artemis took the empty seat across from him, her hand gently closing around his. Her touch was cool, her gaze steady, laced with concern. "What happened, Apollo?" she asked softly, her voice laced with a patience that was uniquely hers.

Apollo's fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet, his eyes distant as he stared into the swirling liquid. "She's testing me," he muttered, though whether the words were directed at Artemis or himself, even he wasn’t sure.

Persia sat curled into herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her cheek resting on the smooth fabric of her folded arms. The early morning was cool, but her mind burned with the memory of the previous evening. The exchange with Apollo replayed in her thoughts like a haunting refrain—his sharp gaze, the way his words had struck like arrows without ever giving her the chance to explain. He had judged her swiftly, dismissing her with a challenge thinly veiled as a threat.

The weight of it pressed down on her now, heavier than the silence surrounding her. How many times had she found herself in this same position, forced to prove her worth, forced to speak louder, be stronger, just to be heard? It gnawed at her, a weariness that went bone-deep, born from a lifetime of uphill battles.

She sighed softly, her breath stirring strands of hair across her face. Even here, even now, she was expected to validate her words, to fight for a measure of respect from the gods. A god who claimed to value wisdom and insight, but who—like so many others before him—had turned to judgment and condescension the moment her views diverged from his.

Apollo had worn his intentions like a mask he thought impenetrable, but Persia had learned long ago to see past the glittering veneers people wore. His probing questions, the feigned interest in her opinions—it was all part of a game. A game she knew too well. She had learned the rules at the side of her grandfather, a master of manipulation. Apollo’s strategy was clear to her: he wanted something, information, secrets, answers the demigods were hesitant to share. And he was trying to lure her into revealing more with his mixture of honeyed words and thinly disguised superiority.

She lifted her head slightly, her gaze distant, her lips twisting into a faint, bitter smile. Did he truly believe she couldn’t see through him? That his interest was genuine? As if she were supposed to believe that the great Apollo cared about her thoughts, her insights, when every word he spoke carried the weight of expectation—expectation that she would yield, that she would eventually give him what he wanted.

But she knew better. His mask had cracked the moment his anger flared at her probing questions. For all his control, all his power, his impatience had shown through like sunlight breaking through a storm-clouded sky. He sought to lead the conversation, to direct it like an arrow toward the answers he desired. Yet his own frustrations had betrayed him, his tactics too blunt, too transparent.

A wry laugh slipped from her lips, the sound barely louder than a whisper. Who was Apollo really trying to fool with his thinly veiled manipulations? Her? Or himself?

She leaned back against the tree, her fingers tracing absent patterns along her arm, her thoughts wandering between the cracks in Apollo’s facade. He was no different than the others—another god who underestimated her. But Persia had spent a lifetime navigating these treacherous waters. And if Apollo thought he could wear her down with pretty words and hidden agendas, then he had far more to learn than she did.

"Persia?"

The voice cut through the stillness, pulling Persia from the depths of her thoughts. Startled, she turned to see Annabeth standing behind her, concern softening the sharp edges of her expression. The wind gently teased Annabeth's blonde hair as she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Hey... what are you doing out here?"

Persia blinked, momentarily disoriented by the question. She’d been sitting so still, watching the gentle rise and fall of the sea, that time itself seemed to have stretched out, slowed by the weight of her thoughts. She managed a faint smile. "I should be asking you that."

Annabeth frowned, her brow knitting with worry. "You didn’t come back to the cabin last night. Have you been here... all this time?"

Persia nodded, her gaze drifting back toward the water, where the sun was just beginning to paint the horizon with streaks of pale gold. "Yeah. My mind wouldn’t shut off."

There was a pause, the kind that weighed heavy between close friends, where the silence itself seemed to speak volumes.

"What happened at dinner with Lord Apollo?" Annabeth’s voice was gentle, yet probing, as if she already sensed the storm brewing beneath Persia's calm exterior.

Persia hesitated for a moment, then sighed, turning back to meet her friend’s steady grey eyes. Slowly, she began recounting the events of the night before, her words slipping out in a quiet stream—Apollo’s sharp remarks, his challenge, the frustration that had simmered beneath the surface. By the time she finished, the weariness that had clung to her since the dinner felt heavier, as though the telling of it had dredged it all up again. She ran a hand through her dark hair and let out a breath. "... so now I have to prove myself. Again."

Annabeth sat beside her, her movements thoughtful, quiet. For a long moment, she said nothing, her eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sky met the sea. Then, with a frown creasing her forehead, she finally spoke. "Must we always prove ourselves? Our intentions, our words?" There was a bitter undercurrent in her voice, something deep-rooted and weary. Her eyes, normally sharp with curiosity, now reflected only dissatisfaction. A faint, wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "It makes me feel worse for not protesting Thalia’s recommendations."

Persia glanced at her friend, concern flickering across her face. "None of that, Ana." Reaching out, she clasped Annabeth’s hand, her grip firm, grounding. "Thalia had no ill intentions."

Annabeth’s frown deepened, her jaw tightening in quiet frustration. "That doesn’t make it right. She shouldn’t be making decisions about you without even asking your opinion." Her voice was hard, but it softened under Persia’s steady, almost commanding gaze. With a sigh, she stood, pulling Persia up with her in one swift motion.

"Where are we going?" Persia asked, her brow furrowing as she stumbled to her feet, bewilderment written across her features.

Annabeth glanced over her shoulder, a small, determined smile forming. "To Aetheriōs."

As they approached Dimitrios’ house, the air was filled with a bustling energy that seemed to crackle with life. People moved quickly, but with purpose—men hefting caskets onto carts, women carefully packing bundles of food. The smell of fresh bread and sea salt lingered in the breeze, mingling with the scent of polished wood and oil. A sense of organized chaos hung in the air, and the steady hum of conversation filled the space. In the distance, a mid-sized ship bobbed gently in the harbor, along with several smaller boats, their sails catching the morning light.

Annabeth’s sharp gaze swept over the scene, taking in the commotion. "Something’s happening," she whispered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She nudged Persia forward, steering her toward Xanthias, who had just appeared, his hands busy directing the final preparations.

"What’s all this?" Persia asked, her voice breaking through the flurry of activity as she stepped forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

Xanthias smiled warmly, his face lighting up as he turned toward them. "It’s time for our quarterly journey to the mainland. Four times a year, we take our products to the market in the nearest kingdom. We leave in an hour."

Before she could think better of it, Persia blurted, "Can we come with you?" Her cheeks flushed instantly at her own boldness, but she didn’t falter. Taking a breath, she pressed on. "I’ve never seen a mortal kingdom. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to see it."

Xanthias’ smile widened, his eyes twinkling with warmth and amusement. "It would be our honor, Persia. You and Annabeth are more than welcome." He cast a kind glance at Annabeth, who stood beside Persia, arms crossed but clearly amused by her friend’s sudden decision.

Annabeth let out a soft, exasperated sigh, shaking her head as a smirk tugged at her lips. "I suppose I don’t mind. Not that you’ve given me much of a choice."

Persia’s face lit up, her smile so wide it nearly split her face in two. Without warning, she threw her arms around Annabeth, pulling her into a tight hug. "You’re the best."

Annabeth chuckled, her tone wry but affectionate as she pulled away. "You better remember that."

Within the hour, they found themselves aboard the ship, the wind filling the sails as they drifted away from Aetheriōs. The townspeople lined the shore, waving farewell with broad smiles and shouts of good fortune. Persia stood at the ship’s railing, watching the island shrink in the distance, her heart lightening with the sway of the sea. The gentle rocking of the boat, the spray of saltwater on her face—it was as if the weight she had carried was being slowly washed away by the ocean’s rhythm.

She glanced at Annabeth, who stood beside her, arms resting on the railing, her gaze thoughtful as the sun climbed higher in the sky. For the first time in a long while, Persia felt the faint stirrings of hope, a quiet sense of possibility flickering like a distant light on the horizon.

She only hoped that this journey would be as fruitful as it seemed.

Calydon rested like a jewel in the crown of Aetolia, a city ancient and storied, its essence shaped by the hands of nature itself. Along the coast, the land was generous, its fertile plains stretching lazily toward the embrace of the sea. Orchards heavy with fruit, and fields swaying under the sun's warm caress, spoke of abundance. But if one let their gaze wander past the placid shoreline, the scenery abruptly shifted. The earth rose in jagged defiance, transforming into a wilderness of craggy peaks, where the whispers of wind told tales of the Calydonian boar—an untamed beast that prowled the mountainous terrain, a relic of nature’s wild heart.

Persia and Annabeth had slipped away from the throngs of the market, the press of bodies and the clamor of voices too much for their restless spirits. The city's vivid colors and lively chatter were enticing, yet they craved solitude, a space where they could breathe. As they wandered further from the bustling streets, a flash of red caught Persia’s eye. A hawk, its plumage a striking crimson, descended with practiced grace, alighting before her. She recognized it at once, her fingers deftly untying the small scroll fastened to its leg.

Annabeth leaned in, her eyes narrowing in curiosity as she peered at the rolled parchment. "Isn’t that from Will?" she asked, her voice low but edged with interest.

Persia nodded, the slight furrow of her brow betraying a hint of unease as she scanned the message. Without a word, she handed the note to Annabeth, who skimmed its contents, her expression guarded.

“Will is nearby,” Persia murmured, her gaze distant as if already tracking the hawk’s intended path in her mind. “He’s somewhere between Pleuron and Calydon. He wants us to meet him. The hawk will show us the way.”

Annabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, skepticism flickering in her eyes. “How much of this is really Will’s idea?” she asked, the implication heavy in her tone. “And how much is… you know, his father?”

Persia met her gaze, a quiet determination in her voice. “Will is one of us, Annabeth. He’s not a puppet to be controlled.”

Annabeth's response was a sigh, half acceptance, half lingering doubt. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

Two days passed in a blur of travel, the terrain shifting from the gentleness of the plains to the rugged borders where Calydon met the wilderness. They arrived at a village, small and unassuming, tucked away in the borderlands like a secret waiting to be uncovered. The hawk circled above before swooping down toward a cluster of trees, where they found Will, bent over a patch of herbs, his hands moving with practiced ease.

“Sia! Annabeth!” His voice rang out, bright and eager, a warmth in it that was almost childlike. He sprang up, his excitement palpable, and closed the distance between them, pulling them into a fierce, unreserved embrace.

Persia felt a smile tug at her lips, a softness creeping into her heart at the sight of Will’s unguarded joy. Despite the weight he carried, the seriousness that had grown in him, there remained an innocence, a spark of untainted spirit that shone through in moments like this.

The reunion was brief, the pleasantries exchanged with a sense of urgency underlying their words. Will led them to a small wooden hut, its simplicity a testament to his resourcefulness. Inside, the warmth of a fire crackled softly, the flicker of flames casting long shadows against the walls. They settled around the hearth, the mattresses beneath them offering a modest comfort. Yet, a tension lingered, like the sharp intake of breath before a storm.

Annabeth, never one to dance around a subject, leaned forward, her eyes locking onto Will’s. “Why did you call us here?” The question was direct, but the subtle edge in her voice betrayed her concern.

Will’s demeanor shifted, the exuberance fading as something more somber took its place. “Persia,” he began, his voice measured, as if weighing each word carefully. “What really happened in that meeting with my father?”

Persia’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flitting across her features. “How do you—?”

He cut her off, not unkindly, but with a resolve that brooked no delay. “I ran into Cycnus, my half-brother. He was bragging about it, as if it were some grand victory. My father invited him to discuss something… important. Something about making him a general.”

Persia’s expression darkened, the news casting a shadow over her thoughts. She could feel Annabeth’s anger simmering beside her, a slow burn that threatened to ignite. As the story unfolded, Annabeth’s voice took on a sharpness, each word laced with the sting of betrayal. Will listened in silence, his face a mask of conflicting emotions—frustration, helplessness, and beneath it all, a deep-seated weariness.

As Annabeth's recount drew to a close, the air in the hut grew thick with unspoken fears. Will’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as he wrestled with the urge to act, to strike out against the forces pulling him in opposite directions. Persia saw the turmoil in his eyes, the storm raging behind the calm facade he struggled to maintain.

Gently, she reached out, her hand brushing against his in a gesture of quiet solidarity. “Will,” she said, her voice soft yet firm, “I have a plan.”

Her words hung in the air, a lifeline amid the uncertainty. And though she did not elaborate, the assurance in her tone was enough to offer a glimmer of hope, a promise that they would not face the coming trials alone.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 : 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐚'𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭

Persia had steeled herself for a long, drawn-out game, fully prepared to spend an entire month coaxing Cycnus into revealing his true nature. But it seemed the cosmos had aligned in her favor, the Lady Mother herself perhaps nudging events to hasten the process. Everything had unfolded with uncanny precision, as if Cycnus himself were reading from Persia's script. Men like him were as predictable as the tides, and in just a week, the situation had simmered to a boil.

The throng of once-enthusiastic suitors that had orbited Cycnus like moths around a flame had dwindled, their interest burned out by his unbearable arrogance. He had dismissed them all with such cold disdain that their affection turned to apathy, then to quiet contempt. Only Phylius remained, his devotion unwavering despite the growing chasm of indifference from Cycnus. Persia refrained from dismissing Phylius as merely stubborn; there was something in his loyalty that spoke of genuine love, however misplaced it might be.

Cycnus, in his blind arrogance, was inadvertently setting the stage for his own undoing. The more he spurned Phylius, the deeper he dug his own grave, and Persia had no need to interfere—Cycnus was unwittingly doing all the work for her. But she knew the delicacy of the moment, how a single misstep could unravel everything. And so, she watched, her eyes keen, as Phylius continued to pursue the man who would only push him away.

The climax came with Cycnus issuing three impossible tasks, a desperate ploy to rid himself of Phylius’s devotion. The first task was to slay a lion that had been terrorizing the village, all without the aid of weapons. Persia found herself intrigued by Phylius—there was an intelligence in his eyes, a quickness of mind that belied his simple appearance. He was no fool, that much was clear.

Word spread like wildfire through the village, drawing curious onlookers eager to see how Phylius would fare. Fate led him to Will’s makeshift apothecary, seeking not just advice but also the reassurance of having a skilled healer nearby should the worst happen. Will, impressed by Phylius's gentle and considerate tone of voice, readily acquiesced to the request. 

Yet as Persia observed Phylius, she sensed an undercurrent of anxiety in the way his gaze flitted from the whetstone to the drying clothes swaying in the breeze. He was thinking, planning, and it impressed her to see him connect the dots so swiftly, especially in a world where the sharp edge of a blade was often seen as the only solution.

Persia decided to lend a subtle hand. She practiced deliberately in a forest clearing near Phylius’s path, moving a twisted cloth in graceful arcs, sensing his eyes on her from the shadows. Once she felt confident that he had absorbed her silent lesson, she left, curious to see what he would make of it.

Annabeth provided the next piece of information. Her longtime friend had monitored Phylius's tasks. Given she had needed to stay perched high on a tree, she was relieved she hadn't witnessed the task completion herself. She preferred to avoid being near the sky's domain. While she could endure it if necessary, she generally steered clear.

She was still uncomfortable near cliffs, even if there was the ocean underneath it. Before her mind could veer off on the dangerous path, she had to force her mind to concentrate on Annabeth's words. 

Annabeth shared what she had witnessed – Phylius had indulged in a hefty meal and plenty of wine at noon, only to regurgitate it at the spot where the lion usually appeared. The creature, having consumed the products, became intoxicated, allowing Phylius to strangle it with his clothes.

Persia and Annabeth exchanged disapproving glances at the crude tactics. Will, though wrinkling his nose, refrained from commenting on the unorthodox method. She was relieved that at least the first task was completed. 

The second challenge involved capturing two enormous man-eating vultures posing a threat to the neighbourhood, again without the use of any devices.

For this particular task, Persia chose not to intervene, curious about what approach the mortal man would devise. Once again, it was Annabeth who grudgingly took on the role of observer. Since Annabeth excelled in stealth among the three of them, it made sense for her to go. To maintain secrecy, they didn't want the villagers or Cycnus to suspect that the physician and his two sisters (a ruse they had devised) were keeping tabs on the situation.

Upon Annabeth's return, she shared her observations. Phylius had covered himself in the blood of a dead hare and lay motionless on the ground, feigning death. When the man-eating vultures attacked him, he seized them by the feet and delivered them to Cycnus.

Annabeth and Will had looked pleased at the execution of the second task. While Persia was also impressed, she felt a bit anxious about the upcoming final task.

Annabeth’s hip gently nudged Persia’s as they worked side by side in the kitchen, the smell of fresh bread filling the air. “You’re miles away,” Annabeth said, her voice light but with a thread of concern woven through it. “Something bothering you?”

Persia paused, wiping her hands on a cloth, her thoughts heavy. “It’s the last task, Ana,” she murmured, her gaze distant. “It might draw more attention than we intended.”

Annabeth tilted her head, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Isn’t that the point? Isn’t attention what we’re after?”

Persia’s lips pressed together, the weight of her thoughts evident in the slight crease between her brows. “Attention, yes,” she agreed, her voice measured. “But only if it’s the right kind. Too much, or the wrong kind, could be dangerous. The plan was to catch one person’s eye, but now…”

“Now there’s a wild card in the mix?” Will’s voice cut in, calm and steady as he continued to knead the dough, the rhythmic motion grounding the conversation.

Persia nodded slowly, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the counter. “The people are predictable, but how they’ll react—and what comes after—isn’t. That’s what worries me.”

Annabeth leaned in slightly, her voice softening. “If things go south, Lord Hades has your back, and you’ve got some tricks up your sleeve for the worst-case scenario.”

Persia sighed, a weariness settling in her shoulders. “Tricks only work if they’re used at the right time, Ana,” she said, her tone tinged with caution. “Let’s just see how tomorrow plays out.”

The kitchen fell quiet again, the only sounds the soft thud of dough and the crackling of the hearth. Persia’s thoughts swirled with the possibilities, the air between them thick with unspoken concerns.

Poseidon stormed through the marble halls, his footsteps echoing like thunder, ignoring the soldiers who bowed and the servants who shrank away. His anger surged uncontrollably, driven by the protective instinct that flared within him whenever Persia was involved. Apollo's words had cut deep, and the need to assert that his daughter was under his protection consumed him.

“Poseidon!”

He turned sharply, ready to lash out, but stopped when he saw Hades. The older god’s expression was unreadable, though the slight arch of his eyebrow spoke volumes. Poseidon exhaled, trying to rein in his temper, but restraint had never come easily to him.

“What is it, Hades? I’m in no mood for interruptions,” Poseidon muttered, his voice gruff.

“I can see that,” Hades replied, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “What’s got you in such a state?”

Once, not so long ago, Poseidon might have dismissed Hades, their exchanges cold and distant. But recent events had altered the dynamics between them. Now, when Hades spoke, Poseidon listened—albeit grudgingly.

It gnawed at him that Persia showed a warmth toward Hades that she reserved for few others. With Poseidon, she was always polite, always respectful, but there was a careful distance, a hesitance that stung more than he cared to admit. He couldn’t ignore the pang of jealousy, but he also couldn’t deny the bond he saw forming between his brother and his daughter—a bond that, to his surprise, he found himself almost grateful for.

But that was a matter for another time. For now, he told Hades what had happened, feeling his anger simmering as he spoke. Hades listened in silence, his expression revealing nothing, which only served to irritate Poseidon further. He was on the verge of snapping when Hades met his gaze, his eyes contemplative.

“Will you take my advice, Poseidon?” Hades asked, his tone unusually serious.

Poseidon’s brow furrowed. “What advice?”

Hades held his gaze, steady and calm. “Persia doesn’t need our help. She’s been through things we can’t even begin to understand. Let her handle this in her own way. Support her if she needs it, but don’t interfere.”

Poseidon bristled, his fists clenching at his sides. “So you think I should just let Apollo insult her and do nothing?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hades replied, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. He stepped closer, his eyes intense. “Support doesn’t mean interference. Your daughter once defied Zeus himself to make a point. Do you really think she can’t handle Apollo? Trust her. Be there if she needs you, but trust her to fight her own battles.”

Poseidon’s jaw tightened, his displeasure evident. “I’m going to the throne room. I need to see this for myself.”

He felt Hades fall into step beside him, the silent companionship unexpectedly reassuring. When they entered the throne room, Zeus’s surprise was palpable, his gaze flicking between the two of them. Poseidon barely registered it, his thoughts still clouded by concern, his focus on the Viewing Mirror that spanned the length of the wall, scanning the mortal world for his daughter.

“Poseidon, is everything alright?” Zeus asked, his voice laced with confusion.

“Everything’s fine,” Hades replied smoothly, while Poseidon continued his search, his eyes narrowing as he scoured the Mirror.

“Then why does Poseidon look so… agitated?” Zeus pressed, his concern deepening as he watched his brother. Hades merely shrugged, his expression nonchalant.

“Got her!” Poseidon’s voice cut through the tension.

“Her?” Apollo’s voice, tinged with unease, drew all eyes to the Mirror. Poseidon’s glare silenced him, and the three gods turned their attention to the scene unfolding before them.

A young man was dragging a bull to an altar, bare-handed, his strength evident. Zeus’s brow lifted in surprise, but his confusion only deepened as he glanced at Poseidon, wondering why this was significant.

Then they saw her—Persia, leaning against a tree with Will beside her and Annabeth perched above, all of them watching the young man with quiet intensity. As their conversation drifted up to the gods, it became clear that the youth was Phylius, and the reason for the sacrifice to Zeus began to unfold.

Apollo stiffened, sensing the tension between Poseidon’s simmering anger and Hades’s relaxed demeanor. A prickle of unease crept up his spine.

The tension in the room thickened as Cycnus’s voice rang out, dripping with disdain as he insulted Phylius and, by extension, Persia. Poseidon’s rage flared, but before he could react, Hades laid a restraining hand on his arm, his gaze steady.

“You want me to stay quiet even now?” Poseidon’s voice was low, dangerous, his eyes flashing with barely contained power.

Hades responded with a calm, almost gentle tone, directing Poseidon’s attention back to the Mirror. “Look at your daughter, Poseidon. Does she look distressed to you?”

Poseidon blinked, his anger momentarily eclipsed by confusion. He looked at Persia more closely and saw, not distress, but a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, a sly smirk playing on her lips.

“Why does she look so… pleased?” Poseidon muttered, his voice tinged with bewilderment.

Hades allowed himself a small, knowing smile, his eyes flicking briefly to Apollo, who was visibly tense. “Indeed. What do you think, Apollo?”

Apollo swallowed, his pride stung by the scene before him. He resisted the urge to rise to Hades’s bait, but his knuckles whitened as he gripped the arm of his chair, his gaze locked on the Mirror.

They watched as Will defended Persia, his glare at Cycnus filled with barely concealed contempt. Hades snapped his fingers, and something shifted in the scene—Phylius, heartbroken and distraught, watched as Persia questioned Cycnus’s worthiness with cold precision. Her words cut deep, exposing his arrogance, his disregard for life, and his unfitness for the position Apollo had granted him. She predicted their defeat in a war that had yet to begin, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

Then came the final blow—whispered words under her breath meant only for her friends, but sharp enough to make Hades chuckle, Poseidon smirk, and Apollo flinch.

Zeus, bewildered, looked from one to the other, his blue eyes wide with confusion.

“Checkmate, Lord Apollo.”

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓 : 𝐀𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬

It was surprising that the entire matter with Apollo had not been spilling like a wildfire amongst the gossipy immortals. 

Instead, everything was rather calm.  Zeus grumbled, Apollo looked murderous,  Poseidon passed them amused smiles and Persia went about her day without looking much worried about the Gods.Hades was highly entertained as he watched the circus that were Olympians.

Everyone and their children knew something was going on amongst Zeus, Apollo and Poseidon but no one was brave enough to ask. They were content in ignoring them. The month of reprieve from reading those books was almost near completion; only a week left hence. 

When he had heard of the trouble Persia had landed herself in with Apollo, he had been worried Yet, an instinctual assurance whispered that she had matters well in hand. Hades had ensured the young man's loyalty to Apollo's son vanished, suspecting his goddaughter's intent to orchestrate precisely that.

Upon his return from Olympus that fateful day, he dispatched his agents among the living to unveil the true narrative. What were the odds that Persia had encountered a man— a progeny of Apollo— to substantiate her stance? A man epitomising arrogance and flawed judgement, seemingly conveniently placed in her path. The likelihood of such an occurrence perplexed him.

He couldn't shake the feeling that there was a divine hand orchestrating events that day. At times, he pondered whether Tyche had bestowed her favour upon Persia, though such a notion seemed far-fetched.

In the recesses of his musings, the ancient tales recounted by the eldest cohort of Immortals in the Underworld emerged — whispers of Kháos , hailed as Lady Mother, deeply entwined in the affairs of the cosmos. As time unfolded, the creator withdrew from meddling, fading into obscurity among newer generations. Only roused when someone managed to capture her elusive attention did Kháos intervene in the tapestry of existence.

He had several questions – intriguing inquiries, particularly regarding the enigma of their temporal appearances. Even the most seasoned immortals hesitated to tamper with the fabric of time, recognizing it as an unspoken prohibition with dire repercussions. So, Hades opted to partake in breakfast with the Olympians, aiming to seize a discreet moment with Persia. His desire materialised surprisingly effortlessly. As he prepared to exit the dining pavilion, his goddaughter beckoned him.

An arched eyebrow betrayed his amusement, observing the uncharacteristically bashful demeanour adorning her countenance. It was a refreshing departure from her customary poise and detachment.

"What is it, child?" he inquired when her initial call remained unanswered. With a hesitant air, she began, "Umm, Uncle Hades, I am wondering whether you would mind... I mean, it's entirely at your discretion... no pressure from my side. I just wanted to ask, considering you were my foremost choice even in the future."

Perplexed by her cryptic message, Hades found himself at a loss. His son, appearing from behind her, playfully tapped her head, a sly amusement dancing in his eyes. Nico turned to Hades, a subtle smile gracing his lips. "She's being foolish. I can't fathom why she's hesitating before you. She's never shown hesitation in your presence."

A bewilderment lingered as Persia, nursing her head, retorted, "Who are you calling an idiot? We'll see how eloquent you become when your time comes!"

"Papa is not some delicate emotional porcelain doll, Sia. It's not as though he would deny you. And for my turn, I plan to enlist Aunt Hecate for the task."

Persia's countenance betrayed surprise, evident in her wide-eyed expression. "Aunt Hecate over... her? Seriously? You expect me to believe that? Absurd!"

Hades found himself both perplexed and entertained by the unfolding banter. A warmth enveloped his heart as he witnessed their unguarded interactions, bickering like carefree children in his presence, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny.

"How can you be so callous toward Uncle's feelings? Your behaviour grows more unruly by the day."

"Oye!" Nico protested, pouting and directing a stern glare at Persia, who appeared thoroughly irked. "Take that back!"

Hades intervened, mindful of the lingering attention from fellow immortals that their squabble attracted. He was keen to avert any scandalous gossip about his unconventional family dynamics.

"Children!" he interjected, urging them to cease their verbal skirmish.

Turning his attention to Persia, Hades softened, a small smile playing on his lips. "What did you wish to inquire about, my dear?"

Persia was visibly nervous as she toyed with the end of the shawl adorning her shoulders. Retrieving an ornate hair comb, she extended it towards him with a hesitant smile.

The frame of the comb was wrought from gleaming silver, intricately coiled and twisted into an elegant lattice pattern showcasing a delicate filigree that resembled vines. Adorning the lattice were crystals that sparkled like captured stardust. Each crystal, carefully set in a silver bezel, reflected a kaleidoscope of colours as it caught the ambient light. The gems ranged in hues, from serene blues and greens to fiery reds and purples, creating a mesmerizing play of iridescence.

His eyes widened, a discerning gaze shifting to take in her bound hair and the subdued, soft hues she consistently chose to wear. A subtle realisation dawned—was she in mourning? And here she was, presenting her brush (undoubtedly a gift from Zia) to him, surpassing even her own father in this symbolic gesture?

"Child, do you grasp the weight of what you're proposing?"

“Yes, Uncle,” Persia replied, her smile tender and warm. Her typically impassive gaze held a silent query as if seeking affirmation. “Will you be the first?”

“It would be an honour, my dearest child.” Hades responded with a warm smile, his obsidian gaze brimming with affection. “Why don't you and Nico make your way to my chambers in Olympus? I'll join you shortly.”

To be chosen as a Guardian by Zyenthea's daughter was a distinction of the utmost magnitude.

Persia reciprocated with a gentle smile, and together with Nico, they descended the hill toward his chambers, leaving Hades to reflect on the profound honour bestowed upon him.

“What was that all about? Why is she heading to your chambers?”

Poseidon's tone held a blend of curiosity and protective concern, drawing the attention of Zeus and his sons—Apollo, Ares, Hermes, and the vigilant Hestia and Athena. The assembly seemed collectively intrigued, prompting Hades to address their inquiries preemptively, preferring to dispel any lingering curiosity before it escalated into unwarranted eavesdropping.

“How much have you familiarized yourself with the customs of the realm you govern, Poseidon?” Hades quirked an eyebrow, observing Poseidon's perplexed expression. "Surely, you must have gleaned some understanding?”

“Uh…” Poseidon began, spared from answering as one of his Furies, Alecto, materialised before them.

She bowed respectfully. “My lord.”

Ignoring the prying ears behind him, Hades responded to his lieutenant, “Instruct Hecate to retrieve one of the wooden boxes from my personal vault. Once accomplished, bring it to my chambers. Be prompt.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Hades?” Poseidon pressed again, prompting a sigh from Hades. His gaze shifted to the inquisitive demigods, focusing on Annabeth. Unlike her companions, she did not wear a confused expression.

“Annabeth?” Hades beckoned, and she approached.

“Are you aware of the significance behind Persia's words?” he inquired. Annabeth nodded, “I am, Lord Hades.”

“Enlighten them,” he instructed before vanishing, leaving Annabeth to elucidate the cryptic scenario to the gathered immortals.

The room was dimly lit, with the flickering flames of the fireplace casting a warm glow across the lavish furnishings. Hades sat behind Persia, brushing her hair with an unexpected tenderness.

"Persia," Hades spoke, his deep voice breaking the quietude. "Who have you been mourning, dear one?" He continued to brush her raven-black hair, his touch gentle, like the soft caress of shadows.

Persia was seated on a cushion, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames. Her long hair cascaded down her back, spilling on the floor. A heavy sigh escaped her as she began to speak, the pain evident in her voice.

"It started with my mother," she said, her words carrying the weight of a thousand sorrows. "I watched her perish before my eyes.”  The agony of that moment still echoed within her like a familiar song. Hades listened in silence, his hands never ceasing their rhythmic brushing. He felt the pain of loss intimately. The curse on Zyenthea had borne fruit. He allowed her to continue, sensing there was more to the story despite his misty eyes. 

"Then Father faded away. Despite the betrayal he dealt me, I rushed to him." Persia confessed, her voice tinged with bitterness. 

Persia's emotions were a storm within her, a whirlwind of grief, betrayal, and the heavy burden of broken promises. The flames in the fireplace cast shadows on her tear-stained face as she tried to make sense of the tumultuous emotions that surged within her.

Hades tightened his grip on the comb, his expression hidden from Persia. There it was again – the elusive tale that lingered in whispers between Annabeth and Persia, always silenced whenever the subject arose.

"What betrayal?" he asked, cautiously probing the wounds he sensed beneath the surface.

The response didn't come from Persia but from Hades's own son. Nico entered the room, immediately sensing the sombre atmosphere that hung heavy in the air.

"Persia was accused of treachery by Triton and Amphitrite, baseless accusations without any proof. Lord Poseidon, in an attempt to appease his family, didn't intervene when truly required. He let Hera's scheme involving Persia and Jason play out, causing her immeasurable pain.” 

Hades's eyes widened in shock, the gravity of the revelation settling in. "Hera," he muttered, the name heavy on his tongue. The queen of the gods had a penchant for orchestrating suffering. 

He continued to run his fingers through Persia’s hair, absorbing the weight of the words. The room felt heavy with the echoes of loss and unspoken grief.

"I apologise for bringing up sad memories, children," Hades spoke softly. His words hung in the air, a sombre echo of the emotions that had surfaced. Before the heavy silence could settle, a sudden swirl of red heralded Alecto's arrival.

She materialised gracefully, presenting a beautifully carved wooden box to Hades. "My Lord."

He acknowledged her with a nod, accepting the box. With practised ease, he opened it, revealing an exquisite brooch chain nestled within. The intricate design gleamed in the subdued light of the room.

"Thank you, Alecto," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. As she faded away, Hades turned his attention back to Persia, the brooch chain glinting in his grasp.

"For you," he said, gently draping the elegant chain over her, pinning it to her shoulder. "A token of remembrance and resilience, my dear. Let it remind you of strength in the face of loss."

"My gratitude, Uncle," Persia replied, her voice carrying a hint of dryness as she blinked back tears.

"None of that, child," Hades waved her off, a rare warmth softening the stern lines of his face. "Now tell me, how much do you want me to cut?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

"An inch at most," Persia replied with a faint smile, her fingers gently tracing the intricate pattern of the brooch chain. "I like my long hair."

He set the beautifully crafted shears in his hand, ready to fulfill the simple request. He understood the delicate balance required when dealing with emotions, especially those intertwined with the past. Silently, he began to trim her hair, the shears moving skillfully through the ebony strands.

In the quiet of the room, only the soft snipping sounds filled the air, as Hades respected the unspoken boundaries of grief and healing. Persia wasn’t ready for any more questions. 

As she observed the unfolding drama between Persephone and Hades, a frown creased her brow, and a contemplative gaze settled upon her features.

Did the passing of aeons dim the brilliance of immortals, or was it their upbringing that shaped their essence? 

She watched the accusatory finger of Persephone pointed at Hades, a scowl etched on her face, and a cold detachment from the sanctity of familial bonds. 

Persia felt a surge of anger rise within her, fueled by years of witnessing the cold rift between Persephone and her dear uncle. It reminded her of Melinoe and Makaria, Persephone's own daughters, whose eyes spoke of unspoken pain and aching disappointment. 

"Enough!"

The commanding voice cut through the tension, but it wasn't the expected intervention from her uncle. Instead, it was Nico who had decided to step into the escalating confrontation. A smirk adorned Persia's lips, a silent acknowledgment of the anger reflected in Nico's obsidian eyes.

"A bastard child dares to interrupt me?" Persephone's voice dripped with disdain, her eyes glinting with arrogance. However, Nico met her gaze with a look so reminiscent of his father's, it sent a chill through those present in the guest palace. The similarities between the son and the Lord of the Underworld were striking, both in appearance and the icy disdain they could muster.

A crowd had gathered around the unfolding drama—nymphs, frightened satyrs, and some of the Olympians who had been in the nearby palaces. The commotion stirred curiosity, and they couldn't resist the allure of witnessing the clash between them. Demeter and Persephone, blinded by their fury, had ignored any explanation. The accusations had flown without pause, fueled by the assumption that Persia's presence alone in Hades' personal chambers equated to scandalous infidelity. 

"I do." Nico smoothly stepped in front of Persia, his tall and formidable stature shielding her as he squarely faced Persephone. 

A current of defiance surged through his words, cutting through the tension that had gripped the room.

Nico’s voice was ice, his stare unyielding. “A mere consort like you shall not tell me what I can or cannot do.” His obsidian eyes bored into Persephone’s, challenging, unapologetic. “Have you no understanding of the realm your Lord governs?” His words hung in the air, a rebuke cloaked in a question, exposing the ignorance that Persephone had allowed to color her accusations.

“Consort?” Demeter’s eyes narrowed, her disdain sharpening every syllable. Her upper lip curled in disbelief. “My daughter is the Queen of the Underworld.”

“Really?” Nico’s sarcasm dripped like venom. “Which realm allows their Queen to abandon her duties for six months every year, Lady Demeter?”

“It’s the price your father paid for his crime of kidnapping her,” Demeter shot back, her gaze hard, daring him to refute what she believed was undeniable truth. “Or has that little detail slipped your mind?”

Persia’s voice, calm and measured, cut through the escalating tension like a cool breeze on a hot day. “Your words reveal a lack of understanding.”

Zeus, his curiosity piqued, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“In the Underworld,” Persia explained, her tone steady and unflinching, “a bride is chosen by being taken by her prospective groom. She then has the choice—she can reject the union and be returned with all honor to her family, or she can accept and be wed.”

She cast a subtle glance toward Nico, a silent signal. Nico caught it and continued, his voice firm, unwavering. “My father followed this custom. Persephone accepted the union, yet Lady Demeter refused to acknowledge it. Thus, my father did not marry her formally.” He turned to Persephone, his gaze piercing. “Is that not correct, Consort Persephone?”

Persephone’s face drained of color, her confidence visibly shaken. Her eyes darted to Hades, searching for something—support, perhaps, or a reprieve—but all she found was indifference mixed with a tightly controlled fury. Hades’s voice, cool and detached, sliced through the silence. “I took Persephone with her father’s consent. Zeus and I made an agreement: if he supported the union and gave his blessing, I would stand with him in war. Persephone knows this well. Does Demeter not, Zeus?”

The question landed like a hammer in the hall, reverberating through the silence. Zeus shifted, discomfort rippling across his features. Demeter turned to him, her eyes blazing with betrayal. “Did you trade Persephone for an alliance, Zeus? Why was I not told?”

Hestia, quiet until now, spoke, her voice tinged with disappointment. “We didn’t know either, brother.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the weight of Zeus’s actions hanging over them all. His eyes darted away, unwilling to meet the accusing gazes of his siblings.

Nico’s expression remained stone-hard, his voice carrying the finality of a judge. “Let this be clear. Speak another word against my father or my sister, and I will ensure your destruction.”

Demeter’s power surged in response, her divine presence swelling into something wild and untamed. The air thickened with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers, as if the very force of nature itself was preparing to strike. Her voice was a storm, her eyes alight with the fury of a thousand tempests. “Are you threatening me?” Her aura pulsed, a living force, a reminder of the primordial power she wielded.

But as Nico stepped forward, the atmosphere shifted with a palpable force. He let his own power loose, no longer restrained, and it filled the room with a darkness that seemed to swallow the light itself. His aura, a swirling vortex of shadow and death, commanded the very essence of the Underworld. The air grew cold, thick with the scent of belladonna and the chill of a moonless night, as if the borders between the living world and the dead had thinned to a whisper. His obsidian eyes now burned with an unearthly light, a promise of doom to those who dared cross him.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive weight of Nico’s power overwhelming the senses of all present, like a storm about to break. Only Persia and Annabeth remained unfazed, their calm an island of tranquility amid the rising tempest.

Nico’s voice, when it came, was solemn, resonant, cutting through the air like a blade. “No, Lady Demeter. This son of Hades doesn’t threaten—he promises. And then, he delivers.”

Nico's voice carried an authority that resonated through the room, commanding attention even from Hades. His gaze swept across the assembly of gods, finally settling on Persephone, who stood tense and uncertain, and Demeter, whose expression was twisted with rage. The shadows in the chamber seemed to pulse in rhythm with his words, as if the very air held its breath.

"As the Crown Prince and Heir to the Underworld," Nico declared, his tone unyielding, "I decree that, effective immediately, Consort Persephone is stripped of her title as Chief Consort to Lord Hades. She will be removed from the Queen's Palace and exiled from the Underworld."

The weight of his words descended on the room like a thunderclap, chilling the air. No one dared to breathe as they waited for what would come next.

"Papa, as Lord and King, do you contest my decision?" Nico asked, his voice steady, the challenge implicit. Every gaze turned to Hades, the tension so thick it was almost tangible.

Hades regarded Nico with a calm, measured expression, his silence stretching into the room and deepening the suspense. The onlookers shifted uneasily, sensing that this was no mere family squabble but a matter of grave importance. Finally, Hades broke the silence, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. "Tell me, son, why have you decreed this against the Chief Consort?"

Persephone’s eyes flickered with a fleeting hope, a desperate belief that Hades might yet defend her. But when her gaze shifted to Nico and she caught the faint, knowing smirk on his lips, that hope began to fray.

"Consort Persephone has committed three capital offenses according to the laws of the Underworld," Nico announced, his voice calm and deliberate, each word like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of shock through the assembly. Zeus leaned forward, his voice a murmur of disbelief. "Capital offenses?"

Hestia, her brow furrowed with concern, spoke up gently. "Please, child, explain yourself more clearly."

Nico nodded respectfully to her. "The first offense is that she has repeatedly and continually insulted and accused the Lord of the Palace—my father—for centuries. The second offense is her attempt to undermine an ally of the Throne, specifically Persia." A murmur of disbelief ran through the room, soft gasps punctuating the charged atmosphere.

"And the third offense," Nico continued, his voice unyielding, "is her propagation of misinformation and neglect in her duties toward the very Lord she claims loyalty to. Time and again, she has acted against the interests of the State."

The accusations hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating any defense Persephone might have had. The gods shifted uncomfortably, the gravity of Nico's words sinking in. Persephone’s voice broke through, desperate and shaky, "I was unaware of such laws."

Nico’s response was cold, almost dismissive. "Ignorance is no defense. You are accountable for your choices, and you alone must face the consequences."

Persephone, a note of pleading in her voice, turned to Hades. "My Lord—" she began, but Hades silenced her with a single, commanding gesture.

Hades approached Nico, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a flicker of something akin to pride. "Well done, my son. Today, you have shown that you are worthy of the position you hold."

He then turned his gaze on Persephone, his voice resolute and final. "I support the Prince’s decree. It is just, in line with our traditions, and serves the interests of the State."

Persephone’s face drained of color, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at Hades in disbelief. "Surely, my Lord, you cannot be serious?"

Hades’s reply was as cold as the deepest shadows of his realm. "You do not know me at all, Persephone, if you believe I jest."

The finality of his words settled over the room like a shroud, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that the decision was absolute, and that the tides had irrevocably turned against Persephone.

A swirl of crimson energy materialised, unveiling a presence previously unknown to the onlookers. 

The figure that emerged possessed a captivating gaze of red eyes, framed by long, jet-black hair cascading down to his waist. Half of this luxurious mane was elegantly gathered into a knot, adorned with a circular crown featuring a distinctive fox motif, lending an air of regality to his persona.

His attire consisted of two layers gracefully extending to the floor. The inner layer bore a deep black hue, while the outer layer displayed a vibrant crimson, featuring slits on both sides and a collar embellished with intricate decorative designs. Securing the layers together was a finely crafted belt adorned with precious obsidian and diamonds, adding opulence to his already distinctive ensemble.

There was an undeniable sensuality to his posture and a mischievous gleam in his captivating red eyes. Yet, when he spoke, a warmth resonated in his voice. He knelt and bowed his head towards Hades, his hands forming an intricate gesture that left the onlookers puzzled. "The Fox King pays respect to His Lordship," he declared.

In response, Hades with a genuine demeanour uttered, "Good tidings be, Reagan. Please rise." Reagan complied, gracefully getting up, and extended his greetings towards Nico and Persia, this time bowing his head but refraining from kneeling. 

"The Fox King greets His Grace, the Crown Prince," Reagan addressed Nico, who replied with a slight bow of his head.

"The Fox King greets Her Majesty, The Heiress of Water," he continued, surprising the onlookers and raising several eyebrows. Frowns and gasps reverberated through the assembly. Persia mirrored the gesture that Reagan had shown her, bringing her hands together with her index fingers touching the root of her thumb, right palm above the left, both facing each other.

"The Heiress of Water greets His Majesty, the Fox King." She reciprocated with poise.

Once the formalities were concluded, Hades addressed Reagan, "I would like you to overlook the execution of The Crown Prince’s orders."

"The palace maids have already begun the procedure, Your Lordship," Reagan assured with a smile. "Be rest assured, it shall be completed within an hour."

"Excellent. Thank you, Reagan. I shall speak to you soon," Hades concluded, and with a nod, Reagan vanished from the scene, leaving his onlookers bewildered as they caught a glimpse of an entirely different culture. 

A hushed silence settled in the room, a moment pregnant with tension. Breaking the stillness, Demeter voiced her disapproval, her words dripping with censure. "Hades, have you no consideration for what you have allowed? Not only did you allow your illegitimate child to dictate matters in your realm, but you also gave him such access over your divine powers."

In response, Hades glanced back with a coldness that made Demeter take an involuntary step back. The look on his face held an expression she had never witnessed in their countless centuries. It was as if he had transformed into a different Hades, one previously unseen and unknown.

"Be quiet, Demeter," he commanded, the force behind his words cutting through the air. His stern demeanour painted a stark contrast to the typically reserved Lord of the Underworld.

"Do not complain about a matter that you yourself have created," Hades continued, his voice holding a depth of frustration. "How many times have I asked you to reconsider your stance and listen to me once? Do not, for once, think that you could disrespect me continuously, and I shall not act on your behaviour. My tolerance does not equal acceptance, Demeter."

Hades stepped forward, closing the distance between them, a palpable tension lingering in the air. "Even now, you and Persephone attempted to accuse me with false allegations. I prefer my privacy, but both of you infringe on it repeatedly despite several warnings in the past."

His gaze bore into Demeter's, a stern warning etched in his features. "Today, you have crossed all limits. Let this be clear: none of my children are illegitimate. If I hear another word against Nico, the liability of your actions shall befall you. Be warned."

With that declaration, Hades turned on his heels, retreating into the sanctuary of his chambers. The resounding slam of the doors echoed in the room, leaving a profound sense of finality and an atmosphere fraught with unresolved emotions.

In the midst of the disarray, Athena summoned the courage to pose a question. Her gaze flickered briefly to the displeased countenance of Nico before settling on Annabeth, who appeared less bewildered by the unfolding events.

"Annabeth?" Athena inquired, her tone laced with a delicate hesitance. Startled, Annabeth turned toward her mother. "Yes, Mother?"

Athena ventured into the delicate territory seeking clarification. "Do you know why Lord Hades said that all his children are legitimate?" Annabeth’s expression was marked by a resigned understanding of the necessity to explain. She responded, "In the Underworld, a man can have several consorts and concubines, but only one wife. The consorts are well-informed before binding themselves to the man and are also free to refuse. They usually receive quarters for their personal use, tokens of gifts, and various benefits. If a wife is taken by a man, then the palace of consorts and concubines is dismantled. They are free to continue their lives as they please without any bindings. However, any children they bear will belong to the lineage of the man."

She paused taking a deep breath as the weight of the revelation settled in the room. "All the lovers of Lord Hades are his consorts, and hence, all children are legitimate."

Persia observed as the realisation dawned on the faces of those present, their eyes widening in comprehension. However, Demeter muttered under her breath with an air of skepticism, "As if they remain loyal to that wife."

Persia countered Demeter's comment, "They are highly loyal, Lady Demeter. Once a man takes a woman as his wife, he ceases the behaviour of taking on lovers. Infidelity is never accepted in marriage. If either the man or the woman has committed infidelity, then they are to be punished accordingly."

She gestured towards the subdued and humiliated Persephone. "It is the reason your daughter, Lady Demeter, did not face any backlash when she took Adonis as her lover. She was a consort and had the leeway to do so. Although it is frowned upon."

Persephone met Persia's gaze with astonishment etched across her features. Amidst the contemplative atmosphere, Ares stepped forward, standing beside Athena, his gaze shifting toward Persia. With a hint of curiosity, he posed a question that lingered in the air. "How do you punish such immortals?"

His inquiry directed attention to Persia, yet it was Nico who chose to respond. His voice, carrying the weight of authority, cut through the silence. "By condemning them to several cycles of reincarnations used as a lesson; by exiling them to the Mortal World, or by taking away their immortality and breaking the bonds of marriage. Punishments differ, contingent on the severity of the situation. The Rules of the Underworld may be harsh, but they are fair."

Nico's explanation hung in the air, outlining the uncompromising nature of justice in the divine realm. The room absorbed the information with a subdued intensity leaving a trace of solemn understanding in its wake. In the aftermath of the revelations, Nico turned towards Persia, a silent understanding passing between them. His hand gently sought hers, fingers intertwining in a comforting grasp. A soft, sad smile adorned his features as he spoke, "I apologise that you have to go through that due to the ignorance of some."

Persia gave an understanding smile, dismissing the weight of the situation. "Forget the matter, godbrother. Have you ever seen me worrying about unnecessary things?"

Nico huffed, a genuine smile playing on his face, "Never, godsister." The exchange though a facade for the watching immortals, bore the authenticity of the bond shared by the two god-siblings.

Persia gently patted Nico's hand reassuringly, "Go now. See whether Uncle is calm. He has the very bad habit of keeping his emotions to himself.”

Nico nodded, "Yeah." His hand hovered over the door, poised to open it when a thunderous roar echoed sending ripples of uncertainty through the air and almost shaking the entire Olympus Mountain.

Startled gasps filled the air, and a nymph exclaimed, "What was that?" 

Zeus, flanked by Athena and Ares, frowned in concern. Demeter, with a disdainful huff, vanished with Persephone, uninterested in the unfolding disturbance.

Persia's heartbeat quickened with a heightened sense of anticipation, an unspoken premonition that something was about to transpire. Thalia suggested, "Let's go and see what has shaken the mountain."

Athena mussed, "It seemed like a beast or perhaps a monster?" 

Ares shook his head, eyes narrowed. "Unlikely that either would reach Olympus, Athena."

Together, the demigods and gods hurried from the guest palace, only to be stopped in their tracks by the sight that awaited them.

High above, a colossal totem of burning fire blazed against the sky, forming the unmistakable silhouette of a dragon. The gathered crowd instinctively shielded their eyes from the intense light that poured from the fiery spectacle.

As they watched, transfixed, the fiery dragon dissolved, revealing a massive creature with glinting white scales and fiery red eyes.

The majestic dragon, its presence awe-inspiring, commanded every gaze. Atop its regal head, a figure emerged, and as she stood, an audible gasp escaped Persia’s lips.

Her mother was here.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔 : 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Persia's heart was a tumultuous sea, caught between the currents of joy and sorrow as she gazed upon her mother. A hand snaked around her shoulder, offering a comfort that stirred conflicting emotions within her. Leaning into the reassuring presence of Nico, she couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness at the sight of her mother.

Her Mama was here!

Since her mother's passing, she had only caught fleeting glimpses of her through tales spun by Uncle Hades and Leto. Yet, those narratives failed to capture the true magnificence that was her Mother.

Her mother, draped in the traditional white of the Sea, adorned with an amethyst circlet, stood as a regal vision. The very essence of royalty and grace. Persia's eyes welled with tears, for the stories she had heard did no justice to the magnificence that was her Mother. Worry clouded her purple gaze as it darted through the throng of immortals, a sea of faces crowding the surroundings.

“Who are you? Introduce yourself!” Zeus, with his thunderous voice, broke the tension with a question that resonated through the divine gathering, a curious blend of intimidation and inquiry. 

She couldn't quite discern whether he aimed to intimidate her or felt threatened himself.

A tinkling laughter, so full of amusement, danced through the air. 

"Who am I?" Her mother's voice rang out. "I stand here, and the entirety of Olympus senses power like they've never known. Tell me, Zeus, who do you believe I am?"

The amusement in her mother's voice was a rare melody, a tune she hadn't heard since long before her passing. As her mother's voice echoed, Persia felt a bittersweet symphony playing within her soul. A surge of joy bubbled within her, like a spring of emotions finding release after being damned for so long. 

Athena interjected sternly, "Do not pose such trivial questions. Remember, you address the King of Gods!" 

"I am no Goddess, child," Her mother's voice resonated, a firm declaration that cut through the air. "I do not answer to any King. Nonetheless, I am here to meet my daughter."

Zeus's frown deepened, etching lines of perplexity on his countenance. "Your daughter?" 

Zeus's inquiry pierced through her emotional tapestry, demanding answers. Persia observed the exchange with a teary-eyed gaze. 

He was curious. The power radiating from the woman seemed highly overwhelming. He could feel it in the very core of his being. Her aura bore an intoxicating allure, a delicate balance of sensuality and focused energy. Amongst the assembly of immortals, she stood as a singular entity, a beacon of uniqueness that transcended even the divine.

Silver strands of hair cascaded like liquid moonlight, framing eyes of regal purple that held a depth unfathomable. In her visage, an ethereal beauty unfolded, surpassing the very standards of immortality. She looked like a living portrait, a masterpiece carved by the hands of time. Zeus felt an attraction, yet, amidst the allure, a shadow of wariness crept in. 

The magnanimous dragon coiled protectively behind her and her own presence exuded an undeniable authority. Even without witnessing her primal form, Zeus sensed that she held within her the essence of unparalleled power, eclipsing even the deities gathered in Olympus.

Who was she? 

"Mama!"

The call echoed through the gathering of deities. Overwhelmed by a surge of long-suppressed emotions, Persia had abandoned the constraints of composure.

Her eyes were filled with tears, shimmered like reflecting pools as she surged forward and embraced her.  Persia buried her face in her mother's neck with a tender vulnerability reminiscent of her childhood days.

Tears slipped from Persia's eyes, tracing the contours of her cheeks. Her grip on the woman tightened, as if trying to anchor herself in reality. 

"My darling," A small, understanding smile graced the woman’s lips as she whispered, "I am here, my little whirlwind." 

The collective assembly of deities stood in silent incredulity, their expressions etched with shock and confusion at the unfolding scene. 

In a cascade of light, the Moirai materialised. They smiled affectionately at the scene in front of them.  Clotho turned gracefully addressing Zeus and the assembled immortals, "Allow me to introduce the one being for whom the entire Universe works." She gestured toward the embracing figures, "This is Lady Zyenthea, the Primordial of Power and Cosmic Energy. The First of Four."

Ares, his gaze flickering towards the embracing females, inquired, "But Persia called her…?"

Before he could finish, Atropos interjected, "She is also Persia's mother."

A moment of stunned silence enveloped the gathered deities before a cacophony of voices erupted, each deity expressing their astonishment.

"SILENCE!" Zyenthea's voice, stern and commanding, sliced through the tumult. Her eyes bore into the assembly, demanding order. “Is this how the immortals of Olympus behave?” 

She turned to Lachesis, "Ensure three rooms are available in the realm. We will require them shortly."

Lachesis nodded with deference, "I will arrange it at once, my lady."

Zyenthea's attention shifted to her daughter, gently withdrawing from the embrace. "Persia, darling?"

“Yes, Mama?”

"Wipe your tears," Zyenthea instructed with a warm smile, "Aren't you my brave little girl? I am not going anywhere, my dear."

Persia, surprised, looked at her mother, "Really?"

"We have time, darling." Zyenthea reassured, "For now, I must speak with your godfather at once. Do you know where he is?"

"You speak as if you have no idea where I am." The familiar voice of Hades echoed, drawing attention. "Never thought I would see you stepping onto the land of Olympus."

"It's a one-time thing," Zyenthea replied dryly, "Don't expect me here again. It is not to my taste. Too ostentatious."

"Says Power herself?" Hades chuckled, "What an irony!" He embraced her warmly. As they parted, he said, "It's good seeing you again after so long. Although I must admit I am highly baffled about your reasons for becoming a mortal in the future and Poseidon, honestly?"

Zyenthea chuckled, "Didn't choose him. There were higher forces at play."

He raised an eyebrow, "A higher force than you?"

"Mother Kháos, Hades. How can I throw away the blessing she gave me?" Zyenthea's gaze flickered towards Persia, who looked at her with disbelief, "You speak as if my birth has some huge significance, Mama."

"It is, darling." Zyenthea gave a small, sad smile, her eyes holding a faraway look, "All in due time."

Annabeth and Nico approached, hugging the woman with misty and affectionate eyes. Zyenthea patted their cheeks with a motherly smile. She said, "For now, why don't you, Annabeth, and Nico go with the Moirai to their realm? I will see you there in a few hours."

The unspoken directive behind her words was clear. Zeus, Athena, and Ares watched in bafflement as the Moirai followed her instructions allowing the three mentioned demigods to depart Olympus through a portal. With a final glance at the gathered deities, Hades and Zyenthea vanished leaving the Moirai to manage the perplexed King of Gods and his bewildered children.

Beneath his closed lids, Hades’s thoughts swirled like the ominous clouds. 

His entire past till the current moment passed before his closed eyelids.

Hades had met Zyenthea during the early stages of the war with their Father. After being liberated from their Father's stomach, the five children of Rhea were cautious of Zeus, the new addition to the first generation of gods. 

There were lingering tensions due to Rhea favouring Zeus because of her efforts to save him; although that hasn’t been her intention. Despite the demands of war requiring their collective focus, underlying frictions persisted, unvoiced.

As the war drew on, all of them grew closer through shared conflict, yet there was a growing sense of isolation that enveloped him. He had not known that was on purpose. 

He had been away from their hideout, unknown to the fact that there would be a war meeting without his presence. On returning he had mistakenly overheard their words of distrust in regards to him. It was revealed that his strategies closely mirrored those of their Father—crafty and cunning so he was to be isolated and monitored. Their disregard and distrust for him had broken him down. He had been highly distraught. 

He was thankful he had met Zyenthea and by addition, Leto at that time. Hades had found solace under Lord Oceanus's guidance, who had assumed a fatherly role, teaching and guiding him. With their help and Oceanus’ teachings, Hades had learned not only to mask his emotions flawlessly but also to control them. 

Subsequently, he adopted a persona that distanced him from his siblings, ceasing to even smile in their presence.

After the war concluded and peace was established, Hades unravelled the source of the distrust among the once-close siblings. Analysing the war's events with impartial judgement, he took time to understand the dynamics that had strained the bonds he had cherished once upon a time, only to be betrayed by them.

Zeus . 

He grasped the reasons behind his actions as well. Hestia and he held a special place in their mother Rhea’s heart, being her first two children. It was a place that was hard to challenge. It had been insecurity and selfishness that had led Zeus to do what he had done. 

Zeus had played his cards cleverly, connecting Hades to their father, an effective ploy to breed distrust among them, especially during the war against the very entity they despised.The timing couldn't have been more strategic. During the distribution of realms, the unanimous support for Zeus to become the King of Gods ensured him Heaven and Sky. 

Left with the underworld to govern, though seemingly a less desirable realm, turned out to be a hidden blessing in disguise.

In the blink of an eye, fleeting memories of the past and glimpses of the future flooded his mind. The painful passage of years unfolded before him, leaving behind a profound sense of heartache.

Within the recollections were images of his son, his daughters, his goddaughter, his friend, and … Leto. 

Suddenly, his eyes shot open, a surge of realisation coursing through him. He recalled it all. 

This opportunity, bestowed upon him as a blessing from Mother Kháos, would not be squandered.

Titaness Leto, born of Titans Coeus and Phoebe, was known to the world as the gentle mother of the twins Apollo and Artemis. 

Kindness was the image they painted of her and that was a facade she wore for the world to see.

Yet, deep within, Leto pondered if the world ever desired to see beyond that facade, if they longed to unravel her true story. 

She wondered what that world would say when they discovered her selfish side, the duality of her nature—gentle and kind to her family, ruthless and just to others. 

Tears escaped her eyes as fleeting memories replayed behind closed eyelids again.

In the days of Zia, Hades, and her, troubles were simpler—a war to win and some assistance to offer Hades in his underworld. 

However, since that fateful day, her existence became an enduring battlefield. Each century brought forth a new war, each day a relentless battle.

Her own children hadn't visited her for centuries – it has been so long since she had seen them. 

She never got the opportunity to instill the values she wished for in her children, nor did they seek her guidance. With time, her presence in their life had dwindled. She had failed to recognize the beings they had become over the centuries. 

Where did her sweet and gentle Artemis go? Where was her brave and kind son who had once slayed the Python just because it had tried to attack her once!? 

The realisation had stung when she had realised that they were not her children anymore. 

They were Zeus' children.

"Leto."

At the sound of familiar footsteps, she turned away, wiping her tears.

"Crying won't help," Zyenthea remarked. "You were the one who told me that once. Forgot it so soon?"

"No. I haven't forgotten anything," Leto replied, her gaze momentarily flickering towards the closed door behind Zyenthea. "Is he awake yet?"

"Hades should awaken in a few moments. Then we will sit down to plan."

Perhaps , she contemplated, it was time for her heart to harden so she could guide her children on the right path.  

She decided to offer them one chance, just one . 

She could only pray and hope that somewhere in the current Apollo and Artemis, her sweet children still lived. 

The void was infinite, stretching into eternity without form or boundary. It was neither light nor darkness, but a state of unbeing—silent, heavy, and unchanging. And within this vast emptiness stirred Kháos, the First, the Source, and the Pulse of All Things. She was neither a being nor a place, but a presence, a consciousness that both was and was not, suspended in meditation deeper than the fathoms of time itself.

This was not the first time Kháos had sought creation. Her attempts before had brought only collapse, for her immense power was too vast, too untamed, to bring anything into being without devouring it. Stars had burned too hot and consumed themselves in moments; forms had been made and unmade in an instant, unable to withstand her raw force. The cosmos had fractured under her solitary hand, unable to balance her boundless might. But from failure came wisdom, and in her silent contemplation, Kháos began to understand.

“Creation is not a single hand’s work,” she whispered into the emptiness, her voice resonating without sound, rippling across the void like the first wave upon a still sea. “The balance cannot be borne by one alone. I must become many, for what I am cannot be contained, only divided.”

And so, Kháos acted. For the first time in an eternity of stillness, she moved. Her essence trembled, her infinite power coalescing into a singular moment of will. With an effort that seemed to stretch across all existence, she began to unravel herself. It was not destruction, but transformation—a breaking and remaking, a birth from within herself.

As Kháos divided, light blazed in the nothingness, illuminating what had never been seen before. From her vast, infinite self came forth four entities, intangible yet undeniable, forces as eternal as she had always been. They were not beings but principles, the living embodiments of what creation would require.

The first part of her took shape as Cosmic Energy, the source of all life and vitality. It was raw and untamed, the spark that would ignite stars and spread life through the void. Power, I name you, Kháos thought, though it was no longer a part of her—it had become its own force. You will be the heartbeat of the cosmos.

The second part became Time, flowing steady and unyielding. Its essence moved forward and back, weaving the past, present, and future into an eternal thread. Time, I name you, she thought. You will be the keeper of moments, the flow through which all things exist.

The third part coalesced as Necessity, the unseen force that bound all things together in harmony. It was inevitability and balance, the laws that would govern existence and prevent collapse into chaos. Necessity, I name you. You will temper Time and guide Power, ensuring that the cosmos remains stable.

Finally, the fourth part emerged as Change, the force of transformation and evolution. It was neither good nor evil but the driver of progress, the tide that would prevent stagnation. Change, I name you, she thought. Through you, the universe will grow and adapt.

Kháos, now divided into these four intangible forces, lingered in her diminished state, watching as the parts of her began to take up their roles. Her voice, though quieter now, echoed across the vast expanse. "You are no longer of me, but you are still mine. Each of you has a purpose, a duty to the cosmos. Fulfill your roles, and together, you will bring balance and life to this emptiness."

For a moment, there was silence, the newborn forces absorbing their existence and purpose. Then Power, the most vibrant of them, spoke first. Its voice was a deep, resonant hum, like the first chord of a symphony. "I shall ignite the stars and breathe life into the void. My energy will flow through all things, from the smallest spark to the grandest galaxy."

Time followed, its voice measured and calm, like the ticking of an unseen clock. "I will guide all that exists, marking their beginnings and ends. The universe will flow through me, as it must."

Necessity was next, its voice firm and even, weighted with unshakable certainty. "I will ensure harmony. The actions of Power and Time will align with the universe's design. Through me, order will prevail."

Lastly, Change spoke, its voice mercurial and shifting, as though it contained infinite possibilities within a single word. "And I will move all things forward. Nothing will remain still under my watch—not stars, not life, not even Time itself. Evolution will be my gift to existence."

Kháos, though diminished, smiled—a smile that rippled through the void as a gentle wave of light. "You have spoken well, my children. You understand your duties. Go now, and begin to shape existence." But before they could depart, she added, her voice growing solemn: "If ever the balance falters, if you find yourselves in conflict, know this:  Balance herself will manifest to steady you. Until then, go forth and fulfill your roles."

The four forces did not hesitate. Power surged outward, filling the void with vibrant energy. The first stars were born, their light cutting through the endless darkness. Time flowed beside it, marking the moments of their creation and setting them on their inevitable paths toward destruction and rebirth. Necessity wove itself into the fabric of existence, ensuring that no action occurred without reason, no motion without purpose. And Change, ever restless, danced through it all, driving the transformation of star to supernova, dust to planet, spark to life.

In the vastness of the void, Kháos watched her creation take its first trembling steps toward existence. For the first time in an eternity, there was something other than emptiness—a cosmos, fragile but alive. And though she had divided herself, she felt no loss. She had given the universe what it needed: not one force, but many, each working together in harmony.

The silence of the void gave way to the hum of creation. Existence had begun.

And that's the story behind the creation of Zyenthea.

"What thoughts have you so troubled, Zia?" murmured Leto, as she poured herbal tea infused with Moon Leaves and cardamom into Zyenthea's cup. "Drink this. It should strengthen your essence and soothe your mind."

Zyenthea smiled with a hint of sadness, expressing her gratitude as she accepted the tea. "I haven't felt strained yet, Leto. There's no need for unnecessary worry."

"You don't get to decide that, Zia," Hades interjected, taking a seat beside her, concern etched on his face. "We may have planned for such eventualities, but that doesn't mean we won't take care of you. Your essence has been eroding faster since bringing the demigods here."

"Perhaps." Zyenthea agreed nonchalantly. "But now, let's discuss our next steps since the first phase of our plan has been successful."

"Would you tell me what happened after my passing?" Inquisitive about the aftermath of her departure, Zyenthea fixed her gaze on Hades and Leto.

An unspoken exchange of glances passed between the two, revealing the gravity of the truth that needed to be unveiled. With a subtle gesture, Leto signalled for Hades to begin.

Hades, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table, assumed a soft tone as he shared, "From the moment of your cursed passing, we knew Nature was in its death throes, and it only intensified thereafter. The lands were engulfed in suffering as a plague devastated the majority of mortal civilizations. Even their advanced medicines proved futile. Furthermore, Nature was thrown into disarray after your departure. It shattered completely, Zia."

Zyenthea nodded, showing little surprise at such a grim outcome. "What about Persia? I could sense an agonising pain in her eyes. Why is that? What happened?"

"Your death shattered her," Leto admitted, swallowing her own tears while recalling the heart-wrenching cries of the woman she considered her own daughter. "She was inconsolable."

A tear slid down Zyenthea's cheek, and Leto reached out to console her, tightly gripping her hand with a teary gaze. "But, Zia, you'd be proud to know that Persia didn't allow her fatal flaw to overcome her. She chose her duty."

"I am proud of her, Leto."

Hades observed them with a gentle, fond gaze. "Now, let's return to the matter at hand."

"Yes."

Zyenthea and Leto wiped away their tears, straightened their backs, and adopted a serious demeanour.

"Nature further disintegrated as Apollo, for the first time after completing his quest, refused to re-accept Godhood from Zeus," Leto continued, her voice tinged with awe, pride, and surprise. "I believe this refusal created more imbalance, hastening the arrival of the Apocalypse."

Zyenthea's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "He refused Godhood? Are you certain that it was your son and not some imposter, Leto?"

"Zia!" Leto scowled at her, though a chuckle escaped her lips. "Yeah, I was astonished by his decision as well."

"Apollo's choice completely shifted the dynamics of Olympus," Hades added. "Zeus was profoundly disturbed, and his descent into madness was swift."

Curious, Zyenthea inquired, "What unfolded afterward?"

"After that, it was pure chaos. Nature was dying, Apollo secluded himself at Delos, numerous minor gods faded away simultaneously, and mortal lands were ravaged by multiple diseases. There was also turmoil in the ocean."

"In the ocean?" Zyenthea's expression turned to concern. "How is that possible with táta and uncle Nereus present?"

"They went into a deep sleep after your..." Leto's voice trailed off quietly. "They couldn't bear the grief."

A gasp escaped Zyenthea as she pressed a hand to her mouth in shock. "Persia was alone? …Oh! "

"Persia spent most of her time in the Underworld after the customary seclusion period of seven months or in the camp, which she secured with a barrier not even the Gods could penetrate. I think the Moirai had a hand in it."

"We did."

Clotho, Lachesis, and Átropos materialised with disgruntled expressions. "Why the long face, Lachesis?" Leto asked, her eyes filled with mirth.

"You are well aware of the reason. Why must you make us deal with those Gods? They exhaust our energy," Clotho grumbled, shooting a scowl at the smirking Hades, the amused Leto, and the smiling Zyenthea.

"Well, you are paying the price of your own actions," Zyenthea remarked. "Don't grouch about it. Take a seat at the table."

Atropos leaned forward, her sharp gaze fixed on Zyenthea. "Will our parents be joining us, along with Lord Change?" 

Zyenthea gave a small, agreeing nod, assuring them that their parents would join the gathering shortly. Until then, she expressed her desire to hear the remaining events before the demigods embarked on their journey.

Clotho gracefully accepted a cup of wine from Leto, who passed the same to Lachesis and Atropos. Taking a sip, she began to unveil the next chapter of the unfolding tale. "The next significant blow came when Lord Poseidon began to degrade," she narrated, “As he neared oblivion, Poseidon uncovered the treachery and the true nature of his wife, Amphitrite.”

Zyenthea's expression shifted to one of startled concern as she continued to listen intently.

Clotho revealed that Poseidon, in his fading moments, had disowned both his wife and children, Kymlopiea and Triton, for their deeds. He had asked only Rhodes and Persia to remain by his side. Lachesis interjected with a grim look, adding that Poseidon extracted a promise from Persia. This promise included a decree that she shouldn't trust the Olympians unless they had proven themselves worthy of such trust.

Atropos, picking up the thread of the story, continued by stating that Poseidon had sensed something amiss in the background. His final wish was for his two daughters to be safe and sound. 

Zyenthea averted her eyes, realising she had been holding her breath. "Continue," she urged, her voice steady, signalling the need to unravel the rest of the events that had transpired.

The room's atmosphere remained heavy as Leto took the narrative reins. "Next one to be afflicted with oblivion was Apollo," she revealed, her gaze betraying the turmoil within her. With a deep breath, Leto continued, recounting how Persia, during one of her visits to Delos, discovered Apollo nearing oblivion. Persia had spun Life and infused him with a bit of Zyenthea's own essence that she had reserved. Leto looked visibly embarrassed and guilt-ridden on sharing this revelation.

Zyenthea wore a soft smile as she gently cupped Leto's face. "I approve of Persia's actions," she affirmed, her gaze expressing understanding and empathy. Leto was still grappling with the weight of almost losing her son, and offered a trembling smile in response.

Hades picked up the story where Leto left off. "After that, the Moirai proposed the plan of time travel to Persia," he explained. "She discussed it with Annabeth and Nico." As the silence settled in, Hades continued, recounting how Annabeth and Nico, upon learning of the plan, agreed to it. Will and Jason discovered their intentions and had insisted on joining, and Thalia decided to join after overhearing a heated discussion between Will and Persia.

Leto, having stabilised her emotions, continued to unfold the tale. "Once we were certain they would proceed with the plan to time travel to the past, Hades and I took the last plunge." 

A shared glance between Leto and Hades conveyed a silent understanding. Leto described how she collected her memories, essence, and spirit, sealing them in several flasks entrusted to the Moirai for safekeeping. These memories were to be returned to her once the demigods had traversed the cosmic passage. Hades, mirroring her actions, had done the same.

"This summarises the major events before our passing," Leto concluded, glancing at Zyenthea, who was the only one unaware of this. 

“I see.” Zyenthea's voice was a soft murmur, filling the room like a delicate melody. Her eyes closed in contemplation, as if orchestrating the threads of the plan within her mind. "Adrastea, Khronos, Luke – Come forth, you three. We have much to plan."

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕 : 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐕

In the tranquil embrace of the evening, Persia found solace amongst the wilderness of the land. Her mother’s realm was filled with serenity, gushing waterfalls, lush mountains and untamed wilderness. 

The last vestiges of daylight painted the sky in hues of soft pinks and oranges, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The air carried a subtle fragrance of the blooming flowers, and a gentle breeze whispered through the leaves, creating a soothing melody.

Sitting on a sturdy wooden swing, Persia enjoyed the simple joy of the moment. The swing creaked rhythmically, creating a comforting background to the natural symphony around her. With a contented smile gracing her lips, she closed her eyes, allowing the breeze to caress her face.

A soft sigh escaped her as she tilted her face towards the sky, absorbing the serenity of the moment. A few evening stars shyly appeared, twinkling like faraway diamonds. The worries of the day disappeared, replaced by a deep sense of happiness. 

The evening breeze played with strands of her hair, and she inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of nature in the air.

The soft rustle of leaves accompanied Annabeth as she approached Persia, who gracefully swayed on the handmade swing suspended from a sturdy tree branch. Annabeth settled at the base of the tree, looking up at Persia, her expression etched with a subtle frown and a hint of annoyance.

Persia tilted her head inquisitively on noticing her pinched expression. "What's bothering you, Annabeth?" she inquired, the warmth of the evening embracing them.

Annabeth sighed, "Why did you ask Lord Hades to conclude the Isolation in front of everyone?" she questioned.

A light chuckle escaped Persia's lips as she observed Annabeth's vexed demeanour. "Didn't you once enjoy being the centre of attention?" she teased gently.

Annabeth scowled, "That was before Tartarus," she retorted. "Now, I prefer being alone and surrounded by my comfort people."

Persia softened her expression, an apologetic look crossing her face. "I apologise if that made you uncomfortable," she said gently, her eyes reflecting her sincerity.

Annabeth sighed again, her frustration easing as her frown cleared up. "Why did you do it?" 

"I wanted Father to be curious," Persia explained softly. "Curious enough to ask questions, to learn about the culture of the domain he ruled.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened in understanding. "You’re thinking about the situation Rhode is stuck in.” 

“Yeah.” Persia's gaze hardened, a resolute determination colouring her voice. “I cannot do anything to help her without Father's interference. I know he was curious before, but something like this would have made him uncomfortable enough for him to reach out to someone to learn. How did he react to learning what a Godfather meant in the Sea?”

Annabeth's lips curved into a wry smile. “He was shocked and uncomfortable, as you predicted,” she replied. “I think I saw a hint of jealousy as well.”

“That’s good.” Persia's gaze shifted upward, her eyes contemplating the evening sky. “It should be enough for him to react.”

Annabeth let out a slow exhale, a mix of resignation and fondness directed at the schemes of her friend. “Then I suppose I do not mind being the scapegoat for a while longer.”

Persia's smile widened at her words; her eyes showed how grateful she was of Annabeth’s continued support.

This time the gathering was held in a smaller room instead of the throne room. The Olympians were present and so were many other immortals including minor gods, nymphs and satyrs. The atmosphere buzzed with energy, and the air was thick with anticipation.

Zeus sat on his throne with an absent-minded look on his face. The sting of the recent incident lingered, and caution etched lines on his countenance as he thought of Persia. The daughter of Poseidon wielded allies whose powers surpassed even him. She was turning out more trouble than he had thought. Previously, her power and demeanour had unsettled him. Now, he did not know what to think of her. 

Apollo nursed a disgruntled spirit. Persia's cunning method of proving her words had dealt a blow to his ego. Despite the urge to make an example out of her, Zeus's words of caution were the only reins holding back the sun god's wrath. His expression hardened when he thought how she had used his own child to prove her point.

Poseidon had a furrowed brow, his face reflected deep confusion. The recent events in Olympus had left him perplexed, his thoughts as tumultuous as the raging waves. As he drew his brows together, a frown etched on his face; he pondered the revelations of the past month. He sensed that changes were unfolding at an alarming pace. 

A swirl of black mist heralded the arrival of Hades; cloaked in traditional garments reminiscent of the Fox King's, Hades exuded regality. He lifted an eyebrow, surveying the assembly of Olympians. Beside him materialised Nico mirroring his father's spectral entrance. The resemblance between father and son was striking. While Nico seamlessly joined the demigods, Hades conjured his own throne.

“Where is Persia?” It was Poseidon, who asked.

Hades responded nonchalantly, "With her mother."

Zeus raised an eyebrow directing his piercing gaze at Hades. "How do you know Zyenthea?" he inquired.

Hades leaned back, his expression not betraying a single emotion. "I've known Zyenthea since the time of the First Titanomachy."

Hestia interjected with a puzzled expression. "But how is that possible? We would have noticed if you were absent for a long time."

Hades chuckled, his eyes glinting with a wry amusement. "You would, wouldn’t you, sister?” Hestia flinched at the anger in his eyes. She saw the pain hidden in those anger for a brief second before he wore his nonchalant look again. It made her feel immensely guilty. 

“Ah, if you weren't so busy concocting useless notions, you might have noticed several things happening amidst us at that time.” The atmosphere grew a bit tense as the six Olympians exchanged uneasy glances while the younger Olympians looked at them curiously. “For your question, I was rarely present outside of the war meetings I was graced with an invitation to attend. I hope you remember Zeus." Hades pinned Zeus with a hard stare, “After all you were the one dictating most of them.”

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, leaving the immortals in an awkward silence. Persia and Annabeth entered at that moment breaking the silence. They barely took note of the atmosphere joining the demigods. 

Zeus cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the assembly. "Let us start with the third quest. I shall read."

With a swift motion, the book soared toward him, its pages flipping until he landed on the designated chapter. Zeus began to recite, "The Titan’s Curse."

“The Titan’s curse?” Hestia murmured, “As in Atlas?” Her gaze went towards where the demigods were gathered, watching as Annabeth and Persia whispered amongst each other. 

A collective murmur swept through the room, and Annabeth's voice caught the immortal’s attention. "Oh no, it's my turn."

Ares leaned in with curiosity. "Your turn for what?"

Annabeth sighed, her eyes betraying a mix of dread and familiarity. "Being kidnapped, Lord Ares." she replied with a resigned demeanour.

Ares was caught off guard. He tilted his head in puzzlement. "Kidnapped? By whom?" 

The question hung in the air unanswered as Annabeth's gaze shifted to Persia. 

"Yeah, I know," Persia empathised, "Mind you, it was your own fault. No one asked you to jump on a manticore’s back."

Ares’s eyes widened, “A manticore?” He exchanged a glance with Athena, both of whom looked surprised and concerned.

Annabeth groaned, collapsing onto a nearby mattress. "I hope my part isn't too prominent." Persia consoled her, "Shouldn't be. We'll be safe till the last few chapters, I reckon."

Athena, unable to decipher the banter and growing more perplexed, interrupted the exchange. "Will someone enlighten us about what is transpiring here?" The goddess's voice held an edge of impatience and genuine confusion.

Annabeth replied, "I was kidnapped, Mother. I hope the book skips the details because it wasn't a pleasant experience. I hope you recall we're supposed to feel everything that happens in the book." 

“Does it have anything to do with Atlas?” asked Zeus, his brows drawn together in genuine concern. Annabeth gave a nod, “Everything to do with him, Lord Zeus. If you read ahead, you will understand.”

That was encouragement enough for him to start reading. The story has started from Thalia's point of view. 

The immortals were gripped by the unfolding story where they learned about how Persia, Thalia and Annabeth had found out the children of Hades. They were not at all surprised when Persia was determined to rescue the demigod siblings from the clutches of the monstrous threat. 

As Persia's body succumbed to the venomous effects of the manticore, an intense wave of pain surged through her veins. The pain radiated outward, enveloping her in a relentless torment that left her gasping for breath. Nausea gripped her stomach, and every movement seemed to intensify the agony. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as the venom worked its way through her system. A familiar hand cradled her gently.

"Read swiftly, Zeus," Hades commanded with a harsh edge to his tone, cradling Persia's limp form gently against his chest as he carefully administered medicinal concoctions into her mouth. Zeus, though had a stern expression etched across his face, complied with haste.

Upon reaching the designated spot where the prophecy had been foretold, Persia eased onto the mattress, her weary eyes fluttering open, struggling to focus.

"Uncle Hades?" she uttered weakly.

Hades assisted her to a sitting position, concern etched on his face. "How do you feel? I extracted the poison. I apologise if it was a bit harsh on your veins; I haven’t done such an extraction in a long while."

"It's fine," Persia replied with a genuine smile, her senses still clouded. Hades held a spoon filled with a dark red liquid to her lips. "Drink."

As she sipped, her face contorted in disgust. "Yuck! Was that one of Lord Niklaus’ brews? I have no idea why he insists on making all his brews taste so disgusting."

"It’s this disgusting taste that makes the most effective brews," Hades remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Lord Niklaus?" Will exclaimed in awe. "As in THE Lord Niklaus?"

"Yes, Will," Persia sighed, noticing his excited look. "I only know one Niklaus. I haven’t yet visited his place. Once I do, I will introduce you both."

Poseidon approached where Persia was seated, surrounded by pillows. His heart had nearly leapt to his throat when Persia had fainted, and he studiously ignored the jealousy that crept into his heart when it was Hades who reacted first.

"Who is this Niklaus?" Poseidon inquired.

"The Royal Family Physician. He is a favourite of Papou," Persia explained. "He is one of the oldest immortals from the reign of Primordials and one of the most knowledgeable too."

"Papou?" Poseidon asked. "Who is this grandfather of yours?"

Persia fidgeted, averting her gaze for a moment. She glanced at Hades for reassurance. With a nod from him, she explained, "Papou, as in Lord Oceanus. He is my maternal grandfather, Father."

Poseidon maintained control over his expression. "I see. You and I need to have a long talk, daughter. I have many questions that I would like answered."

"Alright," Persia nodded, surprised by her father's subdued reaction. "Dinner time?"

"Why don’t we speak over lunch?"

"I have lunch plans with Papou and Nana," Persia replied. Poseidon sighed, concealing his frustration and confusion. With an accepting nod, he said, "At dinner, then."

Zeus continued when Poseidon retreated to his throne, and Persia regained her composure. Zeus's gaze briefly shifted back to where Hades sat beside his goddaughter. Something felt markedly different about the oldest son of Rhea, and Zeus resolved to keep an eye on him.

Artemis swiftly summoned her Hunters the moment she discerned that the narrative was about to showcase her lieutenant. Casting a fleeting glance at Thalia, she recollected the sombre news of Zoe's demise delivered on the day of their sparring session. As the story unfolded to reveal the distressing moment when the camp discovered Artemis's abduction, audible gasps of astonishment rippled through the audience.

Zeus spoke softly, his gaze searching for his daughter's eyes, "Artemis was taken? Was she well?" 

Apollo tightly held his sister's hand, his eyes showing a steely resolve, a concerned furrow marking his brow. Athena and Ares mirrored the worry as they cast glances at Artemis.

The woman herself remained composed, though a pallor graced her complexion. Turning to Thalia, she inquired, "I must have been seized during the pursuit of the Ophiotaurus. Am I mistaken?"

"No, you're not mistaken," Thalia retorted, exchanging a knowing look with Annabeth. They both understood Persia's unwavering protectiveness towards Bessie and were convinced she wouldn't permit the ancient sea monster to become the target of a hunt. Zeus pressed on with the reading. As the narrative unfolded to the moment where Zoe was tasked with assembling her team, he found himself once more taken aback by Persia's escalating defence of her godsister.

"You wish to choose someone who is but a mere child, lacking experience?" Persia's discontent resonated strongly in her voice.

Zoe responded with a sharp retort, "It is my quest. I shall decide as I see fit. Bianca is both a Hunter and one of my sisters. If I opt for her, your objections hold no sway over my choice."

"I'm not hindering you, Zoe," Persia's eyes flickered with concern, "Yet, I must remind you that while Bianca is a Hunter, she is also a child of Lord Hades. If any harm befalls her under your protection on this quest, you'll bear the responsibility. I trust you've considered this aspect in making your decision."

With those words, Persia strode away, not lingering for a response. Zoe was left in a state of uncertainty, grappling with the weight of Persia's cautionary words.

"You weren't entirely pleased with Zoe's choice, were you?" Annabeth inquired, her eyes betraying a knowing expression. Persia scoffed dismissively, "I opposed Bianca joining the Hunters from the very beginning."

"Why?" Artemis pressed for an explanation. Persia tensed at being addressed directly. "It's irrelevant now. Bianca is gone."

Zoe's eyes widened, seeking a reaction from Hades, whose expression remained inscrutable. Artemis furrowed her brow at Persia's response, but it was Apollo who interjected irritably, "Must you revel in keeping secrets? Just answer the question. There's no need for you to pass judgement on the particulars."

A stormy expression crossed Persia's face, her patience wearing thin in the company of these ancient deities. They proved to be abrasive and intolerant, incapable of accepting 'no' as a response. Her gaze remained indifferent as she responded, "My reservations about Bianca joining had nothing to do with the wars, Lord Apollo. Let's not forget the purpose of our gathering here with the book."

Apollo's eyes flashed molten gold as he shot her a warning look, but it had no effect on Persia. She continued undeterred, "As for Lady Artemis's question, my discontent with Bianca's decision stemmed from the fact that her motives for joining the Hunters were misguided. She was avoiding her responsibilities."

"I understand," Artemis replied, placing a calming hand on Apollo's arm to dissuade him from responding to Persia's words. She then turned to Zeus, who had been quietly observing and analysing the situation. "Father, please proceed with the story."

Zeus's tone softened with affection as he responded, "Certainly, my daughter."

Hera, though not pleased with the display of familial sentiment, held her tongue. Ares was already upset with her, and she couldn't afford to confront Zeus without his support.

As the narrative unfolded, everyone became aware of Persia's recurring prophetic dreams, delivering crucial information. The atmosphere grew sombre as they learned about The General, Mr. Thorn, and Luke's sinister plan to harm Zoe and Bianca.

Poseidon inquired, "Do you comprehend the reasons behind these dreams, my daughter?"

"No, Father," Persia shook her head, "I've never given it much thought. Perhaps it's because you once held dominion over the realm of Prophecy?"

"It's plausible," Poseidon murmured.

Athena interjected, locking eyes with Persia, "Lord Poseidon must have granted you access to all his domains." Persia nonchalantly shrugged, "To the best of my knowledge, I've been having such dreams since childhood."

Hermes spoke up next, "I assume you know who this General is?" Persia's gaze flickered at him as she gave a small nod. Hestia inquired, "Can you enlighten us?"

"Atlas."

Annabeth's revelation deepened the already grim atmosphere, prompting wary looks among the five eldest Olympians. 

Hades observed them with an inscrutable gaze, maintaining his silence, a characteristic of his nature. Since the return of his memories from the future, he had chosen not to disclose his awareness of the unfolding events. Instead, his thoughts turned to his departed daughter, Bianca. His gaze shifted towards his quiet son, Nico, whose eyes seemed distant. Hades knew Nico was mourning the loss of his sister and the shattering of his innocence. In that moment, Nico's eyes met his father's; a sad but reassuring smile crossed his son's face before melancholy took over again. On the other hand, Zoe had paled further at the revelation. Her gaze flickered between Hades and Nico, a sense of guilt creeping into her mind despite not having committed any wrongdoing.

"Calm, Zoe," Artemis reassured her lieutenant, having noticed her troubled expression, "No one will hold you accountable for actions that have yet to transpire. Release yourself from this burden of guilt."

"Yes, my lady."

However, putting those words into practice proved to be more challenging than they sounded.

As the room fell silent, they delved deeper into the narrative. The story unfolded, providing brief glimpses into the challenges faced by Thalia, Persia, Bianca, Grover, and Zoe. Many in the room marvelled once again at the unwavering resilience of the demigods. Surprises ensued when Persia outwitted the Nemean Lion, emerging victorious.

Poseidon beamed with pride, his eyes reflecting immense satisfaction. Zeus, on the other hand, displayed a faint frown as the daughter of Poseidon claimed triumph once more. He recognized her intelligence and quick thinking, acknowledging that someone of her calibre would not easily succumb to unforeseen challenges.

As they progressed further into the story, the narrative detailed the heartbreaking moment of Bianca's demise, especially as she fulfilled a part of Zoe's prophecy. A solitary tear escaped Persia's eyes; she discreetly used her flowing hair as a curtain to conceal her emotions. Nico's visage hardened, his gaze turning vacant as Zeus's solemn voice recounted the concluding words that marked Bianca's tragic end.

"My condolences," Hestia offered with a sympathetic expression. Nico acknowledged the sentiment with a stiff nod but opted to remain silent. 

Persia, in stark contrast, maintained an inscrutable facade. She curled her knees to her chest, allowing her head to rest on folded arms, shrouding her entire face from sight. Immersed in the labyrinth of her own contemplations, Persia remained oblivious to the sympathetic glances cast her way by minor gods and nymphs. Unseen by Persia, Annabeth keenly observed the subtle expressions of pity on the faces around her, causing her fingers to clench into a tightly wound fist in response.

Zoe grappled with a profound sense of loss, weighed down by the disappointment that she couldn't protect one of her sisters who was under her care. Artemis briefly bowed her head, her gaze momentarily flickering in the direction of Hades. However, she averted her eyes the moment Hades met her gaze.

"Do not mourn someone not even born, sister," Apollo whispered in Artemis's ear, noticing her gaze toward Hades.

"That would be a cruel reason to not respect someone who sacrificed her life to find me, brother," Artemis replied softly. "I do not wish to be so cruel to a life that was dedicated to me." 

Apollo maintained a stoic silence, yet his actions spoke volumes as he interlinked their arms and gently squeezed Artemis's hand for comfort. His gaze shifted towards Persia, who remained absorbed in her own mind with her head bowed, displaying a vulnerability not often seen. A fleeting moment of softening crossed Apollo's demeanour before the memory of how she had defied him surged before his eyes. Swiftly, he averted his gaze from her, a determined hardening settling into his thoughts.

They discovered the pivotal roles played by both Apollo and Athena in assisting them. As Zeus nodded with pride at his children's contributions, Poseidon couldn't conceal his disapproval at the reluctance and cryptic nature of Athena's involvement with Persia.

The narrative progressed to reveal how Persia had encountered the Ophiotaurus and valiantly protected it from skeletal assailants. Baffled expressions adorned the faces of onlookers when Persia affectionately referred to the creature as 'Bessie.' Persia remained unaware of the bewilderment surrounding her while Thalia and Annabeth exchanged frowns.

The ensuing sentences, detailing the encounter between Nereus and Persia, left everyone in the room in a state of awe and astonishment.

"Heiress of Water greets High Lord Nereus of the Lineage of Water." Persia gracefully extended her hands in front of her, forming a butterfly gesture with her palms, thumbs intertwined, as she bowed her head in a formal Sea tradition.

"May the blessings of Mother Kháos remain upon you for eternities," Nereus smiled, offering his blessing. "Come, give me a hug, granddaughter."

A genuine smile illuminated Persia's face as she found herself enveloped in the arms of her god-grandfather. Nereus released her, gently tilting her chin to inspect her face with a scrutinising gaze. "You have not been taking care of yourself properly. What grieves you, my child?"

"Bianca died, Grand-papa. I failed. I promised Nico that I will look after her."

"You did your best," Nereus advised with a warm look. "Not everything is in your hands. You cannot make decisions for Artemis's Lieutenant or Bianca. You cautioned them, did you not?"

"I did," she admitted.

"Then you have nothing to be guilty about. You have fulfilled your duty. Dearest, we can only influence; we cannot make decisions for them. Every being must bear the consequences of their own actions, such is the law of the cosmos. Not even immortals are exempt from such a law."

Persia gazed at him with gratitude, finding a measure of solace in his wise words amid her grief.

"Grand-papa, time is fleeting," Persia whispered, scanning her surroundings for any lurking skeletons. "I was instructed to seek you out. Is Bessie what I suspect her to be?"

Nereus chuckled fondly, "Child, Bessie is a male. And yes, he is the Ophiotaurus. Artemis sought to destroy him before Atlas could lay his hands on him." He frowned, "While I comprehend his significance to those Gods, the Ophiotaurus is an ancient Sea monster and belongs to the Sea. You must shield him from both the Gods and the Titans."

"I won't let harm befall him. I assure you of that. My gratitude for your assistance, Grand-papa, despite the prohibitions. I must be on my way now." Persia leaned in to kiss his cheek and then embraced him in a heartfelt farewell.

"Nonsense, darling," Nereus embraced her back, gently placing a fatherly kiss on her forehead. "Those rules are uttered by a King of the Land, Sky, and Heaven. The Sea does not bow to such regulations. Our laws instruct us to aid our family in times of need. And Persia?"

Persia looked up at him, "Yes, Grand-papa?"

Nereus's expression turned stern as he said, "Never forget your origin. You are the Heiress of Water. You are not bound by the rules of Heaven's King."

Persia smiled, "I shall remember it, Grand-papa."

A momentary hush fell over the room, followed by an eruption of whispers. Poseidon, feeling a sense of confusion, furrowed his brow, directing his attention to his daughter. "Persia."

Persia lifted her head, her eyes seemingly void as she met Poseidon's gaze. Her father inquired, "Why do you address Lord Nereus so familiarly?"

Persia, puzzled by the question, gave him a confused glance, prompting Annabeth to step in and explain the progress of the story. Persia exhaled, blinking up at her father, and responded wearily, "Nereus is Mama's Godfather. Not to mention, Doris, his wife, is one of Mama's sisters."

Raised eyebrows traversed the room as Persia clarified her connections. Zeus, registering the additional allies aligned with Persia, furrowed his brow in thought. Poseidon nodded in acknowledgment.

Athena, seizing the opportunity to seek clarification, asked, "What does 'Heiress' mean? You've been referred to as that twice."

Persia sighed once more. "It will take me some time to explain this. Can we do it later?"

Athena frowned, displaying an inclination for immediate answers. Zeus, however, interjected firmly, unwilling to delay. "No, we have time. Explain." He closed the book, carefully marking the page for reference.

With a reluctant sigh, Persia rose from her seat, pacing the length of the Hearth. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, anticipating that her delayed response to Lord Zeus's words might offend or agitate some. Eventually, she turned to face the assembly.

"What do you know of the Primordials?" she inquired.

A nymph, representing the general knowledge of the assembly, responded, "Other than that they are highly powerful and are the first beings to exist, not much. Perhaps, the Lords, especially Lord Zeus, might be able to best them."

A chuckle escaped Persia, and the immediate scent of ozone filled the air. Unfazed by the glower on Zeus's face or the glares from his Olympian children, Persia smirked as she glanced at the irked King of Gods. Twirling to face the nymph, she met her eyes.

"Let me correct that notion. The Three Lords, especially Lord Zeus, can never stand against a Primordial and win."

"You are testing my patience," Zeus growled at her, sparks of electricity crackling between his fingers, suggesting he was on the verge of summoning his Lightning Bolt.

Poseidon eyed the escalating tension between them warily, glancing between Persia and Zeus, while Hades observed with a relaxed posture, seemingly unbothered by the brewing confrontation.

Undeterred, Persia turned back to the nymph, who gulped nervously at being drawn into the power play.

"As I was saying before being rudely interrupted, there is a reason behind this. If we look at this historically, then the Gods are the sixth generation of Immortals that have evolved into a different race of beings."

"For example, at first were the Four Beings, which include Energy, Time, Inevitability, and Change—also called the First Four. Then came the Cosmic Egg, facilitating the creation of this cosmos. From the egg arrived the four elements and three places."

Annabeth interrupted, "Fire, Earth, Sky, and Water. The places must be Tartarus, the Underworld, and the Sun, am I right?"

Persia smiled, "Exactly."

By this point, Zeus had calmed down, though still disgruntled, and everyone listened spellbound to Persia's words.

"What happened then?" Thalia asked this time.

"Then the second-generation Primordials appeared, mostly the children or self-born beings from Mother Kháos. With time, they grew sentient and chose to create corporeal forms. These Primordials are a necessity for the continuous existence of this Cosmos."

Annabeth was the first to comprehend, followed by Athena, whose lips thinned into a grim look. Apollo grasped the point as well, maintaining a blank face at the unfolding revelations. Zeus sat gripping the armrest of his throne, regretting asking Persia to explain. Her knowledge surpassed his expectations, and he hadn't foreseen this.

Hades smirked, noticing how Zeus reacted to Persia's words. The Lord of the Underworld mused on when Zeus would finally reveal the concealed truths. The curtains over Zeus's deception were slowly being lifted.

"As in?" Will asked, looking confused. "Give an example, please."

Persia contemplated, "For example, Helios and Selene. They transferred their duties to Lord Apollo and Lady Artemis. Did that have any effect on the natural order of things?"

Will shook his head negatively, "No."

"But let's say Lady Gaia decided that she was fed up with existence and wanted to fade away. What would happen then?"

"Why would she decide that? If the Earth is not there, where will we go?"

"That's the point, isn't it?" Persia quirked an eyebrow. "Lady Gaia cannot do that, but a God or a Titan can. The Primordials can survive without us, but we cannot survive without them. The Gods can fade away; they can be replaced. But if the Earth, the Water, the Sky, or the Fire decides to fade away, then the very Nature will break apart."

"Is that what you meant when you said nature was dying?" Artemis questioned immediately, recalling what they had overheard once.

Persia narrowed her eyes but gave a small nod. "I am not sure of the reason yet. But yes, Nature was dying in the future."

Artemis nodded, refraining from asking any more questions, aware of Poseidon's scrutinising gaze.

Zeus attempted to redirect the conversation, attempting to prevent further revelations that might expose his awareness of these facts. "Well, that has nothing to do with you being a Heiress. You have been avoiding the topic. Very well, I shall grant your wish. There is no need to explain anymore. Let us get back to the book."

Persia tilted her head back. "Well, the history lesson was a requirement to understand because it is connected with the question. However, if you don't want to continue, I don't mind." She shrugged nonchalantly, proceeding towards her seat.

"Wait," Poseidon called out. Persia turned around to face him. He said, "I want to hear it. Continue, daughter."

Persia nodded, "Okay. Of the Four elements, three have Corporeal forms. The Sky is Lord Ouranos. The Earth is Lady Gaia, and The Water is Lord Pontus. Are you following so far?"

With their nods, she continued, "The oldest civilization of the Universe lies both in the Sea and the Underworld..."

"How's that?" Jason asked, "Lord Ouranos and Lady Gaia had children."

"They did. However, that happened later in life. My Papou is the oldest of Ouranos and Gaia's children. Yet, instead of dwelling on land, he has spent his entire life at the Sea, and he continues to do so to this day. We have an ancient saying in the Sea: Water is where Life resides. And where there is Life, civilization occurs."

"How does that have anything to do with you being an Heiress?" Poseidon impatiently asked, though everyone was listening attentively.

"I am getting to that, Father," Persia replied. "Now, in the realm of Lord Pontus, several beings reside. Although he is considered to be the Father of all the beings of the Sea, even he needs to manage so many people who have decided to make a home in his realm. So he decided to choose beings who resonate with his ideals. Nereus and Oceanus are two such chosen beings. They have proven themselves and have been selected as representatives of Lord Pontus. They are his High Lords who manage the entire realm on his behalf. It is also the highest rank an immortal can achieve in a domain."

Silence settled as everyone absorbed these words. Hephaestus, who had been listening quietly, spoke up, "So that means you're a representative of Lord Pontus? What does that make Lord Poseidon?"

"As an Heiress, I represent Lord Pontus and the High Lords," she said, glancing nervously at Poseidon. " …Father is one of the Kings of The Water Realm."

"One of the... what?" Poseidon was surprised, "Daughter, do not jest with me."

"There is nothing to joke about," Persia said calmly. "There are several kings in the Sea. Atlantis is not the only territory. The Water Realm is massive. Your territory is one of the largest, but it is not the only one, Father."

As Poseidon pondered over the information, Hades softened the revelation, "Do not look so surprised, Poseidon. I have also received a part of the Underworld; not the entirety of it."

"You knew of this?" Poseidon gave him a surprised glance.

"Yes," Hades admitted, "I have known this. The oldest immortals, born before the Titans, are well-versed in the history behind the creation of the Cosmos."

"Then we have been cheated," Poseidon said grimly. "Zeus had taken the largest part instead of fairly distributing it amongst us, as was the decision."

Tension filled the atmosphere. Zeus gritted his teeth, watching as the matter escalated beyond his expectations.

"Calm, Father," Persia approached in front of Poseidon's throne, her voice gentle as she explained, "You have not been cheated. In the Underworld, Prosperity lies, and the Sea is the abode of Life. As Lord Zeus has taken the Land, where both Prosperity and Poverty reign, to compensate, he has also received the Sky. There has been equal distribution, for poverty has no place in the Sea or the Underworld."

Poseidon contemplated her words, glancing at Hades, who gave a nod in agreement. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room as tension eased.

"Very well, daughter." Poseidon reached out to place a fatherly hand on her head. "You're highly knowledgeable. Where did you learn this?"

"Grand-papa likes to speak of the Olden days. He told me stories."

"We should continue with the story," Hestia intervened, noticing Zeus's growing frustration. Finding it odd since he initiated the entire topic, she brought attention back to Zeus, "Shall you read, Zeus?"

"I will, sister," Zeus attempted to keep his irritation at bay.

"Then let us proceed."

Zeus opened the book to its marked page and continued to read.

I sat under the tree, watching the gentle waves dance. I can't believe how quickly my life changed. I’m always dealing with new things that either surprise or scare me. Like the Great Prophecy—everyone thinks it's about me. Ares and Athena want to kill me, and the Titan Lord hangs over me like a sword.

Life was calmer before, not knowing about any relation to these Gods. Now it feels like the whole Universe wants me to carry its weight. And Mama is hiding something, saying it's not time yet.

I exhaled a breath. With so many things happening at once, I feel claustrophobic just thinking about it.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" a voice interrupted my thoughts.

Looking up, I found Annabeth standing beside me, her expression curious. When did she arrive?

"Right now," she replied. I realised I had inadvertently spoken my thoughts aloud. 

She looks up at the sky, "We don't get to see the stars anymore. It would be nice if we could see them again. Think Zoe is up there somewhere?"

I remained silent. "Why are we speaking about her?" I asked instead.

"Because you could have healed her, and you didn't," Annabeth asserted.

I could feel her scrutinising gaze, laden with an unspoken question: Why?

Meeting her eyes, I responded, "Her prophecy is fulfilled. Who am I to interfere?"

"Interfere?" Annabeth sounded both affronted and angered. "You don't fool me. You’re trained by Lord Oceanus, your godfather is Lord Hades, and you call Lord Nereus grand-papa! You have more allies in the Sea than your own father. Even now, you dare tell me that you couldn't have interfered?"

“Every action has a reaction.” I rose, my emotions in turmoil. Unstable, I took a deep breath, counting down from ten to regain composure. "Sometimes we don't even understand how our own actions could have an effect on someone not even related to us. That's what happened with Zoe. I could do nothing about it."

I sensed her standing and coming beside me. Her voice sounded perplexed, "Are you blaming Lady Artemis? I understand that you are angry at the fact that she tried to hunt the Ophiotaurus. But that doesn't equal to not helping Zoe when you could."

"I am blaming no one." I sighed, turning to face her. "Yes, I'm not all pleased with Artemis' short-sighted behaviour because that Ophiotaurus is a living sentient being with intelligence. He is not something to be hunted. Why are you so stuck on Zoe anyway?"

"I'm not stuck on Zoe," she denied, "I'm just trying to figure you out; trying to understand why you did what you did. And you're still stuck on that Ophiotaurus." The moment I went to protest, she held up a hand, "Don't lie to me. You're uneasy, and something is bothering you."

The dam burst at that.

"What do you expect me to do then!? Dance and sing in happiness? A meeting – a single meeting of one hour at most. That's all she needed to do. She could have spoken about the Ophiotaurus to Lord Nereus or Lord Oceanus. They would have helped her and protected the sea creature so it was not used like a being with no feelings. But what did she do? She tried to hunt it down. If instead of doing that, she had sat down and protected it, neither Zoe would have to go on a quest nor would she have died."

Nor would have Bianca. 

I let out all that, then massaged my temples with a tired sigh. "Annabeth, I just don't want to deal with others' mess. Yet, I'm dragged into these matters without even being asked once. As if my opinion doesn't matter at all."

"You sound like Luke," she said quietly. "He hated how inherently disrespectful and indifferent..."

I huffed, "Well, at least he cleared some of my questions."

"Did you talk with him? What did he say?"

"I did not talk with him. His actions speak louder." I turned to face her, noticing her frowning – no doubt trying to look through her memories to see if she had missed something. "Luke lifted the Sky, Annabeth. That itself shows he is a pure-hearted person. He has a completely different agenda than what he shows to others." I saw her eyes widen as comprehension dawned. "We're missing something. After this quest, I'm sure of it."

If everyone was wary before, now they were highly uncomfortable and baffled. Hermes still couldn't believe that his future son – who was a traitor, had withstood the Titan's Curse. How was that even possible?

"I do not understand why Athena or I spoke against you." asked Ares, "Everyone knows a prophecy cannot be circumvented. By trying to harm the person for whom it is meant, it could have brought forth our own downfall."

Zeus frowned, his eyes flickering over to Apollo, who gave an agreeing nod. His gaze then returned to the woman to whom this question had been asked.

Persia tilted her head, eyeing Ares with a sharp gaze. As if understanding her unspoken question, Ares gave a small smile, "Go ahead. I think I'm in the process of developing a thick skin these days."

Persia stifled a smile, but anyone could see her eyes were glittered with amusement. "It was ego doing the talking, Lord Ares; not common sense. I thought that was obvious."

Ares huffed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Artemis was the next person to question her, stating, "You blame me for Zoe's death."

"I don't care about Zoe's death." Eyes widened at that, causing Persia to frown. "Don't presume me to be a selfless person. While I do not enjoy violence without reason, that doesn't mean I care for everyone. I respected Zoe, and that was it."

Zoe's voice was hesitant, "So if there was a choice between Bianca and me...?"

"Bianca." Persia replied without a pause, her voice steady. "She is family, and you aren't."

"My condolences." Zoe gulped down her whirlwind emotions, her gaze flickering towards an unmoved Hades, "for Bianca."

Persia gave a nod, her eyes slightly misty at remembering the younger girl. "I can't fault you much. Bianca chose her path and paid the price.” She glanced at Hades, before meeting Zoe’s eyes, “We've come to terms with it."

Hestia spoke once the atmosphere turned solemn, "Lunchtime has already started; we should break our fast and then solemnise another occasion to read the next two Quests. I believe we will need some time to assimilate the information we've learned."

"Agreed, sister." Zeus gave a nod, "Those who wish to depart may do so."

Many of the immortals, including some Olympians, meandered away from the hall. Persia got up, stretching her arms. "You're leaving already?" Annabeth asked, glancing up at the standing girl.

Persia nodded, "Yes. Nana will serve my head on a platter if I'm late. She is very particular about punctuality."

"See ya!" Annabeth waved as Persia left.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖 : 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

Before the grand gates embellished with the intricate emblem of a Hydra, Persia hesitated. The gates stood tall, stirring gentle recollections of a bygone era. Inhaling deeply, she gently pushed the gates open, revealing the palace of her Papou—a seamless blend of celestial grace and regal architecture.

At the core of the palace grounds stood a magnificent pavilion, its lofty columns adorned with intricate carvings. Vines and shrubs, adorned with vibrant blossoms, draped themselves gracefully around the pavilion, while the air carried the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. This spot served as the family's gathering place during moments of repose; a cherished memory that was etched in Persia's heart.

Clear waters cascaded down meticulously sculpted pathways, capturing the brilliance of sunlight and casting playful patterns on the ground. Thoughtfully placed fountains created a tranquil ambiance, gently caressing every nook of the palace. Persia recalled her Nana, Tethys, expressing her love for the soothing sound of the fountains—a desire her Papou had lovingly fulfilled, a tale that was recounted by her Mama numerous times.

Waterfalls seamlessly integrated into the palace's design added a dynamic touch, symbolizing both strength and serenity. Elaborate verandahs with graceful arches and intricate patterns adorned the palace walls which had been a thoughtful addition for Aunt Clymene, who delighted in observing the sprawling garden.

Throughout the palace grounds, servants moved with graceful precision, their attire adorned with crystal jewellery that sparkled like captured sunlight. They acknowledged Persia's presence with deep bows and  gentle smiles. 

With each step, Persia felt the whispers of comfort and nostalgia resonating through the palace. 

“Welcome home.” 

Oceanus’s gaze was filled with both warmth and ancient wisdom as he greeted Persia at the entrance of the palace. Persia responded with a graceful bow in a traditional Sea greeting. "The Heiress of Water greets her grandfather, High Lord Oceanus.” 

Oceanus blessed her with a gentle touch, patting her head with a soft smile. "May the venerable Mother guide you, my dear." His eyes were filled with a mixture of pride and affection. 

Zyenthea materialised beside them in swirls of purple. Her misty eyes betrayed the depth of emotion as she embraced her daughter. "Persia," she whispered, "How are you, darling?"

The tremor in Persia's smile reflected the overwhelming emotions. "I am alright, Mama," she replied. She finally allowed her composure to slip as she happily snuggled inside her mother’s arms.

Concern etched across Zyenthea's face, she asked, "Have the Gods troubled you because of my true identity?" 

Shaking her head, Persia replied, "No, Mama. Surprisingly, they've been silent. Everything is fine." 

For now, thought Zyenthea. There was worry in her gaze as she met Oceanus' eyes. She leaned closer, murmuring in Persia's ear, "We'll talk soon, my child." Persia tightened her grip in response, wondering what they would talk about.

Oceanus observed the tender moment between mother and daughter and gently intervened. "Come along, my dear ones. Everyone awaits Persia’s presence. "

“Yes, Táta.” Zyenthea replied, turning towards her daughter, “Come, darling.”

Within the opulent confines of the Palace, three distinct dining rooms existed, each serving a specific purpose. The first, a more intimate space, was reserved for family members currently residing in the palace. Its dimensions were modest, accommodating a select gathering ranging from five to twenty individuals.

The other two dining rooms, however, were reserved for grander occasions. One, designated for the royal family, unfolded its splendor when the entirety of the extended family gathered. The second served as a grand venue for hosting feasts in honour of esteemed guests.

Oceanus led them to the designated feast room for the family. The room unfolded in two levels, connected by a central staircase devoid of railings. This staircase ascended gracefully against the central wall, guiding eyes to the upper echelon.

On the first level, elevated platforms adorned with tables and intricately ornamented chairs sprawled on either side. Here, numerous Oceaneids and extended family members, accompanied by their husbands and children, filled the space with animated conversations and laughter.

Guided by her mother, Persia ascended to the second level. 

Against the central wall, a mural unfolded, depicting the majestic Lord Pontus and Lady Thalassa riding triumphantly on a chariot—an homage to the lineage that held dominion over the sea's depths. Positioned against this captivating artwork was a throne-like chair, its regal presence silently commanding attention and capable of seating two.

Already seated in the distinguished throne-like chair, Tethys, the venerable matriarch, bestowed a gentle smile upon her granddaughter as her husband gracefully joined her side. Adjacent to their regal perch, a mirror image awaited, a seat of equal prominence where Zyenthea guided Persia to take her place. With a graceful descent into the ornate chair, Zyenthea settled beside her daughter.

As the feast commenced, the resonant voice of Oceanus filled the air, declaring the beginning of the celebration. Soft chatter rippled through the room, an orchestration of familial joy as everyone engaged in animated conversations.

A soft voice, filled with playful banter, cut through the ambient noise. "Zia!" it called out. "Introduce your daughter to us! As it is, Idyia met her first without even telling us the news!"

Idyia, mischief twinkling in her eyes, interjected, "Now don't be so jealous, Calli. Not everyone can be the most favourite sister of Zia." A wink at Zyenthea accompanied her words. "Aren't I?"

Zyenthea chuckled at their playful exchange. "Nonsense," Callirhoe retorted, rolling her eyes. "We all know the truth." Turning her attention to Persia, she inquired, "How is your friend now, dear?"

"She is absolutely fine, Calli," Persia replied, a bit overwhelmed by the multitude of faces around her. "The Golden Fleece helped in curing her."

Callirhoe's satisfaction radiated through her smile. Throughout the evening, Persia was introduced to a myriad of family members—uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews, and nieces. Soft smiles and promises of support enveloped her, leaving her heart heavy with gratitude amidst the atmosphere of positivity and familial love.

As the feast concluded, Oceanus guided Tethys, Persia, and Zyenthea away from the lively gathering towards his study. Persia, feeling the weight of the evening, sighed in relief, promptly taking a seat. "That was highly overwhelming. I don't want to do it again."

Oceanus and Tethys exchanged knowing glances, while Zyenthea offered a sad smile, remembering a time when her daughter revelled in socialising. "Darling, your mother informed us of many things," Oceanus stated, his brow furrowed. "Including the reading of those books. You do realise the repercussions, don't you?"

"Yes, Papou," Persia responded, her gaze thoughtful. "Uncle Hades mentioned the potential for an all-out immortal war. But I sense there's more to your concern."

"There is, my child," Oceanus clarified, taking his seat. "While Hades is correct about the possibility, it's not the only thing you must worry about."

Persia looked at him, her confusion evident. "I do not understand, Papou," she said, tilting her head in contemplation.

Oceanus let out a heavy sigh, sharing a solemn look with Tethys, who nodded in understanding. "What if Cronos and Mother gain their memories of the future as well?" he pondered aloud, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air.

Persia, caught off guard, felt a jolt of shock course through her. Her eyes widened, and panic began to slither through her veins at the notion of facing formidable adversaries armed with knowledge from the future. "Surely that's not possible, right?" she exclaimed, the fear evident in her voice.

"Nothing is impossible," Oceanus reassured, reaching out to grasp Persia's hand. His calm gaze met her frightened eyes as he continued, "Understand, my child, that Mother Kháos is impartial. She will try to maintain balance in the best way possible. One side cannot have all the cards. There is a significant chance of such a change, especially since," he glanced at Zyenthea, whose expression was inscrutable, "... Zia, Hades, and Leto have had their memories returned."

Persia's breath laboured as she clutched Oceanus's hands tightly, seeking reassurance in the touch. Zia and Tethys offered soothing gestures, gently rubbing her back. "Calm, child," Tethys advised, her voice a calming presence.

Lifting her head, Persia turned teary eyes filled with haunting memories and heartbreaking sadness toward them. Tears slipped down her cheeks, tracing a path of vulnerability as she whispered, "I don't want to do this. Not again. Not the nightmares, being alone, having to lead... The Moirai did not tell me these. I can't. I can't do this again, Papou."

Medea trailed after Persia with a keen sense of curiosity, noting the subdued demeanour that cloaked her cousin like a heavy shroud. Whatever transpired in Papou's study had cast a shadow upon Persia's spirit, leaving her visibly affected. The telltale signs of red-rimmed eyes hinted at the recent traces of tears. 

Observing these subtle cues, Medea couldn't shake the feeling that something troubling had occurred. As the moment arrived for Persia to depart, Medea offered to accompany her, a gesture born from an instinct that sensed the need for support. What struck her as particularly unusual was Persia's lack of protest, a departure from the usual assertiveness that defined her cousin.

She had gotten close to Persia during her visits to Colchis, such that they could consider each other as good friends outside of being related to each other. 

As the grandeur of Olympus Palaces loomed ahead, Persia turned to Medea with a warm smile, "Thank you for accompanying me, Medea. It meant a lot."

Medea nodded with a composed smile. "It was fine," she replied, a hint of nonchalance in her tone.

Persia's eyes caught a figure behind Medea – Annabeth. She could hear the pitter-patter of footsteps from behind her. She waved Annabeth over.

 "Oh, there's Annabeth," Persia said to Medea, gesturing toward her friend. "Medea, meet Annabeth, the daughter of Athena. Annabeth, this is my cousin, Medea, the Princess of Colchis."

As the moments stretched, Medea's contemplative gaze fixated on Annabeth, her head slightly tilted in a manner that bespoke a profound curiosity.

Medea's eyes held a spark of intelligence; there was a keen awareness in her gaze that seemed to dissect the nuances of the person before her. The sharpness  hinted at a mind that missed nothing which was a formidable trait.  Annabeth, in turn, met Medea's scrutinising stare with a composed demeanour. She observed the play of expressions on Medea's face, recognizing the depth of intellect and perception in those penetrating eyes.

As Persia watched, she couldn't help but feel a sense of amusement, understanding the subtle sizing-up occurring between the two strong-willed individuals.

Medea, breaking the silence, turned her attention to Annabeth. "So, Annabeth, have you ever met your grandmother?"

Annabeth shook her head. "No, I haven't. Why do you ask?"

Medea shrugged, a touch of sarcasm in her tone. "Just curious. Seems like she hasn't accepted even in the future."

"Accepted what?" Annabeth inquired, her curiosity piqued, "How did you even know my grandmother?" 

"Your grandmother Metis is my aunt," Medea replied, her words dropping like a bombshell. 

Annabeth's brows furrowed in a mixture of shock and confusion, her sharp eyes narrowing at the unexpected revelation. Her gaze instinctively shifted to Persia.

"Aunt Metis," Persia began, her words measured, "doesn't acknowledge Athena as her child." The air hung with a subtle tension as the gravity of this statement reverberated.

Annabeth softly hummed in response to Persia's revelation. "That's interesting," she mused, her words carrying a hint of speculation. "Anything to do with Lord Zeus behaving like Cronos?"

Persia's lips curled into a half-smile, a subtle acknowledgment of the astuteness in Annabeth's question. She nodded in agreement. Medea, standing nearby, interjected, "You're perceptive."

Annabeth smirked, amending Medea’s words, "More like intelligent. Persia is more perceptive than me."

Persia's smile widened at the banter. 

"She is, isn't she?" Medea concurred, adding a touch of warmth to her acknowledgment. "Well, I should take my leave.” Medea turned towards Persia with a warmth in her eyes, “See you later, cousin." With those words, Medea gracefully disappeared, leaving a subtle trace of her magical departure.

As Annabeth and Persia began walking towards their cabin, Persia couldn't resist seeking Annabeth's opinion. "So, what do you think?"

Annabeth’s voice was filled with fond exasperation as she responded, "The sorceress Medea? Really? What are we going to do when she encounters Jason?"

Persia chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Which Jason?"

"Not our Jason, obviously," Annabeth clarified.

Persia winked, her tone teasing, "What's to say she won't fall in love with our Jason?"

Annabeth, utterly astonished, gaped in response. 

The grand structure was crafted entirely from pristine marble as was the norm in Olympus.  It radiated an ethereal glow under the moonlight in the Olympus. There were carved columns adorning the exterior with stone archways gracefully connecting various parts of the palace adding a touch of classical elegance to the place. 

Poseidon guided Persia to a secluded seating area, nestled beside a man-made pool. Descending marble stairs gracefully led to the pool's edge, inviting a sense of tranquillity within the atmosphere. The area was intricately designed, with hallways extending out in a circular formation, adorned with several columns that gracefully framed the small oasis within the palace.

This space had no roof, allowing the moonlight to cascade freely upon the living area. The moon was reflected beautifully on the surface of the water. The atmosphere felt lived-in, with an undeniable warmth emanating from the surroundings. Candles floated gently around the pool, their flickering flames casting a soft glow, while torches lining the hallways burned brightly, illuminating the pathways with an enchanting light.

A wooden table stood at the centre of the seating area, surrounded by several chairs. The table bore a lavish spread of delights — berries, fruits, yoghurt, and honey graced its surface. Nectar and ambrosia were generously laid out as well. The aroma of the feast wafted through the air bringing a small smile on Persia’s face.  

The arrangement, though opulent, carried an air of familial warmth that relaxed Persia from her high-strung state.  Poseidon broke the companionable silence that lingered between bites. "You skipped a lot of information when asked about being an Heiress," he remarked, his tone carrying curiosity without any criticism. 

Persia's hands stilled for a fleeting moment, a subtle pause before she resumed her meal with practised composure. Her eyes were a reflection of the several emotions as they flickered to meet Poseidon's gaze with a tilt of her head. With measured calmness, she murmured, "How much do you know?"

Poseidon, taking a sip of his nectar, replied thoughtfully, "Not much yet. I spoke with some of my trustworthy courtiers. They were surprised when I told them you were addressed as Heiress by an Underworld being."

A subtle hardening of Persia's expression betrayed the weight of her thoughts. "May I know their names, Father?" she inquired, her voice carrying a tone of authority softened by the underlying vulnerability.

Poseidon's brows furrowed as he disclosed, "Christos and Ionis." 

A sigh of relief escaped Persia's lips. Poseidon was attentive to the nuances, questioning gently, "Are they not trustworthy, child?"

She nibbled on the inside of her cheeks, stealing a hesitant glance at Poseidon. A twinge of discomfort pricked at Poseidon's heart, realising that his daughter seemed more at ease with Hades than she did in his presence. He suppressed his own pang of regret, reassuring her gently, "Feel free to speak your mind, daughter. I will not get offended."

"Do not trust Karlos and Pantalis, Father," Persia finally admitted, her words carefully chosen. "Their loyalty is not to you."

Poseidon’s frown deepened, "Then to whom does their loyalty belong?"

Once more, Persia hesitated. The weight of her unspoken thoughts hung in the air, and Poseidon, wearing a sombre expression, made an informed guess. "Amphitrite."

Surprise flickered in Persia's eyes, and she responded with a tentative nod. Poseidon’s  smile had a touch of sadness as he began to elaborate. "I've caught wind of information that doesn't align with what I've been told. Christos and Ionis are discreetly investigating the affairs of Atlantis. Hopefully, we'll gather evidence that allows us to confront the true culprits." 

"Oh," Persia's voice quivered, and she bowed her head, averting her gaze. A solitary tear slipped past, and she discreetly wiped her eyes. Poseidon chose to feign ignorance, allowing her the privacy to regain her composure. Despite his discretion, a lingering curiosity about the source of her misty eyes stirred within him.

"Why were you hesitant to speak your mind with me when you had no qualms with Apollo?" Poseidon inquired after a moment.

Persia's response was immediate and honest, "I do not care about Apollo's thoughts in regards to me." The unspoken sentiment hung in the air – 'I care about what you think.' Poseidon's heart warmed at the acknowledgment, a genuine smile gracing his face. In response, Persia mirrored the smile, her posture easing into a more relaxed demeanour.

"Back to the topic," Poseidon redirected the conversation, reaching for some yoghurt. "Can you explain to me your actual duties as an Heiress?"

"I did not lie in front of the Olympians, Father," Persia reassured him.

"I know," Poseidon acknowledged. "I am simply curious about the duties you left out in front of the others."

Persia was filled with a hint of nervous energy as she explained, "I hold a higher rank than the Kings of the Water Realm. One of my duties is to mediate disputes between Kings, and I also hold a seat at Lord Pontus's court as his Heiress. My power over water is absolute and can only be contested by either of the two High Lords."

Poseidon hummed, contemplating her words. "So, if you decree something, it becomes law, yes?"

Persia shifted in her seat. She replied in a hushed voice, "Yes, if Papou and Grandpapa do not oppose it."

"I see. How did you become the Heiress?"

"Lord Pontus chooses the person, Father. I did not ask to be one," Persia explained.

Poseidon acknowledged with a nod.  A contemplative hush enveloped the space as he inquired, "I have another question, though it may tread on sensitive ground." 

Persia's hands paused in their movements for a fleeting moment before she resumed, delicately sipping the broth. Observing no adverse response from his daughter, Poseidon pressed on, "On that day, Annabeth conveyed that you were in mourning." 

Hushed and hesitant, Persia murmured, "What more did she disclose?" Her gaze avoided meeting her father's eyes, carrying an air of guarded vulnerability.

"In the chronicles of an impending Apocalypse, Annabeth shared that I had faded away," Poseidon's voice softened, "and that you were in mourning for me." 

Persia responded with a lone nod, "Following Mama's departure, you were the next to fade. The Sea holds traditions for those who transition into the embrace of the Void."

Poseidon remained in silent contemplation. The daughter of Athena had displayed remarkable composure, merely alluding to the comb's significance. As soon as the other Immortals realised it was part of a mourning ritual, their interest waned, and they departed with suitable excuses. He had invited Annabeth to accompany him to his palace, hoping to glean insight into the individual his daughter mourned, only to be profoundly astonished.

Any lingering jealousy or resentment toward Hades dissipated upon learning of Persia's mourning. The revelation that he, too, had been among the first Olympians to fade left Poseidon incredulous. While he hadn't extracted much information from Annabeth, he admired her steadfast loyalty to his daughter, which tempered any disappointment.

This loyalty also motivated him to seek counsel from his trusted courtiers. 

"Father?" Persia's voice interrupted his reverie. "Is there anything amiss that troubles you?"

Was he so inept at conveying his feelings that his daughter felt compelled to inquire? Why did she regard him with such caution, as though tiptoeing around him? Poseidon couldn't deny that Persia's persistent distrust wounded him. Despite her politeness, there existed an undeniable barrier between them.

Initially, he had perceived her behaviour as disrespectful, but his perspective had evolved. Persia maintained her courtesy even when addressing uncomfortable truths, displaying a resolute strength that he admired. He took pride in her refusal to capitulate to Zeus's authority or to his own discontentment; these small yet steadfast actions set her apart from other demigods, rendering her distinct.

"I am not displeased, my child," he assured her with a gentle smile. Observing her slight slump in relief, he continued, "I was merely lost in thought."

"Oh," Persia replied, returning the smile, her attention returning to her meal, silently hoping that her father wouldn't delve into topics that would reopen painful memories she wasn't ready to confront.

Poseidon wanted to ask her about her mother, but at that moment, a servant approached with a deferential bow. "My Lord, the girl is here."

"Ah, yes," Poseidon replied, "Bring her here."

Persia observed with a curious gaze but refrained from posing any questions. The servant ushered in a young girl, dressed in a simple white chiton more common on land than the sea. She bore no adornments, and her hair was neatly arranged in a bun.

"Daughter," Poseidon addressed Persia with an affectionate smile, gesturing towards the newcomer. "This is Andrea. She shall be your handmaiden from now on."

Persia's gaze lingered on Andrea's face as she bowed. She then offered a warm smile to Poseidon, "Of course, Father."

Following the sumptuous dinner, Poseidon extended a rare request to Persia, urging her to linger in the palace. A gesture of generosity followed as he granted her the freedom to explore the vast expanse of his divine residence at will. The unexpected offer caught Persia off guard, prompting a surprised yet gracious acceptance.

As she heard of the news of the ongoing investigation ordered by her father, memories of a different time resurfaced in Persia's mind. There was a stark contrast emerging between the present Poseidon and the future one. This Poseidon orchestrated an inquiry into the affairs of Atlantis, and the one she remembered from a future never did so. In that reality, accusations had been hurled against her, and her father had remained silent, despite professing to love her. Instead of inquiring into the matter, he had punished her by caving to the demands of his family.

This dichotomy raised a crucial question in her mind. Could she truly place her trust in this version of her father? The uncertainty lingered, a silent undercurrent beneath the surface of her thoughts; but for now she let the matter fade behind her other thoughts. She will allow time to run its course.

She glanced around her room, taking in the minute details that had been taken into consideration. 

From the expansive balconies that stretched on both sides to the floor-length sheer curtains swaying gently in the breeze, it became evident that every detail of the room had been meticulously tailored to match her preferences.

The bed, nestled on an elevated circular platform at the heart of the room, commanded attention. A large pool adorned the space at the platform's rear, its serene waters embellished with an array of white, scented candles, and delicate rose petals, creating an atmosphere of tranquillity.

"Does the room meet your approval, My Lady?"

The entrancing ambiance was momentarily interrupted by Andrea's voice, prompting Persia to refocus. With a nod, Persia ran her fingers over the back of a nearby couch, her gaze lingering on the thoughtful details around her. "Do you know who designed it?" she inquired.

Andrea responded, "Lord Poseidon sought the assistance of Lady Annabeth for designing this room, My Lady."

"Oh?" Persia murmured, a spark of intrigue in her eyes. "You were present then, I believe."

"No," Andrea fumbled, "The Steward of the Palace informed me, My Lady."

Persia, raising an eyebrow, sought further clarification. "The steward informed you of such matters? Whatever for?"

"In case you sought a response, My Lady," Andrea explained.

"I see. How thoughtful," Persia murmured. With a graceful twirl, she settled onto the bed, crossing her legs as she leaned back on her arms. Her gaze fixated on the bed's canopy—a four-poster masterpiece adorned with curtains and an overhead display of intricately painted coral murals.

"Shall I draw you a bath, My Lady?" Andrea asked, her demeanour slightly tense at the prolonged silence.

Persia’s expression was playful as she raised an eyebrow. "Won't that be unbecoming of a daughter from a Noble lineage?"

"W-What?" Andrea fumbled, her anxiety evident. "I assure you, My Lady, that I am a mere servant."

A mischievous smirk graced Persia's lips, her gaze sharp as she approached Andrea. "Are you sure?" she inquired, circling the servant.

"Yes," Andrea stammered, her hands fidgeting with her dress. "You must be mistaken."

"If I am mistaken, then why do you wear the bracelet with Lord Karlos's insignia, Andrea?" Persia's question hung in the air, and Andrea's immediate reaction was clasping the bracelet with wide eyes which betrayed her. Persia continued, "Or perhaps I should ask who convinced the daughter of Lord Karlos that becoming my handmaiden was necessary?"

Andrea, realising the jig was up, turned to flee, only to find the doors of the room slamming shut loudly behind her.  

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗 : 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧

A weighty silence descended upon the room amplifying Persia's steadfast gaze as she took her place on the solitary couch. Tension hung in the air, the atmosphere palpable with a quiet charged energy.

"Answer my question, and I will allow you to leave without conflict," Persia proclaimed, her voice slicing through the lingering stillness.

Andrea's demeanour underwent a rapid shift. The demure servant vanished, replaced by the poised posture of a noble. As she turned around, her face adopted an indifferent mask, yet her eyes couldn't conceal a trace of wariness that lingered beneath the surface. With a dismissive sneer, Andrea retorted, "Such words do not befit a demigod. What makes you think that I couldn't leave forcefully?"

Persia gestured casually, a challenge in her demeanour. "Go ahead." Eyeing Persia warily, Andrea attempted to force the door open by unleashing a beam of blue energy. 

However, the door remained steadfast, impervious to her efforts.

Andrea huffed, her frustration palpable as she launched yet another attempt to unleash a surge of energy to force the door open. Undeterred she shifted her focus to the balconies only to discover that the entire area was shielded with an impenetrable barrier. Despite several unsuccessful attempts, Andrea found herself trapped.

Following a string of fruitless attempts, Persia couldn't suppress a wry quip, "Ready to have a conversation now?"

Andrea approached Persia with a mix of caution and curiosity. Her inquiry sliced through the air, "When did you put up a barrier?"

"When your performance of demureness was stealing the spotlight," Persia replied with a detached coolness. With a nonchalant sweep of her hand, Persia gestured towards the seat opposite her. "Do take a seat, Andrea."

A probing inquiry followed, "What do you want from me?"

"Information," Persia replied. She leant forward with her elbows on her knees and fingers intertwining. Despite the charged atmosphere, her posture exuded a quiet confidence that belied any underlying nervousness.

"And what kind of information are you seeking?" Andrea asked, her eyes meeting Persia's with a wariness that echoed in the nuances of her body language. She traced the delicate contours of her bracelet, the repetitive motion betraying an unease beneath the poised exterior. 

"Amphitrite and her schemes that she had been running for several centuries now," Persia stated, her words hanging in the charged air.

Andrea abruptly ceased the rhythmic tracing of her bracelet, and in the blink of an eye, the ornate accessory transformed into a deadly dagger. It sailed through the air with lethal intent, aiming for Persia's temple. However, Persia, displaying an otherworldly grace, simply tilted her head, evading the projectile that embedded itself into the backrest of the couch.

A soft murmur slipped from Persia's lips. "Well, no one can accuse me of not trying to do this peacefully."

She cast a glance at Andrea, who, undeterred, began gathering energy for a retaliatory strike.

Persia was unfazed as she curled her fingers into a fist. The ambient water particles interwoven with the divine ichor responded to her silent manipulation. In that moment the very essence of ichor bowed to her will. Within moments the air crackled with energy as Andrea crumpled to the ground - a piercing scream escaping her. Persia maintained the hold for a few intense moments observing Andrea's agony with an indifferent tilt of her head.

As the energy release ceased, Andrea lay sprawled on the ground. Sobbing with a mixture of pain and relief, the immortal's trembling form spoke volumes of the consequences wrought by underestimating the person before her. With a subtle tilt of her head, Persia regarded the scene, her eyes bearing a dispassionate indifference. The moment stretched, each heartbeat echoing the fading cries that had filled the air.

"Are you ready to cooperate, daughter of Karlos? Or do you wish for another dose?"

Her voice was a frigid echo in the tense space. It cut through the aftermath of the energy release. 

"NO!" Andrea's desperate plea erupted, trembling hands raised defensively before she bowed her head. The involuntary shivers coursing through her body were palpable as tears streamed down her eyes. Hiccups punctuated her words, "I will cooperate. Please don't do that again, Your Highness."

Persia casted a fleeting glance at Andrea. "Start speaking. I do not have the entire night to waste."

"I-I have b-been sent to spy on you," Andrea confessed, inhaling deeply as she struggled to regain composure after the ordeal. "The Queen is suspicious of you. She has been hearing things and she wants to know how much of the rumour is true. I have been following you since you made an example out of that demigod. I was re-sent to track you after rumours of you being the Heiress started circulating."

Persia’s fingers were intertwined in contemplation as she absorbed the information with a thoughtful silence. She allowed a few moments for Andrea to compose herself observing the healing magic that Andrea cast upon herself in an attempt to mend the physical and emotional toll of their encounter. The air hung heavy with the weight of revelations, and Persia's eyes flickered with a calculated awareness.

In the recesses of her thoughts Persia mused, 'She must be good if I didn't even sense that I was being tracked.' A faint smile played on her lips. 'She will be useful.'

Andrea's hands still trembled as Persia solidified her decision. Gently Persia took Andrea's hands in her own, infusing a blend of archaic healing magic and minuscule traces of vitality through the touch mending the lingering effects of their previous encounter.

Andrea gasped, her eyes widening as she felt the revitalizing energy. "You can spin Life...but that can only be..."

Allowing Andrea to conclude her thought, Persia withdrew her hands. Her expression returned to a stoic indifference as she stated, "You will act as a double spy. I expect detailed information on every plan devised by Amphitrite. Do you understand?"

Andrea ascended unsteadily from the ground, her movements revealing the uncertainty within. "Aren't you going to inquire if I even want to do this?"

Persia's response was delivered with an air of detachment. "You could also confront the consequences of raising a weapon against The Heiress without provocation. The choice is yours."

"And what's the price?" Andrea questioned with a subtle quiver underscoring her voice.

"Chained to the mouth of Khaós for a month," Persia stated matter-of-factly.

The revelation hit Andrea like a wave, causing her to stagger back in shock. "That would destroy my spirit!"

Persia remained unaffected offering a nonchalant shrug. "I suppose it will."

After a shuddering breath Andrea reluctantly came to a conclusion. "Very well. I shall spy for you."

Persia's lips curled into a subtle smirk, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. "An excellent choice." With a wave of her hand, Andrea felt a weighty assurance settling into the very core of her being. She shot Persia with a dumbfounded look.

"I suppose you understand the significance of that heavy feeling?" Persia inquired, her tone carrying a subtle challenge. Andrea gave a slow nod with uncertainty etched on her face.

The doors opened gently, the barrier dissipating with the wind. Persia gestured toward the now-open door. "You are free to leave. Be here tomorrow morning to assist me in my morning routine." Her lips stretched into an amused smile. "After all, you are my newly appointed handmaiden."

As Andrea turned to depart she added, "You are rumoured to be kind. I didn't think that would turn out to be false."

"My kindness is reserved for the deserving," Persia's tone took on an undercurrent of warning. "The rest receive scorn. We wouldn't want that for you, would we?"

Apollo reclined against the cool, smooth surface of the stone seeking a moment of respite from the fervour of the day. The gentle embrace of the water cradled his body, and he closed his eyes, revelling in the tranquil sanctuary of the indoor pool.

As the soothing waters enveloped him, Apollo's thoughts swirled like the currents around him. The recent clash with Persia in regards to Cycnus lingered in the recesses of his mind. He admitted that he had underestimated her, the consequences of which played out in the recent debacle.

The air was thick with an eerie stillness as he found himself lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.

Apollo's mind replayed the recent days like a vivid tapestry, each thread weaving a story of impatience. He sighed realising the gravity of his hastiness in challenging Persia who was an impeccable strategist. Her brilliance had become increasingly apparent with the way she had manoeuvred the situations in regards to his son.

"Why did I not allow her the chance to explain?" Apollo mused, his voice a mere whisper against the quiet backdrop. He had been too quick to dismiss, too impatient to notice the subtle nuances with Persia’s body language. 

In the reflective stillness, Apollo acknowledged Persia's prowess. The pieces of information that surfaced only served to intensify his caution. She was a dangerous player in the field. 

Persia was not to be underestimated.

With a subtle wave of his hand, a cadre of attentive servants entered the space. Two male attendants approached, carrying vessels of warm water that cascaded gracefully over Apollo's form. The sensation of the water coursing down his body infused him with a renewed vitality, the liquid tendrils awakening his senses. Following the ritual of rejuvenation, two females stepped forward, each holding bowls laden with sandalwood paste. The male attendants with practised precision applied the fragrant paste to Apollo's back, arms, and shoulders. Their gentle hands worked in tandem to massage and revitalise the god's divine form relaxing Apollo further as his tense form loosened. 

As servants assisted Apollo in donning his attire, he issued a command, "Go summon Persia. Inform her that we need to delve into the matters of the Camp."

A servant bowed respectfully, conveying the news, "My Lord, Lady Persia is currently within her Lord Father's Palace. The gates of the Palace have been sealed for today."

Apollo sighed, waving his hand to dismiss the servant. An air of contemplation enveloped him. 

'Poseidon is becoming increasingly unpredictable these days,' Apollo reflected. 'Especially when it concerns his daughter. I hope it doesn’t turn out to be a concern for Olympus.' 

He found himself in a palace of resplendent gold, the opulence stretching out before him in grandeur. As he walked down a gleaming aisle, the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of celestial flowers.

Apollo approached a balcony that overlooked a courtyard adorned with fountains and blooming gardens. There, seated near a shimmering fountain, was Persia. She was a vision of regality in a dress that blended the hues of sunset – reds and golds interwoven with intricate embroidery and lacework that accentuated her every graceful movement. 

Her fingers played with the dancing water, creating ripples that reflected the golden light. His heart tightened, caught in the unfamiliar but unmistakable pull that she seemed to exert on him without ever meaning to. There was something about her—something he could never quite define, but could always feel.

In her presence, he felt both the weight of time and its absence, as if everything that had come before and everything that lay ahead was somehow irrelevant when they shared the same space.

For a moment, he simply watched her, unsure whether to approach or stay hidden in the quiet shadows of the palace. But then, as if she had sensed him, Persia slowly lifted her head, her eyes rising to meet his.

Persia’s fingers stilled in the water, the ripples fading as her hand rested lightly on the fountain’s edge. Her gaze never left his, but there was something unspoken in her eyes—a question, perhaps, or maybe an understanding of something neither of them had fully realized.

Time stretched, the moment hanging between them, neither of them willing to break the fragile silence. And yet, the connection was undeniable, a slow burn that flickered quietly beneath the surface, waiting for the right time to catch fire.

In that quiet, golden courtyard, with the scent of celestial flowers in the air and the world muted around them, Apollo understood one thing with certainty—this was just the beginning. Whatever it was that tied them together, whatever it was that drew him to her with such quiet intensity, it was not a bond to be broken easily.

And for the first time, he felt content to wait, to let whatever was growing between them unfold in its own time.

As the light shifted, casting new shades of gold and red across the courtyard, Persia's gaze softened just a fraction more, and Apollo knew that she felt it too.

The vision shifted. 

Apollo found himself on a battlefield. Clad in resplendent golden armour and crowned with a majestic helmet, he rode a magnificent horse with the grace of a formidable God. His bow was drawn, and arrows of divine light streaked across the heavens, seeking out their targets.

Before him, Titans and Giants loomed menacingly. Their gigantic forms casted in shadows against the fiery backdrop. They fought viciously against the celestial army. The air was thick with the scent of battle – a volatile mix of mortal blood and the divine ichor of immortals. 

The dream transitioned once more.

Apollo found himself in an eternal garden where perpetual blooms adorned every inch. The air resonated with the melodious hum of life. Yet, a distant roar of agony and anguish disrupted the celestial harmony.

As he sprinted towards the source of the sound, he came upon a fleeing woman, her back turned to him. When she vanished from his sight, Apollo turned to confront the cause of the disturbance. There, on a ground pedestal, rested a cracked shell. Its iridescent surface shimmered with the colours of the cosmos.

A profound shiver coursed through Apollo's spine. The broken shell spoke of a harbinger of significance. Something terrible has happened as the anguish shrieks continued in the background.

Leto's gaze lingered upon the colossal doors looming before her - the gates of Olympus. 

Never before had she dared to tread upon these hallowed grounds. Yet today, she stood poised at the precipice, her heart pulsating with the anticipation of what lay beyond.

With Zyenthea's restoration to her former vigour, Leto found a modicum of solace amidst the tumult of her thoughts. Though her friend's resurgence brought relief, it also afforded Leto the opportunity to redirect her focus to matters of equal significance. Whenever the days of the future come to her mind, Leto couldn't help but chastise herself for her lack of foresight. Had she been privy to Zyenthea's ill-conceived notion of forsaking her father's palace for the mortal world, she would have undoubtedly dissuaded her from such folly. 

A sigh escaped her lips, carrying with it the weight of countless missed opportunities and what-ifs that now plagued her mind.

Zyenthea's swift descent into decline had unfolded like a tragic spectacle. The erosion of Zyenthea's birthplace served as a grim harbinger, foretelling the dire consequences of her chosen path.

In the span of a decade, they bore witness to the unsettling realisation that mere mortal confines were insufficient to quell the turmoil besieging the cosmos.

Next, Zyenthea had relinquished a part of her vast and unending divine essence in a desperate bid to salvage the Universe from destroying itself. It was a sacrifice made to uphold the solemn duty bestowed upon her by the Lady Mother upon her inception.

Both Leto and Zyenthea bore the scars of myriad emotional tribulations. Their decisions had been undertaken in accordance with the wounds they bore. In hindsight, Leto contemplated, perhaps greater caution should have tempered their actions.

Shaking her head, Leto cast aside the weight of melancholy thoughts that threatened to engulf her. It was imperative for Leto to present herself, for without her intervention, her children would remain adrift, unable to reclaim the essence of their former selves.

As she strode through the corridors of Olympus, Leto couldn't help but notice the astonishment etched upon the faces of the immortal denizens she passed. A fleeting smirk danced across her lips before she composed herself into an expression of detached curiosity. It amused her inwardly that even the gatekeepers failed to impede her progress as she ventured towards the throne room, where a conclave was in session.

"Leto?" The voice laden with disbelief belonged to Zeus. Leto met his gaze, her countenance betraying none of the tumultuous emotions that churned within her. She steeled herself, confronting the man who had once been her greatest adversary.

Her reverie was shattered by the familiar call of "Mother?" emanating from Apollo, who approached her with a mixture of astonishment and confusion writ large upon his features.

Turning to face her progeny, Leto beheld her son and daughter with a blend of apprehension and longing. Time had wrought undeniable changes upon them since their last encounter millennia ago.

Oh, how they have changed!

Apollo's locks cascaded down his back, now lengthened from their former state, while Artemis' once-auburn hair had undergone a striking transformation, now resplendent in a vibrant shade of red. Apollo's stature had grown, his features bearing a resemblance to his maternal grandfather with his tall frame, high cheekbones, and aquiline nose, whereas Artemis possessed a delicate, oval-shaped visage and a petite figure.

Leto fought back the tears that threatened to betray her emotions, averting her gaze from her children's inquisitive stares.

"Mother, may we know the reason for your visit?" Artemis inquired, her tone laced with polite curiosity.

The question pierced Leto's heart, a stark reminder of the chasm that had grown between them. Her eyes met Apollo's where confusion lingered like a shroud. It pained her that her children greeted her with queries rather than the warmth of affection.

"Why am I here?" Leto mused inwardly, her disappointment palpable. "That's the first question they ask instead of inquiring about my well being."

Suppressing the surge of hurt that threatened to engulf her Leto bound her emotions tightly, concealing her turmoil behind a facade of stoic composure. She couldn't afford to reveal her vulnerability, especially when her silent presence seemed to unsettle her offspring.

Turning her attention away from her children, Leto addressed Poseidon with a steely resolve. "I am here for Persia. Where is she?"

Poseidon's countenance betrayed his astonishment as he addressed Leto, "Persia? How did you come to know of her?"

Undeterred by his query, Leto maintained her resolve. "Might I request, King Poseidon, that you summon her presence? Or shall I take it upon myself to undertake this task?"

With a casual wave of his hand, Poseidon dispatched a servant to fetch Persia, acquiescing to Leto's request.

"I wasn't aware you knew Persia, Mother," Apollo interjected, sensing the tension thickening in the air as his eyes darted warily between Poseidon and Leto.

Leto offered no response, maintaining her silence until the servant returned with Persia in tow.

"Leto!"

Leto's stern countenance softened into a gentle motherly smile as Persia happily embraced her. A sense of wonder filled the air as onlookers observed the heartwarming reunion.

After they parted from the hug, Persia inquired, "Are you alright? Has something happened to Grandma Phoebe? I recall you mentioning her quest for rare herbs."

"No need for concern, my dear," Leto reassured, tenderly cupping Persia's face with a loving gaze before planting a kiss on her temple. "I'm perfectly fine. Mother hasn't embarked on her herbal expedition yet." There was a hint of exasperation in her voice as she added, "Plenty of time left for that particular venture."

Persia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting genuine care. "So, what's the news then?" she asked eagerly.

Leto's smile widened. "Ah, yes," she began, her tone brimming with warmth. "Melinoe has been freed from her curse."

"Melinoe!?" Persia's features contorted in a mix of surprise and elation before breaking into a radiant grin. "That's wonderful news, Leto! We mustn't waste any time—we must go to the Underworld!"

I was planning a visit there myself," Leto mentioned casually. "I thought it'd be lovely to have you accompany me. Zia is already there. Would you like to join us?"

"Of course I want to come along!" Persia exclaimed, looking mildly offended at the question before her expression softened into a bright smile. "Can we bring Annabeth too? She'd be thrilled to hear this. And what about Ria? Has she returned from Nyx's palace? I recall she went there to pursue some studies. Oh, and did Nico request your assistance or Aunt Hecate with the rituals regarding grieving? That boy seems to have vanished lately! Also, I heard Cerberus had a litter. Are they ready for visitors yet? I'm eager to meet them."

"Dear heart," Leto chuckled affectionately at Persia's enthusiasm. "One question at a time, if you please. Let's start by finding Annabeth, shall we? I'll address your inquiries as we go."

"Absolutely!"

With that, they departed the throne room, delving into discussions on matters known only to them.

The marketplace of Sparta buzzed with the familiar hum of life—merchants shouting their prices, buyers haggling over goods, the scent of spices and roasting meat thick in the air. Yet for Apollo, wrapped in the unremarkable guise of a mortal, the world around him was distant, its colors muted, its noise reduced to an indistinct murmur. His mind was far from the bustling scene. The weight of the day hung heavy on his shoulders, pulling him deeper into a quiet storm of thoughts.

The encounter with his mother had been nothing like he had imagined, nothing like what he had hoped for after such a long absence. He had expected warmth, perhaps the gentle scolding only a mother could give her long-lost child. But there had been none of that. Leto’s voice had been cool, detached—speaking to him and Artemis with the same formal distance she might use with a courtier or stranger. The coldness in her gaze had cut him deeper than he had anticipated.

But worse, much worse, had been the moment when she had leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Persia’s temple, a gesture of affection he hadn’t seen in years, perhaps not since he and Artemis were children. His heart clenched, a sharp twist of jealousy unfurling in his chest. That was meant for him, for Artemis. Not for Persia, a daughter of Poseidon who had wandered into their lives and upended everything.

His jaw tightened as the memory replayed itself. The look of quiet affection on his mother’s face—the soft, unspoken bond that had passed between her and Persia in that single moment. Apollo could feel the resentment stirring beneath the surface, a slow, simmering anger he couldn’t easily shake. His mother had always been distant, but this—this was different. It was as if Persia had slipped into a space that belonged to him, effortlessly, without even trying.

And Persia herself— for heaven's sake, she had become a thorn in his side. From the moment she had appeared, she had unsettled him, pierced his pride in ways no one else dared. She had used his son, played her own quiet games, and now she had begun encroaching on the one thing Apollo had believed would never be touched—his bond with his family.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he strode through the market, his steps quick and purposeful, though he barely noticed where he was going. He moved like a shadow through the crowd, lost in his own thoughts, barely seeing the stalls and merchants that lined the street.

He would not allow her to replace him. Not with his mother, not with Artemis, not with anyone.He moved through the crowd, barely noticing the jostling bodies or the way people stepped aside as if sensing the divine aura he couldn’t completely hide. His focus was elsewhere—on the bitter taste of his mother’s indifference, on the strange pull he felt toward Persia, a pull he didn’t want to acknowledge.

His mind was so clouded with frustration, with that unfamiliar prick of jealousy, that he almost missed the dagger gleaming at the blacksmith’s stall. His steps faltered, and he paused, drawn to the blade with an inexplicable pull. It was a simple thing, but finely crafted—the hilt adorned with an azure stone that caught the light, and along the handle, delicate swirls were etched, mimicking the ebb and flow of ocean waves.

The sight of it sent a jolt through him, a reminder of the woman who had been haunting his thoughts for days. Persia.

Apollo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers brushing over the hilt of the dagger, tracing the cool metal. Why did she invade every corner of his life now? The swirl of the waves on the blade echoed her presence—calm on the surface but with something deeper, something that tugged at him, that pulled him in despite himself. She had become like this dagger—something deceptively simple, yet intricate when studied closely, impossible to fully grasp.

A bitter smile touched his lips. "Damning woman," he muttered under his breath, his voice low, barely audible over the marketplace din. His hand dropped from the dagger, the frustration surging once more.

She had infiltrated his thoughts, crept into his family, and now, even in the mundane moments of a Spartan market, there she was—uninvited, unwelcome, but undeniably present. No matter how he tried to dismiss her, her presence lingered like a stubborn shadow.

The sharpness of his irritation began to soften as the thoughts of her lingered, though he refused to acknowledge why. There was a part of him, buried beneath the resentment, that recognized something else in her—a quiet strength, a resilience he had never fully appreciated until now. The way she had stood against him, unyielding and calm, when others would have crumbled or flattered. The way she had navigated the complexities of their world with grace, even when the stakes were high.

It unsettled him. And yet… it fascinated him.

He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thoughts swirling through his mind, and turned from the stall. The crowd seemed to thicken around him, and he welcomed the distraction, the press of bodies pulling him back into the present. But as he continued through the market, the image of Persia—seated by that fountain in the vision, her eyes meeting his—remained, refusing to be shaken.

And though Apollo walked on, forcing himself to focus on the duties ahead, a part of him—small, almost imperceptible—knew that Persia had become more than a mere irritation. She had stirred something in him, something he didn’t fully understand but couldn’t ignore.

Apollo shook his head, his hood slipping down to reveal his golden locks, unconcerned as he erected a subtle barrier rendering him invisible to mortal eyes. Unbeknownst to him, his scent had already been carried by the wind.

A bystander, recognizing the distinct aroma, cast a wild-eyed glance around, searching for the Olympian he detected. Failing to locate Apollo immediately, he let out a thunderous roar, "Apollon!"

The marketplace of Sparta erupted into chaos as all eyes turned in search of the celebrated god. Some regarded the frantic bystander with wary gazes, as if their instincts warned of impending danger.

Apollo pivoted to behold a towering figure, heavily armed and possessing a man-like appearance. It took a moment for recognition to dawn upon the god.

"Come out, Olympian," the Gigantes known as Porphyrion bellowed, his voice reverberating through the tumultuous crowd. "Have you turned coward, or do you believe a mere invisibility shield can hide your scent from me?"

"That's enough, Porphyrion," Apollo interjected, dispelling the shield and meeting the Gigantes's gaze with unyielding resolve. He frowned, temporarily distracted from his prior musings. "What brings you to Sparta?"

"Sparta?" Porphyrion's expression shifted to one of bewilderment as he scanned his surroundings. Mutters of confusion escaped him before his gaze settled on Apollo, and any semblance of reason dissipated.

"Is it your concern to track my whereabouts?" Porphyrion's laughter rang out, laced with cruelty. "Let us duel, Apollon. Today, fortune favours me. I shall honour Mother with the divine ichor of an Olympian."

Apollo's countenance hardened, his resolve unyielding as he retorted, "So be it." With deliberate grace, he shed his mortal guise, revealing his true divine form. His golden locks shimmered, and a radiant aura enveloped him, casting an ethereal glow that mortals dared not behold, lest they be consumed by its brilliance.

As Spartan soldiers rushed to contain the chaos and usher civilians away from the marketplace, leaving the Immortals to their impending duel, Apollo addressed Porphyrion with cool detachment, "We need not bring strife upon these mortals. Depart from this place."

But Porphyrion remained resolute, scoffing at Apollo's offer. "There is no retreat today," he declared, his voice rumbling like thunder. "Should you attempt to flee, I shall pursue."

With a thunderous roar, the Gigantes lunged at Apollo, brandishing his colossal sword with deadly intent. Apollo's movements were swift as he deftly evaded the attack, retaliating with bursts of radiant energy in the form of arrows of pure light. Yet, Porphyrion's strength was formidable, shattering the arrows with his mighty strikes that reverberated through the empty marketplace, sending shockwaves rippling through the air.

The clash of their weapons echoed loudly, accompanied by the crackle of divine energy that filled the atmosphere, instilling fear in the mortals who remained safely sequestered within the distant confines of the palace grounds.

As the confrontation intensified, both Apollo and Porphyrion discarded their weapons, opting for hand-to-hand combat in a display of raw power and primal fury.

The duel commenced with a lightning-fast flurry of jabs from Apollo, his strikes blurring as he aimed for vulnerable points on Porphyrion's massive frame. The Giant absorbed the onslaught with stoic endurance, though he staggered back under the force of the young god's blows.

In retaliation, Porphyrion unleashed a sweeping hook, intent on striking Apollo's head. The god deftly evaded the colossal fist by mere inches, his movements fluid and precise. Both combatants paused, their breaths heavy as they regarded each other with a centuries-old hatred burning in their eyes.

This time, it was Apollo who initiated the next assault, executing a swift twist and delivering a powerful kick to Porphyrion's midsection. The blow caused the Gigantes to stumble, his reflexes not quick enough to avoid the strike. However, Apollo winced inwardly as he felt the potential dislocation of his knee upon impact. Hastily, he channelled healing energy into the injured area, wincing at the ensuing snap as the knee returned to its rightful place. Though the pain gnawed at him, it sharpened his focus in the moment.

Seizing upon this brief lapse in Apollo's attack, Porphyrion pressed forward with renewed vigour. The Gigantes, sworn enemies of the gods, could only be defeated through the combined efforts of a deity and a mortal. Yet, Apollo was acutely aware that if their battle continued in their divine forms, no mortal would dare approach them.

As he deftly evaded another incoming strike, Apollo summoned forth his bow, creating distance between himself and Porphyrion. His strategy was clear: exhaust the Gigantes and then strike him down. With any luck, by the time the decisive blow was struck, either the king or his beloved Hyacinthus would intervene, shielded from harm by the veil of divine energy.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎 : 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

In the grand halls of Sparta’s palace, Hyacinthus paced restlessly across the expansive throne room. His bronze skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, his curly locks in disarray as worry etched deep lines into his youthful face. Barely twenty moons old, he was already feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.

Suddenly, a soldier burst into the chamber, breathless and wide-eyed, the urgency in his steps matching the frantic beat of Hyacinthus’s heart. "What news?" he demanded, his voice tight with anxiety.

"My lord," the soldier gasped, struggling to catch his breath, "the battle rages on. We can’t see the fight, but the air… it’s charged with divine power."

A wave of frustration surged through Hyacinthus, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "If we’re blind to the fight, how can we help?" His voice trembled with a helplessness he could barely suppress.

"We must exercise patience, my son," King Amyclus interjected, his voice calm but firm. The wisdom of age tempered his words, though they offered little comfort. "There is nothing we can do but wait."

"But Father—" Hyacinthus began, his protest dying on his lips as three ethereal figures materialized before them. Two women and a man, their presence so commanding that the air around them seemed to hum with power. The room, already heavy with tension, grew even more charged.

Hyacinthus watched, his breath caught in his throat, as the central figure, a woman with hair as dark as the night sky, dashed toward the balcony. She looked out over the battlefield, her expression shifting from recognition to concern in an instant.

"Sia, that was reckless of you," the other woman admonished, following closely behind her companion, her tone a mix of exasperation and worry.

Hyacinthus couldn’t help but note the stark contrast between them—one dark and intense, the other lighter, with an air of controlled focus. His heart pounded with a desperate hope that these beings, surely immortals, might lend their aid to his Lord.

"May we know your identity?" King Amyclus asked, his voice respectful but firm as he addressed the man who had yet to speak.

The man’s eyes, sharp and assessing, fixed on Amyclus before shifting to Hyacinthus, their gaze lingering just long enough to make the young prince feel exposed. "Which land is this?" he asked, his voice cool and composed.

"This is the Kingdom of Sparta," Amyclus replied, his tone courteous as he introduced Hyacinthus as well. The man’s scrutiny deepened before he finally spoke again. "I am Nico, Crown Prince and Heir to the Underworld."

Gasps echoed softly through the room, the weight of his words settling like a heavy shroud. Hyacinthus’s eyes widened as he exchanged a look of disbelief with his father.

"Nico," the dark-haired woman called out, urgency threading through her voice, "I’m heading out. Inform Olympus at once."

"Wait," Hyacinthus blurted, doubt coloring his tone as he stepped forward. "They’re fighting in their divine forms. You could be incinerated."

"I’m aware of the risks, Prince," she replied curtly, dismissing his concern with a wave of her hand. She turned to her companion. "Ana, coordinate with the mortals. I’m going to help Lord Apollo."

"Alright," the woman called Ana agreed, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension. "But be careful. Porphyrion is the King of the Gigantes for a reason."

"I’ll be careful," the dark-haired woman responded, though her voice carried a sudden note of apprehension. Her eyes widened, her face paling as she glanced back toward the battlefield, something unseen but dreadful reflected in her gaze.

"Is that...?" she began, her words trailing off as if the answer itself was too terrifying to voice. Hyacinthus noticed the sharp worry in Nico’s eyes, echoed in the tightening of Ana’s expression.

"Dodge, Apollo!" the woman’s voice rang out, her urgent cry slicing through the air like a knife. In an instant, she was gone, leaping from the balcony and disappearing into the chaos of the battlefield below.

"That was energy harvested in Tartarus, wasn’t it?" Annabeth asked, her voice hushed with apprehension.

"You’re correct, Annabeth," Nico confirmed, his tone grave, eyes dark with concern. "I’ll inform Olympus immediately."

"And Leto as well," Annabeth added, her gaze lingering on the distant battle. "She’ll want to know what’s happening to her son."

Nico nodded, his form dissolving into black swirls of mist, leaving Hyacinthus alone with Annabeth, the worry etched in her features unmistakable.

"Will your friend really be able to help Lord Apollo?" Hyacinthus asked, his voice tinged with doubt as he recalled the petite, delicate appearance of the dark-haired woman who had just vanished into the fray.

Annabeth turned to meet his gaze, and for a brief moment, her eyes softened with something close to pity. "Persia is one of the finest warriors this cosmos has ever known," she reassured him, her voice steady but low. "Don’t worry, Prince. Lord Apollo is in capable hands."

Despite the calm in her tone, the tension in the air remained thick, the uncertainty of the battle still pressing down on them all.

On the other hand, the Giant had summoned dark energies from the depths of Tartarus, shrouding his sword with a malevolent aura. With a wicked grin, Porphyrion unleashed a ferocious swing at Apollo, catching the god off guard with the unexpected turn. The blow landed across Apollo's chest, sending waves of unimaginable pain coursing through his divine form. 

Unaware of Persia's cry from the palace, Apollo struggled to stem the flow of blood from his gaping wound. Despite his efforts, he faltered, his divine essence slipping away as he collapsed to the ground in agony. Seizing the opportunity, Porphyrion conjured another surge of dark energy, poised to deliver the final blow in Apollo's moment of weakness.

The clash of steel interrupted the silence.

Persia stood between them, her blade meeting the Giant’s corrupted sword with a shockwave that sent dust swirling into the air. Apollo blinked, disbelief flickering through the haze of pain. Persia—of all people. Her silhouette was sharp, resolute, where his had faltered. The woman he had once dismissed now stood as a shield, her focus unwavering. He tried to shout a warning, but his lips barely moved, the words lost in the murmur of his ragged breath. He found his grip on his own body weakening, his senses dulled by the overwhelming pain.

Porphyrion's eyes widened with sudden recognition, his gaze locking onto Persia in disbelief. "The daughter of Poseidon? Here?" His thoughts raced to make sense of her unexpected presence. Persia’s advance was swift, and without hesitation. She drove her blade against his, pushing him back with a force that sent him sprawling into the dust. But she spared him no second glance.

Her attention was solely on Apollo.

Dropping to her knees, Persia slid her arms around the god's torso with surprising gentleness, guiding him upright, leaning him against a weathered boulder. His head lolled back, breaths shallow, his golden blood staining her fingers as she worked.

Water shimmered in her hands, summoned from the air itself, cool against the searing wound. Persia's brow furrowed in concentration as she coaxed the healing power of Poseidon’s line into the wound, but the ichor continued to seep, defying her efforts. For a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of frustration in her gaze, before she pulled the water into a makeshift bandage, binding it tight around Apollo’s chest. She leaned closer, her breath steadying as she pushed vitality into him, a calming pulse that eased the tremors in his body. Apollo's shoulders relaxed, the pain retreating—if only slightly.

Dust settled around them, quiet filling the space where battle had once raged. The distant shuffle of feet broke the silence as Annabeth approached, the young prince trailing behind her. His eyes were wide with a mix of fear and recognition. Persia caught his gaze, and then Annabeth's.

"Hyacinthus," Annabeth mouthed.

Persia's eyes darkened with understanding. She glanced back at Apollo, her thoughts swirling, but there was no time to dwell. Something in Porphyrion’s movements caught her attention.

The Giant rose slowly from the ground, but his rage had shifted, tempered now by something else. He looked at Persia with a curious intensity, the glint of recognition deepening in his gaze. His earlier fury dissolved into something sharper, more deliberate.

Her spine straightened, a chill creeping into her bones. His murmured words from their earlier clash echoed in her mind—words she hadn’t fully grasped until now.

Papou had been right.

"I didn't anticipate you would continue to align with Olympus after the betrayal you endured in the war," Porphyrion remarked, his voice cutting through the silence with a mocking edge. "How forgiving of you, Persia." His gaze shifted towards Apollo before returning to meet Persia's steady gaze. "However, I am not one to forgive easily. Step aside; you are not my true adversary."

Persia tilted her head, regarding him with measured calmness. "I would have yielded if you had fought honourably," she replied evenly.

"Very well," Porphyrion conceded, launching into another attack. With swift precision, Persia deflected his strike, pushing him back with a calculated force. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Annabeth swiftly moving Apollo out of harm's way, filling Persia with a sense of relief amidst the chaos of battle.

As she valiantly defended against the relentless onslaught, Persia felt the weight of exhaustion settling upon her. The lingering effects of her recent reading weighed heavily upon her, sapping her stamina and draining her strength. Each movement felt like she was shouldering the burden of the sky itself, the weight of her fatigue dragging her down.

With a small miscalculation, she found herself too slow to evade an incoming strike. Yet, to her surprise, the blow never landed, replaced instead by a piercing scream that shattered the tense silence. Lowering her arms from their defensive stance, Persia's gaze fell upon Ares, his furious expression a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them.

Reacting swiftly, her mind racing to catch up with the sudden turn of events, Persia hurled her own dagger towards Porphyrion. In a display of dual attack, the Giant was engulfed in a swirl of golden dust, dissipating into nothingness.

In the aftermath of the battle, the surge of adrenaline subsided, leaving Persia to collapse to her knees, her body trembling with exhaustion. An arm encircled her shoulder, and she found herself face to face with her father, Poseidon. With a sigh of relief, she leaned into his embrace, her fatigue overwhelming her as she slumped against him, uncaring of the watching eyes around them.

"My darling, are you alright?" Poseidon's voice carried a note of concern as he reached out to his daughter, worry etched on his features.

"Yeah," Persia murmured, her voice faint as she glanced down at her trembling hand. "I think the aftereffects haven't dissipated yet."

Ares regarded her with an inscrutable look, while Poseidon's frown deepened. "You fought when you weren't at your optimum?" his tone resonated with disapproval at her reckless actions.

"Does it matter?" Persia retorted defiantly. "I won. Porphyrion is gone, and Lord Apollo—Oh!" Her words trailed off as she realised the urgency to check on Apollo's condition.

"Child, be calm," Poseidon reassured her, his voice gentle yet firm as he guided her towards the gathering where Apollo was being tended to by Olympus healers.

As they approached, the citizens bowed low in reverence, casting surprised glances at Persia. Annabeth hurried over to them, her expression filled with concern. "Sia, are you alright?"

"I'm alright," Persia reassured her, a hint of affection in her tone. "Just a few scratches."

"She is still feeling the aftereffects," Ares interjected with a smirk, earning a glare from Persia. Annabeth frowned disapprovingly but refrained from reprimanding her in front of the onlookers.

"Ignore him," Persia muttered, eliciting an exasperated glance from Annabeth and a grin from Ares. With a sense of amusement, Poseidon guided his daughter into a nearby tent adorned with the symbol of Olympus, where Apollo was receiving medical attention.

As they entered the tent, Persia's attention was immediately drawn to Hyacinthus and the King of Sparta, both of whom bowed respectfully upon seeing her father and Ares. Oblivious to the surprised glances thrown her way by the mortals, Persia slowly made her way towards where Artemis and Zeus were present beside the unconscious Apollo.

Poseidon settled her down at the foot of the bed, standing beside her with a watchful gaze as the healer worked diligently. Artemis sat beside Apollo's head, her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at her immobile twin. Zeus’ usual air of authority was replaced by genuine concern as he watched the proceedings with a worried expression.

As Persia observed the healer's nervous demeanour, a heavy sigh escaped her lips, drawing attention to herself in the tense atmosphere of the tent.  Turning her gaze towards the healer, she addressed him with a mix of concern and urgency, "Am I to suppose you are incapable of healing him?" 

"What!?" Zeus's bellow reverberated through the tent as he turned towards the healer with a ferocious glare, masking the worry hidden within his eyes. His anger was palpable, fueled by the fear of something happening to his most beloved son.

"Father, please," Artemis intervened wearily, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "Let us hear him out."

The healer's voice quivered as he addressed Zeus, "My Lord, I am but a Minor God of Healing. All that I have learned has been from Lord Apollo himself. The energy that has afflicted him is unlike anything I have encountered before, and I possess no knowledge of how to combat it. However, the water bandage applied by Lady Persia is containing the energy; confining it to a single area."

Despite his lingering anger, Zeus begrudgingly acknowledged the healer's words. "What do we do now, Father?" Artemis's voice trembled with emotion, her despair evident in her eyes as she turned to Zeus for guidance.

Zeus's frown deepened as he placed a comforting hand on Artemis's shoulder, grappling with the realisation of his own helplessness in aiding his son.

As the tent flap parted, Will's eyes widened in shock at the sight before him. "Father!" he exclaimed, momentarily transported back to the time when his father had been fading away. Ignoring the presence of the mortals, he rushed forward, his focus solely on his lord father.

Hyacinthus observed with wide eyes as the man, a child of his lord, hurried forward to grasp his father's hand. A twinge of jealousy flickered within him before he pushed the feeling aside. Dwelling on such matters would serve no purpose, he reminded himself. He had long been aware of his lord's numerous lovers and offspring scattered across the vast lands.

Perhaps, he mused, if he hadn't laid eyes on the man who bore a striking resemblance to his lord, he wouldn't feel so unsettled. His own father placed a calming hand on his shoulder, as if sensing his inner turmoil.

Hyacinthus offered his father a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his apparent unease. Amidst the gathering of immortals, he had no desire for unwarranted attention to be directed towards him.

"Nephew," Artemis leaned forward, placing a comforting hand on Will's head, suddenly struck by his resemblance to her brother. Will lifted his head, tear-streaked eyes shifting between Persia, who appeared lost in thought, and the water bandage adorning Apollo's wound.

"Sia?" Will's voice broke through Persia's reverie, drawing her attention back to the present. He continued with a sense of urgency, "What can we do now? The healers on Olympus lack the knowledge to heal Father."

The fact that Will directed such a crucial question to Persia instead of Zeus surprised the onlookers.

"How could Persia possibly know what to do?" Zeus interjected, his disapproval evident as he directed a frown at his grandson.

Will shook his head solemnly, his voice weighted with concern. "None in the Lands, Sky, or Heaven possess sufficient knowledge of the unknown mystical energies, Lord Zeus. Do you know anyone who has such knowledge?"

Zeus's frown deepened as he pondered the question, eventually shaking his head in acknowledgment of the lack of suitable candidates.

Will continued with a nod of affirmation. "However, I know of one person who possesses the knowledge and capability, but..."

Zeus's eyes widened with anticipation. "But?"

"I doubt he will come if you or I request his presence," Will admitted reluctantly.

"Why not?" Zeus demanded, his curiosity piqued.

"Politics," Persia interjected, her gaze shifting towards Will. "I will see what I can do." She turned her attention back to Zeus. "The longer we delay, the greater the risk of the unknown."

Zeus's expression darkened further, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "And why should he listen to you over the King of Gods?" he challenged, his tone laced with hostility and a hint of disbelief.

Persia met his gaze squarely, her weariness evident in her voice as she responded, "Must we conduct this debate in front of mortals, Lord Zeus?" She gestured subtly towards the end of the tent where Hyacinthus and Amyclus stood, reminding him of their audience.

Zeus's frustration simmered beneath the surface, a storm of rage threatening to erupt at any moment. The audacity of Poseidon's daughter to challenge him fueled the fire within him. Yet, despite the overwhelming urge to strike her down with a bolt of lightning, Zeus knew he must exercise restraint.

Zeus suppressed his anger, opting instead to channel it into a different course of action. He saw an opportunity to teach her a lesson she would not soon forget.

Turning his attention to Will, Zeus ordered sternly, "Grandson, tell me the name."

Will's instinct was to argue back against the demands of his grandfather. Yet, before he could speak, Persia's hand found his. Will paused, his resolve momentarily faltering as he glanced at Persia. In that moment, he saw a silent reminder to be calm and comply. With a deep breath, Will closed his mouth, his expression resigned. He nodded subtly, acknowledging Persia's silent counsel, and turned his attention back to Zeus. 

With a reluctant voice, he replied, "Lord Niklaus."

Zeus nodded decisively, his expression stern as he summoned Iris. The rainbow goddess appeared, bowing respectfully before him. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Find this Lord Niklaus at once and bring him before me," Zeus commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Iris's eyes widened as she heard the name. She immediately contacted Persia through telepathy, her concern was evident in her inner voice.

“Lord Niklaus? Does Zeus even know who he is?”

Persia responded calmly, her tone betraying no hint of worry.

“Nope. He has negligible ideas.”

Iris pressed further, questioning Persia's decision.

“Why didn't you stop him, cousin? Lord Niklaus will not be kind.”

"I know. Just do your duty as a messenger, Iris. The consequences of this decision are Zeus's to bear; it is neither your headache nor mine," Persia replied firmly.

"True that," Iris conceded, her eyes discreetly flickering towards Persia before she bowed to Zeus and disappeared to fulfil her task.

Within ten minutes, Iris returned with a scroll instead of the expected individual. She handed the scroll to Zeus, who inquired about the absence of the immortal.

"He has responded with this letter, my Lord," Iris explained. Zeus frowned, disappointed by the unexpected turn of events. "You may leave," he dismissed Iris, who was relieved to be out of the line of fire once the King of Gods read the scathing letter.

As Zeus's eyes scanned the contents of the letter, his jaw tightened visibly, the muscles in his face betraying a mixture of anger and shock. His gaze flickered up to Persia, who met his stare with an indifferent expression, her demeanour unwavering in the face of his palpable turmoil.

"What does it say, Father?" Artemis's voice was tinged with apprehension as she observed her father's reaction. Her eyes darted to Will, who sat in front of her with his expression betraying a sense of foreboding.

"Why don't you read it yourself?" Zeus's response was terse as he handed the letter over, his entire posture radiating tension.  Despite his efforts to conceal it, his emotions —anger, helplessness, and a touch of panic — were palpable, manifesting in the subtle tremor of his hand and the furrowed lines on his forehead.

Artemis read the letter out loud, her eyes widening as each line went by —

To Zeus, 

King of Gods and Ruler of Olympus,

I must admit that I was taken aback by your directive conveyed through the auspices of Iris. Your command, though delivered with the weight of authority befitting your esteemed position, left me rather perplexed. It compelled me to ponder whether you were aware of my identity before issuing such a decree.

I am a being whose existence predates the annals of time. I am a venerable entity whose wisdom and experience have spanned epochs. To heed the summons of one who has scarcely lived a fraction of my immortal lifespan seems incongruous, to say the least.

Throughout the ages, I have endeavoured to maintain a respectful distance from matters that do not concern me directly. Therefore, forgive my audacity in expressing surprise at your assumption that I would readily acquiesce to your request without due consideration.

Moreover, I cannot overlook the fact that your actions, both past and present, have caused considerable offence to one whom I hold in high regard—Hades, Third Lord of the Underworld. From the earliest records, it is evident that you have exhibited a pattern of disregard for Hades's authority, discrediting his name and undermining his honour at every turn.

As a loyal subject of the Underworld, it is incumbent upon me to uphold the sanctity of our realm and honour the sovereignty of our King. To render aid to one who has shown such blatant disrespect towards Lord Hades would be tantamount to treason against my liege and an affront to my principles.

Furthermore, I must question the propriety of assisting an individual who has displayed a lamentable lack of basic decency and decorum in his dealings with others. Respect, I believe, is a currency far more valuable than any divine mandate, and it is not freely given to those who have not earned it through their actions.

Wishing you well, 

Lord Niklaus.

"I knew it!" Will expressed rising from his seat as he directed his glare at Zeus, "Your actions have only served to exacerbate the situation. What else can be expected from you? A simple request from Persia would have sufficed had you exercised restraint. However, it appears that your inclination towards intervention knows no bounds. Might I suggest that your esteemed self should have approached the matter with more decorum?”

He huffed, disdain evident in his tone as he sneered at Zeus. "Furthermore," Will continued with a weary tone, "Even if you had inquired, it should have been framed as a request rather than a command. It was unwise of you to simply inquire about the name; you should have asked the identity of the individual as well. It would be wise to recognize that the Universe does not bend to your will, Grandfather.” 

Will rubbed his face, expressing the gravity of the situation to the shocked audience. "Now Lord Niklaus is offended. At this rate, Father's chances of being healed diminishes further. As it is the relentless energy of Tartarus continues to sap his life force unabated."

Zeus listened with widened eyes as Artemis let out a startled gasp, her voice laced with panic. "What did you say? About the energy? Do you know…" Her words trailed off as Will shook his head, his expression regretful. "No, Aunt," he replied solemnly. "While I may not know much, I recognize the essence of Tartarus mingled with that energy. I've felt such essence before. If Father were a mortal, he would have perished the moment the energy touched him. However, Father is one of the strongest amongst the Gods. That's why he continues to fight against the energy. "

"Daughter," Poseidon said, his gaze patient as he observed the unfolding situation. Persia looked up, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "Is there anything you can do to help?" His gaze shifted towards a sulking Zeus. "It seems Zeus has created a problem. I do not want Apollo to suffer because of his father’s shortcomings."

Persia sighed, understanding the silent plea in her father's eyes not to question Zeus' decision-making skills at that moment. "Can I borrow a messenger who is swift and respectful, Father?"

"Certainly, my sweet," Poseidon replied, waving his hand. A silhouette of water cleared to form the figure of a male. He was dressed in Olympian-style clothing, but his accessories hinted at his familiarity with the Sea's culture.

"This is Cian, my Steward," Poseidon introduced.

Cian bowed towards Poseidon. "My lord," he greeted respectfully. His eyes then turned to Persia, and he bowed low. "Heiress, it is an honour to be in the presence of the only child of Cosmic Power."

Persia offered a gentle smile. "Greetings, Cian. I need you to carry a message of mine if you are amenable to the task."

Cian blinked in surprise before adopting a more deferential tone. "What are my orders, Heiress?"

"Your mission is to humbly request Lord Niklaus’s assistance on our behalf. Should he refuse, even after your earnest appeal, inform him that I have summoned him. When queried about my identity, convey that I am the Heiress of Water. Additionally, acquaint him with the fact that the patient in question is the only son of Lady Leto, a valued ally of Lord Oceanus. Should Lord Niklaus persist in declining aid, notwithstanding this information, remind him that his refusal would contravene the treaty between High Lord Oceanus and High Lord Hades."

Cian nodded, comprehending the gravity of the situation as his gaze shifted towards the unconscious Apollo, whose once radiant face was now drained of all colour. 

He swiftly altered his attire to that of the commoners of the Sea, donning a sheer, long rectangular cloth draped over his torso, secured by an ornate pin on one shoulder, accompanied by modest silk pants. Before commencing his journey, Persia issued a final instruction.

"Prior to your encounter with Lord Niklaus, seek an audience with Uncle Hades to secure his blessing for this endeavour. Ensure your message is conveyed with utmost humility and decorum."

"Understood, Heiress."

After an anticipation of nearly forty minutes, Cian reappeared, accompanied by a figure whose very presence exuded an overwhelming aura of power, compelling the mortals to bow on their knees as they elicited soft whimpers as they struggled under its unseen weight. Even the immortals found themselves faltering and feeling weak in the knees, staggering slightly as they gazed wide-eyed at the man. Poseidon signalled for the mortals to leave upon noticing their distress.

Lord Niklaus stood tall, dressed in simple attire devoid of any ornate accessories. In his hands, he held an ornate staff as tall as himself. His hair, a blend of grey and midnight blue, framed a face adorned with hazel eyes that exuded profound insight.  Disregarding the assembled gods, he turned his attention to Persia, who rose gracefully and offered a respectful bow of her head. "The Heiress of Water, Persia of the lineage of Zyenthea, extends her greetings to the Venerable Guardian of the Underworld.”

A small smirk graced Niklaus' lips as he spoke, "I did not expect such humility from you. Your mother is the very first being in existence. She is the Energy that drives the Cosmos – the First of Four. Without her, the Universe ceases to exist. Your rank is equal to The Moirai – the children of Lord Time and Lady Necessity. Tell me, why does her daughter speak with me with such softness in her words?"

"My rank matters not in front of those who are far more knowledgeable than I, Lord Niklaus. You’re older and wiser than I. My rank allows me to merely request the venerable beings who had been the witness of the dawn and dusk of several civilizations and the precipice of the countless races; the choice to act always remains with them," Persia responded respectfully. She smiled, "I’ve been taught to be firm and unyielding but never to be arrogant or prideful. I’m simply honouring my mother’s teachings.”

“You spin words better than a weaver spins silk,” Niklaus remarked, impressed. His gaze flickered towards the cot as he gestured, “Is that the son of Leto?”

“Yes, Lord Niklaus,” Persia confirmed, stepping back slightly to allow him a better view of his patient. “If you will kindly help us, we will be grateful.”

“I have no doubt you will be grateful,” Niklaus replied, meeting her eyes again. “But will anyone else be as grateful as you?”

Will spoke, his voice was soft yet firm as he carefully watched the interaction between them. "I will be," he affirmed.

Niklaus turned to face the young man analysing him with a keen eye. He offered a small smile before approaching where Apollo lay. Placing his finger on Apollo's wrist, Niklaus furrowed his brows, his expression growing solemn as he assessed the situation. With a practised motion, his staff disappeared as he placed his other hand on Apollo's temple, a soft glow emanating from his touch.

Artemis’ heart raced with worry as she spoke up, her voice trembling slightly, "My brother, will he be alright?"

Niklaus sighed, turning his grim gaze towards Persia, who took a deep breath, her expression both calm and concerned. "What do you need, Lord Niklaus?" she inquired.

Standing up straight, Niklaus glanced between the frantic Artemis and the composed yet troubled Persia. "He has been assaulted with the unfiltered essence of Tartarus," he explained gravely. "Such an essence can only be found near the heart of Tartarus. It kills demigods with mere touch; it can kill a mortal by its mere presence and drain the essence of immortality within an Immortal at a rapid speed."

At Niklaus's revelation, Zeus turned to face him, his visage pale with shock. Ares and Poseidon's eyes widened in disbelief, and Artemis gasped, her concern deepening.The air seemed to grow heavier as the gravity of his words settled over them.

 "My brother, he...nothing will happen to him, right?" Artemis implored.

"Your brother is highly fortunate," Niklaus reassured, gesturing towards Persia. "He was found by the Heiress. As she is able to spin life force, she had already diminished a bit of the effect of the energy. However, we're short on time. I can remove the energy, but we need to go to a place where your brother would be the most comfortable. Immortals tend to lash out with divine energy when immobile," Niklaus explained, his tone solemn yet authoritative. He levelled an inquiring look at the assembly. "I do not think you want to risk destruction in this mortal kingdom, do you?"

"Spin life force?" Poseidon's brows furrowed in confusion as he glanced at Persia, seeking clarification. With a resigned sigh, Persia elaborated, "It is one of the powers that comes along with being an Heiress." 

"We can shift Apollo to Delos. His birthplace would surely calm him down," Ares suggested, drawing nods of agreement from everyone present. Artemis squared her shoulders, wiping her tears resolutely as she spoke, "I’ll transport him to his palace at Delos. Please, I request you to follow us, Lord Niklaus. If you need anything else, kindly inform me. I shall do the needful."

"Certainly, child," Niklaus replied with a nod. "I will require two bowls — one with hot water and another with cold water; a few strips of cloth and a mortar-pestle. Please have them ready. I’ll arrive the moment I’ve gathered a few herbs that will be required."

"My gratitude, Lord Niklaus. I’ll have it done at once."

Niklaus disappeared after acknowledging Artemis’ words. Poseidon took charge, issuing instructions to Artemis and Ares, "Artemis, get Apollo and Will to Delos. Ares, go with them. Zeus and I will reach after we have taken stock of the situation here."

"Yes, Lord Poseidon," Artemis and Ares disappeared with Apollo and Will in tow. Persia exhaled heavily, slumping down on the vacated cot in exhaustion. Annabeth, who had observed the proceedings with a furrowed brow, directed a disapproving glare at Persia. Zeus and Poseidon exchanged surprised glances at her question, "How many threads of life force did you spin?"

"Let it be, Annabeth," Persia replied curtly, signalling an end to the discussion.

"No," Annabeth persisted, her agitation evident. "Answer my question. You’re aware of the price to spin life force, aren't you? Why did you do it even after knowing that you’re shortening your own life expectancy?"

"What!?" Poseidon bellowed, his voice filled with shock and concern, while Persia shot Annabeth a sharp glare before pinching her temple. Her head was throbbing with pain.

"Please, not now," Persia said, her tone strained.

Artemis was taken aback to discover that everything Lord Niklaus required was already arranged in Apollo's room.

"Who arranged this?" she inquired of one of the servants.

"Lady Leto instructed us to prepare everything, My Lady," the servant replied with a respectful bow. Artemis pondered briefly how her mother had come to know of the situation but set aside the thought for the moment.

"Very well. Please ensure Lord Niklaus is escorted here upon his arrival," Artemis instructed before dismissing the servant.

Her gaze shifted to her brother's pallid complexion, his usual radiant visage now diminished and haggard. A sense of unease gripped her heart as she grappled with the unfamiliar sensation of worry. Was this how mortals felt when their loved ones were in distress?

A comforting hand on her shoulder roused Artemis from her reverie. She turned to find Ares standing beside her, his expression reassuring.

"Artemis, sister, do not despair," Ares offered solace. "I am confident Apollo will recover. We've sought help, haven't we?"

"Yes, you're right," Artemis acknowledged, shaking off her apprehension as she glanced at her brother. "But I cannot rest until he's free of this affliction and declared in good health."

"He will regain his strength, I assure you," Ares reassured, casting a concerned look around the room. "By the way, where did Will disappear to?"

Artemis furrowed her brows, preparing to summon a servant, but before she could, her nephew entered the room carrying a mud vessel and an assortment of herbs.

Exchanging a glance with Ares, Artemis observed Will's actions with curiosity. They watched as he deftly ignited a flame with a snap of his fingers, placing it within the vessel along with the herbs. As smoke began to gently waft from the container, he covered it with a mud lid, perforated to allow the fragrant fumes to escape.

"What are you doing, Will?" Artemis inquired, her interest piqued.

"These are basil and lavender herbs, Aunt Artemis," Will explained, his demeanour composed. "They'll help relax Father when Lord Niklaus extracts the essence of Tartarus."

Ares interjected curiously, "How did you recognize it as the essence of Tartarus?"

Will hesitated for a moment before responding, "Persia, Annabeth, and Nico had spent a considerable amount of time in Tartarus."

Artemis gasped audibly, while Ares's expression betrayed his shock. "Why?" he murmured, his mind reeling with the implications.

"Because," Will replied solemnly, meeting Ares's gaze with a sombre look, "Lady Geia had sealed the Doors of Death and imprisoned Lord Thanatos at the mouth of Chaos, beyond even Tartarus. They ventured there to release him."

Artemis shuddered inwardly at the notion of descending into the depths of the Pit, while Ares fell silent, lost in contemplation. "So that's why she wasn't affected by my aura," he mused aloud.

"Indeed," Will affirmed, still taken aback by the lack of resentment in the God of War's tone. "I've only heard fragments of what they endured."

His gaze drifted into the distance as he recalled those challenging days. "Following their return, Persia remained comatose for several months. It was a time of uncertainty, as none could ascertain whether she would pull through. The injuries they sustained were severe, to the extent that even Lord Niklaus admitted his limitations in aiding their recovery. Both Annabeth and Nico were confined to bed rest for an extensive period, requiring years to fully recuperate from the harrowing ordeal."

The air grew heavy with solemnity as Artemis and Ares exchanged meaningful glances, observing the array of emotions flickering across Will's countenance, with feelings of helplessness and sorrow prevailing on his face.

At that moment a servant entered the room, bowing respectfully. "My Lady, Lord Niklaus has arrived."

"Please escort him in immediately," Artemis instructed. Will promptly adjusted his position, standing beside Artemis to clear the path for the Healer.

Niklaus entered, his surprise evident at the purified atmosphere that greeted him. Casting a contemplative glance at Will, he proceeded towards the bed, ready to commence his work.

He turned his gaze towards Artemis. "You are Leto's daughter, correct?"

Artemis nodded respectfully. "Yes, Lord Niklaus."

Acknowledging her affirmation with a nod of his own, Niklaus proceeded to elaborate, "Aside from you, no one else is permitted inside the chamber." He addressed the lingering curiosity in Will and Ares' expressions, explaining, "The extraction process can be excruciating, even for an immortal, particularly when dealing with corrosive essences. Lord Apollo may not be in control of his actions and could perceive anyone as a threat."

His gaze shifted back to Artemis. "I am allowing Lady Artemis to remain present due to her twin bond with Lord Apollo. The likelihood of his subconscious identifying her as a danger is minimal. I must insist that everyone else vacate the chamber immediately."

"Of course, my lord," Ares responded with a respectful bow. "We appreciate your clarification."

Niklaus regarded him with a calculating glance, a fleeting emotion passing through his eyes unnoticed by the others. As Ares and Will exited the chamber, Artemis moved to stand beside the bed. Niklaus turned his attention to Apollo, snapping his fingers to draw the curtains of the chambers closed.

Andrea traversed the meandering corridors leading to the throne room of Atlantis with purposeful strides. Upon reaching the ornate entrance, she gently knocked, awaiting permission to enter. A composed yet chilly voice resonated from within granting her passage. Seated regally upon a throne adorned with sapphires was Queen Amphitrite who was a vision of unparalleled beauty. Her long obsidian hair accented with azure hues cascaded elegantly around her slender form. Despite her captivating appearance her countenance bore a semblance of coldness with lips painted in a hue of crimson devoid of warmth.

"Andrea," the Queen enunciated the name with deliberate precision, her smile widening with a predatory edge, "Your return is sooner than expected."

"I bring news, My Queen," Andrea replied respectfully.

Amphitrite's smile broadened, assuming a predatory aspect reminiscent of a shark, as she nearly hissed her demand, "You better, my dear." 

Andrea swallowed nervously, bowing her head in deference and offering a silent nod. She couldn't help but contrast the Queen's demeanour with the Heiress's earlier courtesy who had not only provided her with a seat but also tended to her injuries before issuing commands. The contrast was stark and not lost on Andrea.

"Are you awaiting a more opportune moment to speak?" Amphitrite's lips curled with thinly veiled impatience, prompting Andrea to begin without further delay.

Andrea proceeded to convey that Persia had been confirmed as the Heiress, substantiated by her possession of the ring as evidence. Additionally, Andrea noted Poseidon's apparent preference for his newfound daughter over his other offsprings.

The Queen's brows furrowed in disbelief, her tone laced with incredulity, "How could Pontus favour a half-blood over legitimate heirs? This interloper lacks the bloodline to claim such a title."

She remained silent regarding Lady Power's relationship to the Heiress, as there was no inquiry from the Queen, thus refraining from volunteering any additional information.

"Keep a vigilant watch over her," Amphitrite commanded, her lips curling into a disdainful sneer, "She wields power beyond her station. Should she meddle in the affairs of Atlantis, I must be promptly informed. She poses a threat that cannot be ignored."

Andrea tactfully abstained from correcting her - The sovereignty of Atlantis rested with King Poseidon while Amphitrite's authority was derived solely from her matrimonial ties.

"Leave," Amphitrite commanded sharply, noting Andrea's lingering presence. Andrea promptly withdrew, observing Amphitrite muttering to herself, "Strategizing is imperative."

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟏 : 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞.

Niklaus furrowed his brow as his hand pressed against Apollo's chest, seeking to extract the essence. Yet, as he infused his healing magic into the young man's body, a disquieting realisation dawned upon him. Apollo was  resisting as his instincts waged war against the offered solace.

The subconscious mind poses a significant hazard, operating purely on instinct rather than reasoned thought and thus devoid of conflicting emotions. In ancient times, Immortals frequently heeded their subconscious promptings. However, contemporary Immortals seldom do so, except in instances of severe injury — a rare occurrence.

Apollo's body was doing the same thing driven by instinct as he recoiled from Niklaus's touch, sensing danger where none truly existed. It fought against the healing magic, as well as the encroaching essence of Tartarus, both perceived as threats. To force acceptance would only provoke Apollo's essence into aggression, hastening the spread of the abyssal taint.

Though a flicker of vitality lingered within Apollo – a gift from the Heiress – it was meagre and insufficient to sustain him. Time was a relentless adversary, each passing moment diminishing their chances of success. Niklaus's mind raced with urgency, the weight of responsibility heavy upon his shoulders as he sought a solution to save Apollo from the grasp of darkness.

Niklaus released a heavy sigh, the weight of their predicament pressing upon him. "Artemis," he began, his voice tinged with a solemn edge, "we face unforeseen challenges."

The strain in Artemis's voice was palpable as she inquired, "Is everything as it should be?"

His gaze flickered towards her. He had hoped that Artemis's steadfast presence would suffice to soothe Apollo and facilitate the extraction of the tainted essence. Yet, even in the embrace of his sister's presence, Apollo remained ensnared in turmoil.

"I had hoped," Niklaus admitted to Artemis, "that your presence alone would calm him and ease the extraction process. Alas, it seems Apollo remains restless, even in your company."

Artemis's brow furrowed, a fleeting shadow of sorrow crossing her features before she masked it with resolve. Her eyes, however, betrayed the anguish that gripped her heart, unable to conceal the depth of her distress.

"What course of action do you propose, Lord Niklaus?" Artemis inquired, her voice steady despite the tumult within.

Niklaus considered her question thoughtfully before a flicker of inspiration illuminated his mind. "Can you recall the last person Apollo encountered before succumbing to this plight?" he asked, a glimmer of hope igniting within him. "Perhaps their presence could provide the key to his salvation."

Artemis paused, her brow furrowing in concentration as she recollected. "It was Persia," she replied after a moment's deliberation. "But I advise confirming with Annabeth or Nico.”

He suppressed a wince at the casual mention of the Heiress and Heir's names, a reminder of Artemis's lack of understanding regarding their significance. Though he yearned to correct her, now was not the time for such discourse. Her ignorance could be addressed later, when the urgency of their current crisis had passed.

Exiting the chamber, Niklaus encountered Zeus, Ares, and Will awaiting him, accompanied by two unfamiliar figures, one of whom bore a striking resemblance to Princess Metis. Ignoring their apprehensive gazes, he turned his attention to Will.

"Can you direct me to the Heiress?" Niklaus inquired, his voice betraying the gravity of their situation.

"The Heiress?" Will furrowed his brow before nodding in recognition. "She should be with her father at the camp in Sparta. Is something amiss, Lord Niklaus?"

Niklaus nodded solemnly, his expression grave. "Apollo is resisting my healing magic, a troubling development but not unexpected. An immortal's body does not readily accept another's magic. I had hoped Artemis's presence would suffice to soothe his divine spirit, but it appears that is not the case."

Zeus interjected, his tone edged with impatience. "What relevance does Persia hold in this matter?" he demanded.

Niklaus frowned at Zeus's curt demeanour as he replied, "It is conceivable that Apollo's divine spirit may find solace in the Heiress's presence, as she was the last individual he encountered before succumbing to unconsciousness."

"I will inform her immediately," Will offered, poised to depart, but Ares intervened.

"Wait, son," Ares commanded. "I will go instead. It will expedite matters."

With a nod of agreement, Will stepped back as Ares vanished from sight. Moments later, he reappeared, accompanied by Annabeth. Alongside them materialised Poseidon and Persia, surrounded by swirling currents.

Approaching Niklaus, Persia spoke. "Lord Ares has appraised us of the situation. Let us proceed, Lord Niklaus."

Niklaus nodded, directing his attention to Persia. "Do you possess the knowledge to filter my essence through your own, Heiress?" he inquired.

"Yes, Lord Niklaus," Persia affirmed. "Such basic principles are known to any recognized descendant of Lord Oceanus's lineage."

"Excellent," Niklaus remarked with a hint of relief. "Let us waste no time. Come, then."

Persia couldn't help but wonder if the universe had a penchant for placing her in situations she'd rather avoid. Like the one she found herself in now.

With a weary exhale, she felt the weight of the day bearing down on her, despite its incomplete nature. The battles, both physical and metaphysical, had taken their toll. The reckless expenditure of her powers, first in the desperate attempt to heal Andrea and now in aiding Apollo, left her feeling drained and faint. Annabeth's scolding had only added to her fatigue, though Poseidon's concern had offered a bittersweet solace she hadn't anticipated.

As she recalled Poseidon's endearing exasperation and her own impulsive embrace, a faint smile tugged at her lips. Her father's affectionate scoldings had a strange way of warming her heart, even amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

"Heiress?" Niklaus's voice broke through her reverie, drawing her attention back to the present moment. "You may release him now. He will be fine. He's merely unconscious."

With a nod, Persia gently relinquished her grasp on Apollo's hand, her mind lingering on the sacred significance of Spinning Life, bestowed by Lady Thalassa herself. The blessing was reserved for only a select few, including Nereus and  Oceanus, marking her as a unique bearer of divine favour among mortals. It was a privilege she bore with both pride and humility, aware of the weight of responsibility it entailed.

"You appear weary, Heiress," Niklaus remarked, deftly arranging several herbs into a square wooden box.

"I am," Persia admitted with a weary sigh. "Today has been quite taxing."

Observing Niklaus's meticulous preparations of medicines, she nodded in agreement when he suggested informing Apollo's family members of the news.

"We should," she affirmed, pushing herself upright despite the fleeting dizziness that threatened to engulf her momentarily.

Exiting the chamber, they were met with a gathering of worried and expectant faces. Persia offered a small, reassuring smile, noticing the immediate relaxation in Will's tense shoulders as Annabeth maintained a comforting presence at his side. Despite her own weariness, Persia's gaze remained steady, her resolve unwavering.

Their attention shifted to Niklaus as he unveiled a ball of condensed energy held within his hands. Black tendrils writhed within, straining against the confines of golden magic enforced by Niklaus's will. A palpable sense of dread emanated from the sphere, causing a shiver to run down the spines of those present. Yet, Persia remained unfazed. 

"This is the essence," Niklaus declared, gesturing towards the condensed energy held within his hands. "I will see to it that it is returned to Lord Tartarus." He turned his gaze towards Artemis, his expression grave. "Your brother remains unconscious and will not awaken for at least three days," he informed her. "During his convalescence, he must remain confined to his bed. I have labelled the necessary medicines and their dosages. Ensure he takes them as prescribed."

"I will ensure it is done, Lord Niklaus," Artemis affirmed resolutely. 

Persia observed the scene for a brief moment before tentatively moving towards Annabeth, seeking solace in her friend's presence amidst the turmoil that waged within her mind. However, before she could take more than a few steps, an inexplicable force jerked her back to the threshold of Apollo's private chambers.

Confusion clouded her thoughts as she attempted to break free from the unseen restraint, but it held her firmly in place, like an unyielding grip refusing to release its hold.

Panic stirred within her as she glanced around, searching for answers in the bewildering situation. 

Annabeth approached, noticing the peculiar problem. Her hand extended towards Persia, only to meet an invisible barrier that halted her advance. Confusion etched lines of worry across her brow, her eyes meeting Persia's in a silent plea for explanation.

"Sia, why can't I reach you?" Annabeth's voice quivered with concern, betraying the fear that gripped her.

Persia's throat tightened with a sense of foreboding, the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon her. 

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Dread coiled in the pit of her stomach as the air crackled with tension, and her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. 

What was happening?

"I did not anticipate this development," Niklaus admitted, his gaze meeting Persia's with a hint of sympathy. "But worry not, Heiress. You are safe. The barrier preventing you from leaving is a manifestation of Apollo's subconsciousness."

Niklaus inclined his head, a glint of interest shimmering in his eyes before he regained his composure to explain. 

"Heiress, when an immortal sustains an injury to their spirit, they seek the person who they believe will protect them in their period of vulnerability. Their subconscious instinctively shields their chosen person and prevents them from leaving. As you can see..." He waved his hand, and a shimmering barrier in the air could be seen, "...it often materialises as a protective barrier."

“Brilliant news," Persia breathed deeply, steadying her fraying temper. 

"My Lady, please refrain from attempting to breach the barrier," Niklaus implored, his voice laced with understanding. "It would only serve to further strain Apollo's already weakened spirit which is already taxed by his battle with both the essence of Tartarus and the barrier itself. I beseech you, maintain a calm composure."

“I understand," she murmured wearily, her hand raking through her hair in frustration. "Now what?"

"My advice would be for you to care for Apollo in his sister's absence, as the barrier will not permit anyone else's entry. Once  Apollo awakens and regains control of his powers, he will be able to dismantle the barrier."

"So Persia is essentially stuck with him for the foreseeable future?" Annabeth exclaimed, disbelief colouring her tone.

"Yes, for at least a week," Niklaus affirmed.

Pain. It gripped Apollo like a vice, threading through his veins, tightening with every pulse of his weakened heart. Each breath felt like shards of glass raking through his chest, his divine essence unraveling at the edges. He drifted in a fog of suffering, unable to fully grasp reality, his body a vessel of torment. Darkness swirled, pressing in on all sides. For a god who had known only light, the weight of this shadow was suffocating.

Somewhere in the chaos, a whisper of calm reached out to him. A warmth. It was faint, like the touch of a breeze in the dead of night, barely there—but present. He clung to it, feeling it brush against the raw edges of his soul, offering a fragile kind of relief. Yet, the dark energy still clung to him, relentless, refusing to release its hold. It gnawed at him, and no matter how hard he tried to push it away, his strength crumbled.

But then—something shifted. The warmth grew, steadying him, a pulse of quiet power rising within the storm. Slowly, Apollo felt it threading through him, countering the corrosive force, stitching him back together one breath at a time. The haze lifted just enough for him to realize: this wasn’t his own strength. It was something—or someone—else.

He willed himself to focus, to turn inward, grasping for any sliver of power left to fight back. The malevolent energy recoiled, ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. His body tensed, sensing something foreign nearby, something strong and unfamiliar. His muscles coiled, on edge, instinctively rejecting the proximity of these unknown forces, especially one that felt... empty. Hollow. Dangerous.

And then it returned—the soothing presence. Stronger now, steady as a heartbeat, resting beside him. It lingered longer this time, wrapping around his spirit like a cool balm to his burning soul. Apollo leaned into it, feeling his torment subside just enough to allow him a moment’s peace.

But like before, it vanished. A flicker, then gone, leaving him gasping in its absence, his body twisting in fresh waves of pain.

An eternity seemed to pass before the presence returned once more, but this time, it brought with it something even stronger—a surge of power, vast and overwhelming, far greater than his own. He braced himself, expecting it to crush him under its weight. But it didn’t. It entered with a strange gentleness, as if asking permission rather than demanding control. There was no malice, no intent to harm, only... reassurance.

The dark energy inside him shuddered, then fled, retreating like a shadow chased from the sun. Apollo exhaled, his body relaxing for the first time since the wound had been struck. His pain dulled to a distant throb.

That soothing presence—whoever or whatever it was—remained beside him, lingering in the quiet. Apollo, weak but determined, held onto it with the last shred of his consciousness. He wasn’t ready to let it go.

Not again.

Not ever.

Consciousness came to Apollo in fragments—faint melodies drifting through the haze, the soft press of fingers against his temple, and the warmth of a touch that lingered at the edge of his awareness. He fought to resurface, compelled by some deep, unspoken need to break through the fog. His eyes fluttered open briefly, only to shut again, overwhelmed by the flood of light and sensation.

"Must you always be so stubborn?" The voice was familiar, laced with exasperation but soft, almost indulgent. "Keep them closed. I’ll dim the lights."

He obeyed, listening to her rise from his side. There was no sound to her footsteps, but the faint rustle of fabric gave her away. She moved through the room with a practiced grace, as if she belonged there, as if she had always been there.

When he opened his eyes again, the brightness was muted, and his gaze fell upon someone he hadn’t expected. Persia stood over him, arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and concern. The sight of her brought a jolt to his system—so sudden and sharp that he tried to sit up, only for pain to slice through him like fire. A groan escaped before he could stop it, his body sinking back against the bed in defeat.

"Stay still," she commanded. "You’ve barely begun to heal. Moving now will only make it worse. I’ll adjust the pillows."

It had been a long time since Apollo had felt vulnerable, a god brought low by something he couldn’t fight with strength alone. And now, Persia’s presence beside him only magnified that unfamiliar feeling, her calm steadiness a reminder that he wasn’t invincible. That he’d needed help. Her help.

The thought stung more than the wounds.

He lay still, the weight of her hands adjusting the pillows behind him, the brush of her fingers grazing his shoulders, all of it too gentle, too precise. He felt the heat of her body close to his, but she never lingered too long. It was maddening how much control she had, how easily she managed to maintain that distance, even as she took care of him.

And for heaven's sake, that scent—jasmine and cinnamon—it was woven into the air around her, subtle, teasing, pulling at him in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge. The smell clung to him, clung to the room, as if she had left a mark without even trying.

“Must you always make everything difficult?” Her voice cut through the quiet, that familiar sharpness edging her words.

He grimaced, more from her tone than the pain. “Only when I’m forced to deal with you,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Her brow arched, the corner of her mouth twitching in a ghost of a smile, but she quickly smoothed it away. “You’re insufferable,” she said softly, adjusting the blankets with a kind of care that didn’t match the bite of her words. “But I suppose even gods are allowed their weaknesses.”

His eyes narrowed, his pride flaring, but before he could muster a retort, another wave of pain coursed through him, cutting his breath short. He groaned, his hand instinctively gripping the edge of the bed as if to ground himself. Persia’s eyes flicked to his, sharp and alert.

“That,” she said dryly, “was a remarkably foolish thing to do.”

Apollo glared at her, or tried to. He had no strength left to argue, though her unflinching stare made him want to. Persia’s gaze held his, calm but intense, like she was waiting for him to break or confess something he wasn’t ready to admit.

He hated that look.

He hated how much it unnerved him, how much she unnerved him. They had never been enemies, not really, but they weren’t allies either. Not in the way that mattered. Still, here she was, saving him.

Her hands hovered over him, lingering for a moment too long before she pulled back, returning to her place at his bedside. “The energy that poisoned you,” she said, her voice more matter-of-fact now, “came from Tartarus. Porphyrion wasn’t playing games.”

Her words were direct, efficient. Like her. But beneath the surface, Apollo caught a flicker of something deeper—something she wouldn’t let show. Concern. Maybe.

He tried to respond, but the words died in his throat, his chest shaking with a cough. Persia sighed, exasperated but not unkind, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you ever listen?” she muttered, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table.

She brought the glass to his lips, her fingers brushing his skin, cool against the fevered warmth of his own. He drank slowly, savoring the relief as the water eased the dryness in his throat. When she pulled the glass away, her touch lingered for just a heartbeat longer than it needed to.

And he wasn’t sure if she had done it on purpose.

Persia settled back in her chair, her posture rigid, as if she could pretend that the moment hadn’t happened, that the strange current between them wasn’t real. But Apollo felt it. She had to feel it too. The air was thick with it, a tension that neither of them seemed willing to break.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, the way her gaze flicked over him, assessing, as if searching for something she didn’t quite understand herself. She had been here for longer than she would admit, longer than he’d ever thought she would stay. And somehow, the silence between them was worse than any argument, any insult they could throw at each other.

Persia crossed her arms, her fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve, the only outward sign of her restlessness. “You should’ve stayed unconscious,” she muttered, her voice low, almost to herself. “It would’ve been easier.”

“For you?” he managed to rasp, a weak smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Her eyes snapped back to his, narrowing, but there was something in them that wasn’t annoyance, something almost... vulnerable. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words seemed to die on her lips, replaced by an almost imperceptible sigh.

“For both of us,” she said quietly, almost too quietly.

The silence between them thickened, a strange, charged quiet that clung to the air, leaving things unsaid but felt all the same. Apollo could sense something shifting, something subtle, just beneath the surface. Persia’s gaze skimmed over him, her sharpness softened for a fraction of a second before she turned away. Whatever it was, it left a hollow feeling in his chest, something he wasn’t ready to name.

The scent of jasmine lingered, curling around him like a whisper of something unfinished.

“As you’re already awake, it’s best to take your medication first.” Her voice, calm and steady, sliced through the quiet, but there was an undertone of something else, a pull of authority she didn’t need to enforce. She moved with purpose, rising from the bed without looking back at him. “After that, I’ll explain why I’m here.”

Apollo watched her walk away, his gaze drawn to the easy grace of her movements. She made everything look deliberate, like even the smallest gesture had been considered and controlled. He hadn’t noticed the small table in the corner until now, an unfamiliar presence in the familiar space of his private chambers. He blinked, realizing for the first time that this wasn’t just anywhere.

This was Delos. His sanctuary. And she was here.

No woman had ever crossed the threshold of this room—not in any way that mattered. It was sacred, intimate, untouched by anyone save for Artemis or their mother. And yet, Persia moved through it as though she belonged, as if the boundaries that once mattered didn’t apply to her. The unsettling part was that it didn’t feel wrong.

Apollo let his eyes roam the space. His belongings were undisturbed, everything exactly where it should be. But somehow, the air felt different, thicker. He inhaled, catching the faint scent of rosemary, sage, and myrrh, curling into the space with an earthy calmness that didn’t quite ease the knot forming in his chest. The lamps had been dimmed, their light soft, casting a warm glow that felt almost too intimate for what was supposed to be a simple recovery. The moonlight trickled in from the balcony, and for a moment, it seemed to gather around Persia, tracing the edges of her figure in silver light.

Apollo swallowed, his pulse quickening for reasons he couldn’t explain.

His eyes lingered on her longer than they should have. She was seated now, working over a small mortar and pestle, her movements measured and deliberate. The soft scrape of stone against stone echoed in the quiet. Her hair, loose and unbound, cascaded down her back in dark, glossy waves, catching the faintest hint of light like strands of midnight spun with stars. It was the first time he’d seen her without the severe braids she usually favored, and the effect was... disarming.

For the first time, Apollo allowed himself to really see her.

The soft lavender of her chiton skimmed over her body, falling in folds that both concealed and revealed. The fabric clung to her lightly, brushing against her skin as she moved, and he found himself watching the way it shifted, the way it flowed with her. His chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries, and he immediately looked away, hating how much she unsettled him.

She wasn’t supposed to have this effect on him. Not Persia.

But still, his thoughts drifted, unbidden. He wondered, for a fleeting second, if she knew how to dance.

Without looking up, she rose, the fluidity of her movement catching his eye again. Every step seemed deliberate, as if she was holding something back, something deeper. She crossed the room with that same unhurried grace, approaching his bedside with a small cup cradled in her hands.

Apollo recoiled instinctively when he saw the green liquid swirling inside. Bitter herbs, no doubt. He could almost taste the bitterness just by looking at it. His face twisted in protest before he could stop himself.

Persia’s lips quirked, not quite a smile but close.

 “You’ve faced worse than this,” she said, her voice teasing just enough to make him bristle.

He narrowed his eyes, but there was no real heat behind the glare. “I’m not fond of drinking things that look like they were scraped from the bottom of the Styx.”

She tilted her head, her gaze flicking to his with the faintest hint of amusement. “You’re more fragile than I thought.”

“I’m not fragile,” he bit back, but the words lacked bite. The way she looked at him, as though she could see right through him, rattled him more than he cared to admit.

“Then drink.” She held the cup out, her eyes holding his as if daring him to refuse. “I’d rather not force you.”

"...and why do you need to go there, Ares?" They caught the tail end of the Queen of Gods' acerbic words.

Thalia glanced nervously at Annabeth and Jason. Jason seemed unwilling to move until the Queen had departed, and Thalia silently agreed with his caution.

It was a fundamental rule of survival as a child of Zeus: keep your head down and out of the way, lest it draw attention from the Queen. And if you did catch her attention? You better know how to survive.

Fortunately, Annabeth nodded in agreement, willing to wait in the woods until the tense situation had diffused.

From the safety of the shadows in the woods, they observed with cautious gazes as frustration etched onto the face of Zeus's wife. Ares mirrored her frustration, his demeanour tense and his gaze slightly feral, as if he were on the verge of snapping.

Raised voices and unfriendly words filled the air, directed towards Persia, Leto, Apollo, and demigods in general. The hostility elicited snarls from both Ares and Annabeth. the tension palpable in the air. Thankfully, Jason intervened, preventing Annabeth from marching into the midst of what appeared to be a confrontation between mother and son.

Thalia simmered with fury, every fibre of her being tense with the desire to lash out. However, she exercised restraint, recognizing the futility of trying to change the views of someone as obstinate as Hera. Moreover, she had no wish to meet an early demise or become the target of Hera's vengeance

"Be gone, Mother!" Ares's voice echoed loudly through the woods, causing Thalia's heart to race. "I am done with your behaviour. I will not tolerate this any longer."

With a huff and a glare of derision, Hera departed, leaving behind a lingering tension that hung heavy in the air.

Ares ran a frustrated hand through his wild, shaggy hair, and Thalia hesitated, reconsidering her decision to approach him after witnessing the tense situation. However, before she could act, Ares made the decision for her.

"Come out, you three," he called out, his voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and urgency.

Thalia exchanged surprised glances with Jason and Annabeth as they stepped out of the woods, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet darkness. Olympus, and consequently the entire world, had been plunged into darkness in the wake of Apollo's injury on Delos. Even Artemis had refrained from riding her moon chariot during those days.

The mortal world and the land itself were bathed in perpetual night, illuminated only by the brilliance of the stars overhead. However, if Apollo were truly to awaken, it would mean the return of the sun the next day, even if he were unable to ride his chariot.

"I hope you will not speak about what you have witnessed to anyone. Stay out of mother's sight as well. I don't want you to become the object of her misplaced ire," Ares advised them, surprising Thalia with the soundness of his words. Her thoughts must have been evident on her face, for she received a wry smile from him.

"Your mother is aware of our presence," Annabeth interjected with a knowing look.

"Yes," Ares confirmed, a hint of respect in his tone. "She might not be a combat-preferring goddess, but she is still skilled in the art."

"We will heed your advice. Thank you for the warning," Jason replied, ever polite.

Ares waved him off. "Think nothing of it. What were you here for?"

"We just—" Thalia began, drawing Ares' attention to her as she forged ahead. "—we're wondering if Lord Apollo is well. We heard that he woke up for a few moments."

"He did," Ares confirmed. "Lady Leto consulted Lord Niklaus on the matter. He is not pleased about the unnecessary strain, but he is hopeful that Apollo will recover much faster than average."

"That's better," Thalia sighed, a small smile gracing her lips. "Lady Artemis must be happy."

"She is ecstatic."

"We should visit at least once," Annabeth suggested, glancing at Jason and Thalia.

"We should," Thalia agreed, seeking Jason's opinion with a questioning glance. He subtly shook his head, signalling his reluctance. "I do not think crowding in Delos will be helpful to anyone. Perhaps we can wish Lord Apollo a speedy recovery after he has returned to Olympus?"

Thalia sighed, understanding her brother's apprehension. Despite his compassionate nature, he did not trust the Gods, and Delos would be unfamiliar territory for him—a risk he was unwilling to take.

Ares regarded Jason with a curious look before nodding in agreement. "That is a better alternative. Why don't you and Thalia head to the mortal lands? Given your friends are busy at the moment, take the time to explore. It would help you keep out of my mother's sight for the time being as well. She doesn't look too closely in the mortal lands."

When Apollo awoke, the first thing he noticed was the lightness in his body, a marked improvement from the ache that had weighed him down before. His eyes drifted across the room, instinctively seeking the familiar figure that had been near him during his bouts of restless sleep. But the space beside him was empty, the quiet stillness of the room wrapping around him.

Slowly, gingerly, he pushed himself upright, his muscles still sore but no longer protesting with the same sharpness. His gaze swept to the balcony—and there she was.

Persia sat on the floor, legs folded in a lotus position, her back perfectly straight, her eyes closed in serene meditation. The early morning light played across her features, casting her in a soft glow. But that wasn't what caught Apollo's breath. A golden aura surrounded her, faint but unmistakable, wrapping around her like a veil of light. At the center of her brow, a marking glowed—ancient, intricate, yet too fleeting for him to fully decipher before it vanished, the aura fading with it.

As if sensing his gaze, Persia's eyes flickered open, calm and steady. She met his eyes without hesitation, and for a moment, Apollo couldn't quite place the quiet power that seemed to emanate from her in that instant.

"Good morning, Lord Apollo," she said, her voice carrying an easy warmth as she rose from her meditative pose with a fluid grace. "How do you feel today?"

There was something in her tone, something light yet measured, as though she already knew the answer but was content to let him say it.

Apollo blinked, not quite able to shake the image of her wrapped in that golden glow. He studied her for a beat longer, searching her expression for something he couldn’t name. But Persia was as unreadable as ever, her serene demeanor unshaken.

"You seem in good spirits," he remarked, his voice low, though he couldn’t help the note of curiosity that crept in.

Persia’s eyes sparkled, though her lips curved into a sharp, teasing smile. "I am," she replied, her tone carrying a playful edge. "And I trust you won’t attempt to ruin it."

Apollo let out a low chuckle, the tension between them shifting into something more familiar, yet still charged with that undercurrent of unspoken words. "Ah, but isn't that what I do best?" he quipped, his lips curling into a smirk.

Persia's smile widened, though there was a challenge hidden beneath its sweetness as she stepped closer, presenting him with a small goblet. "Shall I assist you in taking this medicine?" she asked, her tone almost too polite, though her eyes held a glint of mischief. "Or are you capable of managing it yourself?"

Apollo shot her a withering look but took the goblet from her hands, the cool metal pressing into his palm. The bitterness of the medicine hit his tongue as soon as he swallowed, and he grimaced, his face contorting as the foul taste lingered. Persia said nothing, but the faintest trace of amusement flickered in her eyes, though she quickly masked it with practiced indifference.

"You seem to enjoy this," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I do enjoy seeing you cooperate for once," she said, a lightness in her voice that he couldn't quite place. She held out a glass of water, which he took with less resistance this time.

As he drank, Persia lingered beside him, her presence quiet yet undeniable. She didn’t hover, but she didn’t retreat either, as though some invisible line had been drawn between them, one they were both too aware of but unwilling to cross. The air between them hummed with it, that unspoken tension, the push and pull of two forces that couldn’t quite find their balance.

After a long moment, she broke the silence. "Lord Niklaus will be here soon to check on you," she said, her voice soft but matter-of-fact, as though this strange moment between them had not existed.

Apollo didn’t respond right away, his eyes drifting back to her, tracing the lines of her profile as she turned slightly, the morning light catching the edge of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone. There was something different about her today, something that made him pause, though he couldn’t pinpoint what. Maybe it was the lingering memory of that golden aura, or the ease with which she moved in and out of his space. Or maybe, it was the unsettling realization that Persia, this woman who had complicated his life in more ways than one, had somehow slipped past his defenses.

He shook his head, dispelling the thought, and placed the glass back down on the table with a quiet clink.

"Very well," he said finally, his voice quiet but even, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But next time, I’ll ruin your good mood properly."

Persia’s eyes gleamed with something close to laughter, though she didn’t say a word. Instead, she offered him the slightest of nods, as though accepting his challenge, before turning away. A soft call of "Persia" resonated from outside the door, prompting her to swiftly move towards it, a warm smile adorning her features.

"Father!"

"Darling," Poseidon reciprocated her smile as he stepped into view. "How have you been?"

Persia couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly. "How do you think I've been after tending to Lord Apollo?"

Poseidon chuckled, his gaze shifting towards Apollo, whose glare intensified at Persia's back.

"By the way, Father, do you happen to know why the cyclopes are lingering around the palace?" Persia inquired, raising an eyebrow at Poseidon's evasive gaze. "I've noticed their presence for some time now."

"Ah, just some added protection, nothing more," Poseidon replied, swiftly diverting the conversation. "Lord Niklaus has arrived. He'll be here shortly. Have you had anything to eat, my dear?"

"Some fruits," Persia replied, before noticing Niklaus approaching. Behind him stood Zeus, Artemis, Will, and Leto.

"Heiress, it is good to see you again," Niklaus greeted her formally.

"You as well, Lord Niklaus," Persia replied with equal formality, stepping aside to allow him entry.

Apollo observed with keen interest as the man entered the room, his curiosity piqued by the newcomer. However, his intrigue quickly turned to agony as a sudden vision overwhelmed his senses, causing him to clutch his head in pain.

In his vision, the Underworld materialised before him. The earth shifted, forming the figure of a man—broad-shouldered, adorned in flowing garments of dark red and white. In his hands rested a bejewelled staff, his gaze stern yet benevolent.

A voice resonated through the vision, echoing in Apollo's mind, "Niklaus of the Underworld, you shall be its Guardian. Do your duty well."

"I will, Mother," came the solemn reply.

The intensity of the vision sent shivers down Apollo's spine, leaving him with an unsettling sensation.

As Niklaus approached, Apollo greeted him respectfully, "Greetings to the Venerable Guardian of the Underworld."

Niklaus responded with a serene smile, "A vision, I believe? You must be exceptional to have such a strong bond to Time. Just like your mother."

"Like my mother?" Apollo inquired, his expression reflecting his confusion. His gaze shifted towards his mother, who entered the room gracefully, her presence effortlessly breaching his protective barrier. She stood beside him, her eyes holding an unspoken emotion that eluded his understanding.

He pondered when it had come to pass that he could no longer discern his mother's feelings.

"Yes, your mother," Niklaus affirmed, paying no heed to Leto's unexpected presence as he gently examined Apollo's wrist for signs of his well-being. "Surely you are aware that the Orphic abilities stem from your maternal lineage? Lady Phoebe's descendants have always been favoured by Lord Time. Your mother, Leto, has been personally blessed by him."

Before Apollo could formulate a response, Leto interjected, "That's enough, Nik. You may enlighten my son further on this matter later. For now, please provide me with an update on his condition."

Apollo glanced up at his mother, a sense of wonder in his eyes. How long had it been since he had been addressed with such tenderness? Since he had felt the warmth of maternal affection?

"Far better," Niklaus responded with a reassuring smile. "His body is responding well and healing at a rapid pace. I recommend three more days of bed rest before he attempts to stand and move around his room."

His expression turned solemn as he addressed Apollo directly, "Son, even immortals suffer considerable harm from Tartarus. You may find that your control over your powers has diminished, and your body may struggle to bear your full weight. This is normal. With gradual movement and exercise of your abilities, you will experience significant improvement. As the God of Healing, I believe your recovery will be swifter than most."

"However," Niklaus cautioned, "you may notice changes in your powers and behaviour. Exposure to Tartarus or its energies leaves a lasting impact."

Apollo nodded in understanding. Niklaus then turned to Persia, who had been observing quietly. "Heiress, your father has requested a health assessment for you as well." Persia's eyes widened, silently appealing to Poseidon, who responded with a stern look.

Amusement flickered in Niklaus's eyes at her reaction as he continued, "Furthermore, Lady Zyenthea insisted on a checkup for you. I am not one to disobey a direct order from Power.” His gaze held a hint of jest as he extended his hand. "May I see your wrist, please?" 

Persia pouted slightly, her reluctance evident. "Is it truly necessary? I assure you, I am perfectly fine," she insisted, turning to seek support from Leto.

Leto chuckled softly, guiding her to sit at the foot of the bed. "If you truly are well, then this examination will be brief. There's no harm in ensuring your health."

"You and my mother are surely conspiring against me," Persia remarked, half in jest.

Leto shook her head, a fond smile gracing her features. "I've known your mother longer than anyone else, even before your uncle Hades. We've been companions since childhood. Is it so surprising that we might agree with each other on almost all matters?”

Apollo blinked in surprise at the revelation, his golden eyes widening slightly. Artemis, who was standing outside the chamber, mirrored his astonishment, her own eyes reflecting equal disbelief.

Meanwhile, Niklaus furrowed his brow as he conducted his examination. "There are traces of various poisons in your blood, signs of physical exhaustion, and an old abdominal injury that hasn't fully healed. Additionally, I detect remnants of..." His voice trailed off as he made a startling discovery, his eyes locking with Persia's.

"What is it?" Poseidon's voice betrayed his concern.

"Tartarus," Niklaus responded gravely, meeting Poseidon's shocked gaze. "The essence detected is nearly two decades old."

"Ah, yes, that one." Persia waved off the information casually as everyone absorbed the revelation. "It's old information, Lord Niklaus. It happened during the War. Nothing to worry about."

"Which war?" Niklaus inquired, furrowing his brow. "I do not remember any such wars in the nearby past."

Persia sighed, "Gigantomachy, the second. We are from the future. I fell into Tartarus, and some of the essence must have remained within my body."

Niklaus blinked in surprise at the unexpected explanation. "I see. Well, the essence is quite miniscule. I do not believe extracting it is possible."

"I know. You told me the same thing once. Let it be, it’s not causing harm." Persia dismissed the concern with a calm demeanour.

"Alright," Niklaus acknowledged, glancing at the frowning Poseidon. Poseidon inquired, "Is it possible to remove the remnants with the use of medicine?"

Niklaus hummed thoughtfully, "Yes, there is. I will send the vial to you, King Poseidon." 

He wondered why he had not given her the medicine in the future. His gaze lingered on Persia's petite form.

"Please do. My gratitude." Poseidon requested, nodding with gratitude. 

"Think nothing of it," Niklaus reassured, observing Persia's displeasure at having to take the medicine.

The golden glow of the hearth flickered against the walls as night fell, casting long shadows that danced around the room. Persia moved with quiet efficiency, her silhouette slipping in and out of the firelight as she worked. The gentle scrape of a knife cutting through vegetables and the soft bubbling of a pot filled the silence. The aroma of spices hung in the air, warm and familiar, mingling with the rich scent of roasting meat.

Apollo lay on the bed, his eyes half-lidded, watching her in the soft glow. It had been so long since this room had felt like home, a place of warmth rather than isolation. The scene tugged at something deep within him, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in centuries. The fire, the food, the quiet hum of Persia’s voice as she hummed to herself—it all brought back memories of a simpler time, when Leto had made this chamber feel like a sanctuary, long before he became the god he was now.

He was drawn back to the present by the sound of Persia’s soft humming. There was something comforting about it, though he would never admit it aloud. He shifted on the bed, feeling restless, his body still weak from the injuries he’d sustained. Persia had warned him to rest—more than once—but the quiet energy between them, the way her presence filled the space, made him want to move. To push back against the vulnerability that had wrapped itself around him since he’d woken.

He didn’t realize he had tried to stand until he felt the cold stone floor beneath his feet. A moment later, the ground tilted under him, and he landed with a dull thud.

Persia spun around, her eyes widening in surprise. "Lord Apollo?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the soft crackle of the fire. In two quick steps, she was at his side, concern flickering in her gaze as she knelt beside him. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a mix of exasperation and something gentler that she tried to hide.

"I thought I could..." he muttered, wincing as he tried to push himself up, only to be met with the sting of his own body betraying him. His pride stung more than the fall.

"Clearly, you can’t." Persia sighed, shaking her head as she gently slipped her arm around his back to help him stand. Her movements were firm, but not rough. There was a softness in the way she supported him, a patience that both irritated and soothed him. “Why must you always be so difficult?”

“I didn’t think I’d lost this much strength,” Apollo grumbled as she guided him back to the bed, her hands steady but cool against his skin.

“You’ll regain it,” she said quietly. “But not by ignoring me.” Her tone was calm, but there was an edge to it that made him glance at her. Something unreadable passed through her expression before she turned away, moving back to the stove.

Apollo stayed still, frustrated by the weakness in his limbs, the weight of his own pride. From his position on the bed, he watched her as she plated the food with care, arranging it in a way that seemed almost ceremonial. She crossed the room with effortless grace, setting the plate before him with a raised brow, her lips quirking into a teasing smile.

“So,” she said, her voice light but laced with amusement, “are you capable of feeding yourself, or do I need to assist you?”

The playful jab stung more than it should have. Apollo scowled, his pride flaring. "I’m perfectly capable," he snapped, grabbing the fork with more force than necessary, though his hand trembled slightly.

Persia raised her hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Alright, alright. No need to get defensive." She took a seat nearby, watching him for a moment before her gaze drifted back to the fire.

They ate in silence, the tension between them settling into something almost comfortable, if only for a while. The food was good, and though Apollo wouldn’t admit it aloud, it was the best thing he’d tasted in what felt like ages. His pride remained bruised, but the warmth of the meal soothed some of that bitterness.

After a few bites, he glanced at her, his voice quiet. "You’re a good cook."

Persia looked up, surprised by the compliment. She smiled softly, her gaze warming just a little. "Thank you. But half the credit goes to my mother. She taught me everything I know."

The mention of her mother brought a shadow over her face, brief but noticeable, before she quickly masked it. Apollo watched her, intrigued by the flicker of vulnerability she rarely showed.

When she brought out the tray of desserts, Apollo’s eyes widened, recognizing the flavors instantly as he took a bite. The familiar sweetness brought back a rush of memories, filling the silence between them with something almost nostalgic.

"These..." he began, his voice trailing off as he took another bite, savoring the taste. "These were made by my mother, weren’t they?"

Persia hummed in agreement. "She visited while you were asleep."

Apollo’s brow furrowed. "I didn’t know she could enter the chamber."

"She can. Lord Niklaus explained that mothers are granted certain exceptions," Persia said, her voice even. "But... he had to ask her to leave eventually. Her presence was starting to strain your powers."

Apollo nodded slowly, absorbing her words. He didn’t miss the way Persia spoke of his mother—familiar, almost affectionate. "You seem close to her."

Persia hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the table before she answered. "We were... before." She paused, her voice softer now. "With Mama back, it wasn’t hard to reconnect."

Apollo didn’t reply immediately, his thoughts swirling with the strange sense of displacement that always came when he thought of Leto. His mother had always been a quiet presence in his life, but now, seeing Persia’s connection to her... it stirred something uncomfortable. He pushed the thought aside.

As Persia brought over the bitter concoction of medicine, he recoiled instinctively. "No. Absolutely not."

"You can’t be serious." Persia raised an eyebrow, holding out the cup. "Don’t tell me the great Lord Apollo is afraid of a little bitterness."

"Afraid?" He scoffed, crossing his arms. "I simply refuse to subject myself to that torture."

"Is that a challenge?" Her eyes gleamed, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Before he could answer,

Persia pinched Apollo’s arm, the movement quick and precise. He winced, more from the shock of it than the pain, eyes narrowing as he opened his mouth to protest. But before he could utter a word, the cup was at his lips, the bitter medicine already sliding down his throat.

She stepped back, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “This is what I would do,” she said lightly, setting the empty cup aside with a quiet clink. "You should know by now—I always win."

Apollo’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and edged with simmering anger. “I’ve already seen such a ‘win,’ haven’t I?”

Her smile faded, the shift in his tone unmistakable. Persia met his gaze, unflinching. "You were the one to challenge me,” she reminded him, her voice steady, though her eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Why be angry when I did exactly what you asked?"

His fingers curled into fists, his pride stung deeper than he cared to admit. "I didn’t ask you to use my son as a pawn," he ground out, the bitterness in his voice sharp enough to cut.

Persia’s expression softened for a heartbeat—barely noticeable, but there. Still, her tone remained calm. “I didn’t use your son,” she said, her words careful, precise. “His arrogance was his own undoing, not mine.”

Apollo’s anger simmered just beneath the surface, the heat of it rising as he held her gaze. “You manipulated the situation,” he accused, his voice low, dangerous. Even in his weakened state, power radiated off him in waves, a warning she didn’t heed.

The tension between them thickened, palpable in the quiet room. Neither of them moved, neither willing to back down.

Persia didn’t flinch. “I did what was necessary,” she replied, her voice as calm as before, though there was steel beneath it. “You set the challenge in motion. You were the one who escalated things.” Her gaze locked with his, unwavering. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, Lord Apollo, look in the mirror.”

The anger flared again, sharp and hot. His eyes flashed with frustration, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. Persia stood before him, calm and composed, while he felt the bruised weight of his pride pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.

She took a step closer, her movements slow, deliberate. "Lord Apollo," she said, her voice gentler now, though still firm. “Calm yourself.” She paused, then took a seat on the edge of the bed beside him, her proximity disarming in its quiet intensity. “I never intended to provoke you or wound your pride. We’ve both been caught up in the moment.” Her voice softened, and for a moment, it was just the two of them in the room, the firelight casting shadows across the floor, flickering between their words.

He felt her presence more than ever now—the steadiness of her voice, the quiet authority in her eyes. It grated on him, how easily she could maintain her composure, how she seemed to read him in ways he wished she couldn’t. But beneath the anger, something else stirred. Something unspoken.

Apollo let out a shaky breath, his chest still tight. His eyes locked on hers, searching for something—he didn’t know what. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Persia began again, her words soft but weighted. “A leader needs integrity, humility, tolerance. These are the qualities that hold an army together. That build trust. Your son lacked these qualities, and no amount of strength or skill could have compensated for that.” She held his gaze, the quiet firmness in her voice refusing to let him look away. "I did what was necessary because I believe in more than just power. I believe in the kind of leadership that doesn’t rely on fear."

Apollo’s gaze faltered, just for a moment. He hated that what she said made sense. That it rang with a truth he didn’t want to admit. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, though the anger still clung to him, lingering like smoke in the air.

“You could’ve said this before,” he murmured, his voice rough with frustration, though the edge of it had dulled. “Then maybe... maybe all of this could’ve been avoided.”

Persia shrugged, a small, nonchalant movement, but there was something almost tender in the way she looked at him now, something unspoken in the space between them. “You didn’t ask,” she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice, though her eyes remained steady.

Apollo sighed, the fight draining out of him. He knew she was right. But it stung, admitting it. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore—it felt different now, charged with something else. Something that had been there all along but neither of them had wanted to acknowledge.

He glanced at her, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow across her face. She looked different in this light—less distant, less formidable. And as the silence stretched between them, Apollo found himself drawn to that softness, despite himself.

“I didn’t ask,” he echoed, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, but he felt the shift between them, the way the tension had given way to something quieter, something deeper.

Persia didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. There was an understanding in the silence now, in the way their gazes lingered just a little too long, in the way neither of them seemed willing to leave.

And in that fragile quiet, Apollo realized that their relationship was changing—had already changed, in ways he couldn’t quite define. They were no longer enemies. But they weren’t friends either.

Not yet. But something was there, simmering beneath the surface. Something neither of them could deny.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟐 : 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧.

Poseidon's tension was palpable in his expression as he scanned the faces around him. His gaze settled momentarily on Annabeth — his daughter’s closest confidante who was seated with Nico and Will on a weathered wooden bench nestled in the inner courtyard of Apollo’s palace.

Annabeth was Persia’s trusted companion and she would surely possess insights into Persia's mysterious descent into Tartarus, he reasoned within his mind.

"Annabeth?" Poseidon called out, his voice tinged with a mixture of anxiety and urgency.

Annabeth sensed the gravity in Poseidon's tone as she approached him; her expression reflected a blend of curiosity and concern.

"Yes, Lord Poseidon? Is everything alright?" she inquired, her voice soft yet tinged with apprehension.

Poseidon's worry spilled forth in his next words; his concern was evident as he broached the topic that weighed heavily on his mind. "Do you know how Persia fell into Tartarus?" he queried, his voice laden with unease. "She mentioned something about the Gigantomachy."

"Why would she bring that up?" she mused aloud, her brows furrowing with concern and surprise. "She usually avoids discussing that time." 

Before Poseidon could elaborate further, Niklaus interjected somberly, "During my examination, I detected remnants of Tartarus's essence within her," he explained, his gaze shifting towards Poseidon. "I refrained from divulging this earlier to prevent unnecessary alarm but the intensity of the traces suggests a prolonged exposure to the realm of Tartarus."

Poseidon's heart sank at Niklaus's revelation as the weight of the news settled heavily upon him. 

"Yes, we were there for more than a year." Annabeth confirmed with a nod. 

The implications of Annabeth's ensuing exclamation reverberated through the courtyard sending shockwaves through the assembled company. 

Athena's expression mirrored Poseidon's concern as she approached Annabeth. It had startled her into a shock when she heard that her daughter had been to Tartarus. Her voice trembled with anxiety when she spoke next. 

"We? For more than a year?" she echoed, her eyes wide with alarm. "What were you doing there?"

"It will be detailed in the book," she evaded, her tone tight with restraint. "It's a pivotal aspect of our triumph in the war against the Giants.” She avoided direct contact as she deflected the inquiry.

Poseidon sank onto a nearby bench with his heart heavy with apprehension. "How did you two manage to endure?" he pressed, his voice laden with worry.

Annabeth corrected him gently. "Three of us. Nico was there too," she clarified, her gaze distant as she recalled the harrowing ordeal. "We did not survive, Lord Poseidon. It was a battle of wills between life and death. Persia had teetered on the brink of death languishing in a semi-coma for nearly a year and a half. Nico and I fared no better. But Persia bore the brunt of the suffering."

Niklaus interjected, his brow furrowed in contemplation as he listened to the ongoing conversation. "I must not have employed the same extraction process utilised in Apollo's case," he observed, "Am I mistaken?"

"No, Lord Niklaus," she confirmed, a faint smile touching her lips. "You opted against the extraction method. You had informed us of its potential detriment to Persia's demigod physiology. I remember that her fragile state rendered her incapable of withstanding such a procedure. It took the entirety of that year to purge the essence from her unconscious form leaving behind residual traces within her."

Poseidon nodded, a sense of gratitude colouring his expression. "Thank you for enlightening us," he murmured. Annabeth gave a small smile of acknowledgement.

"I will arrange for the medicine to be dispatched to your kingdom," Niklaus stated to Poseidon sensing the silence settling in.

Poseidon hesitated briefly before responding, “I am currently residing in Olympus, my lord."

Niklaus nodded understandingly. "Very well. The medicine will be sent to Olympus then." 

Poseidon offered a grateful smile before vanishing from Delos.

Athena turned her attention to her daughter, her expression betraying concern. "And what about you, Annabeth? Have you been affected by the essence as well?"

Annabeth affirmed with a nod, surprised at the rare display of maternal concern in Athena's eyes. Athena glanced at Niklaus, silently deliberating on the matter of the medicine.

Understanding Athena's unspoken query, Niklaus addressed her directly. "You are Metis's daughter, correct?"

Athena blinked in surprise before responding with a hesitant nod as her thoughts drifted to her absent mother.

"I will ensure the medicine is sent to you as well. In Olympus, I presume?" Niklaus continued, his tone was polite.

Athena's relief was palpable as she confirmed, "Yes, Olympus. Thank you, Revered One." She expressed her gratitude with a relieved smile. Niklaus accepted her gratitude with a nod of acknowledgment, his expression remaining stoic and unreadable.

Apollo's recovery was nothing short of remarkable, much to the surprise of Lord Niklaus. What should have been a two-week convalescence became a matter of days. Apollo, ever defiant, made his first attempt to stand just three days after being told it would be weeks. His progress was swift, but the toll was visible, a strained determination etched across his face. Persia noticed it too, though she said nothing.

Their forced cohabitation evolved from tense silence to something unspoken, an easy rhythm forming between them as they navigated the days. The air was different—heavier, quieter, but not uncomfortable. Persia, typically keen to avoid confrontation, kept things calm, and Apollo, aware of his reliance on her during this vulnerable time, learned to curb his sharper instincts. They didn’t talk about the dinner, or the simmering resentments that still flickered beneath the surface. There was no need to. Silence had its own kind of truce.

The evenings were the hardest—time seemed to stretch endlessly, and the quiet became almost oppressive. They were both restless, but neither said as much.

The fire cast long, flickering shadows across the room as evening settled in. Persia moved about quietly, gathering her things for the night, her motions smooth, practiced. Apollo’s gaze followed her, tracing the curve of her shoulders as she bent to fold her blanket. He hadn’t meant to speak, but the question slipped out before he could stop it.

“Have you thought about the camp?”

Persia paused, her fingers stilling over the fabric. She leaned back against the cool stone wall, her expression unreadable, though her eyes flickered with thought. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the crackle of the fire filling the silence between them.

“Yes,” she said at last, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve considered it.”

Apollo sat up a little straighter, the curiosity in his eyes sharpening. “Go on,” he prompted, his tone softer now, but edged with interest.

She held his gaze for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before she continued. “I think your idea of appointing Generals has merit,” she began carefully. “But it needs structure. A War Council—five Generals, each leading their own faction.”

"Your suggestion has merit," Apollo remarked, his gaze narrowing with thought. "Would you mind standing for a moment?"

"Of course," Persia replied, rising smoothly to her feet, though the sudden shift in tone hadn’t gone unnoticed. She tilted her head slightly, curiosity simmering beneath her calm exterior. "Is there anything specific you require?"

Apollo’s voice took on that familiar edge of command. "Turn to the shelf in the rightmost corner," he said, gesturing vaguely. "There’s parchment and ink. Bring them to me."

His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried the weight of expectation—something Persia had grown accustomed to in her dealings with him. She swallowed her annoyance, deciding, for now, to let it pass. She had long learned the art of choosing which battles to fight. Their conversation about the camp was progressing, and she didn’t want to derail it over a minor show of superiority. Still, a small flicker of irritation smoldered beneath her calm as she retrieved the items, her movements deliberate and measured.

As she returned, she handed him the ink and parchment, her fingers brushing briefly against his in the exchange. She stepped back, waiting, though the quiet tension between them was palpable.

Apollo glanced up, his impatience barely hidden beneath a furrowed brow. "Do I need to invite you to sit?" he asked, his tone tinged with irritation, the words cutting through the silence between them.

Persia exhaled quietly, suppressing the flicker of frustration his words stirred. Instead, she forced herself to relax, settling beside him, her movements slow and unhurried, though she could feel the heat of her own annoyance warming her skin. She glanced at him sideways, noting the determined focus in his expression as he began to transcribe her suggestions onto the parchment.

His hand trembled slightly, the quill strokes uneven, yet there was a kind of stubborn grace in the way he worked. Persia caught herself staring longer than she intended, something unexpected blooming in her chest. For all his faults—and there were many—Apollo had a resilience that she couldn’t help but admire. It was a small revelation, one that softened her frustration, though she kept her face neutral.

Once finished, Apollo thrust the parchment toward her, wordlessly waiting for her reaction. She took it, scanning the list of names he had written down. When her own appeared at the bottom, something in her tightened.

Her grip on the quill was firm as she made a swift, clean strike through her name, replacing it with Hephaestus's. The action wasn’t hasty—it was deliberate, a quiet defiance she didn’t need to voice. She handed the parchment back, her eyes meeting his, the air between them thickening.

His gaze lingered on her, searching her face for an answer she wasn’t willing to give. And in that moment, Persia felt the weight of his scrutiny, the intensity of it, like a heat pressing against her skin. It was unsettling, but not entirely unwelcome. Their proximity, the unspoken tension—it was something neither of them could easily ignore anymore. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension wrapping tighter, pulling at something neither of them could name. Apollo’s expression hardened, but he didn’t push further. Not yet.

“Fine,” he muttered, setting the parchment aside. But his eyes lingered on her, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them.

Persia’s posture remained tense, though she forced herself to relax, her hands smoothing out the fabric of her tunic as she stood. She didn’t miss the way his gaze followed her, sharp and searching, as though he was trying to find the cracks in her resolve.

It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

And though the conversation drifted into silence, the air between them felt charged, buzzing with the things they hadn’t said, the things they didn’t want to say. Neither of them had won the argument. Neither had truly conceded. And yet, the tension remained, like a taut string between them, waiting for the moment it would finally snap.

For now, they lingered in the space between—a truce neither of them had acknowledged but both quietly observed.

And neither of them quite knew what to do with it.

Once Niklaus gave his approval, Apollo wasted no time testing his limits. His powers flared, raw and chaotic, as he focused on dismantling the barrier. But something was off. His magic—unruly, unpredictable—resisted his control, lashing out like a caged animal. He could feel the sharp edges of its dependence, a frustrating need for something absent. For someone.

Persia had vanished, as expected. The moment she left, the fragile calm he had maintained began to fray at the edges. Why did his magic crave her presence? It grated on him, this unwanted attachment. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had other matters to address.

Two days later, he found himself sitting across from Zeus.

His father listened, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral as Apollo laid out his case. But Apollo could see the flicker of curiosity beneath the surface, the subtle shift in Zeus’s posture that betrayed his thoughts.

"Son," Zeus began, his voice measured, though his eyes gleamed with interest, "while I comprehend the essence of your argument, I am perplexed as to why you seek to empower this woman within Olympus."

Apollo stilled, his magic shifting uneasily under his skin, its restlessness more apparent without Persia nearby. He forced himself to remain calm, tempering the tremor of frustration that threatened to surface. Control. That’s what mattered here.

"It’s rather straightforward, Father," Apollo replied smoothly, leaning forward ever so slightly. His tone was calm, controlled, but underneath, he could feel the subtle tug of his magic—an unwelcome reminder of its instability. Yearning for her. How absurd.

"I simply wish to safeguard your reputation from any criticism or scrutiny," he explained, letting his words land softly, yet deliberately.

Hook.

Zeus’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. Apollo pressed on, sensing the careful line he had to walk.

"I’ve learned from Persia," he said, her name slipping from his lips like a calculated card in a game, "that much of the Sea harbors animosity toward Olympus. The Underworld is no different. If we are to face the impending conflict, Father, we need allies. It’s imperative we cultivate them." He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in, watching as his father’s expression shifted.

Zeus’s gaze darkened slightly at the mention of the Sea and the Underworld, but Apollo pressed on, his voice growing firmer. "More importantly, Father, I cannot tolerate the idea of anyone—anyone—speaking ill of you. Preemptively quashing dissent is far more prudent than waiting for it to grow.”

Line.

Zeus’s smile faltered, the warmth in his expression dimming as a flicker of indecision crossed his face. Apollo saw it, the hesitation, the opening he needed. He seized the moment, leaning in just a fraction more, his voice lowering.

"I had a vision," Apollo said quietly, watching as Zeus’s eyes snapped to his, surprise flashing across his father’s face. "On the day Mother visited Olympus." He paused, just long enough for the tension to build, for Zeus to hang on his words. "I couldn’t tell you earlier—Porphyrion’s interference."

Zeus’s nod was slow, understanding dawning in his expression, but Apollo could see the concern blooming there, the weight of the situation pressing down.

"The war isn’t just with Giants," Apollo continued, his voice grave, measured. "Titans are joining them. We’re facing a combined force, Father. We’ll need more than strength to win."

Zeus’s face paled slightly, his shoulders tensing as he absorbed the information. Apollo let the moment hang in the air, watching as the gravity of his words settled. Now.

"I’m not asking for Persia to hold an official position," Apollo said, his tone softening again, playing the role of the dutiful son. "But she could be invaluable as an advisor. She knows the future conflicts. Her insights could save us. Why overlook that?"

Sinker.

Zeus hesitated, his hand moving slowly to his chin, the indecision clear in the furrow of his brow. Apollo could almost feel the weight of his father’s thoughts, the balancing act between paranoia and logic. And then, with a reluctant nod, Zeus conceded.

"You speak wisely, my son," Zeus said, though his words lacked the conviction Apollo had hoped for. "But I cannot shake my unease. Persia is not like the others. Her reach is wide, and her loyalties... uncertain."

Apollo fought the urge to roll his eyes, a flash of frustration tightening his chest. His father’s paranoia had always been predictable, bordering on tiresome. He’d spent enough time around Persia to know she harbored no intention of challenging the throne, no interest in playing the power games that so many of Olympus’s denizens indulged in.

But Zeus? Zeus couldn’t see that.

Apollo’s fingers itched, his magic still restless, still craving the steadying presence it had grown too familiar with. He took a breath, forcing the irritation down, keeping his expression composed.

"Father," he said, placing a hand on Zeus’s arm, his touch firm but gentle. "I understand your concerns. I do. But right now, we must focus on the greater threat. The war is coming, and we cannot afford to let mistrust blind us. This is about victory. About survival."

Zeus nodded slowly, though Apollo could see the lingering doubt in his eyes, the wariness that refused to dissipate. But Apollo had won this round. His father’s agreement was enough. For now.

As the conversation ended, the tension in the room slowly ebbed, though Apollo’s mind remained restless, his magic still unsettled. He couldn’t deny the growing dependency on Persia’s presence, but he could push it aside for now. There were larger matters at hand.

Unbeknownst to father and son, they had not been alone.

Outside the chamber, Leto lingered in the shadows, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. She had heard every word, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile as she turned away, her movements soundless as she slipped back into the dim corridor.

"Once upon a time, it was you who played the game, Zeus," she mused softly, her voice barely a whisper in the still air. "And now, your son spins the threads, and you are none the wiser."

Her smirk widened as she disappeared into the shadows, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips.

"How deliciously ironic."

Apollo stood in the centre of the arena, the sun casting a golden glow over his form as he clenched his fists in frustration. It had been two long months since his injury, and still, the memory of it lingered like a stubborn shadow, etched into his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment in himself for allowing it to happen in the first place.

Persia's disappearance beneath the waves only added to his vexation. She had cleverly entrusted him with the weighty responsibility of finding a new haven for Camp Half-Blood in front of his father and he hadn’t been able to decline. She was far too cunning for anyone’s well-being. 

That irritating minx. 

As Apollo's thoughts shifted towards his mother, a pang of longing mixed with frustration pierced his heart. Though they spoke, a palpable distance hung between them, as if an invisible barrier had been created. The warmth he yearned for in her presence seemed elusive, leaving him feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.  He longed to ask her the myriad of questions swirling in his mind, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.

With each passing day, he found himself grappling with a loss of control over his powers. Despite having attained a level deemed acceptable by most, his perfectionist nature drove him to strive for excellence beyond the bounds of mere adequacy. 

Despite the frustration simmering within him, Apollo pressed on with his training regimen. His superhuman strength and combat skills remained intact which was a testament to the rigorous training he had undergone over the past two months. However, his muscles protested with every movement, still achingly unaccustomed to the demands of physical combat.

In contrast, Apollo's archery remained impeccable. He was glad that a skill he had honed through years of practice and unwavering dedication had not been lost so easily. Yet, his swordsmanship felt slightly lacking which was due to his neglect of the blade in favour of other pursuits. He made a mental note to dedicate more time to honing his skills with the sword. He was determined to overcome any rust that had accumulated during his period of neglect.

But it was his powers that truly vexed him. His flames, once a vibrant yellow, now burned with a reddish-orange hue, their erratic dance a reflection of his faltering control. Photokinesis transformed him into a blazing ball of light and fire leaving him feeling more like a weapon out of control than a God of Sun and Light. Despite his best efforts, his attempts to reign in his powers proved futile, leaving him disheartened.

His vitakinesis — his ability to heal — remained unaffected which was a beacon of hope in the midst of his turmoil. The thought of his other powers, his ability to see the future, to manipulate plagues and so on, remaining untouched which provided a small measure of relief. With so much already weighing on his shoulders, Apollo knew he couldn't afford any further complications.

Once more, Apollo attempted to summon a controlled flame, but his efforts only resulted in an uncontrollable inferno. Flames danced wildly across the stone floor before he ceased channelling his magic frustrated by his lack of control.

"You're doing it wrong," a voice declared behind him. Apollo turned to find his mother standing there with a mixture of surprise and apprehension swirling within him. 

“Come with me, son.”

Without a word, he followed her as she led him through the connecting corridors and courtyards toward her palace. Passing through the grand halls, they arrived at a secluded door tucked away at the end of a corridor. Leto pushed it open and gestured for Apollo to enter, her expression unreadable. With a swallow, Apollo stepped into the room, his curiosity piqued by what lay beyond.

Soft, muted colours adorned the walls, casting a gentle glow. There were large windows adorned with sheer curtains which allowed natural light to filter into the room. The gentle breeze that drifted through the open windows carried with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and fresh air, spreading a sense of tranquillity and serenity. It was curiously devoid of furniture, save for a single broad fluffy carpet mat that nearly covered the entirety of the floor.

“This is the meditation room.” Leto said, her voice soft but commanding. "Please, have a seat."

Apollo obeyed, settling onto the mat and crossing his legs as Leto took a seat opposite him. He watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, seemingly lost in thought.

"What am I doing wrong?" Apollo finally asked, breaking the silence that hung between them.

Leto opened her eyes and regarded him with a gentle smile. He gave a tentative smile back – he had missed her warmth. When she spoke, her tone was calm and reassuring. "It is your approach that needs adjustment, son."

Apollo furrowed his brow, puzzled by her words. "What do you mean?"

"You are trying to subjugate your power with brute strength," Leto explained. "But true mastery comes from working alongside your power, not against it. Your power is not out of control; it is your emotions that are not in control."

"My emotions?" Apollo questioned.

"Yes," Leto affirmed, "Are you not frustrated that despite several tries you haven't progressed towards a sense of control?"

Apollo nodded slowly, "I am, Mother," he admitted. "What shall I do then?"

Leto's expression softened, "Meditation helps in stabilising your emotions and finding a balance amidst yourself," she advised gently. “Before proceeding towards meditation, allow me to inform you on some aspects of Tartarus most aren’t aware of.” 

Apollo blinked, his curiosity piqued as he listened quietly to his mother's words. In that moment, he could almost envision himself in his childhood days as a child, sitting at her feet while she regaled him with countless stories in her soft, gentle voice.

"The immortals embody various elements," Leto explained, her tone gentle yet authoritative. "Depending on which realm or element an immortal primarily harnesses, their body progresses in a similar manner. For you, Apollo, fire is the primary element."

Apollo nodded, processing her words thoughtfully. "So, my body has been most influenced by the element of fire?"

"Indeed, son," Leto confirmed with a serene smile. "Fire represents the energy within the body. Every action and movement is a manifestation of fire's qualities. It is hot, light, dry, rough, subtle, flowing, sharp, clear, and soft. Fire is neither stable nor mobile; it neither stands still nor generates motion. You must find the source of fire within yourself. Only when your energy finds balance will your control follow suit."

"That's a fascinating concept, Mother," Apollo remarked, his curiosity piqued. "Where did you learn of it?"

Leto chuckled softly. There was a tinge of bitterness in her smile as she said, "If you had stayed instead of leaving, you would have known." Apollo winced at her words, and Leto's expression softened. "This method has been practised by immortals for ages as a means of fine-tuning their powers. Balance fosters stability and growth within energy allowing it to be utilised more productively. It's one reason why the oldest immortals possess more consolidated power than the new-age ones."

Apollo fell into a contemplative silence, assuming the lotus position before closing his eyes.

Persia looked up from the treaty she was reviewing, her brow furrowing in surprise at the knock on her door. Wondering who could be visiting at such an unusual hour, she called out softly, "Come in."

Her surprise deepened when she saw her grandfather standing in the doorway. "Papou?" she exclaimed, rising from her seat. "How can I help you?"

Oceanus entered the room and took a seat facing her, his expression serious yet gentle. "I came over to ask you a few things, sweetheart." he said, “Are you busy?”

Persia nodded, a slight smile touching her lips as she pushed aside the bundles of papers, signalling her full attention to her grandfather. "Not at all," she replied. "Just reviewing a treaty between the Western and Northern Sea Kings." She settled back in her seat, resting her elbows on the table and intertwining her fingers, ready to listen to Oceanus's concerns. "Go ahead."

Oceanus leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching hers. "I must ask, my dear, did you ever have a formal coronation ceremony as an heiress?" he inquired, his voice carrying a weight of curiosity.

Persia's brow furrowed in thought as she considered his question. "No," she admitted after a moment, her voice tinged with regret. "The ongoing wars and conflicts prevented such formalities from taking place."

Oceanus nodded in understanding before speaking again. "Would you mind if I held one for you?" he asked, "It's been centuries since such a ceremony has graced our realms, and I believe it's time to rectify that."

Persia's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she quickly composed herself. "I wouldn't mind at all," she replied, "But will it be strictly a sea-related affair, or will representatives from other realms be invited?"

Oceanus considered her question for a moment before responding. "I intend to invite representatives from all realms. It would be seen as a snub if we didn't extend our invitation beyond our own borders given Hades would be invited as your Godfather."

Persia nodded in agreement, her mind already racing with the implications of such an event, “I suppose.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Oceanus's lips as he leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps this ceremony will also serve to further your schemes in regards to Rhode.” Persia's eyes widened in surprise, momentarily caught off guard by his astuteness. "How did you know about that?" she asked. 

Oceanus chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving hers. "There is nothing that happens in the water realm that escapes my notice. While I may not always interfere, rest assured, my dear, that I can turn a blind eye when necessary."

Persia's smile widened at his words, a sense of gratitude washing over her. “My gratitude, Papou.” She was relieved to have her grandfather as an ally in this scheme. 

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐡

As he stepped onto the balcony, his eyes widened in awe at the enchanting sight before him. 

A female form leaned gracefully against the balustrade of a balcony, her outline softened by the gentle embrace of the night. The moonlight kissed her features, casting a delicate glow upon her face. Her hair cascaded in a cascade of midnight strands, gently teasing the swell of her hips. 

She exuded an air of quiet contemplation, her gaze drawn upwards towards the heavens. The soft rustle of the night breeze whispered through the air, caressing her skin with a gentle touch. The scent of jasmine and night-blooming flowers hung headily in the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of lavender.

In the quiet embrace of the night, the world seemed to hold its breath, as she spoke, “Will you stand there or come forth?”

"I apologise, Heiress," Aurelius said, shaking off the momentary enchantment that had held him in its grasp. The Heiress was truly ethereal, and he couldn't help but acknowledge the danger her allure posed. In the wrong hands, her beauty and grace could easily be exploited. She embodied the title of an 'enchantress' in every sense.

"None of that, Prince Aurelius," Persia replied with a smile, gesturing for the older man to join her beside the balustrade. "What have you found? How is she?"

"Princess Rhode is pregnant, my lady," Aurelius answered, observing the surprise that flickered across the young heiress's face. "I did not anticipate that," Persia murmured, her brow furrowing in thought. "What do you think we should do? I want her released before the entire ceremony."

Aurelius couldn't help but smirk at the Heiress's words. Young she may be, but foolish she was not.

"If your opponent has a choleric temper, it is best if we seek to irritate," Aurelius advised, his gaze fixed on the heiress as she considered his words. A small smile graced her lips as she replied, "Pretend to be weak only to exploit their arrogance. Not a bad idea. Any ideas on how to execute it? I suppose we could use my ceremony as a focal point."

"You're overestimating your opponent, Heiress," Aurelius cautioned, his mind already turning over strategies to outmanoeuvre Atlantis' Queen. "She is wary of you, yes—but like her brethren in the land, she has fallen prey to pride as well. We can use it."

"Agreed," Persia said with a smile. "Is any of her spies monitoring Rhode?"

"There is a routine check," Aurelius replied, his expression thoughtful. "However, if any of the sea immortals step foot on the island of Rhodes, she would know."

"Sea immortals, you say?" Persia mused, considering her options. "I have a person who can do it who is decidedly not a sea immortal. But I'll need you to escort her and Rhode from there yourself. Will you be amiable, Prince?"

"Not at all," Aurelius assured her without hesitation. "That leaves us with only one problem. How do we break the enchantments weaved around the princess?"

"I am not sure," Persia admitted with a furrowed brow. "Let us meet in two days. By then, please get more information."

"As you wish," Aurelius replied with a respectful bow before taking his leave. 

The mere mention of Rhode stirred a maelstrom of memories within Persia, each one laden with the weight of betrayal and injustice. It was a name etched in her mind, a reminder of the dark truths hidden beneath the surface of divine legend.

The tale spun by the gods of Helios claiming the island of Rhodes before it even surfaced with Zeus's consent was but a shallow facade. This tale barely grazed the surface of the true depths of intrigue surrounding Rhodes. It was a thin veil masking the true depths of deceit and cruelty that lay beneath. 

In truth, Zeus had no rightful authority to dictate the fate of the sea or its territories. The land belonged to the sea, subject to its sovereignty and jurisdiction, yet Zeus had arrogantly bestowed it upon Helios without a second thought.

But it was Amphritrite's despicable actions that stoked the fires of Persia's rage to their blazing heights. The goddess's vindictive punishment of her own daughter, Rhode, was an unforgivable crime—a betrayal of maternal love twisted into a perverse display of power and control. 

Rhode had dared to unearth the truth about her mother's treachery and ambition, only to be silenced and stripped of her voice and virtue. Her spirit was bound to an island – unable to leave that place or speak out against the injustice done to her. She still languished in this cursed state, knowing that the enchantments binding her were nigh unbreakable.

No more would Persia allow her to suffer in silence. In the future, Amphritrite's fading presence had weakened the enchantments enough for Rhode to break free. But this time, Persia vowed, things would be different.

Ares stood stiffly, forcing calm into his voice as he spoke again. “I’ve already told you, Aphrodite,” he repeated, though a hint of strain tugged at his words, “I’m not available. I have other commitments.”

Aphrodite’s eyes flashed, her response dripping with disdain. “Oh, yes. Those commitments,” she mocked, her tone razor-sharp. “Sparring sessions with that girl, aren’t they? Athena’s little pet—Annabeth, isn’t it?”

Ares exhaled slowly, his control slipping for just a moment. Annabeth’s name, spoken so dismissively, stirred something hot beneath his skin. But he swallowed the frustration, smoothing his expression into one of cool indifference. “If you’re finished, Aphrodite, you may leave.”

Before she could respond, a soft cough echoed from the entrance. Ares turned, catching sight of Annabeth lingering at the edge of the room, her grey eyes flicking uncertainly between them. Aphrodite’s lips curled into a sneer, while Ares forced a small, apologetic smile.

“Am I interrupting?” Annabeth’s voice was casual, but Ares could see the question in her eyes, the slight tension in her posture as she took in the scene. She had noticed the discomfort of the servants as they guided her here, and now, standing between two gods, she wondered if her timing had been worse than she thought.

“Not at all,” Ares said, his voice remarkably steady, though there was a subtle warmth beneath it.

Aphrodite, however, didn’t miss a beat, her voice cutting through the air. “You are,” she snapped, her tone like ice. “And I’d suggest leaving.”

Annabeth blinked, her polite smile faltering for just a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Alright, I’ll go,” she said, shrugging as though unaffected, though the set of her jaw hinted otherwise.

Aphrodite, not content with her victory, waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, you should. It's good to see you've inherited some level of social grace. Now, off you go.”

Ares felt a flicker of something sharp, something protective, as he watched Annabeth’s expression harden. She remained poised, controlled, but the subtle darkening of her eyes betrayed the sting of Aphrodite’s words. He had expected her to snap back, to retaliate with that razor-sharp wit of hers, but instead, she simply turned, her shoulders squared with quiet dignity.

“Wait.” His voice, firmer than he intended, broke the silence. “Annabeth, stay.”

Both women froze, Aphrodite in disbelief, Annabeth in surprise. She turned, eyes searching Ares’s face, reading the unexpected plea in his words. After a beat, she gave a small nod, staying where she was.

Ares felt a wave of relief at her decision, though he kept his focus on Aphrodite, who still looked stunned by his interruption. He straightened, his voice carrying a weight of finality.

“Aphrodite,” he said, each word measured, “you have no authority to insult my guest. Father wouldn’t be pleased if you violated the principles of hospitality he’s set. If you don’t apologize to Annabeth, I’ll inform him of your behavior.”

Annabeth, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement softening her eyes. Ares defending her? The God of War, of all people? It was unexpected, and yet… something about it felt natural, as though this wasn’t the first time he had stood between her and the cutting words of another.

Aphrodite’s jaw clenched, her disbelief giving way to indignation. “You’re taking her side? A half-blood? You would humiliate me for her?”

Ares met her gaze without flinching, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not humiliating you,” he said, his tone unwavering. “You insulted her, and for no reason. Annabeth has shown you nothing but respect, yet you’ve chosen to belittle her. How is that justified?”

Aphrodite’s eyes flashed with something close to hurt before she masked it with anger. “You’ve changed, Ares,” she spat, her voice trembling with resentment. “Your mother warned me. These demigods… they’ve twisted you.”

Ares allowed himself a small, rueful smile, leaning back against the wall, the tension easing from his posture. “They’ve changed me, yes,” he admitted easily. “But I don’t find the change unpleasant. Do you?”

Aphrodite’s face twisted, her fury barely contained. “Turning into their puppet is pleasant to you?” she sneered, venom lacing her words.

His smirk deepened, though there was a shadow of something else behind his eyes—something softer, something tired. “Better that than being a puppet for Mother. Or you.”

Aphrodite’s composure shattered for a moment, her anger raw and sharp. She glared at both of them, her eyes lingering on Annabeth with particular bitterness before she disappeared in a swirl of glittering mist, leaving the air heavy with unresolved tension.

Ares sighed, pushing himself away from the wall as Annabeth stepped forward. Her expression had softened, the hard edge in her eyes replaced with something kinder, gentler.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice quiet, laced with genuine concern. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Ares met her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, his guard dropped. “It’s not you,” he said softly, a touch of weariness in his voice. “It’s… everything. I just wish…” He trailed off, glancing away, as if the vulnerability of the moment caught him off guard. “I just wish people would accept me for who I am, instead of who they think I should be.”

Annabeth’s eyes softened further, and she offered him a small, sincere smile. “I hope you get what you wish for,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “But at least know this—you won’t get any judgment from me. And… thank you, for standing up for me.”

Ares returned her smile, a quiet flicker of gratitude in his eyes. There was something easy about the way she spoke to him, no expectations, no demands. Just honesty.

His mood lightened as he gestured toward the training area. “Why don’t you pick the weapon for today?” he suggested, shifting the tone of their conversation.

Annabeth’s lips twitched in amusement, her thoughtful expression returning. “I was thinking… maybe you could teach me to fight left-handed?”

Ares raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Left-handed, huh?” His smile widened, a spark of enthusiasm creeping into his voice. “A sword, then?”

Annabeth nodded, her determination evident. “Yes.”

Ares chuckled softly, feeling the familiar thrill of battle stir within him. “Let’s get started, then,” he said, his tone lighter, the tension from earlier slipping away.

And as they moved toward the training ground, the unspoken understanding between them remained—quiet, subtle, yet undeniably there.

Annabeth found herself reflecting on the strange path her life had taken—becoming unexpectedly close to the God of War. Ares, once volatile and prone to outbursts, was changing, mastering his anger in ways she hadn’t thought possible. The way he had handled the tense confrontation with Aphrodite had left an impression on her. Not every day did the God of War defend someone against his own lover.

As she mulled over the moment, she could almost hear Persia's voice when she recounted the incident to her. The disbelief in her friend's tone would be palpable. Ares, of all gods, standing up for someone like Annabeth? Persia would be shocked, maybe even amused. But Annabeth? She felt something more—something she wasn’t quite ready to name.

She sighed, a quiet relief settling over her. Persia’s absence from Delos was a blessing in disguise. Annabeth could barely sleep, her mind constantly consumed by worries over Persia’s safety. Leto's presence in Delos helped, but Annabeth knew better than to trust anyone with Persia’s protection, save for a select few.

Sometimes, Annabeth wondered how she had fallen so deeply into this overprotective role toward her friend. Persia wasn’t fragile, far from it, yet Annabeth always felt responsible. Maybe it was because of the countless battles they’d faced together. The bond they had was forged in the heart of danger, a connection that went beyond friendship. She couldn’t imagine her life without Persia’s constant presence.

Lost in thought, Annabeth barely registered the servant’s voice until it was too late. “I apologize for interrupting, My Lord,” the servant had said, and in her inattentiveness, Annabeth stumbled backward, feeling the sharp edge of Ares’s sword pressing too close.

Her body instinctively tensed, bracing for the hard impact of the ground. But the fall never came. Instead, an arm wrapped firmly around her waist, catching her just in time.

Annabeth’s eyes fluttered open, realizing with a start that they had closed, and she found herself looking up into Ares’s eyes. His grip was steady, grounding her in the moment. A flicker of surprise passed between them, but beneath it, something else lingered—an unspoken understanding. Gratitude softened her expression, her breath escaping in a rush she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Embarrassment quickly followed. She’d just been caught like some damsel, stumbling awkwardly through a sparring session. A faint flush crept up her cheeks, though she tried to will it away as Ares gently released her, taking the sword from her hand with a casual ease.

“Umm… thank you, Lord Ares,” she mumbled, her voice not quite as steady as she hoped it would be.

“It’s fine,” Ares replied, his tone dismissive, but not unkind. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “The servant came out of nowhere. We’ll work on your situational awareness next.” He set the swords aside, turning toward the intruder with a mild frown. “What is it?”

The servant, a young maid, bowed quickly. “My Lord, Lord Zeus has summoned Lady Annabeth to the Throne Room.”

Annabeth blinked, confusion furrowing her brow. Zeus? Why would he want to see her? She opened her mouth to ask, but the maid continued, “Lady Persia is here. She called for you.”

Ah, of course. That explained everything. Annabeth nodded, understanding now. With a brief, apologetic glance at Ares, she offered him a small smile. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” Ares said, his voice smooth. But then he extended his hand toward her, palm up, surprising her. Annabeth hesitated, unsure of what to make of the gesture. Was this some new formality?

Seeing her hesitation, Ares gave a half-smile, almost amused. “Come with me,” he clarified. “I’m going as well.”

“Oh.” She blinked, and then, before she could second-guess it, she slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed around hers, firm but not forceful, and in that brief moment, she caught the barest flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable. He glanced at their joined hands for just a second longer than necessary before tightening his grip.

Annabeth felt a curious warmth spread from the point of contact, though she said nothing. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the moment passed quickly, leaving a quiet ripple in its wake. And then, with a rush of motion, they vanished from the training ground, reappearing almost instantly in the Throne Room.

The moment Annabeth laid eyes on Persia, a bright smile lit up her face. "Sia!" she exclaimed, striding forward eagerly. Persia's smile matched hers as they met in a tight embrace.

"Greetings, Ana," Persia said, returning the embrace with equal affection. As they stepped back, Annabeth couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

Persia was dressed in a stunning two-piece ensemble. The upper part resembled an ornate tube top, with two parallel strings serving as delicate straps. Around her neck was her beloved phoenix necklace, while teardrop pearl earrings graced her ears. The lower part of her outfit was a skirt, its fabric as smooth as silk and flowing like water, accentuating her graceful silhouette. Around her waist, an elaborate chain of pearls and gold added a touch of elegance and enhanced her bare waist. Her wrists were adorned with her customary bracelet, a circular diadem adorned her brow, with a small emerald hanging delicately between her brows and on her right index finger, she wore the Heiress ring. 

Annabeth tilted her head. "Here for a formal reason, Heiress?" she inquired, her tone light.

"Always astute, Annabeth," Persia replied with a chuckle. "But you need not revert back to formality. We're not here for ceremonial reasons."

“Well, what is the matter, Sia?" Annabeth asked, her gaze flickering towards the man standing behind Persia. He looked young, but there was an air of timelessness about him that hinted that he was far older than he looked. 

He was dressed in an attire native to the Sea and he exuded an aura of regal elegance. His broad pants and ornate robe, cinched at the waist with a gold belt, accentuated his chiselled physique. However, a ring on his index finger caught Annabeth's attention which was reminiscent of Persia's own Heiress ring. Despite the exposed chest and the casual elegance of his attire, his demeanour carried an air of authority. With sharp features, calculating eyes, and long navy hair flowing down his back, he possessed a striking presence that immediately captured Annabeth's interest. She couldn't help but wonder if he held a position of great importance.

"Ah, allow me to introduce you," Persia said, gesturing towards the man. "This is Prince Aurelius of Tiderfell. Prince Aurelius, this is my closest confidant, Annabeth."

Aurelius gave a small bow of his head. "Good tidings be, My Lady." 

Annabeth glanced at Persia, who looked highly amused by her flustered state. Clearing her throat, Annabeth replied, "Ah, Greetings, Your Highness.” 

“Ana, we need your help. If you are amiable, then …?” Persia began, her voice trailing off as she hesitated.

"But if it pertains to matters of the sea, should you not be consulting Annabeth?" Athena spoke with a barely veiled air of contempt, her tone tinged with hostility. However, her following comments revealed her genuine motives. "I am aware that you seem to rely on my daughter's assistance for all matters. She possesses a commendable intellect, unlike yourself. Nevertheless, it would behove you to remember your own responsibilities. After all, is it not your duty to attend to your own affairs as an Heiress? Why should my daughter be required to aid you in any capacity?"

The words hung heavily in the throne room, casting a pall of tension over the assembled group.

Ares frowned, acutely aware of Athena's animosity towards Poseidon. Yet, her brazen display of disrespect in front of a foreign immortal was unexpected. His gaze darted around the nearly empty room, grateful that only his father, Athena, Hephaestus, and he were present to witness the exchange.

He glanced at his father and found him barely suppressing a smirk, while Hephaestus looked highly displeased. His half-brother gave a disgusted look at their father and sister. Ares chose not to draw attention to his half-brother's reaction knowing it would escalate into a conflict. Instead, he shifted his gaze towards the ones who had been humiliated.

Persia's face remained blank, her eyes betraying no hint of emotion. Ares couldn't help but be impressed by her ability to maintain her composure. Annabeth, however, looked furious. He was certain she would not be able to contain her temper. Surprisingly, a single touch from Persia managed to calm her. Ares watched with fascination as they communicated silently, their expressions conveying volumes through minute gestures—barely perceptible twitches of eyebrows and lips that only the keenest observer would notice.

"Annabeth?" Persia tilted her head, silently questioning.

"I would be glad to help, Sia," Annabeth replied softly, her tone carrying a hint of firmness beneath its gentle tone.

"Thank you, Ana. The Prince will provide all the necessary details. Please accompany him," Persia gestured towards Aurelius. "I will join you shortly."

"Are you not coming with us?" Annabeth inquired.

"I will, but I have some matters to attend to first," Persia explained. "It's been some time since I've spoken with Thalia and Jason, and I want to check on their well-being before we depart."

"Then let's not waste any time," Annabeth said, looping an arm around Persia's shoulders. "I need to gather a few things from the cabin. Would you mind if I stayed with you for a while?"

"Mind? Of course not," Persia replied with a warm smile.

As they departed, paying no heed to his father, Ares leaned back to observe the unfolding events, curious to see how things would unfold.

"How uncouth!" Zeus murmured disapprovingly. "I will need to have a word with Poseidon about reining in some of Persia's powers. Her manners are truly appalling."

"Let it be, Father," Athena interjected, reclining in her seat with an air of indifference. "That girl is Poseidon's daughter, after all. What more can we expect from her? Though I do concur regarding her excessive power. Perhaps it is time to mandate that Poseidon restrict the domains from which she draws her power."

Ares observed his father's nodding acquiescence, pondering which aspect of Athena's words his father truly agreed with. Even he knew that Zeus did not align with all of Athena's views.

After all, his father had inherited his grandfather's cunning and cruel streak.

"Ares," Hephaestus addressed him abruptly.

Ares was startled to find himself face to face with his half-brother. He looked around and found that Athena and his father had disappeared. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, he looked at Hephaestus, who said in an almost neutral tone, "It was not right. Persia will not leave it unanswered. "I just hope it doesn't escalate into a major conflict."

"What constitutes a major conflict?" Ares queried, his tone suggestive of interest.

"It has a wide range of possibilities, Ares," Hephaestus said with a wry smile, his face tinted with disappointment.

Ares reciprocated his brother's smile, expressing little sorrow for his father or sister. They deserved to face the repercussions of their unnecessary actions.

Pain. Agonising, relentless pain.

Her body lay limp, ravaged by scars, trembling with every twitch of her veins. Each movement sent waves of agony coursing through her, a constant reminder of the torment she endured. Her eyes fluttered open, struggling to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light that pierced through the darkness that had enveloped her for so long.

As the figures emerged into view, she strained to make out their silhouettes, her mind clouded with confusion. Who could possibly know of her whereabouts in this forsaken place?

Could it be her mother? No, such hopes had long been extinguished. Her mother had abandoned her, never once visiting since that fateful day.

A woman approached, her features twisted with fury yet softened by an underlying determination. Her grey eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached out to touch the bars of the gilded cage. With a voice laced with resolve, she spoke of their plans to aid her, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that consumed her.

She remained silent, unable to form words that had long since escaped her lips. Her voice, silenced for what felt like an eternity, now seemed foreign and distant. With trembling fingers, she reached out towards the woman, a silent plea for understanding and solace in her desperate gaze.

The woman clasped her hand gently, offering a glimmer of comfort amidst the despair that surrounded them. In hushed tones, she spoke of breaking the enchantments that held her captive, igniting a flicker of hope within her battered soul.

With a frantic nod, she expressed her longing for freedom, her heart pounding with anticipation as she dared to believe in the possibility of escape. Yet, a pang of fear gripped her as she rested her hand on her stomach, silently questioning the fate of her unborn child.

The woman, sensing her unspoken fears, offered reassurance, promising the safety of her innocent child. Relief washed over her as she allowed herself to trust in the woman's words, clinging to the hope that had blossomed within her once more.

A deep, resonant voice pierced the tense air, causing her to tense in apprehension. "Princess," the woman's soothing voice broke through her fear, "The man is an ally. There is no need for alarm. However, time is of the essence. Brace yourself. This will be painful, but we must act swiftly."

With a determined nod, she steeled herself for the ordeal ahead, her spirit unbroken despite the years of captivity. She vowed to resist her oppressors with every fibre of her being, refusing to surrender to despair.

As the woman chanted an incantation, her hands clasped together in a determined gesture, Rhode felt a surge of energy coursing through her body. The invisible chains binding her began to weaken, their hold on her diminishing with each passing moment. With a trembling sigh of relief, she felt the oppressive weight of her captivity begin to lift.

The cell itself seemed to bend and contort, as if responding to the woman's magic, until finally, it yielded to her power, creating an opening wide enough for Rhode to escape. Weak and unsteady from her prolonged confinement, she leaned heavily on the woman's supporting arm, grateful for the assistance as she tentatively stepped out of the cell for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"We need to go, my lady," the man said urgently, his voice gentle yet firm. Despite his reassuring tone, Rhode flinched instinctively, the years of captivity leaving her wary of any sudden movements. With a final moment of consciousness, she registered his words before succumbing to the darkness once more, her body finally giving in to the overwhelming exhaustion.

As she stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttered open to reveal a vast circular chamber, devoid of conventional barriers. The spaciousness of the room enveloped her, coaxing a sense of tranquillity to replace the tension that had gripped her. With a newfound ease, she allowed curiosity to guide her gaze, marvelling at her surroundings. Instead of walls, expansive balconies adorned the perimeter, veiled only by delicate drapes that offered glimpses of the azure sky beyond. Inhaling deeply, she savoured the crispness of the air as it circulated freely through the chamber. A door beckoned from the far end, its entrance left invitingly ajar.

Reclining back onto the bed, she surrendered to her body's weariness, unable to maintain her strained posture for long. The faint jingle of the bells of a pair of anklets heralded an approaching presence, prompting her to attempt a swift ascent, only to be met with a sharp twinge of pain. Her body, still in the throes of recovery, protested against her premature movement.

"Rest, adelphē," came a gentle admonition, dissuading her from further exertion. "You're not yet healed."

The voice that broke the silence possessed a melodic quality, unlike any she had encountered before. Casting a cautious glance to her side, she beheld an otherworldly figure, her countenance adorned with a serene smile and eyes brimming with kindness. A sense of familiarity washed over her, as if she gazed upon a reflection of someone she once knew.

Attempting to vocalise her thoughts, she found herself speechless, her words stifled by a sudden wave of uncertainty. A fleeting expression of disappointment crossed her features as she grappled with the struggle to articulate her inquiries.

Sensing her unspoken queries, the woman by her side offered solace, her voice carrying an air of understanding. "I am Persia," she revealed, "We share a father."

Rhode's eyes widened in astonishment. A sister? The revelation stirred a flurry of emotions within her, mingling disbelief with a burgeoning sense of connection.

Observing the tender gesture as her newfound sister reached out to grasp her hand, Rhode felt a rush of overwhelming emotion. "Adelphē," the word resonated softly in the air, carrying with it the weight of familial ties. "It is an honour to finally meet you after so long."

Tears welled up in Rhode's eyes, yet they were not borne of sorrow. Instead, they flowed freely, carrying with them a sense of liberation long yearned for. In that moment, amidst the unexpected reunion, she found solace and a newfound sense of belonging.

In the serene halls of Olympus, where the immortal gods lived, time flowed like a river, meandering through forever. Several days had gone since the upheaval that had rocked the celestial realm to its foundation. However, a sense of normality began to settle over the sacred mountain, like a soothing balm after a storm.

With the closing of the perplexing readings from the ancient book, a distinct sense of peace fell on Olympus. The air hummed with a peaceful energy, and the tensions that had previously seized the realm gradually dissipated.

Apollo, having returned, easily resumed his duties, showing no symptoms of deterioration as his abilities recovered their original vigour.

Zeus was proud and relieved when his son returned, but he was a little disappointed when Apollo and Artemis decided to split their time between Olympus and Delos. Though Zeus understood their desire to reconnect with their roots, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of unease in his heart. Despite his reservations, he found himself unable to decline their request.

The unexpected arrival of their mother, Leto, on Olympus had upended the delicate equilibrium of the celestial court, causing rumours of unrest among the immortals which was exacerbated by Apollo's terrifying visions of war.

In the dimly illuminated vastness of the Underworld, Hades felt a rare sensation of happiness permeate through his ancient bones. The weight of his kingdom appeared to be lifted for a brief while as he basked in the rare benefits showered upon him. Melinoe, his eldest daughter, had finally been released from the crushing hold of her curse, and her ethereal existence was no longer bound. Meanwhile, his younger daughter, Makaria, returned from her apprenticeship under Lady Nyx's veiled guidance, bringing a newfound glimmer to his realm's depths.

Zyenthea, his closest friend, had risen from the depths of her self-imposed solitude. His future memories had returned along with her.

The schism that had separated him from Leto had eased. Where previously there was an icy barrier, today there is a cautious reunion, defined by timid exchanges of words and flickering flames of forgotten companionship.

With his son taking on half of his responsibilities, Hades noticed himself in a rare rest within the divine halls of his realm. The weight of duty decreased and enabled him to indulge in long-neglected pleasures. Among the variety of options that danced tantalisingly before him, his first edict rang through the depths of the Underworld—a liberty of his Consorts, the ties of passion abruptly broken.

Instead, his heart ached for the embrace of familial relationships, beckoning him to the quiet depths where Oceanus and Tethys awaited, despite his own mistakes throughout his lifetime.

Hades had summoned his scattered children with a sombre appeal, bringing them together with a long-suppressed paternal desire. Each kid was welcomed into their ancestral house, surrounded by loved ones. Hades had provided rooms worthy of their heavenly birthright on each of his kids, satisfying a millennia-long yearning. As the flickering candles shed their warm comfort on his children's faces, Hades felt a profound feeling of contentment settle inside his old spirit, his vision of a unified household now accomplished.

The dearth of Persephone no longer caused him any concern; instead, it established a cool resolve. In the recesses of his heart, a seed of purpose had germinated—an intention that debated of a future where Persephone's return would be a distant possibility. Hades waited patiently for the right moment to say goodbye to that chapter of his life, anticipating for the day when he could cut the ties that held the two together and welcome a new age devoid of the shadows of the past.

Meanwhile, Thalia and Jason had chosen to depart from Olympus to explore the mortal realm instead. Will decided to stay in Delos, though Annabeth and Persia remained in the Water realm after departing Olympus.

Significant occurrences took place in the water realm. Queen Amphitrite was arrested by her own father, Lord Nereus, and then kept in the maximum security cell, made unconscious and firmly tied, for adjudication. Concurrently, Lord Poseidon made an organised effort to implement substantial modifications inside the Kingdom of Atlantis, indicating an enormous upheaval.

Meanwhile, Persia took on the role of Heiress, starting on a tour in order to get acquainted with her people and the obligations associated with the title of Heiress. Despite having an intuitive awareness of her commitments, she struggled with navigating their complicated nature. Aurelius served as her mentor, teaching her the nuances of politics as well as the rich tapestry of historical myths about sea-faring nobility.

Persia received insight into their motives from meeting multiple royal families, albeit not all won her respect. These formerly unknown tasks and negotiations have become a fundamental component of her duties.

On a different note, Rhode had resumed expressing herself. Her recovery had been gradual, with substantial improvements yet ahead. Given the tremendous strain on her immortal body, severe procedures were implemented to monitor her health, especially in light of her pregnancy.

Rhode's three young boys were summoned, and her marriage to Helios was lawfully dissolved. In an act of familial concern and peace of mind, Poseidon stepped on the role of grandfather for his grandchildren, giving them a feeling of belonging and safety within the underwater realm.

Born immortals tended to age at various paces, relying primarily by their racial heritage. Rhode's kids were a mix of Titan, Mere, and Godly lineage, making them extremely mighty beings with an unusual combination of skills. Despite their advanced age, they retained a youthful appearance. Surprisingly, her youngest kid, while being over five thousand years old, looked to be approximately five years old physically. Similarly, her second eldest seemed to be around ten and her eldest was about twelve. This discrepancy revealed a relatively slow rate of ageing among them.

As time passed, the currents of change grew in power and breadth, sculpting the future terrain. The future stood poised, awaiting the repercussions of the choices they made and the outcomes of what they chose.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟒 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 & 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.

He found himself standing upon a vast plateau, surrounded by towering mountains with jagged peaks that reached towards the heavens. The mountains were adorned with dense forests, vibrant with life, and cascading streams sparkled in the sunlight, carving through the rugged terrain. In the distance, Apollo beheld the vast expanse of the ocean, its endless blue stretching beyond the horizon.

Between two mountain ranges, Apollo observed a sprawling valley, lush and fertile, nestled amidst the peaks. The valley was a tapestry of vibrant colours, with fields of wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze, and meandering rivers carving their path through the verdant landscape.

The vision shifted.

Apollo found himself transported once more to the eternal garden, the same ethereal realm where he had previously encountered the cracked pieces of shell. This time, however, he was drawn by the sound of a woman's sorrowful cry echoing through the tranquil surroundings. Hurrying towards the source of the lament, Apollo's heart quickened with concern. He was astonished to beheld Zyenthea, kneeling amidst the verdant foliage. Beside her lay her majestic white dragon, its immense form bowed in solemn reverence.

In Zyenthea's trembling hands, Apollo saw the shattered remnants of the shell. Just like before he felt a sense of foreboding. He watched solemnly as tears glistened in the woman’s eyes as she tenderly cradled the broken pieces, her grief palpable in the air.

Zyenthea's voice quivered with a mixture of anger and icy resolve as she addressed the dragon with a steely gaze. "Who did this, Dario?" she demanded, her tone cutting through the solemn air.

The dragon's deep rumbling voice resonated through the garden as he replied, "It was the daughter of the Titaness – who your father had once granted refuge to."

A chill swept through the garden as Zyenthea's features hardened with a palpable sense of indignation. "Hera," she uttered, her voice laced with a cold fury that sent shivers down Apollo's spine.

Apollo's eyes snapped open, breaking free from the grip of his visions. Uncertainty lingered in his mind, swirling amidst the fragments of what he had just witnessed. Yet, amidst the fog of confusion, a glimmer of recognition flickered within him. He had stumbled upon a probable location for the camp, its familiarity tugging at the recesses of his memory.

The second vision left him utterly confused, a perplexing puzzle of time that defied comprehension. Was it a glimpse into the future or a haunting echo from the past? Pondering the implications, Apollo deliberated on whether to share these enigmatic visions with Persia, particularly as they pertained to her mother. Ultimately, he resolved to disclose his unsettling revelations, choosing not to be burdened by mysteries beyond his grasp. Yet, a nagging curiosity lingered—how did his father's wife intertwine with these cryptic affairs?

As he adorned himself for the day, a peremptory knock echoed through the chamber, heralding the arrival of a maid with her head bowed in deference. "My Lord," she began softly, "Lady Leto summons you for breakfast."

Apollo nodded, dismissing the maid with a fleeting glance, his gaze briefly catching his reflection in the mirror—a visage of determination mirrored back at him.

In recent times, Apollo could discern a gradual thawing in his mother's demeanour. His injury, undoubtedly, played a pivotal role in bridging the chasm between them. He took solace in the realisation that their decision to divide their time between Olympus and Delos had begun to yield tangible results.

"Ah, there you are," his mother's voice cut through the air, arresting his attention. He blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Come, sit," she gestured gracefully, indicating a place beside her.  Apollo's spirits lifted at the sight of his favourite dishes spread on the table.

Artemis, who was seated across from him, offered a warm smile as she inquired, "What delayed your arrival?"

"Merely lost in thoughts," Apollo murmured, his voice barely audible over the clinking of utensils as he savoured his meal.

"Any visions?" Artemis's question hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the ominous foreboding that had settled upon them since Apollo's revelation of the vision of war. 

Apollo's gaze darted towards his mother, a fleeting moment of hesitation preceding his impromptu decision to divulge his visions to her.

"Yes. Two rather peculiar visions," he began, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Peculiar?" Leto's head tilted in a pensive manner, her expression curious.

"Yes. One depicted a place which was oddly familiar," Apollo recounted, vividly describing the mountain and valley he had glimpsed. Leto listened intently, her features thoughtful.

"It does sound familiar," Leto acknowledged, her voice tinged with reminiscence. "We visited that place once, long ago, when both of you were but children. It was a time preceding your triumph over Python, a time when our family was whole. Ah, those were the days, weren't they? I understand if the memory eludes you.”

Apollo and Artemis exchanged a fleeting glance, a hint of discomfort shadowing their features. Their mother's disapproval of their abrupt departure from her life centuries ago had been palpable, leaving an indelible mark on their relationship. Yet, despite their return, their mother's reception remained lukewarm, tinged with an unspoken sadness that echoed the void left by their absence. 

They were left grappling with the ache of unhealed wounds and a strained relationship with their mother. 

"What about the other vision?" Artemis interjected, steering the conversation back to the present moment.

Apollo's expression softened with gratitude as he turned to his sister. "The second vision …It revealed a garden, scattered fragments of a cracked shell, and Lady Zyenthea."

As Apollo spoke, he observed the shift in his mother's demeanour, from curiosity to a deeper understanding. Recognition flickered in her eyes, yet she offered no guidance. Instead, she smirked knowingly, her words tinged with cryptic wisdom.

"The past has a stubborn way of catching up to the present," Leto remarked, "It will be fascinating to witness how this unfolds."

They lingered in a hushed silence, each lost in their own contemplations. Leto dipped her hands into the warm water basin, cleansing them before drying them with a linen towel. Casting a brief, assessing glance at her children, she broke the quietude.

"I'll be away for some time," Leto announced, her tone firm yet tinged with a hint of detachment. "You needn't feel obligated to remain here on my behalf. You're free to go about your own pursuits."

Apollo's concern was immediately piqued. "Where are you going?" he inquired, his voice laced with apprehension.

Leto arched an eyebrow in response. "Why does it matter?" she retorted, her tone cool and aloof. "Consider yourselves fortunate that I've even bothered to inform you. I'm not in the habit of disclosing my whereabouts to anyone beyond my kin."

Artemis glanced at her mother, a mixture of shock and disbelief evident in her expression. "Aren't we your family?" she questioned.

"Are you?" Leto's response was delivered with a shrug of indifference. "My mistake that I didn’t realise then. Make certain the servants are informed of your plans, whether you intend to return or not. There's no need to overburden them unnecessarily."

"Mother, what's gotten into you?" Apollo's words burst forth, his tone laced with hurt and frustration. "Why are you treating us like this?"

The sting of her indifference pierced him deeply, his heart twisting in pain at the callousness in her voice and the indifference in her gaze. His mother had changed, and it cut him to the core. His eyes pleaded for answers as he met her gaze.

"What happened to me?" she retorted, her voice tinged with anger and disappointment. The sudden shift in her demeanour left both her children stricken and surprised.

Inhaling deeply, Leto collected herself, allowing her breath to escape gently. She knew that getting angry or shouting wouldn't resolve anything. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, yet tinged with a detached edge.

"Let me be clear," Leto's words were measured, each syllable carrying the weight of her pent-up frustration. "I am disappointed in both of you. I am furious at your despicable behaviour and lack of manners. And I am tired of having to apologise for your actions."

Leto's response was sharp, almost cutting in its intensity.

Apollo's shock was palpable as he echoed her words, disbelief colouring his tone. "Apologise? On our behalf?"

"Yes, should I bother addressing your latest transgressions?" Leto's retort cut through the air like a whip, causing Apollo to flinch involuntarily. She observed his clenched fists, a telltale sign of his struggle to contain his temper, but paid it little mind.

"You insulted Persia at a dinner where she was your guest," Leto continued, her voice sharp with accusation. "Persia, who is the only daughter of my childhood friend. Do you even comprehend the ramifications of your actions? When word reached me, I couldn't help but question how I would face Zia. I had to contemplate whether your reckless behaviour would force me to sacrifice my friendship with Zia because my own son seemed determined to become my adversary."

Apollo's gaze shot up to meet Leto's, his eyes reflecting the hurt and disbelief coursing through him. "Mother," he whispered, his voice laden with pain.

"Do not call me that!" Leto's voice trembled with suppressed emotion as she fought to maintain composure, averting her gaze from her daughter, whose lips trembled with shame, and her son, who appeared lost and bewildered. "You have lost the right to that address! No child of mine would ever conduct themselves in such a manner! My son was compassionate and courageous. My son understood the importance of tolerance and forgiveness. And my son knew how to offer a sincere apology."

Apollo flinched once more, his gaze fixed resolutely on the tabletop. He felt the weight of his mother's disappointment bearing down on him, a sensation more agonising than the depths of Tartarus itself. The sight of her eyes, filled with both disappointment and disgust, pierced his heart, confirming the depths to which he had fallen in her eyes.

"My son," Leto's voice softened, her eyes distant and shimmering with unshed tears, "...would have shown gratitude to the woman who came to his aid when he was vulnerable. He would have apologised for his words. He would have adhered to the principles of common courtesy and sent a letter of thanks to the healer who saved him."

A wet chuckle escaped Leto's lips, her emotions finally laid bare through her words. "But he did none of that," she continued bitterly. "Instead, he returned to the very father who had offended the healer who saved him, questioning the mother whose connections had once saved his life."

With a whispered breath, Leto concluded, though her words carried a weight that echoed through the silent room. "All I see," she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow and resignation, "are the children of Zeus seated at my table, in my home. My true children... they've been gone for a long time."

Artemis fought back tears, her voice trembling as she spoke with pleading eyes. "Mother, please... we never intended to cause offence. We've been respectful to everyone here. We didn't even realise you had friends!" Her words spilled out in a desperate attempt to ease the disappointment etched on Leto's face.

"You would've known if you'd bothered to stay by your mother's side," Leto shot back icily, her tone cutting through the air like a blade. "Mere cordiality doesn't excuse your abhorrent behaviour and disgraceful choices."

With a cold demeanour, Leto rose from her seat. "I trust you have your answers now, Apollo. Is there anything else?" she demanded, her gaze piercing.

Apollo shook his head, unable to meet his mother's gaze. A heavy ache settled in his heart, an unfamiliar weight of emotion bearing down on him. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he watched his mother leave the island. Suddenly, her actions and demeanour began to make sense to him, though it only served to intensify the ache in his chest.

"We should leave," Artemis spoke softly, her voice heavy with the weight of the stifling silence that enveloped them. "The meeting will begin soon."

"I think we are being followed," Jason murmured to Thalia, his hand instinctively drifting towards the concealed weapons nestled within the folds of his cloak.

Thalia remained unfazed by her brother's hushed observation. "Do you want to eat something?” she suggested nonchalantly. “I think I saw a bakery down the street. Let's see if we can get some buns."

Jason simply nodded in agreement.

For weeks, Jason and Thalia had journeyed on foot, seeking refuge in the quaint villages scattered between their respective kingdoms. They treaded cautiously, avoiding the grandeur of kingdoms where immortals roamed freely among mortals. 

In these mortal realms, gods and goddesses walked among the common folk, assuming various guises to interact with their subjects. But Jason and Thalia had no desire to attract the attention of these divine beings. They preferred the anonymity offered by the remote villages, the distant towns, and the sprawling forests that blanketed the land.

But their current stop was different. 

Thalia's eyes had sparkled with wonder when she learned of their proximity to Troy. Jason, too,  had felt the pull of curiosity tugging at his senses, tempted by the opportunity to witness the historical city firsthand. 

So they decided that they wouldn't go far and would only visit the marketplace for a brief amount of time.

Somehow, now, they were being followed by someone.

"What do we do?" Jason barely moved his lips as he accepted the bun with a forced smile.

"I saw a port on the way to the marketplace. Some of the merchants were talking. How much money do we have?" Thalia whispered, leading Jason through the throngs of people with ease and urgency in her step.

"Five gold coins, two silver ones, and a single copper," Jason replied quietly.

"And drachma?" Thalia inquired softly.

"Ten," Jason confirmed.

Thalia nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd for someone. Upon noticing a gentleman, she asked, "Xenos, will you please tell us the way to the port?"

The gentleman, upon noticing Jason behind her, gave a nod, gesturing to the side. "Through that way. There are two ships ready to depart in a few minutes. You would want to hurry."

"Of course, xenos. Our gratitude," Jason replied, pulling Thalia along with him.

"What a misogynist fool," Thalia murmured under her breath. Jason gave her a sharp look. "Not now, sis, please."

Thalia huffed but went along. Thankfully, they had been able to board one of the ships easily.

When Thalia looked back from the ship deck, a flash of a gold ring caught her eye. Perhaps whoever had been following them had stayed back on the land.

As Zeus scanned the throne room, his brow furrowed with concern. There was an unmistakable tension hanging in the air, casting a pall over what should have been a routine Olympian gathering. It was the first full meeting since Apollo's injury. He had even extended an invitation to Hades to attend as there was the impending decision concerning the next sitting of the books.

The atmosphere unsettled Zeus. Apart from a few exceptions like Hermes, Dionysus, Aphrodite, and Athena, the behaviour of the assembled gods seemed oddly subdued. Apollo appeared distant, lost in thought, while Artemis remained unusually quiet despite Aphrodite's attempts to provoke her with flirtatious remarks—a stark departure from her usual fiery reactions.

 Even Ares and Hephaestus sat together, engaged in earnest conversation with genuine smiles gracing their faces — a surprising sight that left Zeus pondering when their relationship had thawed to such a degree.

Beside him, Hera sat in silence, her usually vibrant demeanour replaced by a pallor that troubled Zeus deeply. It was disconcerting to see his wife in such a state, especially considering that goddesses were not supposed to fall ill. 

Hestia and Demeter had distanced themselves from him following the debacle involving Hades' revelation of Zeus' permission to abduct Persephone and the contractual agreement between them. The fallout from the incident weighed heavily on him.

Adding to the unease, neither Poseidon nor Hades had arrived yet, nor had the demigods made their appearance. 

Zeus observed his demigod children as they entered the throne room. They greeted him with polite smiles and respectful bows, but there was a noticeable difference in their appearances. Thalia exuded a healthy tan and an air of contentment, while Jason appeared more reserved, his emotions masked behind a stoic expression.

Taking their seats near the hearth, they joined Hestia, who welcomed them warmly. Thalia's smile brightened as she exchanged pleasantries with Hestia, while Jason's demeanour visibly softened in her presence. Zeus couldn't help but notice Hestia's satisfaction at being considered a safe haven for his children.

Soon after, Will, Persia, and Annabeth entered the room, their presence accompanied by the soft jingle of Persia's anklets. The trio huddled together, engaged in a lively conversation. From his vantage point, Zeus observed Persia admonishing Will, with Annabeth interjecting with exasperated remarks between their exchanges, eliciting laughter from Will and annoyance from Persia.

Persia offered a nod of acknowledgment, while Annabeth and Will bowed with deference. Zeus chose to overlook the slight deviation in protocol from Persia. As they joined his children by the hearth, Hestia once again received warm, genuine smiles from the newcomers. Sensing Hestia's delight at the warm reception from the newcomers, Zeus couldn't help but reflect on his sister's gentle nature.

Thalia and Jason were warmly embraced by their friends, and soon all five of them settled down, engrossed in lively chatter about their recent experiences. Though Zeus caught snippets of their conversations, much of their discussions eluded him. 

Finally, the awaited arrival of Hades and Poseidon was announced, with Nico accompanying them. Offering a nod of acknowledgment to Zeus, Nico joined the gathering at the hearth. While Nico's reception of Hestia appeared less warm compared to the others, his politeness remained evident.

Zeus sensed Hestia's disappointment at the inability to connect with Hades' son. Her long standing fondness for Hades stirred a twinge of irrational jealousy within Zeus, a sentiment that had begun to manifest at unpredictable intervals in recent days.

Clearing his throat, Zeus glanced at Poseidon and Hades with a raised eyebrow. "Well, well, look who's together again," he remarked. 

Hades rolled his eyes in response. "We bumped into each other at the entrance." He retorted dryly.

Poseidon chimed in with a wry smile, "Rest assured, brother, we're not hatching any plots against you. You can keep your throne safe and sound. And I can assure you, from both our perspectives, that we're perfectly content ruling our own realms, despite the chaos it entails."

"You have no idea," Hades added, a half-smile quirking his lips, leaving Zeus to stare at them in bewilderment. When had Hades developed such a penchant for joking and smiling?

Poseidon let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I can relate. The past few months have been nothing short of chaotic. Despite having plenty of helping hands, I'm still drowning in work."

He observed as Hades' expression softened further. "Yes, I heard about what happened. How is she holding up now?"

"Thanks to the grace of Khaós, she's doing much better than before. And the kids are adjusting remarkably well," Poseidon replied, casting a fond glance at Persia. "I have to give credit to Persia; her relentless efforts are what's keeping our family together. Sometimes, I wonder if she ever tires from all the work. My daughter continues to surprise me."

Hades offered a knowing smile, his voice filled with affection. "Persia takes after her mother."

Poseidon chuckled, a hint of wryness in his tone. "Well, I wouldn't know. I still haven't had the chance to have a proper conversation with the woman who apparently is my daughter's mother."

Hades pressed his lips together, a subtle attempt to conceal a smile. He remained silent on the matter, leaving it at that.

Zeus had been lost in his thoughts throughout the conversation, unable to grasp most of what had been said. When had his brothers grown so close that they were privy to each other's lives, while he remained out of the loop?

"Zeus?" Hestia's gentle voice brought him back to the present. "Shall we begin the meeting? Everyone is present."

"Ah, yes," Zeus replied, clearing his throat to regain his focus. "Let us commence with the meeting."

"Excuse me, if you will," A very familiar voice interjected, directing his attention towards the source of the interruption – Persia, who continued after gaining  the attention of the entire room.

"My apologies for the interruption," she began, her gaze sweeping across the room. "However, there is a matter to attend to. Will has something to address, isn't that right, Will?"

Persia nudged Will, who appeared reluctant but ultimately rose from his seat as she settled down. Zeus observed their exchange with curiosity. As Will bowed respectfully before him, Zeus raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

"I apologise, Grandfather," Will began, his tone contrite. "I regret the manner in which I addressed you during our previous encounter. Though the words I spoke were true, I acknowledge that my delivery lacked sensitivity. I should have been more considerate of the circumstances."

Will's apology, though reluctant, rang sincere. There was no hint of pride in his words, only a genuine remorse. Zeus realised he had almost forgotten the incident where Will had spoken out against him. At the time, his concern for Apollo had eclipsed any personal offence he might have felt. It was unexpected that Apollo's son had not only remembered but had also come forward to apologise.

Sensing the anticipation in the room, Zeus knew his response carried weight. Poseidon and Hades watched him cautiously. Despite his flaws, Zeus understood the importance of acknowledging a sincere apology. With a sigh, he responded, "It's forgiven, Will. Apology accepted."

"Thank you," Will replied, resuming his seat. The absence of pride or ego in the boy's demeanour left some of the Olympians taken aback. Zeus couldn't help but notice the subtle approval reflected in Persia's eyes as Will glanced at her for confirmation.

Once again, Zeus found himself perplexed by Persia's enigmatic nature. Her complexities and contradictions remained a puzzle to him, leaving him unable to comprehend her motives.

Lost in his thoughts, Zeus failed to notice Apollo's lingering gaze on Persia—a detail that might have added to his already mounting worries.

"Does anyone else have something to add?" Zeus inquired, pausing briefly to allow for any additional comments. When no one spoke up, he continued, "Very well, let us proceed. The purpose of this meeting was to schedule the next session, during which I intend to conclude the Titanomachy. Are there any suggestions for a preferred date?"

"I suggest postponing it by at least a month," Hades proposed. "It's not feasible to convene this month."

"Why is that, Lord Hades?" Ares queried, his tone laced with curiosity. "Is there a reason for the delay?"

Surprisingly, Poseidon interjected, "Yes, indeed. There's a significant ceremony of ancient origin taking place in the Water Realm, and nearly the entire universe has been invited."

"I haven't received an invitation yet," Zeus interjected. Poseidon shot him an exasperated look. "The messengers were dispatched just this morning, Zeus. Exercise some patience."

Zeus scowled at his brother, but Poseidon merely rolled his eyes in response.

At that moment, a servant entered the room. "My Lord, a messenger bearing an invitation has arrived from the Sea."

Poseidon shot Zeus a pointed look, but Zeus ignored it, gesturing for the servant to allow the messenger to approach.

The messenger entered with a calm demeanour, sporting a polite smile. His gaze briefly flickered to Persia, showing a moment of indecision before she waved him off, signalling towards Zeus. Accepting her silent guidance, the messenger bowed respectfully to Zeus.

"Greetings, Your Grace," the messenger began. " My name is Adrian. I bring an invitation to the Realm of Water on behalf of High Lord Oceanus. May I proceed to read the invitation?"

"Of course," Zeus replied softly yet regally, his demeanour shifting from annoyance to composed acceptance.

Adrian unfurled the invitation, revealing its elegant presentation on dark blue velvet cloth, adorned with delicate tassels made of gold and pearls that jingled softly as he straightened it out.

To the King of Heaven, Land, and Sky,

To the Son of Rhea,

I have the esteemed privilege of extending to you a heartfelt invitation to partake in the Coronation Ceremony to be held at the Sea. It would be an immense honour and a source of profound joy if you, together with the esteemed members of Olympus, would deign to grace us with your august presence, illuminating this auspicious occasion with your presence.

This illustrious ceremony is meticulously planned to unfold two weeks hence, on the ninth lunar day. It will be a grand event spanning three days, culminating in a sumptuous feast.

I humbly implore you to kindly signify your acceptance at your earliest convenience, thus affording us the privilege of making the requisite arrangements befitting your esteemed attendance.

With sincere regards,

Lord Oceanus,

First Lord,

Water Realm.

"We accept," Zeus replied, though a flurry of inquiries filled his mind. "Please extend our warm regards to the Water Realm."

"I will, Your Grace," Adrian acknowledged with a bow before departing the throne room. As he left, he bestowed a respectful nod upon Persia, evoking a fond smile from her.

"Whose coronation will be held?" Athena inquired, her gaze shifting towards Poseidon, awaiting his response. Poseidon met her gaze with a raised eyebrow. "You will discover the answer upon your arrival," he retorted cryptically.

"May we redirect our focus to the present matter?" Persia interjected, discreetly steering the conversation away from any speculation regarding her impending coronation. She was keen to avoid becoming the subject of discussion.

"Yes," Zeus nodded, regaining his composure and redirecting the conversation. "Let us return to the primary matter at hand. Considering our forthcoming commitments, I propose that the session be convened during the first solar week of the next month. Are there any objections?"

There was a collective silence, indicating unanimous agreement. Zeus acknowledged the consensus with a nod. "Very well. The second item for discussion pertains to the establishment of the camp. Apollo, what decisions have you reached?"

"Nearly all preparations have been made, Father," Apollo responded, his gaze briefly meeting Persia's before continuing. "We are contemplating involving not only demigods but also mortals in certain capacities. While not every mortal will be included, Persia and I believe it prudent to engage them, especially considering the foresight provided by my visions."

Zeus mulled over Apollo's proposal, glancing at Persia, who observed the proceedings with keen interest but remained notably silent. Surveying the council's expressions, some of which bore frowns, Zeus addressed them directly. "Are there any objections or suggestions concerning the proposal involving the mortals?"

"They will not be able to keep up with the demigods or the Immortals, Father," Athena interjected promptly, her tone laced with scepticism. "What were you thinking, Apollo?"

Apollo bristled at Athena's questioning tone, his patience wearing thin. "Do you presume to know more about my visions than I do, Athena?" he retorted sharply. "Rather than making assumptions, perhaps you should seek clarification from me. I do not appreciate being doubted on matters I am intimately familiar with."

Apollo's attention abruptly shifted to Persia, a wave of déjà vu washing over him. He discovered her observing him with raised eyebrows and a glint of amusement shimmering in her eyes. Her suppressed grin hinted at her amusement with the unfolding confrontation. Apollo couldn't help but acknowledge the irony of his own behaviour, realising that Persia likely found his stance hypocritical. Their time together on Delos had acquainted him with her various moods, and he knew she could see through his façade. Hastily, he tore his gaze away from her, unwilling to draw further attention to their silent exchange.

Athena's eyes widened at the unexpected admonishment from Apollo. It was rare for him to address her with such sternness. Seeking support, she glanced at Zeus, only to find him frowning in her direction instead. Before the tension could escalate further, Ares intervened with a question, cutting through the palpable atmosphere.

"So what is the exact plan regarding the mortals?" Ares inquired.

Apollo acknowledged him with a curt nod, struggling to contain his frustration. He was acutely aware of his difficulty in managing his emotions, exacerbated by the lingering influence of Tartarus’ essence.

Sighing heavily, Apollo addressed the council, his voice tinged with resignation. "I understand the limitations of mortals in keeping pace with us. However, the mortals we intend to select will serve as ambassadors between the immortal realm and mortal lands. They will undergo training and their primary responsibility will be to facilitate communication and coordination among mortal kingdoms."

Turning towards Zeus, Apollo sought his approval. "If it pleases you, may I present the detailed plan concerning them, Father?"

"Certainly, my son," Zeus responded with a fond smile, granting Apollo permission to present the detailed plan.

Apollo waved his hand, and before their eyes, a vast map materialised in the centre of the throne room, stretching out like a colossal screen. Each kingdom was meticulously marked, alongside the sprawling forests designated for their purposes.

With a sweeping gesture, Apollo began to elucidate their plans. "We have resolved to extend invitations to representatives from these prominent kingdoms. These individuals will be stationed within the confines of these forests, where numerous shelters and healing tents will be erected to accommodate immortals, demigods, and mortals alike. Leveraging our unparalleled knowledge of the land, we intend to harness the resources of these forests, replete with invaluable herbs and rejuvenating springs, which must be safeguarded in times of conflict."

"For the time being," Apollo continued, "we have decided to task these chosen mortals with the cultivation of these areas, while we fortify our defences with strategically placed traps. Additionally, they will be entrusted with the vital responsibility of fostering alliances with neighbouring kingdoms, thereby mitigating the risk of unnecessary conflict and ensuring the safety of mortal inhabitants."

All eyes were fixed on Apollo in awe, a collective astonishment evident, particularly among those Olympians unaccustomed to witnessing this formidable aspect of him. Zeus regarded his son with a swell of paternal pride, reminiscent of Apollo's illustrious feats that had once resounded across the realms. Poseidon and Hades remained unsurprised by Apollo's ingenuity. 

Meanwhile, Athena's usually astute countenance faltered as she scrutinised the intricate details of the plan, searching for any potential flaws. Artemis bestowed upon her brother a gentle smile, a silent acknowledgment of his accomplishments, before directing a more hesitant yet warm smile towards Persia. 

Persia reciprocated with a small smile of her own, though her silence throughout the proceedings did not escape Apollo's notice, leaving him unsettled.

"It seems Persia suggested the cultivation of our forests, did she not?" Ares interjected, surprising many with his astute observation. Apollo turned to his younger half-brother, eyebrows raised inquisitively. "Indeed. How did you come to know?"

"Seems like something she would advocate," Ares remarked with a nonchalant shrug, directing a small smile towards Persia, who appeared mildly amused. "She does possess quite the compassionate spirit."

Annabeth chimed in with a huff of agreement. "Indeed, her bleeding heart often leads her into trouble."

Rolling her eyes at both Ares and Annabeth, Persia interjected, "If you two are finished, may we return to the matter at hand?"

Sharing matching smiles, Ares and Annabeth relented, though their playful banter lingered in the air. Persia shot them exasperated looks before refocusing on the discussion at hand.

Zeus cleared his throat, still somewhat taken aback by Ares' uncharacteristic openness. "Indeed, a valuable suggestion. It also brings to mind another matter. Apollo, do you still stand by your decision?"

"I do, Father," Apollo affirmed with a nod as he resumed his seat. "I remain steadfast in my belief that it holds significant merit."

Zeus nodded, his earlier concern now eased. "Very well. Poseidon, Hades, my son wishes for Persia to be involved in the army's planning. What are your thoughts on this?"

Poseidon responded promptly, raising concerns. "Such an inclusion would pose significant challenges within the domain of the Sea. While a typical demigod's involvement might not stir unrest, given Persia's lineage and her influential position in the realm, this proposition could provoke discord."

Hades interjected with a pensive tone, directing his attention to his attentive goddaughter. "Indeed. However there may be a way to approach this matter diplomatically. Darling, what are your thoughts on this?"

Persia concurred with her father's perspective. "I concur with Father, Uncle. However, any viable plan hinges on understanding the parameters of this decision. It is imperative to consider the potential ramifications before proceeding."

Hades nodded, his gaze distant. He remained silent. Zeus prompted him for his input. "Hades?"

Hades responded, "We must defer this decision for the time being, Zeus. While Persia collaborating with Apollo on camp planning is acceptable, formalising her role could incite unnecessary complications. A more prudent approach would involve contemplating the establishment of a trilateral alliance between our realms. Let us deliberate further and revisit this matter in due course."

Poseidon concurred. However, it was Zeus's statement that left them momentarily speechless. "Well, what's the obstacle here? Let us expeditiously establish an alliance among the three realms."

Hades's eyes widened noticeably, while Poseidon glanced at Zeus in astonishment. The other Olympians mirrored their surprised expressions, though Hestia wore a look of pride. Zeus, taken aback by their reactions, blinked in confusion. "What's the matter?"

Hades cleared his throat, struggling to comprehend the sudden shift. "Nothing," he managed, attempting to regain his composure. Poseidon, regaining his composure, replied, "Since you seem agreeable to the idea of an alliance, Hades and I will relay this to our realms and reach a decision. We shall have an answer by the next month. Hades, your thoughts on this?"

After a moment's contemplation, Hades nodded. "Once this session concludes, we can convene for further discussions. Would that suit you, Zeus?"

"Certainly," Zeus affirmed with a nod. He then addressed the group gathered around the hearth. "Your insights have been invaluable. If there are no additional matters requiring discussion, you are at liberty to depart. However, you are also welcome to remain should you choose."

Thalia offered a warm smile. "It seems we've covered everything then, haven’t we?" She glanced around at her companions, who shook their heads in agreement. With a cheerful clap of her hands, she announced, "In that case, let's make our exit. There's plenty to catch up on, isn't there?"

"Absolutely," Will chimed in, rising from his seat and stretching his arms. "Lead the way."

Before they could depart, Hades interjected, halting their exit. "Hold on a moment. Persia and Nico, I need you both to stay behind momentarily. You'll join the others shortly."

Persia and Nico exchanged puzzled looks, but Persia gestured for her friends to leave. Annabeth leaned in to whisper, "We'll be waiting outside."

Persia nodded in acknowledgment as Thalia, Will, Jason, and Annabeth exited the throne room. Once they were gone, she turned her attention back to Hades, curious about his intentions. She whispered to Nico, "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

Nico smirked knowingly. "Perhaps."

Persia blinked, settling back to observe the unfolding scene.

"Hades, what is the matter?" Zeus inquired, his brow furrowing in confusion. Apollo sensed a looming sense of significance in the air.

Hades met Zeus's gaze, requesting a moment of patience. "Please wait; I will provide an explanation shortly." At that instant, a swirl of blank mist materialised, revealing Alecto who carried a small chest. With a respectful bow, she handed the box to Hades before vanishing.

"Is that what I suspect it to be?" Persia interjected, her alarm evident. Nico affirmed her suspicion with a slight nod. Persia's breath caught in her throat.

Meanwhile, Hades had opened the box and retrieved an item wrapped in cloth. He passed it to Zeus, instructing him to unwrap it. "Open it, Zeus."

Accepting the object, Zeus was surprised by its weight. Carefully unwrapping the cloth, he was met with a sight that left him stunned, his gaze snapping back to meet Hades's impassive eyes.

Upon the cloth lay a marble tablet, shattered into pieces.

"Is this...?" Zeus uttered softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hades?"

"It is indeed the same tablet on which the terms of our alliance were inscribed, subject to certain conditions," Hades affirmed, reclining on his throne and observing Zeus's pallid countenance. "The conditions, if I recall correctly, included your pledge not to harm any of my progeny. However, time does not progress in a linear fashion; it is boundless. Consequently, the actions of the future hold sway over the past, particularly considering the changes wrought by our offspring. Upon discovering the tablet shattered …you understand the implications, do you not?"

"That the alliance between us has been sundered," Zeus murmured, still grappling with the weight of the revelation.

"Indeed," Hades confirmed calmly, "and with it, Persephone is liberated."

"What?" Demeter exclaimed, torn between conflicting emotions of surprise, hope and uncertainty.

"Yes," Hades reiterated, his tone firm. "If you summon her, Demeter, I will nullify the enchantments of the pomegranate seeds. Persephone is no longer bound to me as my consort."

Demeter complied with his request, her heart racing with uncertainty. The situation felt too surreal to fully grasp, yet it unsettled her deeply.

Hera interjected, raising a pertinent question. "Shouldn't Persephone be given a chance to voice her opinion in this matter?"

"No," Hades countered decisively. "Considering the many times you and Demeter have pointed out my past transgressions, shouldn't you both be pleased that I am rectifying my mistakes, Hera? Persephone was never formally wed to me; she was my consort, and I am releasing her from that status. Her input is unnecessary."

Hera and Demeter flushed with embarrassment at being called out in front of the assembly.

Persephone materialised beside her mother, who greeted her with a hesitant yet radiant smile. Cupping her daughter's cheeks, Demeter expressed her joy. "Oh, my daughter! I am overjoyed today. Hades is releasing you from your obligations!"

"W-What!?" Persephone stammered, her eyes widening in disbelief. She turned to Hades, who smirked mockingly in response.

"And what of my children? My daughters?" Persephone's quiet inquiry hung in the air, drawing puzzled glances from those around her. Hades, Nico, and Persia exchanged incredulous looks as they processed her unexpected question.

Persia muttered to Nico, "Well, would you look at that! Persephone is suddenly concerned about her daughters. Did the sun decide to rise in the north today?"

"Indeed, sister. Let's sit back and enjoy the impending drama. I'm sure we're in for a series of shocking revelations," Nico replied in a tone laced with both amusement and irritation.

 "It appears so," Persia quipped dryly in agreement.

"Yes, what about them?" Demeter inquired indifferently. Hades retorted, "Why don't you inquire directly from them?"

With a gesture from Hades, two ethereal figures materialised upon the throne. They appeared as polar opposites — one with long, blond hair styled in a high ponytail, clad in soft ivory with subtle adornments, while the other boasted flowing black locks cascading down her back, adorned in a striking black dress embellished with rubies.

The black-haired beauty addressed Hades with a smile. "Papa, is something amiss?"

"Your mother -" Hades began, only to be swiftly interrupted by the black-haired woman. "Your consort, you mean. That woman holds no claim over me."

"I don't recognize you," Persephone remarked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Persia and Nico exchanged knowing glances. In contrast, the black-haired woman chuckled softly and arched an eyebrow, as if silently conveying, 'See? This is exactly what I was talking about.'

"Melinoe, it's wonderful to see you again," Persia greeted warmly, extending an embrace. Melinoe reciprocated the gesture, leaving Persephone gasping in astonishment. She reached out for Makaria as well.

"How...?" Persephone began, her voice trailing off in disbelief. "You didn't appear like this before."

Melinoe gave a sardonic smile, "It truly matters to you how I appear, doesn’t it? 

Persephone, still baffled by the sudden revelation, struggled to comprehend. Meanwhile, Hades interjected with a pointed question. "Have either of you expressed any interest in maintaining contact with your mother?"

Both Makaria and Melinoe shook their heads in unison, with Makaria adding, "Absolutely not, Papa! What kind of nonsensical question is that?”

"Persephone insisted that your opinion must hold prominence," Nico replied with a small amused smile.

Rolling her eyes, Melinoe scoffed, "I've had enough of this. We've wasted too much time on that woman." With that, she vanished instantly. Makaria shrugged indifferently, offering a casual wave to Persia and Nico before following her elder sister's lead and disappearing from the scene.

“Well, I think it’s clear what they want.” Hades smirked, watching as Persephone gulped. He waved his hand, conjuring a contract between Nico and Persia. "I request both of you to review and sign this document as witnesses before I present it to Persephone."

A table with red ink materialised at the hearth. Taking a seat, Nico obediently signed the contract with the red ink, leaving behind an imprint of the emblem from his Heir ring beside his name. He then passed the contract to Persia.

Upon examining the document, Persia looked up at Hades, her expression curious. "Isn't this a rather severe measure?"

Hades merely shrugged in response. Persia did not question further, letting the matter go. She followed Nico’s example as she carefully signed her name and left her emblem imprint in the wax. 

Returning the contract to Hades, Persia glanced at him expectantly. "Can we depart now, Uncle?" 

"Certainly, my dear," Hades replied with a nod.

With a shared glance of mutual disinterest in the affairs concerning Persephone, Persia and Nico made their way out of the throne room. 

"There is one last final matter to discuss," Zeus breathed, still trying to recover from the surprise Hades had given him. He straightened himself, concealing his own turmoil as he said, "Poseidon, I need to have a word with you.”

"What is it?" Poseidon inquired.

"I want you to restrict Persia's powers. She is way too powerful," Zeus requested.

Poseidon stiffened immediately. His eyes hardened as he surveyed the hall. When he noticed Athena's smirking face and delighted expression, he knew exactly who was attempting to manipulate the situation.

In recent months, with Amphitrite being caught red-handed and the revelation of what had truly happened to Rhode, Poseidon had come to a startling realisation. He had been far too complacent. Over the centuries, he had allowed immortals to believe they could say whatever they wished in his presence. For example, Athena’s continuous disrespectful behaviour that he had tolerated merely for the sake of maintaining peace and sentiment.

"I dare you to repeat yourself, Zeus," Poseidon's voice was cold, his gaze darkening to a poisonous green.

Zeus's eyes widened at Poseidon's sudden shift in demeanour. Hades smirked, a glimmer of satisfaction evident as he prepared for the impending drama. Hestia looked warily between her three brothers, noticing Hades' expression.

Apollo shook his head, wondering when his father would cease enabling Athena’s habit of needling Lord Poseidon. While it had been entertaining initially, there were times when Apollo felt it was too risky to provoke the God, especially when Poseidon appeared unnervingly serious.

Artemis sighed, exchanging a resigned glance with Hermes. Both of them detested Athena's unnecessary penchant for creating conflict where none existed. Unfortunately, she always exploited Zeus' weaknesses, and their father fell for it every time.

It was one of the reasons Athena was such a formidable strategist. She had no qualms about exploiting anyone's weaknesses to her advantage.

The others, however, wore bewildered expressions.

In the sudden silence, , Zeus felt the ember of his wrath ignite. His gaze crackled with tempestuous currents, and the air hummed with the scent of an impending storm.

"Poseidon, I am your King. Do not dare to question my orders," Zeus spoke, his voice tinged with unmistakable anger. His brows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed as his temper grew.

Poseidon leaned back on his throne, resting his elbows on the arms as he intertwined his fingers. He fixed Zeus with a piercing, glacial stare, causing even the King of Gods to falter momentarily, a fleeting shadow of trepidation dancing across his countenance.

"You. Are. Not. My. King," Poseidon's voice pierced the charged atmosphere like a shard of glacial clarity. "Hades and I are equal to you. That was the agreement we had when we allowed you to become the King of the Gods. Your proclivity for orchestrating circumstances to suit your own ends is well noted, Zeus. However, none of us have forgotten the terms that allowed you to the position you hold now. The truth will not change according to you."

Poseidon's words were delivered in a calm and steady manner, his voice frigid. His demeanour seemed to invoke a reaction from all the oldest Olympians.

Zeus paled terribly, his power diminishing at once. Demeter, Hestia, and Hera exchanged worried glances as they looked between the brothers, as if ready to intervene. Hades straightened, a gleam of vindictiveness evident as Zeus received a dressing down from an unlikely source.

"How dare you—" Athena's protest was abruptly silenced as she collapsed in agony, the hall enveloped in a sudden veil of sound-cancelling magic. The other Olympians rose, except for Poseidon, Hades, and Zeus, their apprehension palpable, yet they refrained from interfering.

Hades remained stoic, while Zeus clenched his fists, avoiding eye contact. Poseidon sat unmoved, a hint of amusement in his expression as Athena writhed in agony. After a moment of her torment, he released her, a twisted smirk playing on his lips.

"Given your father's reluctance to address your behaviour, I find myself compelled to assume the role. While it seems you were not schooled in etiquette by your father, one would hope you've been taught to demonstrate respect for your elders," he remarked, fixing a composed gaze upon Hestia. "Ah, Hestia, I recall your pledge to nurture Metis's daughter in a manner befitting her legacy. Yet, one wonders if this is the result of your efforts. For she, I'm afraid, is a disheartening reflection upon Metis's name."

Hestia flinched imperceptibly, her gaze falling. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she fought to regain composure amidst the weight of his words.

"Poseidon, your words cut deeper than necessary," Demeter interjected, her tone reproachful as she watched her gentle sister come under attack. "Why drag Hestia into this conflict?"

Poseidon arched an eyebrow, a wry smirk playing on his lips. "Is she not the self-appointed arbiter of peace among us Olympians?" he retorted. "And, Demeter, your silence during my own unjust vilification at the hands of Zeus's misguided offspring over the centuries has not escaped my notice."

Demeter flushed with embarrassment, while Hera, poised to intervene, remained silent at Poseidon's pointed remark.

Poseidon's smirk widened, the culmination of centuries of anger and resentment now laid bare. Turning to Zeus with a mocking tilt of his head, he continued, "Do you recall the moment you consumed Metis? I had you in a similar vulnerable position, much like your daughter is now." 

Zeus clenched his jaw, his glare piercing as he struggled to contain his rising anger.

“Y-you s-speak a-as if y-you k-know m-my m-mother!” Athena stuttered as she rose to her feet. Her immortal form was quivering with a mixture of hatred and trepidation as her eyes were  ablaze with an intense emotion.

Poseidon's smile deepened at the sight of her trepidation. "Your mother is my dearest friend. And your father, well, let's just say he once found himself in a similarly precarious position. I was," he paused, gesturing with a precise pinch of his fingers, "this close to administering justice before the intervention of my mother and Hestia."

A collective inhale echoed through the assembly, the weight of Poseidon's words settling heavily upon them. Only the elder Olympians maintained grim expressions, while Hades remained impassive.

"However," Poseidon continued with a rueful shake of his head, "I am not one to defy my mother's wishes." Athena swallowed hard, her composure faltering as she felt a newfound sense of fear for the deity seated before her.

Poseidon rose to his full stature, his movements deliberate as he stretched his arms and fixed his gaze upon Zeus. With measured steps, he approached, inclining slightly to meet Zeus's eyes, his voice chilled with resolve.

"I trust you recall the consequences when those I hold dear are threatened," Poseidon began, his tone cutting through the air like frost. "My Persia is my utmost pride. Allow me to reiterate this for the final time, Zeus. Any affront to my pride will meet with zero tolerance. You have no jurisdiction over my offspring. They are under my sole authority, and I alone dictate their fate. Do not overstep your boundaries. Is that understood?"

Zeus's jaw clenched, his eyes ablaze with fury as he broke their gaze, but he offered no retort, the weight of Poseidon's words hanging heavy in the air.

Poseidon stood erect, flicking off his fingers in a subtle manner, smoothing nonexistent creases from his toga. He allowed a pregnant pause to settle, casting a deliberate silence that unsettled the gathered assembly. Finally, he lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Athena with an air of ominous intent.

His voice carried a menacing undertone, accentuated by the dangerous glint in his eyes. "Should you dare to insult me again, expect a far less forgiving response," Poseidon warned, his words laden with implicit threat. He gestured casually towards Athena's trembling form, emphasising the gravity of his warning.

"And let this serve as a reminder," he continued, his tone brooking no argument. "Do not address my daughter or any of my offspring in such a disrespectful manner again. Know that my restraint in the face of your insult towards Persia is solely due to her indifference towards you and your words. Her perceived lack of regard for your opinions is the only shield safeguarding you from my wrath.”

Athena swallowed hard, the weight of Poseidon's words pressing down upon her with humiliating force. Despite her attempts to muster a defiant glare, Poseidon's amusement rendered her efforts feeble.

As Poseidon vanished from sight, the tension in the room reached a crescendo. Hades, seizing the opportunity to depart, rose from his seat with a smirk.

"I too must bid you farewell," With a smirk playing upon his lips, Hades rose from his seat as his guest throne dissolved into nothingness. "It appears my time here is better spent elsewhere," he remarked casually, his tone tinged with amusement. "Unlike some, I have a realm to govern and duties to attend to. May the remainder of your day prove as eventful as it has been enlightening."

And with that parting jest, he vanished from the chamber, leaving behind an atmosphere charged with unresolved tension.

The midday sun bathed the gardens of Olympus in a warm, golden light as Apollo stepped out of the throne room, his mind still preoccupied with the weight of his recent conversation. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by the sound of genuine laughter drifting on the breeze. The melodic, carefree sound tugged at his curiosity, drawing him in.

Following the source, Apollo’s gaze settled on a grove of trees, where Persia sat surrounded by her friends. She was different here, in the midst of her companions—softer, more unguarded. A gentle flush colored her cheeks as she tried to stifle her laughter behind a delicate hand, while Annabeth and Thalia, grinning mischievously, tickled her relentlessly, until they all collapsed onto the grass in a heap of laughter.

Apollo paused, watching them with an odd sense of wonder. Persia, always so composed and regal in the presence of gods and immortals, seemed transformed here—lighter, unburdened. The sparkle in her eyes, the way her laughter rang out freely, stirred something unfamiliar in him. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it pulled at him, awakening a strange sense of protectiveness he hadn’t realized he possessed.

Thalia’s voice rang out, teasing, “Remember Daniel? Hermes’ son? Didn’t he send Persia thirty bouquets of carnations? And what did she do? Gave them all away to the orphanage!”

Annabeth’s laughter joined the chorus, while Persia’s blush deepened. “What was I supposed to do with all those flowers?” she muttered, swiping playfully at Annabeth, who dodged easily.

Apollo felt a strange pang at the mention of other admirers, a tightness in his chest that surprised him. His gaze lingered on Persia, watching as she tried to fend off her friends’ teasing with a sheepish grin. There was something magnetic about the way she softened in their presence, a vulnerability she rarely showed.

Will’s laughter joined the group, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s nothing! Remember Michael? Athena’s son?” He nudged Annabeth playfully. “The one with the sonnets?”

Annabeth groaned dramatically. “Oh gods, Michael and his beloved sonnets,” she said through her laughter.

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” Persia groaned, burying her face in her hands as her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. Apollo’s heart gave an involuntary jolt at the sight. It was a side of her he had never seen—unguarded, free from the constraints of her title, surrounded by people who cared for her.

He knew he should leave them to their laughter, but there was something about the scene that made him hesitate. He couldn’t stay away.

Steeling himself, Apollo approached the group, noticing the immediate shift in their energy. The laughter faded, replaced by a subtle wariness, even in Persia. Her smile remained, but there was a quietness behind it now, a guard that went up the moment she sensed his presence.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” Apollo’s voice was gentle but firm, directed at Persia.

Her warm, open demeanor faltered slightly, though she masked it well. Still, he could see the flicker of something in her eyes—disappointment, perhaps, or caution. “Of course, Lord Apollo,” she said, rising gracefully to join him.

They walked a few paces away, the lively chatter of her friends fading behind them. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something more intimate. “I’ve been thinking it would be beneficial for us to visit the site for the camp. Would you be willing to accompany me?”

Persia tilted her head, curiosity replacing some of the guardedness. “Have you finalized the place? Are we going now?” she asked.

Apollo nodded, his gaze steady on hers. “Yes. I had a vision regarding it. It’s best we go while the day is still young.”

“Alright then,” she agreed, though her eyes flickered back to her friends, a momentary flash of regret crossing her features. “Duty calls,” she said with a small, apologetic smile toward them. “I’ll see you all later.”

Her friends exchanged quick looks, their smiles faltering just slightly before they returned them. They waved her off with playful salutes, though Apollo could sense their reluctance to let her go.

As they turned to leave, Apollo summoned his chariot, its golden glow bright against the midday sun. He extended his hand to Persia, a gesture of formality, but there was something else in it too—something more tentative. He knew she was more than capable of climbing aboard herself, yet he couldn’t stop himself from offering. When her hand slipped into his, warm and steady, a curious warmth bloomed in his chest.

Persia hesitated for a moment, clearly unused to such gestures from him. But she allowed him to help her into the chariot, her movements graceful, deliberate. Her hand lingered in his a fraction longer than necessary before she withdrew it.

“Take a seat,” he said softly, gesturing to the space beside him. For a moment, she hesitated again, her brow furrowing ever so slightly as if unsure of the dynamic between them. But she acquiesced, sitting beside him, her posture careful but not uncomfortable.

Apollo took the reins, his touch confident, though there was a subtle charge in the air that hadn’t been there before. With a gentle command, the seven magnificent white horses lifted them into the sky, their wings beating rhythmically as they ascended. The world below fell away, shrinking beneath them as they soared through the heavens, leaving a shimmering trail of golden light in their wake.

As the wind rushed past them, Apollo stole a glance at Persia. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, thoughtful, but something in her posture told him she was wondering—wondering why he was behaving so strangely, why the air between them felt different today.

He, too, was wondering.

But neither of them spoke of it. Instead, they flew on, the silence between them filled with questions neither was quite ready to ask.

The grandeur of the Spartan throne room shimmered under the golden sunlight, the air thick with anticipation as courtiers moved with hushed reverence. Hyacinthus stood among them, his gaze fixed on the dais where King Amycus held court. He listened absently as a courtier spoke, detailing the troubles plaguing the traders, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

“—can we, Your Highness?” The courtier’s words were abruptly drowned out as a collective gasp rippled through the chamber. A brilliant light flooded the room, drawing every eye upward. Descending from the heavens, Apollo’s chariot appeared, bathed in a golden glow that set the throne room alight with an otherworldly brilliance.

Hyacinthus’s heart thudded in his chest as Apollo’s chariot descended, the radiant light surrounding it casting an ethereal glow over the throne room. As the chariot came to a halt, his gaze was drawn immediately to the figure beside his Lord. As Apollo stepped from the chariot, his presence commanding as always, Hyacinthus’s breath caught. But it was the figure beside Apollo that truly unsettled him.

She was unmistakable — Persia, the daughter of Poseidon. Hyacinthus had seen her only once before, but her presence had left an indelible mark on his memory.

The memory of her from that fateful day flickered through his mind, but now, in the flesh, her presence was even more striking. She exuded an effortless grace, her midnight-black hair cascading in soft waves around her face, which bore a perfect blend of sharpness and gentleness. Her emerald eyes, sharp and discerning, held an unspoken power — the same power she had displayed when none could aid his Lord.

Apollo stood beside her, every bit the divine sovereign, his golden locks gleaming in the sunlight, his eyes burning with an inner fire. The dark blue of his garments accentuated the laurel wreath crowning his head, marking him as both regal and divine. And yet, there was a softness to his stern gaze, a subtle warmth that Hyacinthus couldn’t ignore.

The contrast between them was stark yet harmonious, like the meeting of fire and water, both powerful and complementary. Hyacinthus’s eyes lingered on them, unease curling in his chest as he noticed Persia’s seat beside Apollo. It was a place of honor, one reserved for a consort, and the sight of it sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Surely, it was only a gesture of respect, a recognition of her bravery in saving Apollo. It couldn’t be more than that.

Yet, as Apollo turned to help Persia down from the chariot, extending his hand with a look of quiet command, Hyacinthus felt a pang of something deeper — a twinge of jealousy, sharp and unexpected. Persia met Apollo’s gaze with a casual roll of her eyes, but there was something intimate in the way she did it, a shared understanding that made Hyacinthus’s breath hitch. When she placed her hand in Apollo’s, the touch was light but deliberate, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Their interaction was seamless, filled with a subtle chemistry that spoke volumes without words.

Hyacinthus’s mind raced, flooded with questions and doubts, but he forced them aside, telling himself he was reading too much into a simple act of courtesy. Still, the sight of them together, so perfectly in sync, left him breathless with envy.

He approached them with measured steps, his face a mask of calm as he bowed before his Lord. “My Lord,” he greeted with a gentle smile, though inside, turmoil raged.

“Hyacinthus,” Apollo replied, his tone warm yet distant, as if an invisible barrier had risen between them.

Apollo’s gaze swept over the assembled courtiers, his expression unreadable. “Amycus,” he began, addressing the King with a tone that brooked no argument. “I trust that neither Sparta nor its citizens suffered harm in the aftermath of my battle with Porphyrion?”

King Amycus bowed deeply, his respect clear in every movement. “Thankfully, Lord Apollo, there have been no casualties.” His voice held a mix of relief and deference.

Apollo nodded, his features remaining impassive. “That is a relief,” he said, his tone even. But when he turned to Persia, his expression softened almost imperceptibly. “Ah, but it seems proper introductions are in order,” he said, a note of formality laced with a hidden fondness. “Allow me to present the illustrious and favored daughter of Poseidon, Heiress Persia.”

Hyacinthus watched closely as Persia blinked, a flicker of amusement in her emerald eyes. She raised an eyebrow at Apollo, who responded with a slight, almost playful shrug. The exchange was brief, but it held a significance that Hyacinthus couldn’t quite place — a shared history, perhaps, or an understanding that ran deeper than what was visible.

King Amycus bowed low before Persia. “Your presence honors us, daughter of Poseidon,” he said, his voice filled with reverence. Persia inclined her head regally, but Hyacinthus could see the uncertainty in her eyes, as if she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the Spartan king’s deference.

“Lord Apollo,” Hyacinthus interjected, forcing his voice to remain steady, “how may Sparta be of service to you? Is there anything we can do to assist you?”

Apollo smiled faintly, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he said, waving off the offer with a casual grace. “We won’t be staying long.” The dismissal was gentle, yet it cut deep, leaving Hyacinthus feeling oddly hollow.

Persia seemed to notice the shadow that crossed Hyacinthus’s face. Her gaze softened, a rare empathy shining in her eyes. “Perhaps you could stay a while longer, Lord Apollo,” she suggested, her voice warm and inviting. “I’d love to visit the local market.”

Apollo turned to her, a genuine smile lighting up his features. “As you wish,” he replied, his tone softening in a way that made Hyacinthus’s chest tighten. “But first, let us dine at my temple.”

Hyacinthus blinked, struggling to keep his composure. “May I have the honor of escorting you both?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. “Your Chief Priestess, My Lord, may require some time to prepare for your esteemed arrival.”

Apollo regarded him with a quizzical expression, confusion flickering in his golden eyes. “Ah, Hyacinthus,” he said slowly, “there’s no need. My Chief Priestess has already been informed.”

Persia looked surprised, her gaze shifting to Apollo. “When did you arrange that?” she asked, her tone light, teasing.

Apollo chuckled softly. “I couldn’t let you starve,” he replied, a note of affection in his voice. “I did invite you to join me, after all.”

Persia huffed, crossing her arms in mock irritation. “I suppose I didn’t expect such thoughtfulness from you,” she retorted, though her eyes sparkled with unspoken warmth.

Hyacinthus watched their exchange, a deep sadness settling in his heart. He had always been able to read Apollo, to anticipate his desires, but now, as he watched the easy rapport between his Lord and Persia, he felt an unfamiliar sense of loss. The connection they shared was undeniable, and it left him feeling like an outsider, watching a world he could never fully be part of.

As Apollo and Persia turned to leave, their shoulders almost brushing, Hyacinthus stepped back, his head bowed. He forced a smile, though it felt brittle and thin, as he watched them disappear through the doorway.

Without even a backward glance.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25 : Opinions.

As Apollo guided his chariot across the boundless expanse of the sky, the wind tousled Persia’s midnight-black hair as they soared through the heavens. 

"I couldn't help but notice your interaction with Hyacinthus earlier," she began, her voice gentle yet probing. "You seemed to have ignored Hyacinthus earlier. Is everything alright?"

Apollo glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze to the horizon. He waved her concern away with a dismissive gesture. "Hyacinthus?" he echoed, his tone casual. "I assure you that everything is fine. I’ve not ignored him. My attention was merely focused elsewhere. We do have a task at hand, don’t we?"

“Yes we do.” She replied even though a hint of skepticism flickered in her eyes, but she chose not to press the matter further. Instead, she shifted the conversation to a different topic. "You mentioned having a vision of a particular location," she remarked, her curiosity piqued. "Could you tell me more about it?"

"Ah, yes," he replied, “It lies not far from here."

Apollo guided the chariot towards the earth below, the landscape gradually coming into view beneath them. With a graceful arc, the chariot began its descent, the earth rising up to meet them as they approached the designated location. As they touched down on solid ground, Apollo and Persia stepped out. 

Persia's eyes widened in awe as she took in the breathtaking scenery.

“It is as beautiful as I had seen,” Apollo remarked, stepping up beside Persia. He turned to face her, his golden eyes reflecting the splendor of the landscape. “Do you agree with this place?”

Persia nodded, her gaze still captivated by the natural beauty surrounding them. “Yes,” she replied simply, her voice filled with wonder.

Apollo smiled, a sense of satisfaction evident in his expression. “Good,” he said, his tone decisive. “But first, let us explore the area.”

Persia nodded in agreement, falling into step beside Apollo as they set out to explore the length of the plateau on foot. 

Together, they traversed the rugged terrain, wandering through valleys and scaling rocky outcrops. 

She stood at the edge of the riverbank, her eyes sweeping across the expansive grassy land that stretched out before her. The gentle flow of the river beside her added to the serene atmosphere, its waters glimmering in the sunlight.

In the distance, foothills rose up against the backdrop of majestic mountains, their peaks crowned with snow even in the warmth of the sun. The landscape was dotted with firs and pine trees, their verdant branches swaying gently in the breeze. Here and there, oaks and chestnut trees added to the rich tapestry of greenery that covered the land.

Persia observed it all with a critical eye, taking in every detail of the surroundings. She considered the lay of the land, the quality of the soil, and the availability of resources. 

This place has potential , she thought to herself.

As she continued to survey the area, an idea began to form in her mind. This , she decided, would be the perfect place to start building. With its natural beauty and abundance of resources, it had everything they needed to create something truly remarkable.

"Lord Apollo," she called out, "I believe I have found a suitable location for our project."

Apollo materialised beside her, his expression curious. "I believe this place would be ideal for building cabins or houses, depending on the layout we envision," she explained, gesturing to the sprawling grassy land before them.

Apollo's eyes scanned the area, taking in the natural beauty of the surroundings. "I see," he murmured thoughtfully.

As Persia awaited his response, Apollo's demeanour shifted slightly, his gaze becoming distant as if he were seeing something beyond the physical realm. 

The buildings were crafted from a combination of wood and stone which stood proudly amidst the landscape. A grand war room stood tall and imposing at the side. Nearby, nestled amidst a grove of ancient trees was a healer cabin. Beyond the main buildings, vast crop fields stretched outwards, their verdant greenery swaying gently in the breeze. Adjacent to the fields, an armory stood with rows of weapons stacked. 

After a moment, he blinked, returning his focus to Persia. He nodded in agreement. "Indeed. We shall proceed with your recommendation. I will bring the satyrs here so that they can begin building."

The sky was painted with hues of pink and gold, signalling the approaching twilight. Beneath the canopy of leaves, Persia sat against a towering tree in the dining pavilion, her gaze distant.

Suddenly, a voice broke through her reverie, drawing her attention back to the present moment. 

"A little birdie told me something very important. Would you be interested in learning its contents?"

Persia glanced up, her eyes meeting Thalia's with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Thalia stood before her, arms crossed and a glint in her eyes.

"Hello there," Persia greeted warmly, offering a small smile as she patted the seat beside her. "Come, take a seat."

Thalia accepted the invitation, settling down beside Persia with a sigh. The air was filled with the tantalising aroma of freshly prepared delicacies, tempting the senses and stirring the appetite. Around them, the dining pavilion buzzed with activity as other Olympians and celestial beings gathered to enjoy their evening meal.

The sound of cheerful chatter filled the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the clinking of utensils against plates. 

Thalia turned towards Persia, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and disappointment. "Persia, why?"

"Why, what?" Persia replied innocently, though she knew exactly what Thalia was referring to.

"Why did you put yourself in such danger?" Thalia's voice was laced with worry. "I thought you had learned to be more cautious after the Giant's war. Do you realise how concerned I was when Annabeth informed me that you had once again endangered your life?"

"So Annabeth was the little birdie," Persia remarked with a wry smile. "I shouldn't be surprised."

"Persia, that's not the issue here," Thalia insisted, her tone growing more serious.

Thalia's voice had carried across the dining pavilion, catching the attention of several Olympians nearby. Apollo, Artemis, Poseidon, Athena, Ares, and even Zeus paused in their conversations, their curiosity piqued by the exchange. With practised subtlety, they leaned in slightly, their ears attuned to the words being exchanged between Persia and Thalia. 

They watched as Jason ambled up towards them, a fond exasperation on his face.

"Let's not draw the attention of the entire Olympus, sister," Jason interjected, taking a seat beside Persia and Thalia, who huffed in annoyance. He remarked with a wry smile at Persia. "Must you give us grey hairs before our time, Persia? You know how much we worry about you."

Persia reached out to touch his arm, her expression apologetic. "I had no intention of causing worry, Jase. I acted according to what I believed was necessary at the time. Please, don't fret for me."

"Easy for you to say when it's us losing our sleep," Thalia interjected with a hint of sarcasm, turning her face away.

Persia's tone turned gentle. "Won’t you look at me even if I hold my ears?"

Thalia couldn't resist sneaking a glance, her eyes widening slightly at Persia's playful gesture. A fond smile tugged at her lips as she batted Persia's hands away from her ears. "You're impossible! Stop being a drama queen."

"We're just worried about you," Thalia said softly, her voice tinged with emotion. "You're my family. I can't bear to lose anyone else."

Persia's heart clenched at Thalia's words, and she reached out to grasp Thalia's hands in her own. "I understand, Thalia. I do my best to keep that in mind, but sometimes the situations..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to express her feelings. 

"No, I understand," Thalia shook her head, her tone sombre. "So, I heard about the threads of life you spun for Lord Apollo. How many were there? How many years did you sacrifice?"

Apollo's reaction was immediate; he nearly choked on his wine, his eyes widening in shock as he turned to face Artemis. Her guilty expression confirmed his suspicions — she had deliberately kept him in the dark about something significant.

As Apollo's gaze flickered to meet Poseidon, the God of the Sea returned his look with an inscrutable expression, offering no clues as to his thoughts on the matter. 

Leaning in, Apollo's voice was barely a whisper as he demanded, "Why wasn't I told?" 

His tone was a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

Artemis responded, "I never had the chance to tell you."

"Never had the chance?" Apollo's voice was laced with anger, his eyes flashing. "We'll discuss this later."

Artemis offered a reluctant nod in response, and they both returned their attention to the conversation at hand.

"Not many, Thalia," Persia replied calmly, leaning against the tree. "Just a few years."

Thalia's glare intensified. "How many threads, Persia Seraphina Xanthe?"

With a roll of her eyes, Persia reluctantly admitted, "Seven threads."

"Seven threads!" Thalia's voice verged on a yell. "T-That's fourteen years of your lifespan!"

Apollo's grip on his wine glass tightened, his expression betraying his anger and frustration. Beside him, Artemis closed her eyes, bracing herself for her brother's reaction. Poseidon remained stoic, his lips pressed into a firm line as he continued to eat in silence. Ares stole a discreet glance at Persia, his curiosity piqued by the revelation, while Athena appeared indifferent to the unfolding drama. Zeus, however, felt a sense of urgency creeping in as he contemplated the potential ramifications of Persia's sacrifice. His gaze flickered towards his son who looked uneasy at this news. He needed to have a word with Apollo in regards to this. 

Persia quickly hushed Thalia, her voice barely above a whisper. "Shh! Keep your voice down. If you raise your voice any louder, everyone will overhear."

"Let them!" Thalia retorted, her frustration evident. "Does your father know about this? What about Annabeth?"

Persia's expression darkened slightly, a flicker of concern crossing her features. "Annabeth is aware," she replied quietly. "But my father... I haven't had the chance to tell him yet."

Poseidon grasped his spoon firmly, maintaining his silence despite the penetrating gazes of his companions.

“Annabeth mentioned that she spoke to you about this matter in the presence of Lord Poseidon and my father.” 

“Yes, indeed. They were both present. But I refrained from responding to her inquiry then. I was rather fatigued at that time and had no inclination to engage with her barrage of questions.”

“So you disclosed the information to Annabeth privately?" Jason inquired.

"Exactly," Persia affirmed, a faint smile playing at her lips. "It was after my departure from Delos that I shared the details with her. Although, it wasn't the first time she had sought these answers from me. You're familiar with Annabeth's persistence when she sets her mind on something."

Persia was met with understanding nods. "Especially when it concerns you," Thalia chuckled softly, her tone lightening the mood before she grew serious, "Persia, please don't withhold such news from us."

"I didn't want to burden you unnecessarily with such information," Persia murmured, casting her gaze downward.

"Your life is far from 'unnecessary trouble,' as you so eloquently put it," Thalia remarked, rolling her eyes.

"I suppose," Persia conceded quietly.

"Enough of the melancholy discussions!" Jason interjected, laying his head on Persia's lap. He looked up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I want to hear about your time in the Sea."

Persia let out a small huff. "Just the usual, Jase. Endless meetings, dealing with pompous kings and their politics." She affectionately ran her fingers through his hair, a soft smile gracing her lips. "And what about you? Last time I visited Olympus, I barely had the chance to catch up with Thalia. You seemed to be nowhere in sight."

"Ah, about that..." Jason's excitement was palpable,"I met a half-brother whom I'm thoroughly impressed with."

Zeus arched an eyebrow at the unexpected enthusiasm from his son. 

"Please don't tell me it's Hercules," Thalia groaned, her tone laden with exasperation.

"No, it's not," Jason reassured her, rising from his reclined position. He cast an excited glance at Thalia and Persia before turning his attention back to Persia. "His name is Perseus. I believe you'll find him quite admirable, Sia. He shares similar ideals with both of you. And his mother is truly remarkable."

Thalia's incredulity was palpable as she gave Jason a skeptical look. "You met Perseus' mother?"

Jason nodded eagerly. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"Shouldn't she be deceased?" Thalia questioned, shooting them a confused look. 

"No," Persia interjected, shaking her head. "Lady Danaë, or rather, Princess Danaë, was meant to be cast into the sea with her infant son. They were supposed to be rescued by a fisherman. Did you encounter him on an island?"

"Yeah, Seriphos," Jason confirmed, shooting Persia a curious glance. "You seem to know a lot about him."

"Well, if you were nearly named after him, you'd naturally be curious about his life," Persia retorted.

"What!?" Thalia and Jason exclaimed simultaneously, drawing the attention of a few minor gods, nymphs, and satyrs who had previously been preoccupied. Persia offered them an apologetic glance before fixing a stern gaze on the two offspring of Zeus.

"If you're both going to react like this, then I see no reason to divulge any further information."

"Sorry," Thalia winced slightly before inquiring, "But—what? Why would you be named after Perseus?"

"I'm not named after Perseus. Mama had considered naming me after him if I had been born a male.”

"Why?" Jason asked, intrigued.

"Because he's the only hero to have lived to old age, endured less turmoil in his life compared to others, and was generally regarded as a good person. Plus, he had a happy ending," Persia shrugged.

"Valid point," Thalia nodded in agreement. Turning to Persia, Jason asked, "So, are you going to meet him?"

Persia raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Your brother must have made quite an impression on you, Jase. Does he know about your identity?"

"No, he doesn't. I only had a brief encounter with him," Jason revealed. "I stumbled upon the island and heard numerous stories about this compassionate and helpful young man from the islanders. It was purely accidental that I crossed paths with him." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I might not have even introduced myself properly."

"Your manners seem to be deteriorating by the day, baby brother," Thalia remarked, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress as she observed them. "Hungry? We've been here for quite some time."

"Sure," Persia nodded. "But something light, please. I don't think I can handle anything heavy right now."

Thalia frowned, reaching out to place the back of her palm against Persia's forehead. "Your temperature seems normal. Should I call Will?"

"No, it's fine," Persia waved off the suggestion with an exasperated smile. "I had a late lunch, and the food was rather rich. My stomach isn't accustomed to it."

"Why did you eat it then?" Thalia scolded gently. "You could have opted for something simpler."

"There weren't any plain dishes available, not even stews or soups," Persia explained with a sigh, hoping their conversation wasn't being overheard (unaware that the Olympians were eavesdropping). "While I wouldn't have minded the delicious fare that Lord Apollo had ordered, my body's a bit sensitive to rich foods at the moment due to recent troubles."

"So, you ate a heavy meal just to avoid offending Lord Apollo?" Thalia's frown deepened in concern.

Jason chimed in, "You know how these gods can be, sister. Step out of line even slightly, and they act as if it's a grave insult. Who knows what might trigger them? It's better to be cautious."

Thalia released a sigh, shaking her head in disappointment as she muttered to herself, "When will they learn?" Turning to Persia, she offered, "I'll fetch you a small bowl of chicken broth and some grapes. Is that alright with you?"

"Yeah," Persia replied quietly.

As Thalia made her way toward the banquet table, she passed by the suddenly silent Olympians. Poseidon whispered with a pointed glare at Apollo, "You could have at least considered what she prefers to eat. It's the least you could do given what my daughter has done for you, Apollo. It's basic courtesy, isn't it?"

Apollo clenched his spoon, his appetite suddenly diminished even as he took a bite of the baklava. Setting down his spoon and pushing away his half-eaten plate, he murmured, "If you'll excuse me," before vanishing in a shimmer of gold, leaving Poseidon's question hanging unanswered in the air.

"What deplorable manners!" Poseidon grumbled, earning a warning look from Zeus. Poseidon met the gaze defiantly. "Don't presume to speak on behalf of your son, Zeus. He owes a debt to my daughter. The least he can do is show some courtesy."

Zeus frowned, breaking their stare.

Meanwhile, Thalia had already returned, and the three friends—Persia, Jason, and Thalia—settled in to eat, enjoying the comfortable silence between them.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you," Thalia began, setting her spoon down. "I was curious about this coronation ceremony taking place in the Sea."

"It's an ancient ceremony even by immortal standards. But as I've been advised not to concern myself with it, I honestly have no idea what they're planning."

"That's intriguing," Jason interjected, swallowing his food. "How far back are we talking?"

"The last time it happened was when Grandfather Oceanus and Nereus ascended to become the First and the Second Lord of the Sea, respectively," Persia explained. "I don't think even half the Titans were born at that time."

Thalia let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's ancient with a capital A."

Persia chuckled in agreement. "Yeah."

Apollo reclined in a rocking chair, his eyes closed in an attempt to find solace amidst the tumult of his thoughts. The soft creak of the chair ceased abruptly as footsteps approached, and he sensed his sister's presence before she even spoke his name.

“Apollo!”

Artemis's voice pierced the quiet. Exhaling softly, Apollo willed himself to relax. He was left wondering why his sister's presence stirred a sense of unease within him.

Artemis entered the room, closing the door softly behind her before taking a seat beside him on the couch. Her keen eyes didn't miss the tension in his posture, and she spoke up, cutting through the silence. 

"I know you're angry." Her voice was gentle yet firm. 

Apollo remained silent, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her, waiting for her to speak whatever it was she had come to say.

Artemis sighed heavily, her brows furrowing with genuine remorse. "The matter had truly slipped my mind, brother," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. "With the ongoing disagreements with our mother and …" She paused, her expression softening as she continued, "I hadn't realised it was so important. Lord Niklaus only briefly mentioned it, and in the midst of my panic at that time, I didn't pay much attention to such details."

Apollo's jaw tightened involuntarily as he listened, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions churning within him. He stole a glance at his sister, his thoughts racing as he grappled with her explanation.

Sensing his inner turmoil, Artemis leaned in closer, her hand finding its way to rest upon Apollo's. "I know you're worried about the debt owed to Persia," she murmured. "But perhaps it's best to speak to Persia directly about it before assuming anything else.”

Before Apollo could formulate a response to Artemis's suggestion, a servant entered the room with news of Lord Zeus's arrival. Apollo's brow furrowed slightly at the interruption, but he quickly composed himself.

"Escort Father to the guest sitting room.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow at Apollo's command. Nonetheless, she followed her brother as they made their way down to the designated room. Zeus was already seated there when they arrived, and Apollo and Artemis took their places beside him.

"What brings you to my palace, Father?"

Zeus regarded his son with an inscrutable expression and piercing eyes, " I wonder, Apollo, what are your thoughts on the conversation we overheard in the dining pavilion?”

Apollo met his father's gaze, sensing the underlying suspicion in Zeus's question."I haven't given it much consideration," he replied evenly, choosing his words carefully, “Is something the matter, Father?”

Zeus's expression remained unreadable as he continued, "Don't you think Persia poses a danger with her formidable powers?"

"And aren't we just as dangerous?" he countered sharply. "Her strength, while notable for a demigod, pales in comparison to ours. I see no reason for concern."

"I see," Zeus abruptly altered his approach with a few crafty words. "But have you considered the debt you owe to that girl? I fear she may pose a danger to Olympus now that you are indebted to her."

"And why do you hold such fears, Father?" 

"Has your intellect dulled since your injury, son?" Zeus frowned, his tone tinged with disdain. "First, you propose she becomes an advisor for an army loyal to me, and now you claim she poses no threat to Olympus. Even if I were to entertain your perspective, I fail to comprehend your rationale in granting her a position where she could wield influence over others. Explain yourself, son."

Apollo's brow furrowed in disbelief. "Why is that question even relevant, Father? Do you doubt my ability to handle her influence?" His tone was sharp, edged with frustration at his father's insinuations.

"No, I don't doubt your capability," Zeus replied calmly, a glimmer of calculation in his eyes. "I merely wonder if your actions were a calculated move to settle the debt you owe her."

The implication struck a nerve, and Apollo struggled to maintain his composure. He didn't appreciate the insinuations laden within it, nor the attempt at manipulation. 

"It was certainly not a ploy to repay her debt," he stated firmly, his voice betraying only a hint of the anger boiling within. "After all I have done for Olympus and its inhabitants, I could expect at least a modicum of trust from you, Father. Can I not?"

Zeus appeared momentarily unsettled by Apollo's reaction before regaining his composure. "I had to be certain," he explained, his tone firm but tinged with unease. "It's not about trust, son. You have misinterpreted my intentions."

“Oh? Have I really?” 

“Yes. Make sure that your debt and your moments of weakness do not create problems for me and Olympians. I hope you understand, son.” Zeus stated firmly — the indifference in his voice hiding the uneasiness he felt as if he was making a mistake.

"Yes. Ensure that your indebtedness and moments of weakness do not jeopardize Olympus and its interests," Zeus cautioned sternly, masking the unease he felt beneath a facade of indifference.

Apollo fought to suppress the shudder of disbelief that threatened to course through his spine like an electric shock. His muscles tensed involuntarily. With a force of will, he forced himself to maintain a facade of calm composure, masking the turmoil roiling within. Artemis, on the other hand, inhaled sharply, a gasp caught in her throat. Quickly regaining her composure, she swallowed audibly, her throat constricting with the effort to stifle any outward signs of her unease. 

Yet, the air around them crackled with palpable tension, leaving an almost tangible heaviness in the room.

How dare he? 

"Understood, Father," Apollo replied, his voice a mirror of Zeus's indifferent tone. Zeus nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. I'm glad we're on the same page."

With a final glance at his children, Zeus rose from his seat, a sense of unease gnawing at him as he departed from Apollo's palace. Ignoring the growing feeling of apprehension, he vanished without another word.

As Zeus's presence faded, Apollo's golden eyes hardened, the swirls of energy within them darkening ominously. 

That was a mistake, Father. I will not let this go unanswered.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟔 : 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 — 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)

The balcony doors were thrown open which allowed a gentle breeze to filter into the room carrying with it the soft scent of night-blooming jasmine. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the billowing curtains. Persia stood on the balcony with her gaze fixed upwards towards the star-studded sky.

She was wrapped in an ankle-length linen nightgown, its shapeless form swaying gently with the movement of the breeze. She stood leaning against the balustrade with her fingers tracing absent-minded patterns against the cool stone surface. The lace borders of her over-robe fluttered gently in the wind.

Persia took a deep breath, gently exhaling as she relaxed in the tranquil atmosphere.

"Ready for tomorrow?"

Annabeth spoke, drawing Persia's attention away from the stars. She turned to find her friend standing behind her with a warm smile gracing her features. Persia welcomed the side hug she offered as she came to stand beside her.

"Not really," Persia admits softly. "I'm wondering why I gave Papou the leave to do this ceremony."

Annabeth's brow furrows slightly, "If you had denied having this ceremony, would Lord Oceanus have agreed?"

"Of course. I know you're sceptical, but for the coronation ceremony to occur, consent is highly necessary. The ceremony's magic is designed to work only when consent is freely given.”

Annabeth nodded slowly as she absorbed Persia's explanation. A comfortable silence settled between them. After a while as she turned to face Annabeth, Persia noticed her unusually serious mood.

“What's on your mind, Annabeth?" Persia asked gently, sensing something amiss.

Annabeth hesitated for a moment before replying, "It’s a small matter. I don't want to ruin your mood, Sia."

Persia crossed her arms, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"It's just..." Annabeth began, her voice trailing off. Her brows were furrowed and there was a tightness in her voice when she finally spoke up. "I couldn't shake the memory of Athena insulting you a month ago for no reason. Were you not angry with the way she spoke to you? If you hadn't stopped me, I would have given her a reply befitting her disgraceful behaviour!"

At the end, her tone had gotten sharper and her fists were clenched tightly with a tension in her jaw as she huffed. Her grey eyes had darkened into a carbon colour with the intensity of her emotions.

"Calm, Ana," Persia said reassuringly, offering a small smile to her overprotective and loyal friend. "In all the time we've known each other, Annabeth, have you ever seen me let an insult slide?"

Annabeth took a deep breath, visibly trying to reign in her emotions. “So you do have a plan?”

“I don’t need a plan this time.” Persia replied, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Or shall I say your mother had dug her own grave?”

Annabeth's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Has she, really?" she asked, blinking in confusion. "How?"

"Your mother insulted me in the presence of Prince Aurelius, who just so happens to be good friends with Aunt Metis. What do you think her reaction will be when she learns of this?" Persia's voice was dripping with subtle amusement with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She leaned in conspiratorially, "I am sure grandfather already knows of her ill-mannered behaviour through Prince Aurelius, and I am very sure he has some plans in place. Why do you think I brought the prince with me to Olympus when I came to fetch you? Although I did not plan for Athena's presence, it worked out well."

"But I remember you telling me that she doesn’t acknowledge Athena as her daughter. Will she really speak out in your favour?" Annabeth questioned sceptically.

"Ah, Ana, my dear," Persia replied with a sly grin. "She doesn’t need to speak in my favour. Your mother has a set pattern of behaviour, you see. I am very sure she will slip up when facing Aunt Metis. That should be enough of a trigger. Not to mention, Lord Zeus would be facing Aunt Metis after so long as well."

Annabeth sighed, a hint of resignation in her voice as she realised the impending drama. "These three days are going to be dramatic, aren’t they?"

Persia’s grin widened. "Oh, absolutely! Full of spices and entertainment," She exclaimed, her eyes were sparkling with mischief. "And the best part? We get to sit back and enjoy the show without having to deal with the fallout. Good for us, don't you think?"

Annabeth chuckled with a fond and amused grin.

Their shared amusement was abruptly interrupted by a stern feminine voice echoing from the hallway.

"Girls! I better hope to see you in bed when I open the door!"

Persia and Annabeth exchanged panicked glances before springing into action. They dashed towards the bed, frantically blowing out the lamps along the way in a flurry of hurried movements. With hearts pounding, they dove under the covers, pulling the blankets over their heads just as the door creaked open.

"Oh, good! They are sleeping," the voice reassured, before the door closed once more.

They peeked out from behind their blankets, sharing relieved and amused glances. The tension of the moment melted away as laughter bubbled up between them, echoing softly in the dark room.

"Let's sleep before Mama scolds us," Persia suggested with a grin. Annabeth nodded in agreement, settling down properly on the bed and turning to face her friend with a warm smile.

"Goodnight, Sia," Annabeth said softly.

"Goodnight, Ana," Persia replied, returning the smile as they both drifted off into peaceful slumber.

In the quiet of her darkness, where the weight of the world pressed down upon her, she found herself adrift in a sea of nothingness. Each blink felt like dragging leaden curtains, each flutter threatening to unleash a storm of agony.

Her body laid fractured and brittle, as delicate as spun glass. Every shallow breath she attempted to draw felt like an impossible task, the air around her thick with the suffocating embrace of despair.

It was as if the very essence of oppression had taken physical form, a suffocating shroud enveloping her from all sides, binding her in its unyielding grasp. With each heartbeat, a silent scream echoed through her veins, a primal plea for release from the confines of her own existence. 

In the void, where time held no meaning, she grasped desperately for a lifeline, a sliver of hope amidst the engulfing darkness. But there was none to be found, only the cold embrace of nothingness, swallowing her whole.

A discordant symphony of unease swept through her being as if the universe itself had shifted, a subtle but palpable disturbance that set her nerves ablaze with apprehension. A sense of wrongness hung heavy in the air, like a foreboding shadow creeping stealthily across the landscape of her consciousness. 

It whispered of impending doom, a chilling prelude to the impending storm of suffering that loomed on the horizon.

And then, with a suddenness that stole her breath away, pain crashed upon her shores like a tsunami of anguish. It was a visceral assault, tearing through the fragile veil of her existence with a merciless ferocity.

Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, a cacophony of torment echoing through the caverns of her soul. It was as if her very essence was being rent asunder, torn apart by forces beyond comprehension.

As Persia's consciousness reluctantly returned to the realm of wakefulness, she was greeted by the jarring cacophony of her own strangled scream tearing through the veil of her nightmares. Her body convulsed with the aftershocks of her awakening, chest heaving as she greedily gulped down the life-giving air that had been denied to her in the depths of her slumber. 

What was that? 

Through the haze of her disorientation, a familiar figure materialised before her, blurred and indistinct in the fog of her consciousness. 

Annabeth. 

The name resonated like a lifeline, anchoring her to the fragile reality of the present moment.

"Persia!" The voice, familiar yet distorted through the haze of her disorientation, pierced the fog of her confusion. Annabeth's frantic form materialised before her, a blur of concern in the dim light of the room. 

"What happened? Why did you scream?" Annabeth's words tumbled out in a rush, her voice tinged with fear and confusion.

With trembling limbs, Persia reached out towards the source of her salvation, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the warm solidity of Annabeth's presence. It was a touch that spoke of reassurance, of safety found in the embrace of a trusted companion.

As the fog began to lift and clarity slowly returned to her senses, Persia found herself sinking back into the comforting embrace of her bed, muscles relaxing as the tension of her ordeal ebbed away. Her head lolled to the side, eyelids heavy with the weight of her exhaustion.

Persia's lips parted, but for a moment, the memory of her nightmare held her captive, its tendrils still wrapped around her consciousness like a vice. It was as if the darkness of her dream still lingered in the corners of her mind, whispering of horrors unseen.

"I am alright," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her heart. "Just a dream. Sorry, I screamed."

Annabeth's touch was gentle as she reached out to brush away the stray strands of hair that clung to Persia's damp forehead. "It's okay," she murmured softly, her voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of Persia's nerves. "I'm here now. You're safe."

As Persia's vision sharpened, she noticed Annabeth's hurried appearance, her form still draped in a bath towel, droplets of water glistening in the soft light of the room. Water droplets cascaded from Annabeth's wet hair, and left a trail of damp footprints in her wake. It was clear that Annabeth had rushed from the bathroom.

"Persia," Annabeth's voice cut through the air, firm and unwavering, her gaze fixed on Persia with a mixture of concern and determination.

In response, Persia let out a frustrated huff, the remnants of her fear and confusion still lingering in the air around her. "Go, finish your bath," she muttered, her tone dismissive. "We will talk later."

There was a moment of tense silence as Annabeth regarded Persia with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. It was clear that she was reluctant to leave Persia alone in her current state, but she also understood the importance of giving her space to process her emotions.

Persia waved her hand with a casual flick, watching as the water evaporated from the floor with a whispered sigh. With a gesture toward the bathroom, she urged Annabeth to leave.

"Go," Persia murmured softly, her voice a gentle reassurance amidst the lingering tension.

"I will be right back," she murmured.

With a nod, Annabeth turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor as she made her way back to the bathroom. As the sound of running water filled the room once more, Persia closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink back into the comforting embrace of the bed.

Left alone in the wake of Annabeth's departure, Persia allowed the facade of bravery to slip away, revealing the raw vulnerability that lay beneath. With trembling hands, she reached up to touch her own face, feeling the tremors that coursed through her like a river of fear. Her hand trembled uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of the fear that gripped her heart in its icy embrace.

The memory of her nightmare lingered like a shadow, haunting her thoughts with its silent menace. It was more than just a dream; it was a portent of something dark and sinister lurking on the fringes of her consciousness.

With a trembling sigh, Persia pushed herself upright, her fingers curling tightly around the fabric of the sheets as if seeking solace in their familiar embrace. She fought to still the tremors that wracked her body, a futile attempt to regain control in the face of overwhelming fear.

As she gathered her thoughts, a shiver ran down her spine, the memory of her scream echoing in the recesses of her mind. And yet, despite the overwhelming dread that threatened to consume her, Persia dared to hope that her anguish had gone unnoticed. With a silent prayer, she cast one last glance around the room, before sinking back onto the bed, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her terror.

“Persia.” 

As Annabeth's voice sliced through the air, Persia's defences snapped into place like a fortress under siege. With practised ease, she raised her mask, the familiar shield of indifference settling over her features like a shroud.

But Annabeth was not so easily deceived. With a look of disappointment etched into her features, she settled onto the edge of the bed, her clothes still loosely draped around her, a towel haphazardly wrapped around her wet hair.

"Don't try that on me," Annabeth snapped, her voice a sharp rebuke that cut through Persia's facade like a knife. "I thought we were past this."

Persia flinched at the sting of Annabeth's words, the weight of her disappointment pressing down upon her like a leaden cloak. With a reluctant sigh, she allowed her mask to slip, revealing the vulnerability that lurked beneath its surface.

"Sorry," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Force of habit."

Annabeth's frown deepened, but there was a softness in her gaze as she reached out to touch Persia's arm, a silent gesture of understanding and compassion. "I can wait, you know," she said gently. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Persia released a shaky breath, a flicker of relief dancing in her eyes. "I know," she replied, her voice tinged with gratitude. "It's just that I've been questioned so many times in recent times that some of my earlier instincts have resurfaced. Give me some time?"

"Of course," Annabeth nodded, her voice filled with reassurance. "As long as you need."

“Children, are you ready yet?” 

As the voice called out and the door swung open, Persia and Annabeth exchanged a quick glance, their expressions shifting to forced cheerfulness in an instant. Zyenthea's entrance was met with their manufactured smiles, but even her discerning gaze couldn't be fooled entirely.

"What is this?" Zyenthea's brow furrowed slightly as she approached, her eyes scanning over Annabeth's dishevelled appearance with a mixture of concern and disapproval. "Annabeth, look at your clothes! What have you done to them? You haven't even dried your hair!" With gentle hands, she unwrapped the towel from Annabeth's head, her touch soft and maternal as she began to dry her damp locks.

Her tone was laced with gentle admonishment as she scolded Annabeth, "You are going to get sick, child."

Annabeth responded with a sheepish smile, her shoulders relaxing visibly at the soothing presence of her. 

Zyenthea's attention then turned to Persia, her frown deepening as she took in the sight of her still in bed. "Why are you still in bed, Sia?" she inquired, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Persia shifted uncomfortably under her mother’s scrutiny, her facade of composure beginning to crack under the weight of her emotions. Despite her best efforts to hide her turmoil, there was a vulnerability in her gaze that betrayed the inner turmoil she struggled to conceal. So, she immediately diverted the attention. 

“Annabeth was taking a bath so I thought I would extend my sleep a bit?”

"Are you asking me or telling me, dear?" Zyenthea's voice carried a hint of amusement.

Caught off guard and still dealing with her struggling emotions, Persia stumbled over her words before tentatively responding, "Umm, telling you?"

Zyenthea sighed, her exasperation evident as she waved Persia away. "Go on then. Go take a bath. I will have your breakfast sent to your room."

With a resigned sigh, Persia acquiesced, knowing better than to push her luck with her mother. "But why the hurry, Mama!" She fake-grumbled as she reluctantly swung her legs out of bed, the covers falling away in a cascade of fabric. 

Zyenthea's expression softened further as she handed the towel from a waiting servant, her gaze lingering on Persia with a mixture of pride and affection. Stepping forward, she pressed a tender kiss to her daughter's forehead, the gesture a silent reassurance of her love and support.

"You will need to leave for your father's kingdom today," Zyenthea explained, her tone gentle but firm.

"Why?" Persia's curiosity sparked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"It is tradition to not allow the recipient of the crown to see the venue or decorations before the ceremony," Zyenthea clarified, "Since your father had opted out and had been given leave to not participate today if he was not able to, his kingdom is the only place where you could stay unaware of whatever is happening in the ceremony."

Curiosity burning brightly, Annabeth couldn't resist interjecting. "Why the secrecy, Aunt Sally?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine interest.

Zyenthea's smile held a hint of mischief, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I would have told you had Persia not been there. Since she is and as she is not allowed to know, I can't answer your questions."

Annabeth's expression shifted from curiosity to mild frustration, her lips forming a pout as she glanced over at Persia. Despite her irritation, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

"Well, don't waste time. Go, Sia! How many times do I have to tell you to listen?"

With a gentle but firm tone, Zyenthea redirected her attention to Persia, her words a reminder of the need for obedience.

"Going, going. Geez!"

Persia's response was laced with a hint of exasperation as she grumbled under her breath, her irritation evident in the furrow of her brow. With a resigned sigh, Persia snatched up her towel and disappeared into the next room, her footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor. 

And as the door closed behind her, the room fell into a comfortable silence, the lingering echoes of their exchange fading into the morning light.

As Persia emerged from the bathroom, her eyes widened at the sight of Annabeth seated comfortably on the couch, and a colossal palanquin or an enclosed litter, occupying a significant portion of her room. The carrier's grandeur was undeniable, with its dome-shaped structure and drawn curtains framing two openings on either side. It seemed spacious enough to accommodate two to three people with ease.

For a moment, Persia stood rooted to the spot, her gaze fixated on the carrier as her mind raced to comprehend its purpose. 

"Don't think so hard. It's for you," Annabeth remarked casually, her tone light as she observed Persia's wide-eyed reaction.

Persia shot Annabeth an incredulous look, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What!?"

Annabeth nodded with a grin, confirming Persia's suspicions. "Yup!"

Before Persia could protest further, Zyenthea appeared, gently guiding her daughter to sit in front of her vanity. Without missing a beat, two maids sprang into action, their skilled hands enveloping Persia's damp hair in scented smoke before deftly braiding it into an elegant crown bun.

Meanwhile, Zyenthea busied herself with feeding Persia, her smile warm and reassuring. "Mama?" Persia's voice broke through the gentle hum of activity.

Zyenthea turned her attention to Persia, her expression softening with affection. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"What is all this?" Persia gestured towards the carrier with a perplexed frown. "I can walk, you know."

"It's to make sure you don't accidentally take a glimpse of the outside. My two maids will go with you and make sure that you don't peek out to watch," Zyenthea explained, her tone gentle but firm, as she gestured towards the carrier.

Persia's confusion deepened, her brows knitting together in a puzzled frown. "What is the need? Annabeth will be there," she protested, turning to her friend for support.

Annabeth offered her an apologetic smile, her expression tinged with regret. "About that," she began, her voice hesitant, "Lady Metis summoned me to speak with her. Technically, she asked to speak to me and said to come whenever I had time. I told her I would stop by her room after breakfast."

"Great," Persia muttered under her breath, her sour expression reflecting her disappointment. With a resigned sigh, Persia reluctantly climbed into the carrier, her movements stiff with reluctance.

As she settled into the plush interior, Zyenthea's voice floated after her, "Don't trouble your father unnecessarily. Do behave yourself. And, don't get into a fight with Triton."

Persia grumbled in response, her annoyance evident in her tone. "I don't fight with him. He picks a fight with me."

Poseidon's smile softened as he observed his daughter's gloomy expression peeking out from the carrier. He raised an intrigued eyebrow as she approached, extending her hands tentatively, seemingly torn between offering a hug and maintaining her distance.

For a moment, Poseidon paused, studying Persia's conflicted demeanour. With a gentle nod and a warm smile, Poseidon opened his arms, silently inviting Persia to embrace him if she wished. And as Persia hesitantly accepted his invitation, stepping into his embrace, Poseidon enveloped her in a warm hug, holding her close with a father's love and understanding.

As Persia buried her face in his chest, her muffled grumbles reached Poseidon's ears, her frustration palpable in the air around them. 

"Do you know I couldn't even see where the ceremony will be held?" Persia's voice was muffled against his chest, her words tinged with frustration. "Aunt Metis, Lord Pontus, Lady Thalassa…so many people were present and Mama didn't even allow me to meet them. It's not fair! Tell me, shouldn't I meet the people that have arrived for my ceremony?"

Poseidon's chuckle turned into a startled laugh as he finally understood the source of Persia's gloominess. "Don't laugh, it's not a nice thing to do," Persia grumbled, her annoyance clear in her tone.

"It's just for a few hours, my dear," Poseidon reassured her, guiding her gently inside the palace. "Your sister has been restless to meet you."

"And, that grouchy crown prince?" Persia's voice held a hint of curiosity, her gaze searching his face for answers.

Poseidon chuckled once more, shaking his head in amusement. "The grouchy son of mine is sulking — probably in his room or down in the arena."

With a soft smile, Poseidon led Persia further into the palace, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

Persia's huff of exasperation filled the air, mingling with the sounds of the bustling palace. Despite her initial gloominess, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she spoke. "I better stay away from him. Why does Mama think I am the one picking fights? Do I look like someone who has a lot of free time to spare?!"

Poseidon's expression softened, his gaze meeting Persia's with a mixture of concern and understanding. He straightened slightly, his demeanour shifting as he broached a more serious topic. "About fights, sweetheart, I didn't get the time to speak with you about this before but…Athena. You are not too upset by her words, are you?"

Persia blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the sudden change in mood. "Her words?" she echoed, furrowing her brow in thought before realisation dawned. "Oh!"

She gave her father an exasperated glance. "Papa, I don't care about words floating in the air. Both of us know how Athena is. Why invite a headache by dealing with her?"

Poseidon's frown deepened at Persia's response, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "Sweetheart, do not be so non-confrontational all the time. It will make you seem weak," he advised, his tone tinged with worry.

But Persia's smile remained unwavering, her gaze meeting her father's with a quiet determination. "Yes, it will. But that's my advantage, isn't it? I like being underestimated."

“But —” Poseidon opened his mouth to protest, but Persia cut him off with a gentle yet firm rebuttal. "Papa, I am not saying that confrontation is bad. It's just, I don't find any actual reason to confront her. And, we need to know when to pick our battles, right?"

A sigh escaped Poseidon's lips as he considered Persia's words, a sense of resignation settling over him. "Yes," he conceded reluctantly, though his expression remained troubled. 

"I still do not like that you have not retaliated against Athena. You did so against Apollo," Poseidon admitted, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Persia's eyes softened as she reached out to place a comforting hand on her father's arm. "Lord Apollo invited me and then challenged me to prove myself. That matter was far more serious and different," she explained gently, her tone reassuring. She then gave her father a curious glance, her brow furrowing in confusion. "...and, shouldn't you be unhappy about me baiting a powerful goddess?" 

Poseidon's expression softened at Persia's words, a mixture of pride and concern flickering in his eyes. "You have survived Tartarus. I am least worried about Athena's reactions. I am sure you are able to deal with it," he assured her, his voice tinged with a dark undertone as he muttered, "If she dares try anything, I will deal with her."

Persia shook her head gently, a note of caution in her voice as they arrived at Rhode's door. "Papa, there is no need to create a problem when we have enough on our plate. And, please remember. A cornered animal is a dangerous animal."

With that, Persia left her father to ponder her words as she entered her sister's room, the door closing softly behind her.

The hall bustled with activity as attendants flitted about. The twelve Olympians except for Poseidon were dressed in their signature colours and adorned with jewels. They conversed in hushed tones as they sat in their thrones anticipating the time for their departure. A hush fell over the gathering as a servant approached the throne of Zeus.

With a bow of reverence, the servant addressed the assembly, "Your majesties and esteemed Olympians, I bring good tidings from the depths of the sea. A group of emissaries, sent by the esteemed Lord Oceanus, has arrived at the gates of Olympus."

Zeus nodded in acknowledgment, a silent signal for the emissaries to be presented before him.

As the emissaries made their entrance into the great hall of Olympus, their presence commanded attention. Seven figures glided gracefully across the marble floor.

Their wide-leg silk trousers which were a pristine white reminiscent of the foamy crests of ocean waves. Over these trousers, they wore vibrant over-robes in the rich hue of Irish blue which billowed with each step they took lending an ethereal quality to their movements. At the waist, a white sash cinched the robes with effortless elegance, its pristine fabric contrasting against the vivid blue.

Zeus casted a discerning gaze upon the familiar face that stepped forward to address him. He was the envoy that had delivered the invitation. He acknowledged him with a nod.

"Good tidings, King Zeus," Adrian began, "You may recall my presence. I am Adrian, emissary of His Royal Highness, First Lord Oceanus of the Water Realm. I have been entrusted with the solemn duty of escorting the Olympians and serving as their guide throughout the sacred proceedings spanning three days of ceremony."

With a sweep of his hand, Adrian indicated to the escorts standing behind him, "In my charge are the escorts entrusted to serve at your behest, Your Grace." Pausing for a moment, Adrian's gaze remained steady as he continued, "Should it please you, Your Grace, I stand ready to lead you and the esteemed assembly to the designated venue where the coronation and subsequent rites shall unfold."

"Adrian," Zeus intoned with regal poise, his voice carrying the weight of authority, "We extend our gracious welcome to you and your entourage within the sacred confines of Olympus. Your noble offer of guidance is met with deep appreciation. Should you wait but a brief moment, we shall soon be prepared to commence our journey."

"Your Grace," Adrian bowed with practised elegance, "If it is your wish, I humbly seek permission to direct my personnel in preparing your chariots for our forthcoming voyage."

A wave of Zeus's hand signalled consent, "You are granted permission to proceed as you have proposed."

"Many thanks, Your Grace," Adrian acknowledged with another bow as they all left the throne room to prepare.

Zeus turned his gaze towards Hera, "Have the gifts for our hosts been prepared?"

Hera inclined her head in affirmation. "Indeed, my lord. Shall I present them for your inspection?"

Zeus, however, redirected his attention to Hestia with a gesture of deference. "Sister, I entrust you with the task of ensuring that all is in order."

Hera's expression betrayed a hint of discomfort at the unexpected turn of events, but she remained composed.

"Certainly, Zeus," Hestia responded with a serene smile, signalling for the attendants bearing the gifts to approach. She examined each offering with a subtle curve of her lips as she affirmed, "Everything has been attended to with precision, Zeus."

"Excellent," Zeus declared, "Then let us proceed.”

As they reached the gates of Olympus, the chariots stood ready. In perfect order, each Olympian took their place in one of the six pairs of chariots: Hera and Hestia; Ares and Athena; Apollo and Artemis; Hephaestus and Aphrodite; Hermes and Dionysus; Demeter and Persephone.

Meanwhile, Zeus commanded the seventh chariot alone. The emissaries manned the chariots as was the norm. With a signal from Zeus, the chariots ascended gracefully into the sky.

Adrian took his position at the helm of the divine chariot. He led the procession of Olympian chariots towards the island that served as the gateway to the realm of water. He escorted them towards the Coronation Hall.

The Coronation Hall had a similar structure of an enclosed amphitheatre.

It was a vast area that was adorned with several pillars with intricate carvings and shimmery curtains. At the centre was a towering dais that rose to a huge height — upon which there were two large thrones. The thrones were capable of seating two to three people. They were made of pure gold and had white upholstery.

The dias was flanked by towering pillars which were adorned with shimmering pearls and corals. Stretching out from the dais in a radial pattern were three levels of seating area.

The uppermost level was reserved for the royal family — it only had long comfortable couches and several small tables in between filled with snacks and small table decorations.

Two circular balconies protruded  the first level of the hall from the left and the right — it was the only place where three thrones were placed on each side with drapes hanging from the ceiling. Those drapes could be closed if the occupants preferred, which would hide them from the view of the entire hall from the outside.

Descending below was the second level which accommodated the immortal guests — including the Olympian gods and goddesses.  Here, there were plush seating arrangements with several thrones for the sovereigns and long ornate couches for their entourage. Banners and flags represented the various realms that were in attendance.

The third and final level, situated three feet above the base of the hall, were designated for the mortal guests from far and wide. Their seating arrangement was similar to their immortal counterparts with banners indicating the several major kingdoms in attendance.

Adrian began as he turned towards the awed Olympians, "Allow me to introduce the arrangement for seating. As you observe, the room comprises three tiers. The highest tier accommodates the Royal Family of the Sea. The middle tier is designated for the sovereigns of various immortal realms throughout the universe and the lowest tier is reserved for the mortal kingdoms in attendance. Your Grace, are there any inquiries?"

"No, there are none. Guide us to our designated seats," Zeus commanded, surveying the diverse assembly of Immortals and mortals amidst the opulent decor.

"Certainly, Your Grace. However, before we proceed, I have one question," Adrian turned to address Apollo and Artemis. "My Lord, my Lady, I must inquire if you both intend to join your mother or if you prefer to sit with your father?"

Apollo blinked in slight surprise, while Artemis's eyes widened at the unexpected query.

"Are we afforded a choice?" she inquired.

"Indeed, it is within your prerogative," Adrian affirmed calmly.

"Well, they shall sit with me," Zeus commanded, not even glancing at his aforementioned children.

Hermes winced while Ares and Hephestus exchanged a concerned glance.

Apollo's jaw tightened briefly before he smoothly countered his father. "We shall sit with our mother."

Artemis and Zeus turned towards him, clearly taken aback.

Apollo levelled a steady gaze at Zeus, meeting his father's eyes with cool resolve. "Your input is duly noted, Father, but I am capable of making my own decisions." He then turned to Artemis. "Will you be joining me, sister?"

"Well... I suppose I shall," Artemis reluctantly agreed, glancing in between her brother and father.

Adrian smiled faintly despite the tension in the air. "Excellent. I will arrange for an escort to guide you both to the upper level."

The displeased frown on Zeus' face and the sudden silence from their group brought unwanted attention towards them. Given their arrival had been announced when they had entered, many of the mortal kingdoms’ entourage were looking towards them in awe while most other immortals were paying curious attention.

"I trust all is well here," a masculine voice interjected, as its owner stepped forward to greet them.

The Olympians turned towards him with a curious look as he had successfully broken the tension.

Adrian bowed respectfully. "Good tidings to you, Crown Prince. Indeed, everything is in order. I am currently assisting King Zeus of Olympus and his family in finding their seats."

"I see.” The prince remarked with a customary smile. "Allow me to properly introduce myself, King Zeus and company. I am Crown Prince Akheloios, the son of Lord Oceanus. Although, I suspect you may not recall our previous encounter, King Zeus. Am I correct?"

The Olympians except for Zeus were looking highly curious as they watched the interaction.

"Greetings, Prince Akheloios," Zeus responded, his demeanour becoming slightly tense as he regarded the brother of Metis warily. Straightening his spine, Zeus continued, "It has indeed been a considerable span since our last meeting. I trust you are faring well."

Akheloios smirked in response. "Oh, I am in excellent spirits, thank you. It has truly been quite some time, hasn't it? I recall our last encounter, when you were but a child of a thousand moons, long before the first titanomachy. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I do," Zeus replied, forcing his smile to remain steady despite the wide-eyed expressions of the other Olympians.

"Well then, I hope you will have the opportunity to meet Metis and my father. They will both be present for the ceremony, along with the entire family. Father would be delighted to speak with you after such a lengthy absence. That reminds me, I trust my niece has not caused any inconvenience during her time in Olympus?"

The words seemed to weigh heavily on every single Olympian present, particularly Hera and Zeus. Akheloios looked expectantly at them, clearly awaiting a response. However, if one observed closely, they might discern a glimmer of amusement and a certain vindictiveness in his eyes. He was careful not to overtly display his true emotions.

"No, not at all," Zeus replied, his smile becoming forced and slightly strained. "Persia is a delightful and impeccably mannered girl. Undoubtedly, she is an asset to your family. It has been a great honour to host her as our guest, and I trust she will continue to enjoy the hospitality of Olympus in the days to come."

Adrian's eyes widened, and he pressed his lips together tightly, struggling to contain his amusement at the array of reactions unfolding before him.

Athena wore a pinched expression as she observed her father praising Poseidon's offspring. Meanwhile, Hestia, Demeter, Persephone, Hera, and Aphrodite exchanged looks filled with disbelief directed at Zeus. Dionysus, Hermes, Hephaestus, Ares, and Artemis appeared incredulous, as if witnessing Zeus in a new light. Apollo, however, seemed thoroughly entertained, observing the conversation with a cool and amused gaze.

Akheloios raised an eyebrow, his smile growing wider with amusement. "Persia is indeed a delightful addition to our family. I am certain she would be pleased to know that you hold her in such high regard. She often regales us with fond tales of her time spent in your kingdom whenever we inquire about her experiences in Olympus."

Indeed, if Akheloios were to relay Zeus’ overly positive remarks to his niece, she might question whether he had been deceived by a con artist. Despite Persia's conversations about Olympus, her stories were often laden with complaints and sarcastic remarks about the purported diminishing brain cells of its inhabitants.

"I am pleased to hear," Zeus responded with a strained smile, secretly wishing he could cease smiling as his cheeks began to ache.

Suddenly, a resounding echo of conch shells being blown reverberated through the hall interrupted the conversation. The announcer proclaimed, "High Lord Hades of the Underworld is arriving with High Lady Leto of the Eldorath."

Whispers immediately rippled through the gathered crowd.

"High Lady of Eldorath? Isn't Eldorath the realm of the Fates?"

"Your studies are clearly lacking. I've always emphasised the importance of focusing on them instead of sneaking out of your lessons. That lady is the Supreme Commander of the Armies of Eldorath and serves as the advisor to the Fates. She is no ordinary immortal."

"And the male accompanying her? Isn't the Third Lord of the Underworld called Hades? Is that him?"

"Yes, indeed. That is him. The High Lord Hades — ruler of the largest territory within the Underworld."

"He is remarkably handsome. Tall and dark. And those eyes! Utterly mesmerising."

"I've heard he is highly intelligent as well. Incredibly cunning yet possesses a heart of gold. He's renowned for being an efficient ruler too."

The whispers spread wide and varied, yet a general consensus of widespread respect, admiration, and awe emerged among the immortals.

Zeus clenched his fist, striving to maintain his composure as he heard the revered words spoken about Hades.

Hestia blinked, lowering her head slightly as she observed Hades and Leto's entrance through hooded eyes. A soft, sad smile graced her lips.

Conversely, the other Olympians were shocked. They had only ever interacted with Hades when absolutely necessary, and even then, their attitudes had been indifferent at best. Hermes, who had traversed far and wide, had never witnessed nor heard of the elder Kronide being held in such high regard.

"How is it that I have missed this?" Hermes whispered to Apollo.

Apollo raised an eyebrow in response, whispering back, "Given our extensive travels across lands, heavens, and skies only, it's understandable that such developments could elude us. Many of these immortals, banners, and flags are unfamiliar. I've never even heard of the Fates' realm being called Eldorath."

"We'll need to investigate further once these three days are concluded," Apollo nodded in agreement with Hermes' assessment.

Akheloios smirked at the reactions of the Olympians before calling out, "Hades! Leto!"

Hades and Leto had been engaged in whispered conversation since their arrival, appearing rather serious. However, they glanced up with smiles upon hearing their names called.

As Hades approached, to the surprise of the Olympians, Akheloios reached out to grasp his hand in a firm shake before pulling him into an unexpected embrace. His smile grew warmer as he greeted Hades, "Greetings, Hades. How have you been? My sisters have been filling me in on a great deal of gossip that I apparently missed, much of which revolved around you. And of course, there's Zia!"

Hades returned the warm gesture with a genuine smile of his own. "I am well, Akhel. It has indeed been a rather tumultuous few months. I'm certain we'll find time to catch up on each other's lives over the course of these three days."

"Don't think that would exempt both of you from your duties in this ceremony," Leto warned with a grin, reaching out for a hug of her own, which Akheloios happily obliged.

Returning her embrace, Akheloios nodded in agreement. "Of course not, Leto. Duty calls, after all."

Turning her face up with a soft smile, Leto remarked, "It's wonderful to see you again, Akhel. Have you had the pleasure of meeting Zia, Metis, and Doris?"

"Yes, I've had the pleasure of meeting all three of them," Akheloios replied. "Honestly, it's a relief to see Zia out of her seclusion."

His gaze then shifted towards the watching Olympians, and he continued, "Oh, your children have chosen to sit in the family tier. Should I make arrangements for them to sit with Aunt Phoebe? Surely you both will be joining Zia on the balcony?"

"Yes, we will be joining Zia," Hades replied, his gaze flickering to Apollo and Artemis, slightly surprised at their choice. Leto remained quiet, scrutinising her children with a raised eyebrow.

"That is unexpected," Leto's gaze lingered on Apollo and Artemis, who both seemed uneasy, their eyes avoiding her scrutiny.

"Leto, is that you?" A voice called out, causing Leto to turn around, a small gasp escaping her as she recognized the man standing before her.

The man stood tall with fierce red eyes that could pierce through anyone who met his gaze. His hair was blond — the flowing locks cascaded down his shoulders, giving him an almost ethereal quality. His face was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a prominent jawline. His robes were tailored to perfection with delicate embroidery. Precious rubies were carefully sewn into the royal blue fabric with gold and silver thread accents shimmering in the light. A golden crown adorned with emeralds rested upon his head, signalling that he was a king.

"Uncle!" she exclaimed happily, embracing the man and tugging him by the arm. "Hades, surely you remember him, don't you?"

"Hades? This is Hades? Oh my! He was a mere boy of two thousand when I last saw him!" the man exclaimed in surprise.

The Olympians watched in amazement as Akheloios chuckled, and Hades blushed at the remark.

"Greetings, King Jared. It is an honour," Hades replied, bowing respectfully and smiling warmly at the older Goblin King, who clasped his arm warmly in return, a soft smile on his face.

"Look at you, boy! You have turned into a marvellous young man! Such strapping looks! The ladies must be swooning," King Jared teased gently, eliciting a giggle from Leto while Hades looked away, his cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

Akheloios chuckled, stepping forward to embrace the man himself. "Call him an old man, King Jared. That man has grandsons of his own! This is what happens when you don't keep in contact for so long. The children you knew as kids now have children and grandchildren of their own."

"Surely not?" Jared exclaimed, his eyes wide with astonishment as he looked at Leto and Hades. Hades rubbed the back of his neck, giving Leto a helpless glance, while Leto huffed but eventually replied, "Yes. Come, I will introduce you, Uncle."

She gestured for Apollo and Artemis to approach, then turned towards Jared to make the introductions. "Uncle, this is my son, Apollo. He is the God of the Sun, Healing, and several other things that I do not even attempt to remember."

Jared's eyebrow shot up in surprise, while Hades and Akheloios struggled to stifle their chuckles. The other Olympians watched the unfolding scenario with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"And this is Artemis, my daughter. She is the Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt, one of the Virgin Goddesses. These troublemakers are twins," Leto continued, prompting a laugh from Jared, and causing Apollo and Artemis to exchange astonished looks.

"Children, meet my Godfather, King Jared of the Goblin race," Leto instructed, glaring at her children and silently mouthing, 'bow'.

Jared reached out to ruffle Apollo's hair and warmly patted Artemis's cheek. "Blessed be, children. May Mother Khaós be benevolent."

Turning towards Leto, a small frown creased his brow. "God and Goddess? Does their father belong to the youngest immortal race of the universe? I believe they were called Gods, yes?"

"Yes, they are second-generation God and Goddess. Their father is the King of the Gods," Leto confirmed.

"Interesting," Jared mused, tapping his finger on his jaw thoughtfully and tilting his head to the side. "I know there are different rules and perspectives on Earth regarding coupling. Perhaps they have changed. Last I heard, the King of Gods was married, am I right? What was his name again?"

"Zeus, and he has been married thrice. The marriage you heard about was to Metis. Currently, he is married to his sister-wife, Hera," Leto explained with a forced smile, her body tensing visibly.

"As for my case, our coupling was forced. I did not consent to a sexual discourse and was taken by surprise. Nevertheless, I do love my children despite the circumstances surrounding their conception, which have caused me great pain," Leto added, her tone tinged with sorrow.

Apollo and Artemis glanced at their mother in shock, their eyes widening in disbelief. Zeus looked around uncomfortably, especially as Hera had stiffened beside him. Hestia regarded Zeus with a disappointed gaze, while the rest of the Olympians appeared surprised.

Jared's eyes widened, and anger swirled within them. Akheloios, at that moment, took notice of the Olympians lingering nearby, realising they hadn't left as he had assumed. A vindictive gleam flickered in his eyes, hinting at an underlying desire for retribution, before it vanished just as swiftly.

He scolded Adrian, "Why haven't you escorted King Zeus to his seat yet? Do you plan on making him stand here for the duration of the ceremony?" Turning towards Zeus, he gave him an apologetic look. "My apologies. I will have your escort changed at once. It seems he is not up to his task."

Jared's gaze flashed to Zeus, a dangerous look crossing his eyes.

"It is alright," Zeus murmured, eager to leave the uncomfortable situation, especially as the Goblin King was eyeing him with fury. "Adrian is doing well. There is no need to replace him. I am sure you are busy with your family. It is absolutely fine. There is no offence taken."

"How kind of you, Lord Zeus!" Akheloios retorted sarcastically, his smile dripping with insincerity. "My gratitude." He glared at Adrian. "Go, do your task. I should not be hearing any complaints."

As Zeus and the other Olympians began to move away, Jared made a motion to follow them.

However, Hades intervened, placing a restraining hand on Jared's arm. "Please, King Jared. I understand and respect your emotions. However, this is a ceremony. Let us not turn it into a battlefield."

Jared closed his eyes, visibly inhaling and exhaling to calm his anger. Eventually, he gave a nod. "Very well. Leto, I wish to hear the entire story at a later date."

Leto nodded in agreement. "Of course, Uncle."

Jared then turned his attention to Apollo and Artemis. "Come with me, children. I will entertain you until Phoebe arrives with her husband."

Akheloios offered to escort them, and they made their way towards the uppermost level together.

"That was a disaster successfully avoided," Hades remarked with a huff, giving Leto a side-long glance. "Did you really need to let that slip now?"

Leto smirked in response. "I may have grown stronger after that fiasco, but that man caused me pain, Hades. I fully intend to see justice served."

Chapter Text

Continuation ...

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟕 : 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 — 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

Conch shells sounded once more, accompanied by the beat of drums and the blast of trumpets.  The announcer proclaimed, "Behold, Lady Zyenthea, First Princess of the Oceans, The First of Four.”

All eyes turned as Zyenthea made her entrance, her confident stride accentuated by the trailing purple of her dress. Nearly all of the immortals rose to their feet, kneeling before her on the second level, while the Olympians observed with curiosity.

Zyenthea glanced up and offered a small smile. "Blessed be, King Haraldr," she greeted.

Gesturing to the other immortals, she added, "Please rise, everyone." Turning back to Haraldr, she inquired, "I trust the accommodations for the Race of the Elves were satisfactory?"

Haraldr returned her smile. "Indeed, Revered One."

"If I may make one request," Zyenthea continued, "please refrain from excessive formality. There is no need for constant bowing during our interactions over these three days. Let us dispense with such formalities as we gather to celebrate."

"As you wish, my lady," Haraldr responded, offering a nod of agreement.

"My thanks," Zyenthea acknowledged with a nod before ascending the stairs toward the uppermost level.

Once again, the second level of the hall buzzed with whispers.

"Did you notice those immortals who didn't bow or rise from their seats? Such audacity!"

"I wonder who they are! To dare offend the first being in existence? To slight Power? Have they lost their minds?"

"It appears Lady Zyenthea is in good spirits. She didn't reprimand them."

"What's there to reprimand? She pays no mind to those who show no regard for her. Power is restless; it does not remain in one place. When they are stripped of power, you'll see them bowing and pleading for her return."

"Who are they anyway?"

"Olympians — the first generation Gods. They are the offspring of Titans and the youngest of the immortal races."

"Well, it matters little what becomes of them. If they choose to defy Power, so be it. They'll face the consequences."

Hades cast an exasperated glance at Leto and Zyenthea as Zyenthea took her seat — the middle throne — in the right-side balcony. "Must you both create chaos wherever you go?"

Leto couldn't help but snicker, while Zyenthea responded loftily, "And what, pray tell, has Leto done?"

Rolling his eyes, Hades replied, "We encountered King Jared. Leto let slip about Zeus."

"Did she now?" Zyenthea's smirk mirrored Leto's, "Excellent."

"You both are on a warpath, aren't you?" Hades observed wryly.

"Why? Would you oppose us, Hades?" Leto asked with a serious expression.

"Never," Hades shook his head. "Do as you wish. But is it too much to ask that you inform me beforehand? I was this close to panicking."

"You poor dear," Leto reached out to pat Hades's hand, eliciting a glare from him.

Zyenthea's smile turned into a dangerous, slow smirk. "Now, Hades, you should know I enjoy the chase. Where's the fun in telling you beforehand?"

Hades shook his head, resigning himself to their antics.

The resounding cadence of drums once more permeated the grand hall as the announcer's voice reverberated, commanding the attention of all in attendance. "I implore each distinguished guest to rise in homage! Behold, the arrival of Lord Pontus, renowned as The Lord of Water. Gracing us with her elusive presence is the illustrious Lady Thalassa, who is Life – the beloved consort of Lord Pontus.”

Pontus exuded an aura of mystique and power as he stood tall, his muscular frame imposing yet graceful. His hair was a striking shade of light blue which cascaded in waves around his shoulder and caught the light in a mesmerising display. His face had aristocratic features and a sharp jawline. He bore a rugged handsomeness which was softened by a hint of stubble.

But it was his eyes that truly captured attention — like a kaleidoscope, they shimmered with an ever-changing array of colours, drawing one in with their depth and enigma.

Just like Water.

Draped around his broad shoulders was a long robe of emerald green. The luxurious fabric billowed gently with every movement. Intricately sewn sapphires adorned his belt which glinted in the light. Beneath the robe, he wore wide silk pants in a pristine ivory hue.

There was an air of elegance and refinement, as though he were accustomed to command and respect. He moved with poise and confidence, every gesture deliberate yet effortlessly graceful. There was an undeniable aura of power and authority surrounding him which was felt as a tangible force that left those present in awe.

And then, as if emerging from his very essence, a woman stepped forward to stand by his side.

Thalassa possessed an ethereal beauty, her chestnut hair cascading in gentle waves around her shoulders, framing a face that exuded an aristocratic softness. Despite her petite frame, there was a subtle elegance in her posture, a graceful poise that commanded attention.

Her features were delicate, with high cheekbones and a slender nose, giving her an air of refinement. But it was her eyes that truly captivated — a soft, rose-coloured hue that seemed to reflect the warmth of her soul. They held a depth of emotion, a quiet strength tempered by compassion.

Draped around her slender figure was a long dress of amaranth colour, its flowing fabric trailing behind her like a regal train. The dress was adorned with pearls and crystals, their shimmering beauty adding a touch of opulence to her ensemble. In her presence, there was a sense of serenity and grace.

The onlookers felt the palpable connection between the two as if they were bound together by some unseen powerful force and there was a sense of completeness around them.

“In their esteemed company, we are honoured by the presence of the venerable First High Lord of the Water Realm, Lord Oceanus, and the esteemed Second High Lord of the Water Realm, Lord Nereus, accompanied by their respective beloved consorts, Lady Tethys and Princess Doris."

Following closely behind them, Oceanus, Nereus, Tethys, and Doris made their entrance, exuding elegance in their tastefully chosen attire.

As they progressed toward the central dais, Pontus and Thalassa paused, offering a respectful bow of their heads to Zyenthea, who reciprocated with a dignified nod. Taking their designated thrones, Pontus and Thalassa assumed their positions, while Oceanus and Nereus followed suit, occupying the adjacent thrones with equal poise. Doris and Tethys gracefully ascended the stairs leading to the left balcony,

A profound silence enveloped the entire hall. Another well-dressed gentleman approached the Rulers seated at the central dais, offering a respectful bow.

Pontus bestowed a gentle smile upon his guests before addressing them, his voice carrying authority and warmth, “Esteemed Guests, your gracious presence here today is a source of profound honour for us. We are deeply grateful for your acceptance of our humble invitation. With your indulgence, I shall now beseech Minister Cyril to initiate the commencement of the ceremony.”

The well-dressed gentleman turned towards the assembled guests with a genial smile. “Greetings to our esteemed guests," he began, "I am Minister Cyril, serving as the Hand of the First High Lord. Before we proceed, allow me to extend my heartfelt respect to the three esteemed first-generation primordials among us – Lord Pontus, his esteemed wife Lady Thalassa, and the venerated Lady Zyenthea."

In response, the trio offered gentle smiles, acknowledging the gesture with graciousness.

"It is with the utmost pleasure that I welcome each of you to the coronation ceremony of our Heiress," Minister Cyril continued, his words measured and deliberate. "Before delving into the specifics of the proceedings, allow me to provide a brief overview of the ceremonial protocols, followed by an elucidation of the identity of our esteemed Heiress."

Cyril's smile remained serene as he paused momentarily, taking a deep breath before proceeding with his explanation. "In the realm of the Water, ceremonies are a rare spectacle, reserved for occasions of utmost significance. Yet, when they do manifest, they unfold with unparalleled grandeur and intricacy, where symbolism takes centre stage. This particular ceremonial rite serves as a rigorous examination of our esteemed Heiress. Success in this trial will pave her path to ascend the throne as the Third Lord, or in this unique instance, Lady, serving as the illustrious representative of Lord Pontus. However, should she falter, she shall be anointed as an Heiress rather than attaining the revered title of High Lady."

Soft murmurs reverberated throughout the room as Cyril accepted a scroll from a servant, his smile unwavering as he opened it before passing it back to the servant, who promptly departed through a discreet rear exit.

"Allow me to expound upon the structure of this ceremony. It spans a three-day period, commencing today with the Crowning. Tomorrow shall be dedicated to the Court Day, followed by an all-day and night feast on the subsequent day. The tests administered today have been meticulously crafted by Lord Pontus himself, tailored to the individual being evaluated. For our esteemed Heiress, a two-tiered examination has been devised, comprising trials to assess both her emotional and intellectual prowess."

With a graceful transition, Cyril proceeded to introduce the illustrious Heiress. "Her lineage is of distinguished origin, as the daughter of King Poseidon of Atlantis and the sole progeny of Lady Zyenthea," he announced, his tone infused with solemnity. "May I present to you our Heiress, Persia."

A stunned silence enveloped the assembly as those unaware of Persia's identity turned their wide-eyed gaze toward Zyenthea, their astonishment palpable.

"My apologies for the interruption," King Haraldr interjected, rising from his seat with a graceful bow. "But if I may inquire, did I hear correctly that Heiress Persia is the daughter of Lady Zyenthea?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Cyril responded calmly.

"But how is that possible?" Jared interjected, clearly perplexed.

"Mother Khaós deemed it fit for Persia to exist. Who am I to question the will of the one who brought me into being?" Zyenthea's words, though soft, carried a pointed edge that silenced the room.

In acknowledgment of Zyenthea's authority, Haraldr bowed respectfully. "It would be an honour to meet your daughter, My Lady."

"I am certain you shall have the opportunity to acquaint yourself with her in the forthcoming days," Zyenthea assured him.

With the exchange concluded and Haraldr and Jared settled back into their seats, Cyril resumed his address. "With this formal introduction and elucidation, I hereby declare the commencement of the ceremony."

A vast, luminous screen, formed of ethereal mist, materialised at the heart of the gathering, projecting an image of Persia engaged in serene meditation beneath the shade of a towering tree. Witnessed by both immortals and mortals alike, her tranquil demeanour evoked a sense of awe among the onlookers, while those familiar with her observed with keen interest.

"My lord, if you would permit," Cyril addressed Pontus with a deferential bow, to which Pontus offered a nod of approval.

Cyril summoned forth with a requesting tone, "Lord Eros and Lady Psyche, I humbly request your presence to administer the tests upon our Heiress."

In response to his summons, two ethereal figures materialised from wisps of swirling smoke, their mystical presence now gracing the assembly with an air of anticipation.

Eros exuded an otherworldly with his youthful visage and pristine white wings unfurled behind him. Long locks of blond-white hair cascaded down his shoulders framing a face of divine allure. His eyes were a mesmerising shade of dark pink which seemed to hold the depths of the universe within them, reflecting the vastness of his domain over love and desire. They sparkled with an inner fire, hinting at the intensity of emotion he inspires in mortals and immortals alike.

Drifting around his lithe form was a large rectangular cloth which was elegantly wrapped around his body in flowing folds. The fabric shimmered with a celestial glow. He was adorned with rubies as jewellery, each gemstone glimmered like drops of passion.

On the other hand, Psyche had delicate features. Her skin glowed with an otherworldly luminescence that seemed to emanate from within. Psyche's crimson locks were a cascade of fiery red which framed her face like a halo of warmth and vitality. Her eyes were a deep and soulful chestnut. They sparkled with an inner light which reflected the depth of her inner spirit. Perched delicately upon her shoulders were wings reminiscent of a butterfly's, delicate and iridescent, fluttering with each movement.

Pontus, with a genuine smile adorning his features, descended from the dias to greet his guests. "Hello, old friend," he greeted warmly.

"Pontus! It's a pleasure to see you once more," Eros replied, returning the grin with equal warmth.

"It truly is," Pontus affirmed with a nod. "Are you prepared for the task at hand?"

"Absolutely," Eros affirmed confidently, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he cast a playful smirk in Zyenthea's direction. "Testing Salvina's offspring promises to be quite intriguing."

Zyenthea's expression darkened at Eros's teasing remark. "Do not address me with that name again, Eros," she cautioned sternly.

"Ouch! Still as frosty as ever," Eros chuckled lightly, though his gaze remained gentle as he spoke. "My apologies, dearest Sally. I meant no offence," he reassured her, his tone softened with warmth.

Zyenthea rolled her eyes dismissively, gesturing for Eros to proceed. "You're as bothersome as ever. Just get on with it."

"Right, right, I'm going," Eros replied, feigning offence as he turned his attention back to Pontus. "So, about the kid?"

Pontus directed their gaze towards the screen, inviting their assessment. Psyche offered a thoughtful hum, admiring Persia's appearance. "She possesses the allure of an enchantress. Simply stunning."

"Indeed, she's a sight to behold," Eros concurred, his eyes lingering on Persia's form before he was abruptly jolted by a spark of lightning.

"Sally!" Eros yelped in protest, shooting an irritated glance at Zyenthea, who met his gaze with a fierce glare, her purple eyes ablaze. "If you dare cast such a lecherous gaze upon her again, I'll personally ensure your remains are scattered across the cosmos."

"So protective. You won't even let me enjoy the view," Eros lamented with a pout. "Alright, I'll get back to business. Happy?"

Zyenthea's response dripped with sarcasm. "Absolutely ecstatic."

Eros, sensing the seriousness underlying Zyenthea's retort, quickly shifted his demeanour, offering a smile to Pontus. "So, what specific aspects do you wish to test?"

"I have already assessed her regarding pride, envy, and greed. She has proven herself devoid of such traits, or she wouldn't have attained the status of Heiress," Pontus explained. "The only facets I haven't evaluated are Lust and Desire. I would like you to focus on testing her in these areas."

"Understood," Eros acknowledged with a nod.

With a swift departure, Eros vanished from sight, while Psyche ascended to the uppermost level.

Persia meditated in the serene nature of the garden within the opulence of Atlantis as she sat beneath the sprawling branches of a majestic plum tree. A sudden surge of potent energy disrupted the surrounding stillness. She focused and found an unexpected presence lurking beyond the veil of the willow trees.

Persia remained outwardly composed, not wanting the presence to know of her awareness. For a brief moment, there was no apparent movement. However, a sudden surge of another burst of energy surged exactly where she was seated. She retreated inward, allowing the energy to strike.

It was foolhardy. But she was curious.

Over recent months, she had developed a keen awareness of various energy sources around her. She had observed how the trees exuded a grounded, resilient energy reminiscent of the Earth's own essence. Throughout the lands, she had detected traces of Life and Death energies intertwining whenever she had meditated in the mortal world.

However, in Olympus, the energy bore a distinct heaviness. It possessed an intense, almost oppressive power, as if an additional weight had been placed upon her shoulders. A chance encounter with this potent force had left her with a pounding headache. It prompted her to avoid meditation in that place altogether.

The surge of energy momentarily overwhelmed Persia. Although it paled in comparison to the suffocating depths of Tartarus. With deliberate breaths, she centred herself as she delved inward to unravel the tangled web of emotions coursing through her.

There was a mix-up of the basic elements within her.

Fire roared as an insatiable yearning stirred deep within her soul. Frowning in concentration, she grappled with the unfamiliar sensation, knowing all too well that as a creature of water, fire stood as its antithesis.

With a gentle resolve, she steered the torrent of longing. Slowly but surely, she felt the surging flames subside, replaced by a revitalising surge of energy as the other elements moved to counterbalance the excess of fire.

She let out a breath, her body relaxing against the tree as the energy was utilised and redirected properly.

When he aimed his arrow at her, he had wondered who she might love. But his assumption was quickly proven wrong. Instead of falling for someone, she remained unaffected. Her body stiffened, and a perplexed expression creased her brow, as if she couldn't comprehend something.

Eros, astonished, watched in disbelief.

Her body emitted a soft white aura, and a vivid red lotus petals symbol materialised in front of her navel, followed by a vibrant navy blue lotus three fingers below. The blue lotus briefly glowed pink before vanishing altogether. Eros observed as the red lotus continued to glow for a few moments before fading away.

He sensed a loss of control over the energies emanating from his arrow. Though laden with lust, desire, and passion, they no longer obeyed his command. Instead, they yielded to her will. The lust seamlessly melded into the water element, nullifying its intended effect. Passion and desire, rather than dissipating, were redirected according to her desires.

He pondered the nature of her true desire.

As her eyes fluttered open, he knelt before her, both knees sinking into the ground. Zyenthea's daughter regarded him with a tilt of her head, curiosity dancing in her eyes. A playful smile graced her lips as she greeted him, "Hello. Might I inquire as to what I've done to upset you?"

He blinked. What?

"Why do you believe you've angered me?" he asked.

"Because I don't typically get attacked by arrows while meditating.”

Eros stared at her for a moment before chuckling. "My apologies for the intrusion. I am Eros," he introduced himself, hoping to elicit some reaction from her. Instead, she simply tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm Persia," she introduced herself. "Could you perhaps enlighten me as to why I'm suddenly being bombarded with feelings of desire and lust?"

 Eros smirked in response.

"You bear a striking resemblance to your mother in your behaviour."

"Do I now? How fascinating. How can I assist you, Lord Eros?" Persia inquired calmly.

"Perhaps by answering a few questions of mine?" Eros suggested.

"Go ahead," she replied, gracefully folding her legs beneath her and focusing her attention on him.

"How did you manage to disrupt my control over the emotions generated by my arrow?" He questioned.

Persia met his gaze with an amused smile. "Imagine the ocean is calm, and suddenly you throw a pebble. What happens?"

"It creates ripples," Eros answered, frowning. "But what does that have to do with this?"

"Quite a lot," Persia responded. "Consider my emotions as the ocean. When the pebbles of lust and desire suddenly appear, they disrupt the previous stability, creating imbalance."

"I see," Eros murmured. "So, you stabilised them after identifying them?"

"Exactly," Persia confirmed.

"But how did you manipulate the elements to achieve that?" Eros pressed.

 "Aren't the primal elements the very foundation of our existence?"Persia countered.

"You... have been raised in the Ancient Ways!" Eros exclaimed, realisation dawning in his eyes. Persia chuckled softly, nodding in acknowledgment.

Eros regarded her with a curious expression. "So, you possess the knowledge of channelling the basic elements within your body?"

"My demigod form can only manipulate elements that are already in abundance within me," Persia explained.

"Thus, my mother taught me how to balance these elements within myself. It enables me to detect any disturbances within my emotions and maintain control over my mind and body. I find it disconcerting when others attempt to control that which does not belong to them," she added with a pointed glare.

Eros offered a sheepish smile, murmuring, "I was simply fulfilling my duty."

"I gathered as much," Persia replied dryly. "So, did I pass the test?"

"Yes, you did," Eros confirmed with a nod.

"You were confident she would succeed effortlessly, weren't you?" Pontus remarked wryly, glancing up at the balcony where Zyenthea sat with Leto and Hades by her side.

Zyenthea smirked in response. "Indeed. There was never any doubt."

"Her soul radiates purity," Psyche interjected, casting a glance at Zyenthea and Pontus. "I've seldom encountered such a luminous, potent, and untainted soul in my centuries of existence. It's a rarity to find such innocence in these times."

As Persia and Eros entered the hall, the door creaked open. Persia offered a warm smile to her mother before giving a respectful bow to Lord Pontus, who returned it with a gentle smile.

Eros addressed Pontus, "My dear friend, my arrows proved futile against your heiress. She possesses knowledge of the ancient ways."

"We were informed," Pontus acknowledged. "But, Persia dear, I have a few questions regarding this matter. Would you be willing to provide answers?"

"Indeed," Persia responded.

"How did you neutralise the effect of his arrows?" Pontus inquired.

"Yes!" Eros interjected eagerly, turning to face her. "You never explained exactly what you did."

Persia explained, "Desire, Passion, and Lust are inherently tied to the Fire element. So when I suddenly felt a yearning that was unrelated to meditation, I attempted to sense the elemental balance within my body. As a being of water, detecting fire has always been challenging for me, given that it's the opposing element. Thus, when I could sense the fire element so prominently, it was evident that something had disrupted the balance within me. To counteract this, I increased my water element in proportion to the fire, absorbing the lust into it and redirecting the desire."

"Desire is a subjective emotion. While Lord Eros intended it to be sexual desire, once the lust factor was absorbed, the desire could be redirected toward any purpose I wished. I simply wanted to maintain balance within my body, so I utilised the desire for that purpose," Persia explained, shrugging casually.

There was a silence in the hall before King Jared got up, “You made it seem easy, my lady. But I can assure you that it is something several experienced immortals have struggled with.”

“So have I,” Persia said, “I did not manage this within a day. And, honestly, when there is a need, you learn to do the impossible.”

"Thank you, Eros," Pontus acknowledged. "I would be pleased if you would join us."

"Of course! You needn't even ask. I will certainly stay," Eros responded eagerly.

Once everyone had settled into their seats, Minister Cyril spoke up. "Heiress, a final test awaits you. If you are ready, we shall begin."

"Please proceed," Persia replied.

"Then I humbly request Princess Metis, the embodiment of Intelligence and the second daughter of Lord Oceanus and Lady Tethys, to arrive for the second test," Cyril requested.

The divine woman emerged from the swirling waters. Her hair cascaded in dark blue waves with brilliant grey eyes like storm clouds tinged with silver, held a captivating gaze that seemed to pierce through the soul. Tall and lithe, she moved with a graceful fluidity. Her presence exuded an aura of tranquillity and power. She was adorned in an emerald green dress that flowed like water around her figure with pearls adorning her neck and wrists.

She walked gracefully to stand before Lord Pontus, offering him a respectful bow of her head before turning to Oceanus. "Lord Father."

"Blessed be, dearest," Oceanus replied warmly.

Turning toward the balcony, Metis smiled softly as she executed a full bow. "Adelphē."

Zyenthea's lips curved into a gentle smile. "Blessed be, little one."

When Metis shifted her gaze to Persia, she returned the smile on Persia’s face. "Niece."

"Greetings, Aunt," Persia replied respectfully.

"Are you ready? Shall we begin?" Metis inquired.

"Yes," Persia affirmed.

They settled into their designated seats at the centre of the hall, where preparations had been made. Metis crossed her legs, a serene smile gracing her lips as she indicated the sand clock positioned beside her. "I will present you with a series of questions to assess your intelligence. You are to answer them to the best of your ability. Some questions will be timed using the sand clock, while others will not. Do you have any questions before we begin?"

"No," Persia replied.

"Excellent," Metis acknowledged before turning to Cyril. "Minister, please keep track."

"Yes, Princess," Cyril affirmed.

"First question: What is your understanding of Intelligence?" Metis inquired.

“Intelligence is a vast word. It includes problem-solving, creativity, the ability to learn and adapt to situations. Furthermore, intelligence also comprises emotional intelligence, which involves understanding and managing one's own emotions as well as those of others.”

Metis's lips curved into a faint smile. "Very few emphasise the importance of emotional intelligence. By acknowledging its significance, you're already setting yourself apart from others. I appreciate it. Now, let's proceed with another question. Regarding the decision to offer the Olympians a second chance—do you believe it was the right choice? Considering their past behaviour, wouldn't it have been more prudent to extend such an opportunity to another immortal race, one likely to exhibit better conduct?"

Persia considered the question before responding, "There were various factors at play, such as the potential repercussions of the Titan Lord targeting them specifically, as opposed to any other major immortal race."

Raising an eyebrow, Metis countered, "But why should it matter if the Gods destroy themselves or are enslaved? Isn't it their civil war? Why should any other immortal race concern themselves with the affairs of these newly arrived immortals?" Leaning in, her voice softened yet carried undeniable authority, "And perhaps the most critical question—why should demigods, who have suffered the most in the midst of their petty conflicts, care about the survival of Olympian immortals?"

A heavy silence enveloped the hall, punctuated by the sombre expressions etched on the faces of the Olympians. Zeus appeared on the verge of speaking out, restrained only by the firm grasp of Ares and Hera's hands. Meanwhile, the others wore expressions of shock, their mouths agape and eyes widened in disbelief.

For a fleeting moment, Persia's expression remained unreadable. Then, a soft chuckle escaped her lips, reverberating gently through the hall. Leaning back against the backrest of her seat, she addressed Metis, "Finally, someone with discernment. Honestly, Aunt, you're the first person to pose such a question to me."

“Am I now?”

"Yes,"Persia's smile widened, her gaze flitting between the Olympian seats and where Apollo and Artemis sat. "In those readings, it became abundantly clear that their treatment of demigods could have easily turned them into adversaries. Despite discovering that a demigod had betrayed them, and learning of numerous betrayals by demigods and minor gods during their war, none of them ever questioned why the demigods would suddenly choose to aid the very gods who had caused them so much strife. In the initial readings, it was revealed that King Zeus accused me of something I had never done. Yet, no one bothered to inquire whether I harboured any lingering resentment toward him for involving me in a matter that was not my concern. While the actions of the present King Zeus may not be indicative of his future behaviour, it would have been wise of a discerning king to pose such a question, wouldn't it?"

Metis smirked in agreement. "It seems they've inherited Zeus's irritating habit of making everything about himself."

Persia nodded knowingly. "Absolutely! They possess that exasperating tendency to believe the entire cosmos revolves around them. Truthfully, these readings and the conflict between the Titan Lord and the Olympians are merely incidental. My motives for travelling to the past are entirely self-serving, Aunt. They have nothing to do with the Olympians. While the Moirai may have presented the idea as a means to safeguard the innocence of others, I always suspected they had ulterior motives unrelated to the Gods. I had a personal reason to accept their proposal."

Metis smiled knowingly. "I can already surmise what that reason might be. Nevertheless, do not think I haven't realised that you haven't answered the question properly. I would like to hear the answer from you."

Persia huffed lightly, her smile unwavering. "I suppose I didn't. My mother, Aunt.” She blinked back, her voice dropping a bit lower, “I have gone through the agony of losing her once. The prospect of having her back was enough for me to choose."

Metis smiled sadly,  "Yes, I understand. Let's move on to some timed questions. Minister Cyril, please keep track of the sand clock. Are you ready?"

"I am," Persia confirmed.

"Very well. Let's begin."

"What is the most powerful weapon in the world?" Metis inquired.

"Kindness," Persia responded without hesitation.

Metis raised an eyebrow, prompting Persia to elaborate. "How?"

"Kindness is a weapon that possesses the ability to nurture, heal, and destroy simultaneously," Persia explained. "It destroys cruelty and selfishness, both of which inflict harm upon others. Meanwhile, it nurtures relationships and has the power to heal even the most battered hearts."

"What is the greatest victory in the universe?" Metis inquired.

"Over one's own self," Persia replied.

"And who is the greatest enemy?" Metis continued.

"Arrogance."

"What is more important, duty or love?" Metis questioned.

"Duty," Persia replied without hesitation.

"Not love?" Metis prodded further.

"Love is certainly important," Persia clarified. "However, if one's love prevents them from fulfilling their duty, then it is not a love that will bring true happiness."

Metis appeared suitably impressed. She signalled to Cyril, "Minister, please cease counting now. The timed questions have concluded." She then turned back to Persia. "I have two more questions, but they are not timed. After that, we will conclude this test."

"Of course, Aunt," Persia acknowledged.

"Tell me, Persia, what would you consider the duty of a King to be? I may ask follow-up questions depending on your response," Metis inquired.

"A king is a servant," Persia began, "He exists to serve his subjects, without whom his very purpose would be meaningless. He sets an example for his kingdom; it is his footsteps that his people follow. A king's worth is measured by the welfare of his kingdom—his people."

"Not his power?" Metis prodded further.

"Powerful people can become powerless, Aunt," Persia explained. "A king who is kind and devoted to his duties requires neither a throne nor a crown. He earns the attention, devotion, and love of his subjects through his character alone. In times of adversity, these very subjects will stand by him. Conversely, kings who rule through fear and intimidation may hold power temporarily, but their reigns are not blessed. Their subjects will abandon them as soon as a more deserving ruler comes along."

Metis listened intently, her smile growing wider as Persia spoke. "The last question of the test," Metis announced. "In the course of my life, I have learned that being alone is important in finding oneself. What do you think?"

Persia remained silent for a moment, contemplating her response. "I believe that life imparts different lessons to different individuals. None of our journeys are identical. Thus, your perspective on solitude may differ from mine. From my viewpoint, I think that finding, accepting, and understanding oneself is crucial. It does not necessarily require solitude."

"To be clear, you don't believe that family, friends, or even acquaintances hinder this process?" Metis probed.

"No," Persia replied firmly.

"Why? Wouldn't their influence pose obstacles, even if their intentions are well-meaning?" Metis questioned further.

"Why do you assume they would impede our self-discovery, Aunt?" Persia countered, her curiosity piqued.

"Because a family includes worry, duty, and care. If a person is preoccupied with worrying about their family members, then they may struggle to focus on self-discovery. Family creates bonds that are not easily broken," Metis explained.

"Discovery is not a task, Aunt," Persia interjected calmly. "You may actively seek it, but it could still elude you. As for caring and worrying for your family—that's not a form of bondage, but simply an expression of love."

"Love is also binding," Metis countered.

"No," Persia rebutted. "If love lacks aspirations, expectations, and desires, then it is not binding. In such cases, the issue lies with expectations, which can make love selfish."

"Love is selfish, darling," Metis countered. "And even though your words are pleasant to hear, can you provide me with an example of such a love?"

Persia grinned, her eyes misting over as she glanced at Oceanus and Tethys, both of whom watched them with prideful eyes. Gesturing toward them, she replied, "Your parents. I'm sure you've heard their story numerous times."

She then turned back to Metis. "Everyone knows that Oceanus and Tethys spent their entire lives at the sea. But their origin story wasn't so simple, was it, Aunt?"

"He was banished and cast aside from Sky, Heaven, and Land for daring to speak out against Ouranus's cruelty to his own children. He accepted his fate with grace, possessing nothing but the clothes on his back. Do you not see the selflessness in his actions? And when he asked Nana to stay in Heaven instead of following him, was that not a pure expression of love? He believed he couldn't give her the life she deserved, with nothing to his name. And what did Nana choose, Aunt?" Persia recounted.

"She chose Tatá. She chose an uncertain future. She chose hardship," Metis responded softly, her eyes misty as she blinked to prevent tears from falling.

"Was that choice not selfless? What would you call it other than love, Aunt Metis?" Persia questioned.

"Yes, I agree," Metis replied with a smile, rising from her seat. Her touch was tender as she gently cradled Persia's cheeks between the palms of her hands. With a soft and affectionate gesture, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Persia's forehead. Taking her hand, she gently tugged her up. "Come!"

Metis gave a radiant smile to Pontus, who returned it warmly. "Grand-Uncle, I have encountered many types of people in my long life. But for the first time, I have met someone who possesses many desirable qualities in equal measure. It is surprising—" She glanced up at Zyenthea. "—and a testament to your nurturing capabilities, adelphē.”

Zyenthea smiled. Pontus rose from his seat, his movements commanding attention from all present. The guests followed suit.  Pontus's voice resonated with authority as he addressed the assembly. “So it has been proved that Perisa is worthy of ascending to High Lady,” He declared, his tone firm yet filled with pride. “Come forth, child.”

As Persia approached, her long flowing gown trailed behind her. Pontus raised his hand, and with a flicker of magic, a magnificent diadem adorned with sapphires and diamonds materialised. Its brilliance seemed to capture the light, casting shimmering reflections across the room. With a solemn yet tender gesture, he approached Persia and gently placed the diadem upon her ebony curls. As it settled into place, it seemed as though it belonged there.

He turned towards Zyenthea, seeking her guidance with a questioning gaze. "Should I—"

Understanding his unspoken inquiry, Zyenthea shook her head gently, her expression grave yet resolute. "If Persia is to attain immortality, it must be through the ancient ways," she stated firmly.

"As you wish," Pontus acquiesced with a smile, though his expression soon turned to one of concern. "But that kind of immortality entails undergoing Trials, Zyenthea! Has Persia—"

"Yes," Zyenthea interrupted.

Thalassa, observing the curious expressions among the gathered guests, decided to intervene. "Well, now that the coronation has been completed," she announced, "...let us make our way to the communal pavilion for the feasts." She turned towards Pontus, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "My Lord?"

Pontus nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across his face. "A splendid idea, my love. Let us proceed," he affirmed, indicating for the guests to follow as they made their way towards the pavilion for the celebratory feast.

The Olympians stood stunned. Hestia, Hermes, Dionysus, Ares, Apollo, and Artemis all wore stunned looks, their faces frozen in stupor and uncertainty. Athena, on the other hand, exuded rage, her gaze blazing as she assessed the current scenario, her dissatisfaction apparent.

Among them all, Zeus suffered the brunt of the event the most obviously. His cool demeanour was torn apart, replaced by an array of emotions whirling within him. Frustration raged within his head, clouding his normally clear intellect. Fear had crept in, in tandem with the tremendous wrath that threatened to consume him.

His jaw clinched tight, a tangible expression of the struggle contained within him. He felt as though his emotions were going to erupt, shutting out all reason. He ached with all of his might to march forward, to demand an explanation, to unleash the tempest that had risen within him on the person who was responsible for this upheaval. But before he could act, a voice, both familiar and surprising, broke through the maelstrom of his emotions, halting him in his tracks. 

"Zeus." 

He turned, ready to vent his rage on the intruder, but as his sight rested on the individual in front of him, he paused.

"Mother," he whispered, his voice revealing the struggle within him, his emotions making him shaky on his feet.

As Zeus hesitated, caught in the maelstrom of his emotions, Hestia stepped forward, gracefully shielding him from further scrutiny. "Greetings, Mother," she offered, her voice calm amidst the tension that hung thick in the air.

Rhea's response was immediate, her demeanour stern as she surveyed her children gathered before her. Her gaze, however, lingered longest on Zeus, bypassing Hestia entirely as she addressed him directly. "You will not make a scene here, Zeus," she admonished, her tone soft but laced with unmistakable displeasure. "You have already brought shame upon me with your actions. If you bring further disgrace upon this family, there will be consequences you cannot fathom."

Zeus swallowed hard, the weight of his mother's words pressing down on him, his pride stung by her reprimand delivered so publicly.

Satisfied that she had quelled Zeus, at least for the moment, Rhea turned her attention to the rest of her children. Her gaze swept over a shocked Demeter, a contrite Hestia, and a subdued Hera. A sense of disappointment creased her features as she regarded her grandchildren, her disapproval evident as she addressed them sternly.

"Has no one taught you the importance of showing respect to your elders, children?" she chided, her tone carrying a weight of expectation. Turning her gaze to her own offspring, she demanded answers. "Hestia? Zeus? What is the meaning of all this?"

Zeus's jaw clenched tighter, seething with barely contained rage, directed a commanding glare at Athena, Hermes, Hephaestus, Ares, Dionysus, and Aphrodite. "Bow!" he barked, his voice dripping with authority.

Reluctantly, they all complied, hastily bowing before their grandmother. However, their awkward attempts at reverence only served to deepen Rhea's frown, her disappointment palpable at their lack of poise.

"Grandmother, may the blessings of the day find you." 

As Rhea turned around, she discovered Apollo and Artemis standing behind her, their presence a welcome sight. With a graceful inclination of their heads, they offered a respectful bow upon meeting her gaze. 

Despite her smile, a fleeting trace of sadness flickered in Rhea's eyes. "Blessed be, children," she murmured softly, her words carrying a tender warmth tinged with a bittersweet sentiment.

"I hope you are well, Grandmother," Artemis greeted with a genuine smile, her hand reaching out hesitantly. Rhea accepted her granddaughter's hand, drawing her into a tender embrace. "I am well, my dearest granddaughter," she assured, her touch conveying affection.

Turning her attention to Apollo, Rhea's concern softened her features. “And how are you now, grandson? I have heard troubling tales of your recent skirmish,” she inquired gently. Her hand moved to pat his sides, a tender gesture as if checking for any lingering injuries. "You seem well."

"I've recovered, Grandmother," Apollo reassured, “Rest assured, I shall not be caught off guard again."

A small smile graced Rhea's lips, her eyes softening with relief. "I harbour no doubts about your resilience, my dear," she nodded, a fond smile gracing her features. "I am simply grateful that you are safe and sound. Few immortals can claim to have faced the energies of Tartarus. It is no small feat." Her hand rested on his shoulder, a comforting presence. “But do not burden yourself unnecessarily, yes?”

“I shall keep it in mind, Grandmother.” Apollo smiled back. 

Rhea's gaze shifted from Apollo towards the figure approaching behind him, a flicker of tentative hope and joy dancing in her eyes.

Apollo turned to see Hades approaching, accompanied by Nico and Persephone's daughters.

"Greetings, Mother. I hope you have been well," Hades spoke, his words polite but his expression unreadable.

"Hades," Rhea greeted, her voice tinged with emotion. "Blessed be, my son." Her eyes misted with tears of affection as she stepped forward, reaching out to touch him.

However, Hades stepped back abruptly, denying her touch before she could make contact.

Rhea's smile held a tinge of sadness as she withdrew her hand, her voice carrying a note of gentle inquiry. "Are you still angry with me? It has been so long, son."

Hades met her gaze evenly, his expression guarded. "Time has neither erased your actions nor the pain it had caused, Mother. Please do not read too much into my actions."

Her lips trembled slightly, betraying the hurt beneath her facade, but she quickly composed herself, offering a pained smile. "Of course, son," she replied, masking her emotions with practised grace.

Her gaze shifted towards Hades's children, each of whom bowed swiftly in acknowledgment as she turned her attention to them.

Noticing her glance, Hades proceeded with introductions. "My daughters, Malaria and Melinoe. My eldest son, Nicolo. My other children are around somewhere. If I get another chance, I shall introduce them as well."

Rhea smiled warmly towards them, her maternal affection shining through despite the tension in the air. "I shall not hold you here for much longer then, Hades. However, I do have one question. Have you seen Poseidon?"

As a soft, feminine laughter filled the hall like a soothing melody, all eyes turned to behold Persia being gracefully twirled in a dance by Oceanus. The sudden realisation dawned upon them that the dancing had begun unnoticed.

Hades's demeanour softened at the heartwarming sight, a subtle shift that did not escape Rhea's keen observation, nor that of the surrounding Olympians. Turning back to address Rhea's query, he spoke with a tone of gentle reassurance, "Poseidon has been detained by an unavoidable family matter. He'll be joining us tomorrow, if time allows."

Rhea nodded in understanding, a small smile playing on her lips. "I am glad to have met you after so long, Hades, and..." With a swift motion, she retrieved two pairs of bangles from her wrists, extending them towards Melinoe and Makaria. "These are for you both. It's a tradition of mine to give something to my grandchildren upon our first meeting. Since we haven't had the chance before now..."

Melinoe and Makaria accepted the bangles, their hesitation eased only after receiving Hades' assurance. Rhea then offered a ring to Nico, which he accepted with graceful gratitude.

With their exchange concluded, Hades and his children bid their farewells, drawn away by the calls of several members of the royal families. 

Rhea turned back to Zeus with a quizzical expression. "Well, why the frown on your face?"

"Nothing, Mother," Zeus replied tersely. Rhea arched an eyebrow in silent disbelief before sighing. "Stick close to me then. Have you paid your respects to our host yet?"

"No," Zeus admitted with a hint of reluctance.

"Truly, Zeus! Have you forgotten all sense of courtesy?" Rhea chided, her tone laced with exasperation. "Come, let us go and greet brother Oceanus."

With a nod, Zeus acquiesced, though his expression remained guarded. Yet, under Rhea's stern gaze, his demeanour softened into one of neutrality.

Together, they navigated the room, exchanging pleasantries with various attendees as Rhea introduced Zeus to familiar immortals.

"My Lord!" Rhea gracefully inclined her head as they approached Pontus, the Water Primordial. Even Zeus, under Rhea's pointed glare, managed a reluctant half-bow.

Pontus observed them with an amused twinkle in his eyes, a smile gracing his lips. "Blessed be, Rhea. It's been some time since we last crossed paths. Is this your son?"

"Yes, indeed. This is Zeus, the current ruler of the Land, Heaven, and Sky."

"Ah, Kronos' Heir," Pontus remarked knowingly, causing Zeus to stiffen noticeably and Rhea to offer a nervous smile. Meanwhile, the observing Olympians, caught off guard by Pontus's observation, widened their eyes in astonishment.

Ignoring their reactions, Pontus continued, "Have you had the pleasure of meeting Oceanus's granddaughter yet?"

"No, unfortunately, I haven't had the opportunity," Rhea replied.

"Wait a moment. Allow me to introduce you both," Pontus declared, turning towards where Persia was engaged in conversation with an elder sea immortal. "Persia, my dear! Come over here for a moment, child."

"Of course, Grandsire," Persia responded with a smile, bidding farewell to her current companion before approaching Pontus.

As Persia reached them, Pontus began the introductions, his tone warm and affectionate. "This is Rhea, your grandfather's sister." Then, turning to Rhea, he continued, "And this is Persia, Zyenthea’s daughter."

Rhea's smile widened as Persia executed a graceful bow in greeting. "Good tidings of the day, Lady Rhea," Persia greeted softly, her smile genuine albeit modest.

Rhea reached for her necklace, a gesture filled with familial warmth. "This may not be much, but it's for you, dear granddaughter," she offered, holding out the necklace to Persia, who watched her with wide eyes and a hint of hesitation.

"Granddaughter?" Pontus interjected, his brows knitting together in confusion. "Poseidon is your son?"

"Yes, Lord Pontus," Rhea confirmed with a serene nod.

"I see," Pontus murmured thoughtfully, nodding in acknowledgment. Rhea, noticing Persia's lingering uncertainty, offered a reassuring smile. "Go ahead, dear. I assure you, the necklace does not bite."

"Oh! No, that's not—" Persia stammered, her cheeks flushing crimson as she hesitantly accepted the gift.

As a massive shadow loomed over them, all eyes were drawn upward to behold a majestic white dragon soaring above, circling as it searched for a place to land. Zeus recognized it instantly as the same dragon that had accompanied Lady Zyenthea during her visit to Olympus.

With a resounding thud, the dragon descended, its arrival causing the immortals to scatter in surprise while mortals gazed on in awe.

"Dario?" Pontus murmured, his eyes narrowing with concern.

"Little Princess!" The dragon's voice, deep and rough, resonated through the hall, surprising everyone present. "Come with me. You cannot stay here any longer."

"What?" Persia mumbled, taking hesitant steps towards the dragon.

Observing her approach, Dario slowly lowered himself further, urging her to take a seat. "Come, take a seat. I will take you to a safe place."

"But, Dario! Who would harm me here? My mother, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, everyone is here. No one would harm me," Persia protested, her confusion evident.

"You do not understand, Princess," Dario replied, his voice tinged with anguish. "The Betrayer is here. She has harmed you before, and she is the reason behind your mother's suffering. She is the harbinger of destruction for the universe. I failed my duty once. I will not fail again. Do not argue with me, Princess. Please, come along!"

"What!? Who is the Betrayer? How has she harmed my mother?" Persia's voice quivered with uncertainty as she struggled to make sense of Dario's warning.

Before Dario could continue, Zyenthea's stern voice rang out, halting his words. "Dario!"

Persia turned to find her mother beside her, her expression softened. "Sweetheart, why don't you go with him? He seems distressed."

"Now? But—"

"Go ahead, little pearl. We wouldn't mind," Thalassa intervened with a reassuring smile. "Dario's peace of mind is more important than a party."

Though still hesitant, Persia reluctantly nodded. With a determined resolve, she mounted the dragon and departed from the gathering, leaving behind a sombre atmosphere tinged with concern.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟖 : 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 — 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)

The daybreak unfolded like a great artist's painting, a symphony of colours illuminating the skies in a spectacular exhibition. Pink tendrils interlaced with regal purples, and peaceful blues mixed with flaming reds and oranges, creating a captivating tapestry across the heavenly sky.

Zeus awoke from his slumber, jolted by the melodic chorus of bird songsters and the ethereal sight of his son's chariot burning a track across the sky. Despite the magnificence that engulfed him, a lingering lethargy clung to his divine body, his intellect still clouded by slumber.

However, as the tendrils of consciousness began to weave their way through his thoughts, the events of the previous day brought him to a quick and sharp realisation. With a resolute determination, he sat upright upon his opulent bed, the sumptuous sheets cascading around him like liquid silk, dispelling the last vestiges of slumber with unwavering finality.

It was as though the world had been thrust into disarray from the moment those demigods had crossed his path. While his own children demonstrated his divine might, Poseidon and Hades' children drove him to become increasingly concerned. They held enormous power, which was both astonishing and disturbing.

A shadow of uneasiness hung over him, its weight pressing against his eternal spirit with almost physical force. 

The reverberations of Poseidon's fury at Athena's mocking echoed in Zeus' thoughts, acting as a harsh reminder of the complicated web of power dynamics that dominated his celestial world. How could he have permitted such conflict to occur under his attentive eye? The weight of duty fell hard on him, and he bore it with a bitter heart.

Apollo's involvement with Persia brought another degree of intricacy to an already difficult position, affecting the delicate balance of divine affairs. However, the betrayal he detected in his son's gaze wounded Zeus's eternal soul like a blade, instilling in him an overwhelming dread. The abyss of distance that had arisen between them appeared to increase with each passing instant, a gulf of estrangement that threatened to swallow them both.

What had caused Apollo to harbour such hostility and disdain towards his own father? Zeus contemplated this subject with mixed emotions, wrestling with the realisation that possibly his own deeds had caused this chasm. Should he have approached his son with greater empathy, rather than succumbing to the paranoia that now clouded his judgement?

Apollo had always been a devoted son, albeit with a proclivity for mischief that frequently tried Zeus' patience. The realisation that he may have inadvertently alienated his most formidable warrior left Zeus feeling profoundly unsettled. The possibility that he had erred in his treatment of Apollo filled Zeus with dread, casting an unsettling shadow over his mind. 

Had he, in his efforts towards maintaining order and control, unintentionally planted the seeds of dissension inside his family? The question stayed in the back of his mind, throwing doubt on all of his decisions and tormenting him with uncertainty.

As a resounding knock echoed around the chamber, Zeus was immediately jolted out of his reverie. With a steadying breath, he waited to gather himself before calling out, "Enter."

A maid entered the room with a respectful manner and her head lowered in reverence. However, a tiny difference distinguished her as one of the Sea's inhabitants, since she lacked the traditional veil worn by the females of Zeus' domains.

"My Lord," she murmured respectfully, "the Queen Mother requests your presence for breakfast."

"I shall join momentarily. Has my bath been prepared?" Zeus inquired, his tone a blend of authority and expectation.

"Yes, My Lord. Shall I also set out a variety of clothes for you?" The maid queried, her voice a soft whisper in the stillness of the room.

"Yes," he affirmed, rising from his bed without a hint of self-consciousness, despite the casual reveal of his unclothed form beneath the shifting sheets. Unfazed by the unintentional display, the maid maintained her stoic composure, her gaze remaining fixed upon the mosaic of floor tiles beneath her feet.

"Leave them upon the bed," Zeus instructed with a wave of his hand, before departing for the adjoining bathing chamber, his movements measured and deliberate.

Zeus was attended to by a retinue of male attendants in the serene sanctuary of the bathing chamber, their presence blending seamlessly with the luxurious surroundings. With elegant ease, he buried himself in the calming embrace of the warm water, succumbing to his attendants' painstaking care of his exquisite figure. 

Throughout this relaxing treatment, his mind strayed again, this time towards the great cultural disparities between the kingdoms of Land and Sea. Unlike his own realm, where veils were a common decoration for females, the Sea's norms prohibited such covers. The importance of familial bonds was keenly felt here, with each home ruled by its own set of elaborate laws overseen by a senior Patriarch. Among the obvious marks of matrimony were delicate veils and particular jewellery, ranging from gorgeous toe rings to extravagant hair decorations, each representing the sacredness of marriage as well as familial relationships.

In contrast to the regulated bounds of the Land, the Sea provided its inhabitants with a seemingly limitless sense of liberty, but it also wielded an equally harsh edge for violations against its minimal norms. When he had ascended to the throne, he had built the notion of 'oikos' on the fundamental principles that govern the Sea, a foundation strengthened with the assistance of his mother and Metis, whose wisdom and advice provided stability to his rule.

Over time, his son Apollo spread the practice of patronage among mortals, which arose from houses vowing fidelity to a certain deity. Except for himself and Apollo, no one in the mortal or immortal realms could claim a similar number of devotees. And, after looking at Metis again and comparing her to Athena, he acknowledged within that, for all of Athena's strength and logic, she paled in contrast to her mother's overwhelming brilliance. 

In this thought, he couldn't help but admit the veracity of Poseidon's previous claims.

He shook his head slightly and rose from the pool's embrace. The attendants gently wiped him dry with a soft towel as he made his way to the main chamber.

Two servants followed suit, aiding him in wearing his regal attire. As they gently put his crown on his brow, he took a minute to examine his reflection on the polished surface of a mirror.

There, peering back at him, was the picture of a monarch full of unwavering confidence and unmistakable strength. With a steadying breath, he reaffirmed his sovereignty.

For he was not merely a monarch of realms, but the ruler of the Gods, the master of Heaven, Sky, and Earth. No one, mortal or divine, would dare challenge his authority.

He harboured no tolerance for insubordination from his immortal brethren. Only Poseidon and Hades were granted the privilege of questioning him—a mark of honour bestowed upon them by his own decree.

It appeared a timely reminder was in order to elucidate precisely who had liberated them from the confines of their father's devouring stomach. If they required a refresher on his supremacy, then so be it.

Rhea observed as Zeus entered the room, taking his place at the head of the table with a regal air. Opposite him sat Apollo, his rightful position as the eldest son duly recognized. A fond smile graced Rhea's lips as she exchanged a glance with her undoubtedly favoured grandson.

Yet, her expression shifted subtly to a small frown as Hera hesitated to take the customary role of serving her husband. Though aware of the marital discord between them, Rhea had hoped they had reached some understanding. Had they forsaken the simple customs she had instilled within her oikos, or had they simply neglected them over time?

The uncomfortable silence that ensued weighed heavily upon the gathered family, prompting Rhea to intervene. Clearing her throat delicately, she spoke, her tone gentle yet firm, "Hera, do serve Zeus. Whom are you waiting for? Everyone is present."

Hera's startled reaction betrayed her surprise at being addressed, the unexpected attention catching her off guard. With all eyes now upon her, she offered a murmured acknowledgment to her mother, "Yes, Mother.”

Without further ado, she busied herself with the task at hand, swiftly serving the dishes within her reach. Yet, just as she was about to present Zeus with a serving of fish, Rhea's sharp reprimand pierced the air.

"Hera, Zeus doesn't enjoy fish. Why are you serving him that? Where is your mind, child?" Rhea's words held a note of exasperation, prompting Hera to withdraw her hand with a subtle shake of her head. What struck those gathered as most unusual, however, was Hera's uncharacteristic silence in response.

As the family settled into their meal, Ares's curiosity broke the quietude. "Grandmother, why did you ask mother to serve father?" he inquired, his tone marked by genuine interest.

Rhea's frown deepened at the question, a subtle indication of her disappointment, though she refrained from vocalising any further reprimands. Inwardly, however, she couldn't help but acknowledge Hera's lapse in fulfilling her duties, a realisation that weighed heavily upon her heart.

Instead of scolding Hera anew, Rhea turned her attention to Ares, "When your father ascended to the throne, facing the daunting task of governing the vast realms under his control, a select few of us, myself included, aided him in solidifying his rule," she explained. 

"In those early days, it was customary for a wife to serve her husband food, and for a son to honour his parents by performing similar acts of respect," Rhea went on, her words weighted with tradition. "I was inspired by the strong familial relationships I witnessed in the Sea, where such traditions were strongly rooted. My experiences there, along with the deep ties I've built here, have formed the traditions in our home."

"About that..." Apollo began, curiosity evident in his tone, "We heard Persia mention Lord Oceanus and Lady Tethys' story yesterday. What's that all about? We haven't heard much concerning them."

Rhea's smile widened at her grandson's inquiry. "How about I regale you all with their tale after breakfast? We still have some time before the second part of the ceremony."

"That would be delightful, Grandmother," Dionysus chimed in, his eyes alight with anticipation.

"Excellent. Another matter to address—Apollo, my dear, has the Princess granted you permission to use her name?" Rhea's question carried a note of gentle concern.

Apollo shook his head in response. "No, why?"

"In the Sea, it's considered improper to address someone without a familial relationship by their name. It's frowned upon. Instead, refer to Persia as Princess or High Lady while within the Sea. There's no need to inadvertently cause offence," Rhea patiently explained, though inwardly she couldn't help but wonder why Zeus had neglected to inform them of such customs from realms beyond their own. After all, she had imparted this knowledge to Zeus long ago.

Apollo raised an eyebrow, taken aback by this revelation. The others seated around the table, with the exception of Hera and Zeus, mirrored his surprise.

"I'll be sure to remember that," Apollo assured, his mind racing as he connected several dots, realising why Lord Niklaus had seemed so disapproving whenever he had addressed Persia by her name.

"Well, I am done!" Artemis declared eagerly, her anticipation palpable. "Can we begin with the story?"

"Aren't you just brimming with excitement," she remarked snidely, unable to conceal her disdain. Athena's response was tinged with a sharpness that betrayed her lingering resentment from her recent encounter with Poseidon.

Artemis simply rolled her eyes at Athena's barb, choosing to ignore the negativity. 

Hermes, sensing the tension, shook his head disapprovingly. "If you're not interested, Athena, then simply refrain from participating. Why spoil the mood for the rest of us?"

Rhea, sensing the impending clash between her grandchildren, swiftly intervened. "Those who wish to hear the story are welcome to join me," she announced calmly, diffusing the tension. "I'll be in the room adjoining the garden."

With Rhea's gentle guidance, all of her present children and grandchildren rose from their seats to accompany her. Some wore expressions of eager anticipation, while others displayed a begrudging curiosity. Zeus watched them fondly, which was noticed by Rhea.

As they left, Rhea couldn't help but sense a spark of optimism. Despite the disagreements that erupted among her sons, she was relieved to find that Zeus, her youngest, had not abandoned all of his principles. Perhaps there was still a chance to steer him back on the right track.

Rhea reclined upon the cushioned mattresses scattered throughout the room, inhaling the delicate fragrance of the flowers flourishing in the surrounding garden. Her grandchildren and children meandered about, selecting their preferred seats in her presence. A gentle smile graced her lips as she observed their inquisitive gazes, signalling for silence with a single clap of her hands to quell the soft murmurs among her audience.

"Let us commence," she began,  "However, it is imperative to bear in mind that Oceanus predates me by several centuries. Thus, what I shall recount is gleaned from the tales passed down among the Titans, as my memories of their union, forged when I was but a mere child, are scant."

"That is quite acceptable, Grandmother. Please proceed with the narrative," Artemis requested, her intrigue palpable.

Since the moment her mother had unleashed her wrath upon them with her cutting words, Artemis had been observant. Her mother held a close kinship with Persia's family, particularly with Oceanus and Tethys. Though Artemis remained perplexed as to the source of her mother's ire, beyond the perceived abandonment and lack of communication, the intensity of her mother's fury was unprecedented. Never before had she and Apollo borne witness to such vehemence from their typically gentle matriarch. 

Leto had refrained from returning to Delos since her departure, a fact Artemis later learned from her grandmother Phoebe, who divulged that she had dedicated an entire month to aiding in the preparation of this ceremony.

Artemis found herself intrigued by the individuals whom her mother held in such high esteem.

"In retrospect," Rhea mused, her tone coloured with nostalgia, "Brother Oceanus epitomised integrity and virtue. Kind-hearted, scholarly, and in possession of an insatiable curiosity, he embodied these qualities. His devotion to family was unwavering. Even in his youth, he devoted every waking moment to Lord Pontus, whom he considered his mentor.”

"But Persia pointed out that he wasn't always in the Sea," Hermes interjected.

"She is correct, my child," Rhea acknowledged with a smile. "During those times, Oceanus indeed devoted a significant portion of his time to the Sea, yet he never neglected his duties to his siblings, our mother, and our father. However..."

"However?" Athena's curiosity piqued as Rhea's narrative unfolded.

"However," Rhea's tone grew sombre, "Father harboured a strong disapproval of Oceanus's frequent encounters with Pontus. They perpetually clashed on this particular issue."

"Why?" Apollo inquired, his brow creasing in contemplation.

Rhea sighed deeply. "Father harboured an intense aversion toward Pontus. To label it merely as a dislike would be an understatement; he could scarcely tolerate Pontus's presence. I believe Father was consumed by jealousy and resentment."

"Jealousy and resentment? But for what?" Hermes sought clarification.

"I am not so certain," Rhea frowned, her expression clouded with uncertainty. "When we once broached the subject with Mother, her reaction was one of profound grief, so palpable that none of us dared to inquire further. It likely pertained to their first child."

"I thought Lord Oceanus was their firstborn," Zeus interjected, casting a questioning glance at his mother.

Rhea shook her head gently. "No. Oceanus was their eldest son. They had a daughter before him. However, she is a subject of taboo. Her existence remains unspoken of, her name unknown. Mother adamantly refused to discuss her, and Father chose to ignore her very existence." She offered a wistful smile. "But let us return to the narrative. One day…”

F L A S H B A C K

One day , as dusk settled, Oceanus returned home from his uncle's realm. Upon entering his chamber,  he dutifully cleansed his hands and face, mindful of his mother's disdain for untidiness in the kitchen.

A chill swept through him, leaving an icy trail of unease in its wake, as he prepared to join his family for dinner.

A furrow creased his brow, as a sense of foreboding weighing heavily upon him. Every step he took toward the kitchen was accompanied by a tightening knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach,  

He shook his head as he swung open the door to the kitchen. Inside, his mother, his wife, and his father were seated on a worn grass mat, the tension palpable in the air like an impending storm.

His father's anger crackled like lightning in the atmosphere, casting a heavy shadow over the room. Ouranos glanced at Tethys, whose expression betrayed her worry.

"Father," he greeted, his voice steady despite the tension.

Ouranos grunted in response, his gaze narrowing as he fixed it on his eldest son. "You were with Pontus, weren't you?"

"Yes, Father," he replied simply, knowing arguing was futile.

"How many times have I warned you against going there?"

"Countless times."

"Yet, you still go? Why? What does Pontus offer that I cannot?" Ouranos scoffed, his gestures encompassing the room. "Even your mother lacks such a grand palace! Her realm is but dirt, while mine... mine holds the heavens themselves. Yet, you never come to me."

He watched as his mother fought back tears, her knuckles white from clutching the red cloth of her dress. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to calm himself, focusing on centering his breathing.

"Father, I implore you, refrain from speaking of Mother in such a disparaging manner. Her surface may be soil, but it teems with life. It nourishes the trees, sustains the animals, my brothers — the mountains, and even we owe our existence to her," Oceanus spoke with conviction, his voice firm.

Ouranos waved dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, spare me your philosophical musings. I have no need for your wisdom." He pinned a glare at Oceanus, "I command you to cease your visits to that illusionist. Do you understand?"

"Father!" Oceanus protested, his eyes wide with disbelief. "B-But why?"

"That illusionist is our adversary! I will not tolerate you associating with him."

"He is not our enemy, Father!" Oceanus retorted, a stubborn resolve evident in his tone. "Why do you harbour such animosity towards him? He has never spoken ill of you. If there is a misunderstanding, surely we can resolve it through dialogue."

Ouranos's eyes blazed with indignation, his voice a thunderous roar that reverberated off the walls. "You dare defy me, Oceanus? You dare question me? You dare think you know better than me? Have you no respect for my authority?”

"Father, I implore you," Tethys interjected, her voice soft but urgent, her eyes pleading for understanding as she stepped into the fray, “You are misunderstanding him.” 

Ouranos's glare intensified as he turned his attention to Tethys, his eyes flashing with a mixture of frustration and indignation. "It seems that since marrying Oceanus, you've forgotten the decorum expected when addressing your father. A woman's voice holds no sway in matters between men. Do not presume to speak on behalf of your husband or disrupt my discourse again."

Tethys's response was a meagre nod, her head bowed in deference, strands of hair falling to veil her downcast expression. She blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill, her internal turmoil palpable.

"Father," Oceanus interjected, his tone restrained but laced with an undercurrent of restrained fury, "I implore you to reconsider your words to my wife."

Ouranos's lip curled in a sneer, his gaze piercing as he levelled a judgmental look at his son. "You're the one who's allowing her to overstep her bounds. A woman should understand her place, son. By treating her as your equal, you've emboldened her to intervene where she shouldn't. Otherwise, my daughter wouldn't dare interject when I'm addressing my eldest."

Oceanus's jaw clenched, his frustration evident as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of his father's dismissiveness.

The room fell into a tense silence, the air heavy with unresolved conflict as Ouranos pressed on. "Anyway," he continued, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, "I will not tolerate you associating with that illusionist any longer. Is that perfectly clear?"

The defiance in Oceanus's response was palpable as he squared his shoulders, his resolve unwavering. "No."

"What?" Ouranos's voice reverberated with disbelief, his eyes widening in shock at Oceanus's defiance.

Oceanus stood his ground, his expression resolute as he met his father's incredulous gaze head-on. 

"I said no. I will not cease visiting Uncle Pontus," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering despite the tension crackling in the air.

Oceanus's incredulous response hung in the air, the tension between father and son reaching a fever pitch as the room crackled with unspoken resentment and defiance.

"Oceanus has always been steadfast in his convictions," Rhea interjected, her voice carrying a note of admiration as she continued, "Even in the face of the most daunting challenges, he has remained unwavering in his adherence to his principles. That's just who he is — resilient as a mountain yet gentle as flower petals."

“You seem halfway in love with him, Rhea,” a voice unfamiliar to the gathering remarked from the doorway.

As the unfamiliar voice echoed through the room, a sense of curiosity mingled with surprise swept over the gathered family members. All eyes turned towards the doorway, where a figure leaned casually against the frame, an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Artemis's breath caught in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she recognized the figure in the doorway. "Grandfather!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and delight, her eyes brightening with warmth and affection.

Apollo inclined his head in a respectful bow. "Greetings, Grandfather," he acknowledged with a nod of his head, his demeanour respectful yet warm.

Coeus, the Titan and husband of Phoebe, smirked at his grandson, his gaze lingering on the tense figure of Zeus with a sense of underlying anger. Ignoring Zeus, he leisurely strolled into the room and settled himself beside Rhea.

"Greetings, Grandpa," Artemis murmured softly, her voice carrying a touch of warmth.

Coeus's expression softened slightly at his granddaughter's greeting. "Barely a month with my Leto, and you already possess better manners. Quite the improvement," he remarked. "Blessings upon you, grandchildren," he added warmly.

Turning to Rhea with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Coeus raised his eyebrows teasingly. "What's this I hear, hmm?"

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, hush, you," she replied with an exasperated smile. "The children were curious about the story of Oceanus and Tethys coming to the Sea."

Understanding flickered across Coeus's face as he nodded knowingly. "Ah, I see," he said, his smirk growing. "Well, let's hear it then." Suddenly, his demeanour turned more serious as he remembered something important. "Oh, that reminds me," he said, addressing his grandchildren. "Your aunt Asteria and your cousin Hecate are visiting. So make sure you're present for lunch, alright? Your Nana will tan my hide if you're not there."

Apollo chuckled at his grandfather's warning. "Don't worry, Grandpa. I'll make sure to save your hide," he quipped.

Coeus shot Apollo a mock-serious look. "You better, grandson. I'll be holding you to it," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes.

"So, what's next in the story session?" he asked, turning to Rhea with a curious glint in his eyes.

Rhea's smile faltered slightly, a shadow passing over her features before she composed herself with a small smile. "When Father disowned Oceanus, brother," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of sadness.

Coetus's eyes held a distant gaze as he recalled the events of that fateful day, his expression tinged with a mix of sorrow and nostalgia. He nodded solemnly, his memories flooding back to him. "Yes, I remember that day. You were very small then, Rhea. I remember we all were so afraid."

Artemis piped up with a question. "Why, Grandpa?"

Coetus's gaze softened as he turned to address his granddaughter. " You know how father threw several of our brothers down in Tartarus, right?"

"Yes," Hermes murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hekatoncheires, the three Hundred-Handed brothers and the three Cyclopes."

Rhea's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she continued the tale, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Father despised their looks. He couldn't fathom that he had created such children. That day—"

F L A S H B A C K

"Father!" Oceanus's voice thundered through the hall, his anger palpable. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes ablaze with fury. His heart pounded in his chest.

Never before had Oceanus lost control over his temper. No matter the circumstances, he had always managed to maintain his composure. But today, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't contain his rage any longer. 

His father had crossed all limits.

Ouranos, on the other hand, appeared completely unfazed by his son's outburst. His demeanour remained calm and composed, as if he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Ah, son. Why are you yelling? I can hear you just fine," Ouranos replied casually, his tone devoid of any remorse or concern.

"Father, did you throw Argos, Steropes, Brontes, Gyges, Briareus, and Cottus into Lord Tartarus’ realm?" Oceanus's voice crackled with emotion as he confronted his father, his words heavy with accusation.

"Oh, not you as well," Ouranos remarked casually, licking the fruit juices off his fingers with nonchalance. "Yes, I did. Why should it matter to you, son?"

Oceanus's expression twisted with disgust at his father's lack of manners, but he fought to keep the accusations out of his voice as he asked, "Why did you do so, father?"

"Why?" Ouranos frowned, a hint of irritation creeping into his tone. "Are you questioning me? Where did you get to know anyway? Your mother wouldn't have dared disobey me again."

A flicker of interest and uneasiness stirred within Oceanus at his father's words. Why did he say 'again'? Was his mother in danger? The thought lingered in the back of his mind, but for now, he pushed it aside, resolving to ask his mother about it later.

"That is not important. Please answer the question," he insisted firmly, his voice cutting through the charged silence. The atmosphere crackled with tension as Oceanus stood his ground. 

Ouranos's eyes narrowed in response, his expression darkening with anger. "No. Answer my question first, son. Where did you learn of this?" he demanded, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.

Oceanus hesitated for a moment, knowing that his father's temper could flare at any moment. "I heard it from Uncle Pontus," he admitted reluctantly, bracing himself for his father's explosive reaction.

"PONTUS!" Ouranos's roar reverberated through the room, his fury evident in the way he rose to his feet. The air around him crackled with tension as clouds gathered overhead and lightning flashed ominously in the distance.

"How dare he interfere again?" Ouranos's voice thundered, his violent demeanour sending shivers down Oceanus's spine. With a menacing glare, he turned his attention back to his son. "Haven’t I told you to not meet that man again?"

Oceanus felt exhaustion weigh heavily upon him as he faced his father's wrath. "And, I told you that I will not heed your words," he replied wearily, his tone tinged with frustration. "Now please answer my question, Father."

But Ouranos was not to be swayed. Adrenaline and anger coursed through his veins as he yelled, "You will not question me!"

"Fine!" Oceanus snapped, his patience worn thin. "I will go and get them out."

But before he could take another step, Ouranos's thunderous voice reverberated through the chamber, halting him in his tracks.

"Stop right there!" Ouranos's command was like a bolt of lightning, striking Oceanus with its force. "If you leave today, I will never accept you back. You will be disowned from the Sky and the Heavens. You will be renounced as my Heir."

A collective gasp filled the silent room as Tethys and Themis appeared, their expressions a mix of worry and astonishment. Oceanus felt a wave of dread wash over him as he realised the gravity of his father's threat. His father's smirk only added to his unease, as if he was certain Oceanus wouldn't dare defy him.

But Ouranos was mistaken.

Oceanus swallowed hard, his resolve steeling within him. He knew he couldn't stand idly by while injustice unfolded before his eyes. Despite the consequences, he knew what he had to do.

He glanced at Tethys, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders. He should have consulted her, sought her counsel before making such a drastic choice. But there was no time for hesitation. This was a matter of principle, of standing up for what was right.

And so, with a heavy heart but unwavering determination, Oceanus spoke the words that sealed his fate. "All right. I will leave."

With that, Oceanus turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving behind the stunned expression of his father, the shocked visage of his sister Themis, and the mixture of worry and pride in Tethys's eyes. As he walked away, he didn't once look back, knowing that his path was now set, his destiny his own to forge.

As the story unfolded, the expressions of the gods and goddesses gathered shifted from surprise to intrigue. Demeter, her brows furrowed in confusion, voiced the question that lingered in everyone's minds. "He left?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief. "Just like that?"

Rhea's smile held a hint of pride as she nodded in confirmation. "Yes," she affirmed. "Oceanus had never sought out power. He always denied things he hadn't earned."

Ares leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest. "What happened after that?" he inquired eagerly.

Coetus, taking up the narrative thread, spoke next. "After that, Oceanus proposed to dissolve the marriage between Tethys and him, so that she wouldn't have to wander around like him," he explained. "But Tethys refused to dissolve the marriage and chose to follow Oceanus to whatever was his destiny."

Rhea couldn't help but interject with a hint of admiration in her voice. "If I had gotten a husband like Oceanus, even I would have chosen to go with him," she mused, her eyes reflecting a sense of longing.

Coetus, however, couldn't resist a playful jab at his sister's expense. "Well, we all told you not to marry that swine," he teased. "Did you listen? No! All you had to do was tell Oceanus. He would have dealt with Kronos just fine."

Rhea's smile turned self-deprecating. "You want me to increase my debts to Oceanus?" she replied with a chuckle. "He gave me sanctuary during the war between my father and my husband. I found that the debt is huge enough as it is."

Coetus's response held a gentle but firm tone, his words carrying a weight of truth. "You know that is not how Oceanus sees it. And, I do not mean any offence, but after everything you have acquired even more debts than decreasing it," he stated, his gaze lingering on Rhea before subtly shifting to Zeus and Hera.

Rhea's sigh carried a sense of resignation as she acknowledged the truth in Coetus's words. With a humourless smile, she simply replied, "Yeah, I know."

The exchange left a palpable tension in the air, the gods and goddesses gathered in the chamber exchanging uneasy glances. Artemis broke the uncomfortable silence with her question. 

"What happened next?" she inquired.

Coetus turned to her, his voice steady as he continued the tale. "Right. Let's continue. After that, father was furious and he ordered them to not take a single thing that belonged to his household. Mother protested, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. So, Oceanus and Tethys only took the clothes they wore and nothing else."

Hephaestus listened intently, his eyes wide with curiosity. "How did they survive?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

"It was tough," Coetus replied. "They faced numerous challenges. They wandered from one place to another, building small huts, scavenging for food, and they relied on dried wood and leaves for fire. In those days there were more forests, teeming with life and abundance. But now, these lands are stripped bare by mortals who fell trees for their needs. Yet even then, we only used dried wood, making the most of what we had. We never used to cut trees. Too many fallen trees creates a disbalance in nature.”

Rhea picked up the thread of the story, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "Then one day—" She was interrupted by the sudden ringing of a bell, its echoes reverberating throughout the chamber. The bell tolled three times before falling silent.

Coetus stretched, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I should leave. Phoebe will have my head if I don't reach home in ten minutes."

Rhea chuckled, waving him off. "Well, go on then. The ceremony will be starting soon."

"Yeah." Coetus waved back before disappearing from the room.

Curiosity sparked in Ares's eyes as he turned to his grandmother. "What was that, grandmother?"

Rhea smiled fondly at her grandchildren. "That was the introductory bell," she explained. "It signals everyone that the ceremony will be starting in an hour and that everyone should start to congregate in the main palace."

Dionysus blinked in astonishment. "They have something like that?"

Rhea nodded. "Yes, it also indicates the time."

With a sense of purpose, Rhea rose from her seat. "Well, we can't stay idle. I will tell you the rest some other day. Let's hurry and get ready. We should not be late to arrive. Go and get ready."

“Yes, grandmother,” the younger members of the Olympians intoned obediently, reluctantly leaving the room to prepare for the upcoming ceremony.

 "Zeus," she called out, halting her youngest son from leaving. Zeus turned to face his mother, a hint of apprehension flickering in his eyes. "Yes, mother?" he responded tentatively.

Rhea's stern gaze bore into Zeus, her words laden with warning

"Till we are here, enjoying the hospitality of the Sea, do not do or say anything that might create a problem for us," she instructed, her voice brooking no argument. "You already owe a huge debt to Oceanus. Remember that."

Zeus swallowed nervously, feeling the weight of his mother's words pressing down on him. He reluctantly nodded, a sense of discomfort settling over him. 

"Come, children. Let us go through this way. It's a much shorter route," Rhea said, gesturing toward a hidden path.

Adrian looked aghast, his eyes widening in shock. "Lady Rhea, that is a route exclusive to the Royal Family! No one is allowed to go through that route without permission."

"I am aware," Rhea replied, her voice carrying a note of authority. "However, I am sure brother Oceanus wouldn't mind."

Adrian's face reflected his discontent, but he held his tongue, muttering under his breath, "On your head be it."

As they ventured onto the forbidden path, the group couldn't help but be captivated by the enchanting scenery. The path was lined with vibrant flower shrubs, their colours creating a breathtaking tapestry. Small lakes and waterfalls appeared at intervals, their gentle sounds adding to the serene atmosphere.

Suddenly, a child's cry pierced the serene path, causing the group to glance at each other in surprise. Quickening their pace, they soon encountered a scene.

A short distance away within the palace grounds, Persia was kneeling beside an immortal child, her demeanour gentle and comforting. In the background, Triton stood with a guilty expression, his eyes downcast. Though they couldn't hear the exchange, they saw Persia wave dismissively at Triton. Reluctantly, Triton turned and headed back into the palace, leaving Persia and the child behind.

Rhea turned to Hestia, her concern evident. "Child, isn't that Poseidon's eldest? His son?"

"Yes, mother," Hestia confirmed with a nod.

Adrian stepped forward, his voice calm and composed. "We should not linger here any longer, Lady Rhea. Let us proceed."

Rhea nodded, her curiosity piqued but understanding the necessity of moving on. "Yes, yes. Certainly."

As they continued along the path, Adrian subtly tapped his finger against his sleeve in a series of Morse code signals. Hidden soldiers, disguised as servants and maids, received his message to ensure the royals were informed of their unexpected guests.

They did not encounter any more royals along the path, a clear sign that Adrian's message had been received and acted upon swiftly.

Rhea paused briefly, her gaze lingering on Zeus with a silent reminder of her earlier admonition. "Come, children. Let us not keep our hosts waiting."

With that, they continued onward, the grand palace doors opening before them as they prepared to join the congregation for the day's significant events.

The Olympians entered the ceremony hall, their eyes adjusting to the grand arrangements that greeted them. The familiar seating layout was intact, but the centre of the hall held a striking change. Instead of the usual throne-like couches, three actual thrones stood prominently on the second elevation, with a single, larger throne at the uppermost level. Alongside these were two parallel lines of thrones, likely reserved for the courtiers.

As they took their seats, Apollo and Artemis joined the group, adding to the sense of anticipation. Rhea leaned towards Hestia, her voice low but clear. "Today is judgement day or court day. On this day, Lord Pontus personally meets his subjects and addresses any unresolved issues that his representatives haven't been able to solve. Or…"

Hestia's curiosity piqued. "Or...?" she prompted, tilting her head slightly.

"Or..." Rhea continued, her expression thoughtful, "Usually, during this part of the ceremony, any traitor of the Water Realm faces judgement before a full court. However, this realm is known for its peace. The chances of such a betrayal are nearly non-existent."

Suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of trumpets and conch shells, accompanied by the ringing of several bells. The announcer’s voice rang out.

All eyes turned towards the grand doors, watching as Persia entered, adorned in the full regalia of the Water Realm. Her crown gleamed atop her ebony locks, and despite the regal air she exuded, a hint of tension was visible in her demeanour. She conversed with a woman at her side, who nodded in understanding before slipping away as various immortals approached Persia, eager to speak with her.

“I didn't notice at first, but doesn't she look immensely similar to Poseidon? It's like I am looking at a female version of my son,” Rhea chuckled softly, drawing the attention of the Olympians who leaned in with curiosity.

“Although…” Rhea's voice held a hint of contemplation, causing the others to listen even more intently.

“Although, she has inherited Oceanus and Tethys’ features as well. It's subtle, but it's there. She has Poseidon's colouring – the hair, the eyes, and even the smile. That sharp nose is exactly like Oceanus’, and the soft yet regal features are from Tethys. Her body structure mirrors her mother's, but her height is undoubtedly from Tethys.”

The Olympians observed Persia more closely. Her presence commanded attention, and the respect she garnered was evident in the way the immortals approached her with deference.

“You sure noticed a lot at a glance, Queen Rhea,” a female voice said, dripping with a mix of sharpness and sarcasm.

Rhea turned to find a blonde woman with piercing crystal green eyes. A sharp smile played on the woman’s lips as she approached. “Queen Agatha!” Rhea exclaimed, giving a slight bow of her head. “What an honour to meet the Faerie Queen at Gaia.”

“Indeed, Titan Queen,” Agatha muttered, her eyes flitting towards the watching Olympians. “Your family, I presume?”

“You presume correctly,” Rhea confirmed.

“Which one of them is Hera?” Agatha asked lightly, her tone deceptively casual. Rhea stiffened at once. “Why do you need to know?”

“My, my! Wouldn't I want to know the person who brought upon such travesty in the universe? Surely you are aware that the news has spread all across the cosmos? Even my own realm has heard all about it. Not to mention…”

“Queen Agatha,” Rhea interrupted, her blood running cold as the Faerie Queen's words cut through the air, “Why dig up past happenings on such a joyous occasion?”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Yes…I did forget about your annoying habit of burying your head in the sand. You did the same thing when your children were being swallowed by your husband. It took five children before you gathered the courage to actually act.”

“Queen Agatha,” Rhea's tone was weary, a heavy fatigue lacing her words, “Please let the past be in the past.”

“The past has a way of catching up to you, Queen Rhea. The more you ignore the teachings of the past, the greater the consequences.” Agatha's voice was neutral, almost conversational, but her eyes were fierce. “Just a reminder. Lady Power is not to be trifled with. Your daughter escaped once by the grace of Lord Oceanus, who intervened against Lady Power. If she dares to even approach the Princess again, the chances of her complete destruction are high. We wouldn't want that now, would we? Do be careful.”

Rhea sighed deeply as the Faerie Queen walked away, leaving a lingering sense of unease. The weight of Agatha’s words settled heavily on her shoulders, a stark reminder of the ever-present shadows of the past.

Hera stumbled towards Rhea, her fingers trembling as they wrapped around her mother's hand. Fear etched lines across her face, her voice quivering with panic. “Mother, why did she say that? It has been so long…and that happened even before my marriage!” 

Rhea's touch was firm yet soothing as she tried to calm her hysterical daughter, her voice gentle yet firm. “Hera, calm down, my child. We are in a public place. This is not the place for discussion. We will speak privately later on.” 

“But Mother…!” Hera's grip tightened, her eyes wide with distress.

 “Hera!” Rhea's glare was stern, yet filled with maternal concern. She gently removed her hands from Hera's grasp and guided her daughter back to her seat. “Sit and stop thinking about it. It has already happened and you have already been cursed. We can't change anything.” 

“Cursed?” Hera gasped, her voice barely above a whisper, her face draining of colour. “How…how is that possible?” 

Rhea's voice was barely audible, laden with sadness and resignation. “The dragon’s word has value and power. Lady Power had decreed it. His words had turned into a curse for you.” 

As she spoke, Hera felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, and she sank back against her seat, her mind reeling with shock and disbelief. The other Olympians watched in stunned silence, their own expressions reflecting a mix of concern and disbelief at the unexpected revelation.

Zeus leaned in close to Rhea, his voice barely a whisper. “Curse, mother?”

“Later, Zeus,” Rhea responded tersely, shooting him a stern glance. Zeus nodded, sinking back into his seat with a thoughtful expression.

The announcer's voice boomed once more, heralding the arrival of Oceanus and Nereus accompanied by their wives. Persia joined them, engaging in whispered conversations that seemed to carry an undercurrent of tension before their expressions smoothed into practised neutrality.

As Oceanus and Nereus ascended their thrones, their wives retreated to the balcony overlooking the hall. Persia, however, lingered by her throne, her gaze fixed expectantly on the entrance.

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as the announcer announced the arrival of Poseidon. All eyes turned towards him, only to be surprised by the sight of a pregnant woman by his side. Persia hurried forward, ushering the woman towards the family section with gentle reassurance.

Observing the curious glances directed their way, Poseidon approached Rhea's area. With a respectful bow, he pressed a tender kiss to the back of her hand. “Mother, greetings of the day,” he greeted warmly.

“My son!” Rhea greeted Poseidon with a loving kiss on his forehead. “Where have you been? I didn't see you yesterday.” Poseidon offered a small smile. 

“I couldn't make it. I’ve been caught up with some important matters.” 

“What could be more important than your daughter's ceremony?” Rhea's tone held a hint of reproach. Poseidon's smile faltered momentarily, but he avoided a direct answer. “I really need to go. I can't leave Rhode alone.”

 “Rhode?” Rhea's brows furrowed in confusion. 

“My daughter.” 

“Oh.” Rhea nodded, her gaze drifting towards Rhode, who was being attended to by Persia.

“Poseidon!” Metis's voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and commanding.

The tension in the air seemed to intensify as Metis approached, her presence casting a palpable unease over Rhea, Zeus, and Athena. They stiffened noticeably, bracing themselves for what was to come.

Poseidon's shoulders visibly relaxed as he greeted her with a sigh of relief. “Metis! I was wondering where you were.”

Metis's reply was warm. “Just attending to a few matters. Court is about to commence, so let's not delay.”

Poseidon let out a weary sigh, acknowledging the weight of recent events. “What a month it's been, huh?”

Metis shot him a pointed look, her gaze piercing. “You wouldn't have to deal with all of this…” Her gesture was dismissive, as if waving away a trivial inconvenience, “…if you had listened to me when I urged you to reconsider your decisions. I warned you that your lack of discipline and seriousness would lead to problems like these. Did you listen? No!”

Poseidon's resignation was evident as he nodded in acknowledgment, “Alright, alright. I understand. I'm at fault.”

“Good. Now, let's go!” Metis insisted impatiently, her demeanour leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, just a moment.” Poseidon turned back to Rhea, his expression apologetic. “I'll speak with you later, mother. I really must hurry.”

“Of course, my son,” Rhea replied with a nod, though concern flickered in her eyes.

Rhea watched as Metis and Poseidon departed. She had briefly feared that Metis or Zeus might cause a scene, but Metis hadn't even acknowledged their presence. Relief washed over her, mingled with a sense of apprehension for what lay ahead.  At least one potential conflict had been postponed for another day.

Persia was worried. 

Terribly worried. 

At a glance, no one could discern that the smiling, newly crowned High Lady was tense. When she had conceived the plan to dismantle Amphitrite’s centuries-old scheme, she had not foreseen the far-reaching consequences. She had anticipated that Atlantis’ Queen would face trial before a full court, presided over by Lord Pontus, but she had not expected the proceedings to become such a colossal debacle.

She had accounted for the presence of the peaceful members of the Titan race, the entire assemblage of the Sea and the Underworld, and the Olympians. However, she had not foreseen the attendance of other equally distinctive immortal races. 

She had only learned of their presence the day before! 

It exasperated her to realise that despite her exhaustive studies, she had still failed to uncover such critical information.

In her defence, such a ceremony had not occurred for so long that gathering useful information from bystanders or even ancient scrolls had proven futile. Yet, this knowledge did little to assuage her frustration or the gnawing anxiety that now overshadowed her ostensibly serene demeanour.

She exhaled wearily, her gaze sweeping across the room until it rested on the balcony where Rhode was seated. Rhode appeared visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting incessantly. Beside her sat their father and her aunt Metis, both attempting to soothe her nerves. However, judging by the strained expression on Metis' face, it was clear their father’s efforts were falling short.

By some miraculous chance, Rhode caught Persia's eye. Persia smiled, hoping to convey reassurance and strength through her gaze alone. It seemed to work, as Rhode hesitated before returning the smile with a tentative nod.

“Worry not, child. Everything will be fine,” Nereus murmured, leaning in to whisper, cautious of being overheard.

“You know your daughter well, Grand-papa. Do you really think that woman will simply spill the truth the moment she’s asked?” Persia replied, her tone bordering on a scoff.

“Be quiet, both of you,” Oceanus admonished gently. “Uncle and Aunt are arriving.”

They stood to greet their Lord and Lady, and once again, Persia marvelled at the formidable presence of Lord Pontus and Lady Thalassa. They were a striking pair, embodying both grace and authority. As they took their thrones, everyone else followed suit, the room settling into a respectful silence.

When the announcer was signalled to speak, Persia steeled herself, drawing upon all the etiquette training she had endured.

“Greetings to all our esteemed guests! For those unfamiliar, allow me to elucidate. In the Sea, the Court of Lord Pontus, rightfully referred to as the Supreme Court of the Sea, is rarely convened. Indeed, this is the first time since the dawn of time that the Sea has truly needed the functions of a Supreme Court. The Court of Lord Pontus includes…”

The announcer continued, listing several names that Persia already knew well. She discreetly glanced towards a false wall, which was actually an illusion. Behind it, her friends were seated, observing the proceedings. They had been offered seats in the family block but had declined, uncomfortable with the enormous crowd. Persia herself would have preferred their company to sitting on the throne in the centre of the room.

Her attention returned to the proceedings as the announcer called for the accused to be brought in. She heard stifled gasps from the Olympian section as Amphitrite was led in, but forced herself not to look their way.

Amphitrite was a shadow of her former self. Her dress was rumpled and months old, her jewellery gone, her hair unkempt and wild. She was shackled and had been kept sedated with sleeping potions for the duration of her captivity, only roused yesterday to be informed of her impending trial. Yet, the fury in her eyes remained unchanged. When Amphitrite's gaze met Persia's, it was filled with a vindictive, blazing rage.

Persia did not flinch. She had endured the torments of Tartarus; the glare of an immortal queen did not faze her. Nevertheless, she felt the onset of a headache even before the court had formally begun. It promised to be a long day.

As the trial commenced, the formal procedures began with an almost ritualistic cadence. The herald stepped forward, holding a golden staff that symbolises the authority of the Supreme Court of the Sea.

“By the decree of Lord Pontus and Lady Thalassa, we convene this Supreme Court to pass judgement upon Amphitrite, Queen of Atlantis. The charges brought against her include treason, enslavement, and cruelty against her own blood,” the herald proclaimed, his voice echoing through the grand hall.

Again, there were several audible gasps and grim looks. Many of the Olympians turned to glance at her father, Poseidon, drawing the attention of other immortal races. Persia sometimes wondered whether they possessed any tact at all. Their blatant stares had effectively spotlighted her father and sister, Rhode, which worried her most of all.

From the corner of her eye, Persia noticed Queen Mother Rhea swiftly reigning in the unruly immortals, restoring decorum with a mere glance. 

At least someone was managing the situation , Persia thought with a mix of gratitude and irritation. It was a small comfort amidst the chaos, but it was enough to keep her focused on the task at hand.

The court scribes, seated at their designated benches, had begun to record the proceedings with meticulous care. Lord Pontus himself spoke, his presence commanding the room’s attention.

“Queen Amphitrite of Atlantis, you stand accused of treason against Atlantis. How do you plead?”

Amphitrite, despite her dishevelled state, managed to exude an air of defiance. 

“Not guilty,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

“You stand accused of cruelty and betrayal against your own blood. How do you plead?” Lord Pontus intoned, his voice heavy with the weight of the charges.

“Not guilty,” Amphitrite declared, her tone defiant and unwavering.

“Present your defence,” Lord Pontus commanded, his stern gaze fixed upon her.

Amphritrite smirked.

In the Olympians’ block, a stunned silence prevailed as the herald brought forth witnesses to counter Amphitrite’s defence. The Olympians were aghast at the extent of her cruelty towards her own kin.

Amidst the tension, Leto leaned in to speak with Hades. She sat between her son and Hades, having chosen to join them today. “Persia is holding remarkably well against Amphitrite's vitriol. Why is that vile woman even targeting her?” she asked quietly.

“Persia was the one who uncovered Amphitrite's plot and rescued Rhode from that forsaken island,” Hades replied. “The herald mentioned it. Didn’t you notice?”

Leto smiled wryly. “No, I was too busy admiring Persia's tolerance. My children certainly lack such restraint.”

Hades chuckled, their quiet conversation unnoticed by most. However, Apollo and Artemis, seated nearby, had their attention drawn to their words, their interest piqued by the quiet exchange.

“It’s a matter of upbringing, Leto. You are aware of Zia’s adherence to discipline,” Hades remarked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” Leto agreed, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Though at first glance everyone says Persia is an exact copy of Poseidon, her behaviour and manners resemble her mother far more than her father.”

“True,” Hades nodded, his expression darkening as Rhode was called in to testify against Amphitrite.

“Poor girl,” Leto murmured, shaking her head. “What kind of mother could do such a thing?”

“She is not a mother,” Hades replied, his tone icy. “Merely a power-hungry being who will stop at nothing to satisfy her greed.”

Leto glanced at him thoughtfully. Hades continued, “Speaking of, have you any idea where Zia is?”

“Back in her realm. She has an important meeting with Lord Change, I believe.”

“Ah,” Hades nodded, “I did wonder why she’s absent from the trial.”

“That’s hardly being absent, dear Hades. Not a single particle in the universe moves without her knowledge. I’m certain she’s well aware of everything transpiring here.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a chilling laugh, drawing their attention back to the trial. 

“What irony! The god-daughter my father was so proud of has forsaken her principles and values! Where did those principles go when she lay with my husband? And why isn't Zyenthea present here? Shouldn't she be utterly pleased with her daughter’s actions?” Amphitrite's words dripped with bitterness, anger, and vengeance.

Leto's eyes flashed with fury. “Why, that little—” she began, but Hades gently entangled their hands, calming her.

“Calm down, Leto,” he soothed, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. “Watch. Don’t react yet.”

“How can Persia remain so composed? Neither Uncle Nereus nor Uncle Oceanus is saying anything!”

“It’s the calm before the storm,” Hades murmured, observing the array of expressions among the immortals. “Fret not. Watch.”

Persephone, noticing their interaction, frowned deeply in their direction.

On the other side of the room, Nereus’s voice cut through the tension, cold and filled with barely restrained anger. “Mind your words, child. That is Lady Power you accuse.”

Amphitrite responded with a cold smile. “Oh? The moment the question arises towards Zyenthea, you grow defensive, Father? I have never seen such protectiveness towards me. She is my god-sister. I can invoke her name as much as I please.”

There was a brief silence before Persia's voice rang out, clear and cutting. “A disinherited, disowned immortal dares claim familial relation to my mother? How unconventional.”

Her tone carried a distinct amusement that bristled on Amphitrite's nerves.

Amphitrite fumed. “You! H—” She paused, abruptly shifting her tactic. “Yes, I suppose you would say that, given your illegitimate status. It must be nice sitting in a position of power.”

“That—” Hades began, his composure faltering, but Leto squeezed their intertwined fingers, stopping him. “Calm, Hades. Didn’t you advise staying calm? Look at Persia. She doesn’t seem worried or even affected by Amphitrite’s words.”

Hades glanced at his god-daughter, noting her composed exterior. He could sense the initial reaction she was suppressing. His gaze then shifted to Poseidon, who was barely containing his urge to speak out. Metis, her hand firmly on Poseidon's arm, was clearly the one restraining him from interfering.

It was highly gratifying to see Poseidon back to his protective stance towards Persia, just as he used to be in the future.

“You are correct,” Persia spoke, her voice devoid of emotion yet chillingly cold. “I am illegitimate. My mother yielded to temptation, forsaking her principles and values. But where does that leave you?”

Amphitrite was baffled by the girl’s apparent lack of reaction to her hurtful words.

“I am my father’s last demigod child,” Persia continued, her words cutting through the stunned silence. Those who had only seen warmth in her eyes, now witnessed a dark, cold expression. “My mother was offered the throne of Atlantis, where she would reign as Queen. Father was prepared to dissolve his marriage to you for her. He even proposed marriage to her. Had my mother not refused such an offer, I wonder, where would that have left you in the end? Any ideas?”

Persia’s words hung in the air, bringing a stunned silence in their wake.

Hades let out a soft chuckle. “That girl! She possesses Poseidon’s ruthlessness, honed into a weapon no one can escape.”

Leto shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “She knows precisely where to strike.”

Pontus, Oceanus, and Nereus looked on, stunned yet highly amused by the unfolding drama.

“Lies! All lies! You are lying!” Amphitrite screeched, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I was promised Atlantis! I am the only one fit to rule it!”

Persia simply shrugged, her demeanour indifferent. “Believe what you will. I grow weary of these senseless arguments.” She casually began sharpening her nails with a dagger, dismissing Amphitrite with a flick of her hand.

Pontus stifled a smile. “Styx, my dear child, can you verify the High Lady’s words?”

“She speaks the truth, Grandsire,” Styx confirmed from her place in the family block. “Lady Persia is known to uphold her oaths. She is not an oath breaker. Be assured that her words have the highest  value.”

Amphitrite stumbled in shock, her facade crumbling.

“How magnanimous of Poseidon,” Pontus mused aloud, his words carrying to the ears of all present.

Leto couldn’t help but snicker. “Indeed, how generous.”

“Hardly,” Hades said. “If Zia wants the world, she only has to ask.”

Apollo glanced sharply at them, though they remained oblivious.

“Poseidon promised me Atlantis!” Amphitrite continued shrieking. “Well then, what I did to his children was worth it! If he can't give me Atlantis, I will destroy his children.”

Lord Pontus interjected, his voice stern. “Amphitrite, you will refrain from further outbursts. This court is not a stage for your vitriol. The evidence against you is overwhelming, and your words only serve to confirm your guilt.”

He turned to his representatives. “Oceanus, Nereus, and Persia, what are your insights on this matter?”

Oceanus spoke first, his voice resonant with authority. “My Lord, the entire realm has witnessed your proclamation of the protection of our young. Queen Amphitrite of Atlantis has violated one of the ancient rules of our realm. My advice would be to punish her accordingly.”

Pontus nodded. “Noted, my son.”

“I second the notion, Father,” Nereus said. “Please do not overlook her transgressions simply because she is of our lineage. She should be made an example of. It should be clear to everyone that regardless of whether they are a king or a commoner, mortal or immortal, they will be held accountable for their actions.”

Pontus smirked. “Certainly, son.” He then gestured to the only silent member of the trio. “Persia, little pearl, what is your opinion?”

“I will abstain from speaking, Grandsire. Papou and Grand-papa have highlighted what needs to be done,” Persia replied, her tone respectful yet firm.

“As you wish, sweetheart.” Pontus gave a nod before turning to face Thalassa. “My wife, what do you think?”

Thalassa gave him a grim look. “Your judgement has never faltered, my Lord. Today is no different. I shall not add anything further. Know that life shall teach her a few lessons.”

“Lady Thalassa sounds furious. Amphitrite won't know what hit her,” Leto murmured to Hades, resting her head gently on his shoulder. 

Unbeknownst to her, a wave of astonished murmurs rippled through the Olympians' block at their behaviour with each other. Apollo nearly choked on air, while Artemis stared wide-eyed. 

Oblivious to them all, Hades squeezed Leto’s hand tenderly and rested his head atop hers. “Well, she deserves whatever she gets. None here will shed a tear for her.”

Leto hummed thoughtfully. “Have you noticed something, Hades?”

“What is it?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

“Lord Pontus has already punished her.”

“How so?” Hades inquired, scanning the surroundings.

“Look around you,” Leto continued softly. “Have you ever seen such a diverse gathering of immortals and mortals? Everyone here knows what Amphitrite has done. She has made an enemy of each one of them. They come from different corners of the cosmos…”

Hades' eyes widened as he grasped the implication. “Effectively, she is banned across the entire cosmos,” he finished, looking impressed and highly pleased. “If even one of them offers her shelter, they will have made an enemy of everyone present. Lord Pontus has punished her before the trial even began.”

“Strategists, all of them,” Leto said, straightening slightly but still leaning against Hades. “I wonder if Persia is as astute as her Grandsire.”

Hades smirked, a non-committal hum escaping his lips.

Amphitrite was declared a criminal of the highest order. Her life and power were bound, and she was sentenced to lifetime captivity in the highest cell. As she was being led away, Persia's voice rang out, clear and commanding. "Wait."

“Why is she…” Leto’s voice trailed off as she watched Persia rise from her throne, stalking towards Amphitrite with the grace and authority of a predator.

“The High Lady of the Water Realm abstained from making a decision. However, I speak now as the Princess Regent of the Realm of Vortexia. You have falsely accused my mother, and the punishment for that is still pending.”

Amphitrite scoffed disdainfully. “And what, pray tell, can a mere demigod do?”

Persia tilted her head, a cold smile playing on her lips, and snapped her fingers. Instantly, Amphitrite slumped in the soldiers' hold as if all her strings had been cut and her energy sapped away. A small ball of pure unadulterated energy appeared above Amphitrite, glowing for a few moments before disappearing. 

 For the first time, fear flickered in her eyes. “W-What did you do? Why can’t I get up?”

Hades and Leto exchanged astonished, grim glances.

“You disrespected my mother, the source of power and energy. I have simply taken that energy from you. You shall not have what you take for granted. That shall be your punishment.”

Amphitrite’s eyes widened in terror as Hades turned to Leto, worry etched into his features. “There has to be…”

“Yes,” Leto nodded grimly, understanding his concern even before he finished his thought. Neither of them noticed Persephone’s jealous glare directed at Leto.

“Oh, and Amphitrite,” Persia continued, her voice filled with a chilling finality. “The day my mother forsakes her values and principles, know that from that day onwards, the very destruction of the cosmos will begin. You, I, and every single being in existence shall cease to exist.”

A profound sense of foreboding hung in the air, her words echoing with an undeniable finality.

Chapter Text

Continuation ...

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟗 : 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 — 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

“Apollo, Artemis, will you both be joining us for lunch? Father did tell you, didn’t he?” Leto’s voice cut through Apollo’s reverie, the gentle urgency in her tone snapping him back to the present.

“Yes, of course, Mother,” Apollo replied, slightly startled. The sudden address was a jolt, but he quickly composed himself, the warmth in his mother’s eyes grounding him.

“Excellent,” Leto said, her gaze sweeping the room with a touch of distraction. “Ah, there she is!”

Apollo followed her line of sight and saw his mother approaching Persia. His breath hitched as he watched Leto’s expression soften, almost melting into a tender smile. Without hesitation, Leto enveloped Persia in a warm hug, a gesture that left Persia momentarily taken aback, though she quickly recovered, nodding at whatever Leto whispered to her.

As they neared, Artemis couldn’t suppress her curiosity. “Is Persia joining us, Mother?”

“Obviously,” Leto replied, a hint of fondness lacing her words. “I invited Hades and his children as well, but they couldn’t make it.”

Apollo’s eyebrow arched in surprise. How close was Lord Hades to his mother? The entire day, they had been almost inseparable, and now this casual mention of Hades stirred a swirl of curiosity and unease within him.

Persia’s fleeting smile at Leto, teasing and light, was almost imperceptible, but Apollo caught it, the glimmer of mischief in her eyes sending a ripple of something unfamiliar through him. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though he was on the outside of an inside joke.

His surprise only deepened when, upon reaching his grandparents’ home, Persia was greeted by his Nana with a warmth that caught him off guard.

“Oh, sweetheart! It’s wonderful to see you again.” His Nana’s voice was filled with affection as she pressed a loving kiss to Persia’s forehead. A sharp pang of jealousy twisted in Apollo’s chest, unexpected and unsettling.

That jealousy eased when his Nana repeated the gesture with him, the warmth of her embrace a balm to his frayed nerves. But the moment of reassurance was short-lived, as he caught Artemis’s smug expression, her knowing look only fueling his irritation.

The dining space, cozy and inviting, was already occupied by another figure — a man who immediately caught Apollo’s attention. The name ‘Akhel’ surfaced in his mind, but strangely, he could glean nothing more. No flashes of past or future, no emotional impressions. Now that he thought about it, he had stopped receiving such signals from Persia as well.

His gaze narrowed as he watched Persia and Akhel share a quiet laugh, taking a seat opposite her as his sister slid into the chair beside him.

Akhel turned to him with an amused smile. “Leto's son, I presume?”

“Yes,” Apollo replied curtly, irritation prickling at the back of his mind. Akhel’s smile widened, seemingly more entertained by Apollo’s terse response.

“Greetings, Lord Akhel,” Artemis interjected politely, her demeanor a sharp contrast to her brother’s simmering annoyance.

“Greetings, child,” Akhel replied, his tone warm and almost teasing. “You are the Goddess of the Hunt, aren’t you?”

Apollo’s jaw tightened. Being called a ‘child’ grated on him, especially after the day he’d had. The entire exchange felt like a series of small provocations, each one digging a little deeper under his skin.

From across the table, he heard a soft, stifled giggle. His eyes snapped to Persia, who was clearly amused by his rising frustration. She met his glare with a slight, infuriatingly playful smile, her emerald eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter.

“I’ll go help Leto and Grandma with the dishes,” Persia excused herself, her voice smooth and light, as if she wasn’t aware of the tension she was leaving behind. But the faint sound of her chuckle as she disappeared into the kitchen only deepened Apollo’s irritation.

She was so vexing.

His thoughts turned serious as he considered the life debt he owed Persia. The idea of bringing it up in front of his family flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. It would be social suicide. No, this wasn’t the right time or place for such a conversation.

A familiar sound of jingling anklets pulled him from his thoughts. Persia reappeared, gracefully balancing two plates of food in her hands, with his mother, grandfather, and nana following closely behind. His grandparents took their seats at the head of the table, leaving Leto to return to the kitchen for the remaining dishes.

Before she could, Persia intervened with a soft but firm, “Take a seat, Leto. I’ll bring it.”

“But darling—”

“Leto, please,” Persia insisted, her tone gentle yet unyielding.

Leto relented with a fond smile, settling into her seat as Persia vanished back into the kitchen. Apollo watched her go, a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. He barely registered his mother’s words as she turned to Akhel.

“Zia did an amazing job raising her, right, Akhel? What a polite girl.”

Polite? Apollo nearly scoffed. Cunning was more like it.

His mother hadn’t seen her audacity when they were alone in his room on Delos, the way Persia had force-fed him his medicines with no regard for his protests. The nerve of that girl! And where was this supposed politeness when she left him to handle half the camp's matters alone?

But he kept his thoughts to himself, knowing his mother and grandparents were already charmed by Persia’s angelic facade.

“Stop glowering at the tabletop, brother,” Artemis whispered in his ear, her tone dripping with amusement. “If someone sees you, there will be questions.”

“Keep quiet,” he growled softly, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

Before Artemis could respond, Persia returned with a tray of desserts, her every movement poised and composed, the picture of grace. But the sight only fueled his frustration further, her serene demeanor mocking the turmoil she’d stirred within him.

Across the table, Artemis muffled another chuckle, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Traitor!

As they broke bread together, a comfortable silence settled over the table, a rare moment of peace that Apollo found himself appreciating more than he expected.

“I must say, Leto, your son is a very calm and quiet boy. You were saying he was ill-mannered? You were worried for nothing,” Akhel commented casually, his voice light as he chewed on a strawberry.

Apollo shot the man a look of incredulity, barely concealing his disbelief. From across the table, Persia stifled a small cough, her eyes gleaming with barely restrained amusement. Artemis, ever observant, watched the scene unfold with a mischievous smile, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

Leto sighed, shaking her head. “You’ve only seen him for a few moments, Akhel. Trust me, he’s far more temperamental than you’d imagine. And his manners? Let’s just say they leave much to be desired.”

Apollo felt a sharp pang of indignation, his mother’s words stinging more than he wanted to admit. He glanced at Persia, expecting to see her delighting in his discomfort, but instead, she was studying him, her expression thoughtful, almost… sympathetic?

“Neh, Uncle Akhel, did you tell Leto your exciting news?” Persia’s voice cut through the tension, smoothly diverting the conversation. Apollo’s eyes snapped to her, torn between a grudging sense of gratitude and the irritation that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface when she was around.

“Oh, hush, you,” Akhel replied, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

“What exciting news?” Apollo’s Nana chimed in, her eyes twinkling with playful curiosity.

The shift in conversation was immediate, drawing everyone’s attention except for Persia and Apollo, who remained locked in their own private exchange across the table.

“You didn’t need to interfere,” Apollo muttered under his breath, his voice a low hiss, not entirely sure if he was more grateful or annoyed.

Persia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a half-smile that was both teasing and knowing. “Well, if you prefer your reputation tarnished in front of everyone, I can steer the conversation back. Just say the word.”

She opened her mouth as if to do just that, and before she could utter a word, Apollo flicked a grape across the table, landing it perfectly in her mouth. Her eyes widened in surprise, her incredulous expression almost enough to make him laugh.

“I am a marksman,” he said, smirking with a mix of satisfaction and mischief. “I never miss.”

Persia quickly recovered, chewing the grape with exaggerated grace. “Indeed. But you could work on your finesse.”

“What did you just say?” he demanded, his irritation flaring at her audacity.

“I said,” Persia leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “it seems your hearing is failing you. Do we need to visit Lord Niklaus again, or can you manage this health issue on your own?”

“You insufferable vixen!” Apollo’s frustration flared, his knife biting a bit too harshly into the vegetables on his plate.

A sudden hush fell over the table, all eyes turning toward him. Apollo froze, realizing too late that his reaction had drawn unwanted attention. Before he could formulate a response, Persia smoothly took control, her voice light and easy as she addressed the group. “So, did you manage to pry out Uncle’s news, or shall I do the honors?”

“Your uncle is impossible,” Leto grumbled with mock irritation. “Please, dear heart, tell us.”

“Of course,” Persia replied, flashing Apollo a quick, triumphant glance before turning back to the table with a graceful smile. “Uncle Akhel has finally decided to leave his bachelor days behind and embrace married life.”

A stunned silence hung in the air for a moment before Leto and Apollo’s grandparents began talking over each other in excitement. Persia watched them with a fond smile, and Apollo couldn’t help but soften, just a little, at the genuine affection in her gaze.

“You’ve changed, brother,” Artemis’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to her, startled by her words.

She must have seen the confusion on his face because she continued, her tone thoughtful. “A month ago, if someone had spoken to you like that, you would have been furious. Even your most favored lovers don’t dare take such liberties with you — yet here you are, letting Persia do as she pleases.”

He frowned, a knot of irritation tightening in his chest. “I haven’t changed,” he retorted, though the words felt hollow, even to him.

Artemis’s expression softened, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “If you say so. But it seems Persia is special.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, turning back to his plate, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Of course, brother,” Artemis replied, but her tone held a note of skepticism that he couldn’t quite shake. He forced himself to focus on his food, thankful that the conversation had shifted to more mundane topics, allowing him a moment of peace.

As the meal wound down and the plates were cleared, Apollo saw his opportunity. When Persia and his mother rose to take the dishes to the kitchen, he quickly stood as well. “Let it be, Mother. I’ll help the princess.”

The words left his mouth before he fully registered them, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure who was more shocked — his mother, his sister, Persia, or himself.

Persia blinked, clearly surprised, but she followed him, a slight smile tugging at her lips as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Apollo smirked, feeling a rare surge of satisfaction. For once, he’d managed to catch her off guard.  Apollo smirked, feeling a rare surge of satisfaction. It was a small victory, but one that left him feeling unexpectedly pleased.

Perhaps, he mused, there was more to this infuriating vixen than he’d allowed himself to see.

Persia’s thoughts wandered as she dried the dishes Apollo was washing. He had been unusually quiet, a far cry from their last encounter. Something seemed to be weighing on him, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it had to do with Olympus.

The Sun God had remained silent, his movements efficient and focused.

“How much trouble would we be in if we ditched them now?” His sudden question broke the silence, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Very,” she replied softly, taking a plate from his hands. When she glanced at him, she noticed the thoughtful furrow in his brow, his usual confidence replaced by something more introspective.

“I wanted to talk to you about something important,” he said, his tone steady, yet there was a hint of vulnerability beneath it.

She nodded, but then quickly remembered his preference for verbal responses. “Yes, please, go ahead,” she added, hoping she wasn’t too late.

To her surprise, he didn’t make any sarcastic remarks about her delayed reply. Instead, he simply continued, as if he hadn’t noticed. Or perhaps, he was too focused on what he needed to say.

“Artemis, can you make sure everyone’s occupied for a while? We have much to discuss,” Apollo called out suddenly, his voice carrying a quiet authority.

Persia spun around, startled to find Artemis standing behind her. She hadn’t even sensed her presence—a clear sign of how drained she was from maintaining her minimal connection to the cosmos. She forced herself to relax, but a hint of wariness remained. Even with their growing friendship, Persia was never fully comfortable with a goddess at her back.

Artemis offered her a soft smile, which Persia returned with slight hesitation. Once Artemis left, Persia turned back to Apollo, her curiosity piqued.

“What have you decided about the life debt I owe you?” Apollo’s voice was calm, but she could sense the underlying tension.

“Life debt? What life—” Persia began, then her eyes widened as realization dawned. “Oh! There is no debt.”

Apollo’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback. “What?”

She nodded, her smile gentle but firm. “There’s no debt, Lord Apollo. You don’t need to worry about me holding it over you.”

“How can that be?” His disbelief was evident, his usually composed facade slipping.

“Are you protesting the lack of a debt, my lord?” she teased lightly, enjoying the rare sight of him caught off guard.

His expression went blank, clearly at a loss for words. He turned back to the dishes, placing them in the cupboard with an uncharacteristic quietness. After a moment, he asked, “How is there no debt, princess?”

The title made her pause, her heart skipping a beat. He’d never called her that before, not with such sincerity.

“I hold your mother in the highest regard,” Persia explained, her voice softening. “Leto is family to me. She has been my mother’s closest friend through every trial. To hold a debt over her son for something I would have done for anyone—it wouldn’t be right.”

She offered him a half-smile, catching the subtle flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Don’t think it’s because you’re special.”

“Then why?” he pressed, the intensity of his gaze making her acutely aware of how close they were standing.

She glanced up, noticing for the first time how much taller he was. The height difference hadn’t seemed so significant before. “I wouldn’t wish Tartarus on anyone, not even my worst enemy. If it had been anyone else in your place that day, I would have done the same, and they wouldn’t owe me anything either. So how could I ask you to fulfill a debt?”

She smiled again, turning to put the washcloth away, her mind already on the next task. But before she could take a step, she felt a firm hand on her arm, pulling her back. She nearly stumbled into him, catching herself on the counter, her heart racing from the sudden closeness.

She looked up at him, startled, her cheeks flushing slightly. Apollo’s hands had instinctively reached out to steady her, and for a brief moment, they stood frozen in place, their eyes locked.

He cleared his throat and withdrew his hands, his voice softer now. “Surely there must be something I can do.”

Persia sighed, sensing his unease. “You can’t let this go, can you?”

“I’m not used to people not taking advantage when it involves a debt,” he admitted, his voice low. “Especially a life debt. It’s… unsettling that you’re dismissing it so easily.”

“Not everything has to be complicated, Lord Apollo,” she replied, her tone gentle. “Kindness and compassion do exist. Is it so surprising to be treated with kindness? I’ve never been taught to exploit someone’s vulnerability unless it was warranted.”

She could see he wasn’t entirely convinced, his brows still furrowed in concern. With a resigned sigh, she offered, “Alright. If it helps you find peace, I’ll ask for one thing.”

His gaze sharpened, cautious yet hopeful. “What is it?”

“Be the son Leto deserves,” she said softly, her eyes holding his. “Be the son she can be proud of. That would give me more joy than any repayment.”

Her words hung in the air between them, the sincerity in her voice catching him off guard. For a moment, Apollo said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, as she finally turned to leave, he stood still, watching her with a mix of awe and confusion.

She glanced back, offering him one last smile before exiting the kitchen, leaving him standing there, dumbfounded and more affected by her words than he cared to admit.

By the time evening rolled in, Persia was well-rested, though a lingering fatigue still clung to her bones. The three hours of sleep she'd managed to snatch had revived her enough to socialise briefly, but not nearly enough to sustain her for long. Her departure would be far earlier than planned; the thought of enduring more than two hours of human interaction was simply unbearable. The very idea drained her further.

"My Lady, should I bind your hair into a bun?" The maid's voice was soft and respectful, a touch of concern lacing her words.

Persia shook her head gently, her eyes heavy with weariness. "No, thank you. Just a messy braid. And please, no heavy hair ornaments. I can't bear the weight this evening."

As the maid worked, Persia's thoughts drifted. How time had flown. 

She once lived in jeans and t-shirts, embracing simplicity. Now, she was encased in traditional dresses, adorned with an excess of jewellery. The transformation was stark. Once, dressing up had been a chore; now, it was a ritual to appear presentable, a necessity she had grown accustomed to.

Change truly was the only constant in life. 

"Here you go, my lady. It's done," the maid announced, stepping back to reveal her work.

Persia glanced in the mirror and was momentarily taken aback. Instead of heavy ornaments, delicate flowers adorned her hair, lending her an unexpectedly soft and feminine appearance. It was a side of herself she rarely saw.

For so long, she had been defined by adjectives like powerful, authoritative, responsible, reckless, and kind. Rarely did she have the luxury to be anything beyond her duties. Now, looking at her reflection, she felt a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. 

"Thank you," Persia murmured to the maid, her voice tinged with an unspoken appreciation. 

In the morning, when Persia had accessed a fragment of the cosmos through her mother to punish Amphitrite, the surge of power had been intoxicating. The sheer magnitude of it left her feeling an addictive thrill coursing through her veins. Yet, she had maintained her composure, letting the power dissipate as easily as it had come. 

But the aftermath had been brutal. She felt as if she had waged a solitary war, her strength sapped and her body weak. Power, she mused, always exacted a price.

Even now, she still felt the lingering weakness, her steps slightly unsteady. But she could endure a family gathering, especially since she wouldn't be staying long. 

As she entered the room, she acknowledged those who smiled at her with nods and exchanged polite words with the immortals who approached. Her eyes discreetly scanned the room as she made her way to the drinks table. Her demigod friends and godly siblings had opted to skip the event, choosing the comfort of sleep instead. If only she could afford the same luxury.

“Greetings, my lady.”

Persia blinked, her brow furrowing slightly at the familiar face. Recognition dawned—Prince Hyacinthus.

“Good tidings to you as well, Prince,” she replied, offering a polite smile. She suddenly remembered that prominent mortal kingdoms had been invited to the gathering.

“Congratulations!” he said. “And…”

“And…?”

“Please forgive us if we have offended you in some way.”

Persia's smile softened, a touch of amusement in her eyes. “I am not so easily offended, Prince. You need not worry about such trivial matters.”

Hyacinthus returned her smile with a courteous nod and a bow before excusing himself. Persia watched him go, feeling the weight of the evening settle over her once more. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She could endure this for a little while longer, even if just for appearances.

Persia leaned against the wall, her eyes quietly surveying the room.

“What did he want with you?”

She turned to find Apollo standing beside her. “Just handling matters, given how the mortals fear the immortals. He wanted reassurance that offending me wasn't easy.”

Apollo smirked. “Yes, I suppose it isn't.” They stood in companionable silence for a moment before Apollo spoke again. “How do you intend for me to fulfil what you asked?”

She raised an eyebrow, her expression one of amused challenge. “That's your problem. Do you expect me to tell you how to do it?”

“It would be nice to have a guideline, I suppose.”

Persia rolled her eyes and straightened up. “Well, we shall have you flounder your way to success. Here comes your mother.”

Apollo turned to see Leto approaching, his brows furrowing slightly as he noticed Hades beside her.

“Sia, dear heart. You look stunning today, draped in your mother's colours,” Leto said warmly, enveloping Persia in a hug. Persia stifled a chuckle, noticing Apollo's slightly jealous look.

“Greetings, Mother,” Apollo interjected, clearly trying to break up the embrace.

Leto glanced at him with amusement, while Persia burrowed her face into Leto's shoulder to muffle her smile. After a moment, Leto stepped back.

“Greetings, son,” Leto said, hiding a smile but maintaining a stern look in her eyes. Apollo's face fell slightly, but he managed a small smile in return. He turned to Hades, who acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow.

“Lord Hades,” Apollo greeted, his voice polite but cautious.

Hades nodded, his gaze inscrutable. “Apollo.”

Persia felt a pang of sympathy for Apollo but pushed it down, knowing it was futile to pity a god who so rarely considered others' feelings.

Suddenly, someone else approached them. Leto’s eyes widened slightly as she bowed her head. “Good tidings, King Haraldr.”

“Good tidings, High Lady Leto.” He nodded back before executing a perfect bow before Persia, causing her eyebrows to rise in surprise.

“Your Royal Highness, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Haraldr, King of the Elven race.”

Persia blinked, instinctively about to bow when she caught Hades' eye, who subtly shook his head to stop her. Mentally chastising herself, she remembered the protocols she needed to follow as her mother's daughter.

She replied, “Rise, King of the Elven Race. My mother speaks fondly of the race that enjoys her continued favour. May the divine mother’s blessings be upon you and yours.”

Haraldr gave a charming smile. “Then may I be allowed the honour of having your first dance for tonight?”

With a polite smile, Persia knew she could not refuse. She nodded, accepting his hand and allowing him to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

As they began their dance, circling each other and placing their hands in the customary positions, Haraldr broke the silence. “Are you always this quiet, or am I making you uncomfortable, Your Highness?”

She shook her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. “It is a novel experience to have so many people interested in me. Mama has always kept me somewhat sheltered, dare I say.”

Haraldr’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “How many people have fallen for those lines, Princess?”

A soft chuckle escaped her, and she gave a wry smile. “Too many to count, Your Grace.”

“Fools, I say.”

She shrugged as much as the dance allowed. “It helps me judge their intentions.”

“So, what about me?”

“Oh? Very forward, aren't you?”

“Simply curious, Princess.”

“Well, you will have to keep on wondering then.” She smirked, falling into a graceful curtsy as the dance came to an end.

He chuckled, escorting her back to where Hades stood. “All the better to have a reason to meet again, Princess.”

The men exchanged nods, and as soon as King Haraldr left, Hades asked, “What did he say that made you chuckle?”

Persia rolled her eyes at the overprotective concern in his gaze but then batted her eyes playfully at him. “Oh, nothing. I think I’ll need to up my game as a naive princess. That man wasn’t fooled at all.”

Leto chuckled at her words, while Hades gave her a light slap on the head, murmuring, “Drama queen.”

Persia laughed, feeling a warmth spread through her. 

They chatted for a while—more like Leto and Hades spoke while Persia answered their questions, and Apollo listened silently. Her frown deepened as she noticed who was approaching them next—Rhea and Zeus, accompanied by several other Olympians. 

She steeled herself. These people always brought more chaos than order.

“Hades!” Rhea called out, faltering slightly upon noticing Leto, who gazed at the Queen of the Titans with a cool, detached expression.

Hades stiffened as he noticed the assembly of his least favourite people behind his mother. He offered a polite, though frigid smile. “Mother.”

“Hades, I was hoping to spend some time with you,” Rhea said hopefully, avoiding Leto's gaze.

“I apologise, Mother. I am a bit busy.”

“Busy? Here at a party?”

Detecting the disbelief in Rhea’s voice, Hades quickly lost his composure. His tone remained polite but turned cold. “This happens to be the ceremony of my goddaughter, Mother. I do have certain responsibilities to fulfil.”

“Goddaughter?” Rhea's eyes widened, flickering towards Persia. “Persia—I mean, the princess is your goddaughter? I didn't realise you were close enough to Lady Power to be chosen.”

Hades’s eyes hardened. “Yes, I suppose you didn't.” He gave her a sad, knowing look. “When have my words been accepted without proof, am I right, Mother?”

Rhea shook her head, a soft, painful noise escaping her. She gave him a pleading look as she realised where the conversation was heading. “No, my son. I didn’t mean—” She inhaled, her breath trembling. “I know my mistakes have cost you, but believe me, you are misunderstanding me, my dearest son. I didn’t mean it in any malicious manner.”

“Believe?” Hades raised an eyebrow, scoffing slightly. “Please, Mother. Do you take me for a fool? I won't make the same mistake twice.”

“Hades, please, my son.”

The Olympians, including Athena, Zeus, Ares, and Artemis, watched curiously. Zeus, in particular, looked rather jealous of the attention Hades was receiving from their mother.

Hades shook his head, frustration evident on his face. Rhea extended her hand to touch him, only for Hades to step back with a disgusted look.

“Do not dare take liberties, Mother,” Hades said. “You dare—” His words were cut off when Leto, noticing that their interaction was drawing attention, stepped forward and placed a calming hand on his back.

“Hades, please calm down,” she said softly.

Hades inhaled deeply, closing his eyes tightly to manage his emotions. Within moments, his calm returned, and his face became expressionless. He gave a nod to Leto.

Leto returned a small smile before her face turned cold again. She looked at Rhea. “If you will excuse us, Queen Rhea, we truly have some work.”

Without giving Rhea time to process her words, Leto entwined her fingers with Hades’ as they prepared to leave.

Remembering something, Leto turned back to her son and Persia. “Apollo, dearest, why don't you dance with Persia?”

Her tone left no room for objection. 

Apollo nodded, extending his hand towards Persia, who blinked in surprise. She gave a polite smile, knowing she couldn’t refuse Leto. Wanting to leave this gathering of Olympians without being rude, she reluctantly took his hand.

As Apollo led her to the dance floor, Persia cast a glance back at the retreating figures of Leto and Hades. The tension of the encounter lingered, but she felt a strange relief to be stepping away from it. 

“What was that?” Apollo’s voice held a sharp edge of curiosity, his golden eyes narrowing as they searched Persia’s face.

She shrugged, though the tension in her shoulders was impossible to miss. “Why do you think I’d know?”

“Because you always seem to know more about my family than I do,” Apollo replied, trying to keep his voice even. But the bitterness seeped through, unbidden.

Persia sighed softly, her gaze drifting somewhere distant, as if she could see the threads of a puzzle he wasn’t privy to. “I know because I ask questions. But that doesn’t mean I have all the answers.”

She moved away from him then, stepping lightly around him with a grace that was second nature, her posture stiff but precise. They continued to dance, their movements smooth and synchronized, but an odd silence hung between them, different from their usual comfortable rhythm.

Apollo noticed it before Persia spoke. Her sudden stillness, the way her body tensed, her eyes widening with something like alarm. His voice cut through the quiet. “What’s wrong?”

“Something feels… off,” she murmured, her eyes scanning the room with growing urgency. “I—I don’t feel right.”

In a single, fluid motion, Apollo spun her around, pulling her closer. His arms encircled her waist, drawing her in—closer than propriety allowed. Closer than they had ever been.

But Persia didn’t seem to notice the change in their proximity. Her mind was somewhere else, her gaze darting through the room, searching for something hidden in the shadows. A cold dread pooled in her stomach, gnawing at her. “Do you see anyone?” Apollo’s voice was low, the warmth of his breath brushing her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

“No…” she whispered, and it was only then that she became aware of how close they were. She hesitated for a heartbeat before resting her arms around his neck, her fingers lightly grazing his skin. The warmth of his touch seeped through her, and for a brief moment, she felt a strange calm in his embrace, despite the tension humming between them.

Persia shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. “I think… he’s invisible.”

“He?” Apollo leaned in slightly, his lips hovering near her ear. “Who do you think it is?”

Her voice was barely audible as she whispered against his shoulder, “Could be one of the Giants or Titans. Someone loyal to our shared grandfather.” Her body tensed again as the memory of Porphyrion’s attack flashed through her mind. “After what happened in Sparta… I’ve been on edge. That Giant knew things he shouldn’t have.”

Apollo’s brow furrowed, and his grip on her waist tightened slightly. “What?” he asked, his voice sharper now, surprise threading through his tone.

Persia’s frown deepened, her mind turning over the details. “Didn’t you notice? Porphyrion looked… confused, shocked to be in Sparta. And he knew me by sight. That's impossible unless he's faced me before.”

Apollo’s gaze darkened, his mind spinning through possibilities as they moved gracefully across the floor. “And you haven’t spoken to the Moirai about this yet?”

“Not yet,” she murmured, the weight of her thoughts pulling her away from the moment. “I haven't had the chance.”

Apollo’s voice dropped, low and commanding. “Until you do, don’t mention this to anyone. Especially not Father.”

Persia’s eyes flicked up to meet his, widening in surprise at the sudden shift in his tone. “Did something happen at Olympus?”

Apollo stiffened, his jaw clenching. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re distant from him,” she observed, her tone gentle, but there was no mistaking the sharpness of her perception. “You didn’t sit with him today, and Zeus didn’t look pleased.”

Apollo’s gaze hardened. “You presume to know everything about me now?”

“No.” Persia’s voice was calm, but there was a hint of challenge beneath the surface. “But given what I know of the Olympians, it was noticeable. My friends have noticed, too.”

Apollo let out a quiet huff, his lips quirking ever so slightly. “You’re perceptive.”

“Understatement of the century,” she muttered, rolling her eyes before her body tensed once again. “Wait—who is that?” Her voice dropped as she subtly nodded toward a figure across the room.

“Who?” Apollo asked, his gaze sweeping the room as he spun her in a full circle, scanning the crowd.

She leaned in closer, her lips barely brushing his ear as she murmured, “That man. He’s unusually tall, even for an immortal. His features are elvish, but his build doesn’t match. He’s too broad, too muscular.”

The change in Apollo’s demeanor was instant, his entire body tensing as his eyes locked onto the figure she was referring to. His grip on her waist tightened again, not out of protection this time, but something darker. Persia glanced up at him, concern flickering in her eyes.

“Who is it?” she asked softly, her voice laced with caution. “Do you know him?”

Apollo’s voice was tight, laced with barely contained anger. “Orion.”

Persia’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that name. “Orion?” she echoed, realization dawning on her. “That doesn’t explain why he looks different.”

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “He doesn’t look like his brethren.”

Persia cursed softly under her breath, realizing just how close Apollo was to losing his composure. His anger was a storm barely held at bay. She pressed a little closer, trying to ground him. “Tell me more. What can you tell me about him?”

Apollo’s attention flickered between her and Orion, the tension radiating from him palpable. “Haven’t you met him in battle?” he asked, his voice taut.

“No,” Persia shook her head. “I didn’t face him in the war. Nico and Thalia would recognize him—they fought him.”

The music slowed to a stop, signaling the end of their dance, but neither of them moved immediately. Persia broke the moment first, her voice low. “I need to find my father. Or Uncle Hades.”

Apollo’s gaze didn’t leave Orion, his hand resting protectively on her back. “I see your father. Come.”

Without waiting for a response, he guided her through the crowd, his hand firm against her back, the space between them far too charged for either of them to speak further.

"Papa!" Persia detached herself from Apollo with a sense of urgency, her eyes immediately seeking her father. He was engaged in conversation with a man she didn’t recognize. 

As Persia approached, she gave the stranger a quick, assessing glance. Poseidon turned to her with a welcoming smile, although his eyebrow arched slightly when he noticed Apollo trailing behind her. He had seen them dancing earlier and was wary of the attention she was attracting. At least, he knew how to keep Apollo in check.

"Darling, this is the King of Troy," Poseidon introduced, his voice warm but authoritative.

Persia nodded politely at the nervous-looking King, then refocused her attention on her father. Before she could speak, a sense of warmth enveloped her as a pair of strong arms gently wrapped around her from behind. The touch was instantly familiar, causing her tense muscles to relax instinctively. She turned her head slightly, feeling a blond head with short, tousled hair resting comfortably on her shoulder.

"Will, do you need something?" she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Why do you think I need something?" Will pouted, his chin still resting comfortably on her shoulder.

"Because you don't usually go around giving spontaneous hugs," Persia replied, turning in his embrace and raising an eyebrow. "So, what's up?"

Will's face lit up with an honest, bright smile. "I love you!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness.

Poseidon sputtered behind her, caught off guard, while the King of Troy swallowed nervously, glancing between the immortals. Apollo’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Persia chuckled softly, "I love you too, darling. Now, why are we suddenly proclaiming our love to each other? What's the occasion? And didn’t you guys say you’d be resting?"

"One question at a time, Sia," Will said, his smile growing even more excited. "Guess what? You're looking at the new apprentice of Lord Niklaus!"

Persia gasped, her eyes widening with joy. "That's amazing news! Lord Niklaus has never taken an apprentice before. I am so proud of you!" She hugged Will tightly, a soft, proud smile on her face.

"There you are!"

Persia turned towards the voice, spotting an exasperated Annabeth striding towards them. 

"Fuck! Save me, Sia," Will whispered urgently, quickly ducking behind Persia in a futile attempt to hide from Annabeth's wrath. 

Persia glanced back at Will, raising an eyebrow in question. He gave a sheepish smile. "I might have sneaked out without telling them?"

"Are you telling her or asking her, William Heron Solace?" Annabeth came to a halt in front of Persia, a stern look on her face. Though Persia could detect a glint of amusement in her eyes. With her hips cocked to one side and her hands firmly on her hips, Annabeth cut an imposing figure. She had overheard the last part of their conversation. Her gaze shifted to Will, who looked decidedly sheepish. "Come out, William Heron. There's no point in hiding behind Persia. She's petite enough that only children can hide behind her successfully."

"True that," Persia nodded, suppressing a smile.

Will gulped, then whispered nervously to Persia, "Full name? On a scale of one to ten, how angry is she?"

"And I'm supposed to know that?" Persia whispered back, her eyes dancing with laughter.

"You know everything about her."

" Almost everything."

"Are you both done?" Annabeth's patience was wearing thin. Will slowly stepped out from behind Persia, giving Annabeth a tentative wave. "Fancy seeing you here."

Annabeth's expression remained unimpressed as she folded her arms. 

"Okay, I'm ready. Shoot," Will said, trying to muster a brave smile.

Annabeth's sweet smile was deceptive as she swiftly grabbed his ear, half-yelling, "Do you have any idea how worried we were? Would the world have ended if you'd waited till Persia returned? No desserts for you tonight."

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Will yelped, rubbing his now-red ear and pouting. "I was just excited to tell her." He turned to Persia, seeking sympathy. "She's torturing me!"

Annabeth swatted the back of his head. "I just pulled your ear, drama queen. If you don't stop complaining, I'll really give you something to whine about."

"Persia! Look, Annabeth is threatening me."

"Sia, you tell this drama queen to stop his drama or else..."

"Silence!" Persia's voice, though soft, was commanding. She gave them both an exasperated look. "Honestly, Rhode's children squabble over better topics. You two are worse than children."

She turned to Will, her expression stern. "Taking away dessert privileges is not torture, Will. Chiron used to do that all the time to discipline unruly kids. You know that."

Then she looked at Annabeth. "And Annabeth, let Will enjoy these last few days. After that, Lord Niklaus is going to work him to the bone. That should be punishment enough for sneaking out like that. Alright?"

"If you say so," Annabeth conceded, though her eyes still held a hint of reprimand.

Will paled. "Wait, wait...what do you mean work me to the bone?"

"You'll understand, sweetheart," Persia patted his cheek with a mysterious smile before turning to Poseidon and Apollo, both of whom had been silently observing the entire exchange. The King of Troy had apparently excused himself from the group.

"Papa, is Rhode alright? I didn't get a chance to ask after the trial."

Poseidon's gentle smile was reassuring. "She had a relapse," he admitted, watching Persia's eyes widen with worry. "But don't fret, dear pearl. The royal physicians have seen her. She is resting at the moment."

Persia bit her lip, her expression thoughtful and concerned. "I should go check on her."

"Not now," Poseidon gently stopped her, patting her head. "You are tired as well. Spend some time with your friends and rest. You can see her tomorrow. She won't wake until then."

Persia looked indecisive for a moment before she agreed. "Okay. Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

Poseidon's eyebrow rose in confusion. "What will happen to me?"

Persia's stern glance told him she was not in the mood for evasion. "Papa."

Understanding dawned on him—she was referring to the trial of Amphitrite, his ex-wife. He marvelled at her thoughtfulness. "I will be alright. Worry not for me, my dear," he assured her with a small, sincere smile.

Persia scrutinised him for a second longer, ensuring his honesty, before she was satisfied. "Okay. I will see you tomorrow then. Don't stay up too late, and don't you dare drink. Get some sleep and remember to eat. I've already instructed Cian to serve you. Goodnight."

Apollo watched, a bit stunned at how she commanded one of the Big Three. More surprising was Poseidon's affectionate and fond reaction instead of offence at being ordered around. 

He shook his head, watching as his son, Annabeth, and the most troubling and infuriating woman he had met in his entire immortal existence left the hall.

"Mother, what curse were you talking about?" Zeus demanded the moment they stepped inside their guest palace. The matter of Hera being cursed had been gnawing at him since morning. His mother had deftly avoided the topic, promising an explanation once the day concluded.

Rhea sighed, surveying the tense and curious faces around her. Her gaze landed on Apollo, noting he was the only one frowning.

“Apollo, my dear, have you seen any vision regarding this?” Rhea inquired gently.

Apollo seemed taken aback but quickly composed himself, though Rhea noticed the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“My apologies, Grandmother. I was thinking about something else. What did you ask?” Apollo smoothly diverted the topic.

Rhea accepted his diversion, assuming that whatever occupied his thoughts had caused his frown. “Did you hear what your father said?”

“I didn’t notice. What were we talking about?”

Rhea’s gaze sharpened. “The curse on Hera. I asked whether you had any visions regarding it.”

Apollo’s expression turned thoughtful as everyone watched him intently. He pondered what to reveal, but his instincts warned him to tread carefully. He opted for a half-truth.

“I did have a peculiar vision. It made little sense to me, so I didn’t dwell on it. I—” He was cut off.

“You didn’t tell us you had a vision!” Zeus thundered, his tone accusatory.

“I have visions of many matters, often mundane. Shall I start informing you when to bathe and eat as well, Father?” Apollo’s voice was cold, an eyebrow raised in defiance.

Zeus’s retort was stifled as Rhea turned to him sharply. “Mind your words, Zeus. Have you lost all sense? Apollo hadn’t even finished speaking when you interrupted him. You still haven’t learned not to presume things. When will you grow up, son?”

“Mother—” Zeus began, but Rhea’s glare silenced him. “Enough of your excuses! Be silent for once in your life.” She turned back to Apollo, ignoring Zeus’s disgruntled expression. “Apollo, my dear, please continue.”

“Certainly, Grandmother.” Apollo hid a smirk, carefully avoiding Zeus’s gaze. “In one of my visions, I saw an ever-blooming garden. There was a cracked shell of an egg, and a woman running away, though I only saw her back, not her face. It’s why I didn’t think much of it. I also heard the fierce roar of a dragon. I believe it was Darios, Lady Power’s mount.” He turned to Rhea. “I learned of it the other day when I saw the dragon. I wasn’t present when Lady Power arrived in Olympus.”

Rhea nodded thoughtfully, her expression grim. “That is understandable. What you saw was the past, not the future, my dearest grandson. It’s a mere glimpse of what transpired on that cursed day.”

“I realised that when I heard the Faerie Queen this morning.”

“Mother,” Hera interjected, looking drained and subdued, “I wish to retire for the night. I am not feeling well.”

“Don’t you wish to know of your curse?” Rhea’s tone was indifferent.

“Does it matter?” Hera gave a self-deprecating smile. “My life won’t improve. I’m sure it was a planned conspiracy.”

“Planned conspiracy? Do you listen to yourself? You are responsible for your own condition, Hera.” Rhea’s voice was stern. “Do not point fingers. You must face the consequences of your actions, child. You brought this upon yourself, despite being warned numerous times.”

Hera’s eyes dropped, the weight of Rhea’s words pressing down on her. The room fell into a heavy and uncomfortable silence.

Apollo stiffened at both the words and sudden feeling of power coursing through him. A tingling sensation began at the base of his spine, spreading upward like the delicate brush of a feather, electrifying every nerve along the way. It was as if the very air around him had thickened, humming with an unseen energy that pressed against his skin, making every hair stand on end.

He could feel the power coiling within him, a serpentine force winding through his veins, ancient and unyielding. Time itself felt fluid, stretching and bending, as if the past, present, and future were all converging into a single, eternal moment. Rhea noticed when he staggered slightly, her keen eyes widening with a mix of concern and understanding.

By the ancient tongues, this curse is spun,

A fateful decree, from shadows, begun.

In audacious folly, a life laid bare,

Shall know the weight of a despairing snare.

With callous hands, a soul was torn,

Love betrayed, in bitterness worn.

The audacity to destroy with glee,

Shall reap the seeds of misery.

She who, unheeding, cast love astray,

Shall find her joy in shadows decay.

A traitor to those who tendered care,

Shall taste the bitter fruits of the snare.

No laughter shall grace her lips with mirth,

For happiness denied from her birth.

The ones who offered love so pure,

Shall see their trust in her obscure.

Betrayal's dance, a cruel twist,

In love's embrace, she shall resist.

The heart she cherishes, shall be undone,

As betrayal echoes, a curse begun.

In the arms of affection, she'll find disdain,

Her solace shattered, an endless chain.

For the one she loves, with passion sworn,

Shall turn away, leaving her forlorn.

As she sowed discord, so shall she reap,

A sombre harvest, emotions deep.

The echoes of betrayal, a relentless choir,

As happiness eludes, consumed by the mire.

This curse decreed, in shadows cast,

A destiny woven, remorseless and vast.

For she who destroyed life carelessly,

Shall know the weight of her own decree.

A gasp escaped Hera's lips as she crumpled to the floor, her expression wrought with devastation.

"Hera!" Hestia knelt down beside her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Hera, are you alright?"

"No!! No!! She cannot do this!" Hera cried out in anguish, her voice echoing with despair. "Mother, I should go speak with Zyenthea. She cannot do this."

"Do you really think she would be merciful?" Rhea raised an eyebrow, her eyes reflecting a mixture of resignation, regret, and pity. "Zyenthea empowered Darios's words. Why would she show mercy when you have shown no regret?"

"I am regretful," Hera insisted, desperation lacing her voice.

"No, you aren’t," Rhea countered firmly. "If you were regretful, you wouldn’t have denied it when asked about your misadventure."

"I was afraid."

"That is merely an excuse," Rhea scoffed, her anger palpable. "You were never truly regretful. Even now, you are selfish enough to only worry about yourself. Go to your room and do not create a scene. You have already made me bow my head several times in front of Oceanus. I won’t tolerate your antics any longer."

"Mother —" Hera began, but the sharp glare from Rhea silenced her instantly. With a bowed head, Hera vanished in tendrils of mist, retreating to her room in silence.

The air in the room hung heavy with tension, the echoes of Hera's despair lingering like a shadow. Hestia looked up at Rhea, her eyes filled with questions and concern. Rhea sighed heavily, her gaze distant and burdened with the weight of familial strife and ancient grievances.

"It never gets easier," Rhea murmured, more to herself than to a room filled with her family (without Hades). "To see one’s own children caught in the web of their choices."

After a moment of heavy silence, Poseidon stepped forward. Gently, he wrapped an arm around Rhea’s shoulder, steering her towards the seating area. His voice, though firm, held a trace of concern as he said, “Perhaps we should start at the beginning, Mother.”

“Yes, yes…” Rhea sighed, her voice weary. She looked up at Poseidon, noticing the shadows under his eyes and the lines of worry etched on his face. Tenderly, she cupped his cheeks, her touch a rare comfort in the midst of their turmoil. “I have kept you for long, haven't I? You should get some rest.”

Poseidon shook his head, determination flickering in his eyes. “I will after I have heard what all this is about. The amount of whispers and rumours I have heard in one day is enough to make me both curious and concerned. What is going on, Mother? How is it that none of us have any idea about a curse on Hera? What had she even done? What significance does Apollo's vision hold?”

Rhea held up a hand, her gaze sweeping across the anxious faces of her family. “A question at a time, my son. Everything will be answered. You are right, it's better to start at the beginning.” She glanced at her audience, her expression a mix of sorrow and resolve. “Take a seat everyone. It is a tale better heard seated.”

The gods and goddesses obeyed, their movements subdued as they found places to sit around her. Poseidon took a seat beside her on the couch, his arm still wrapped protectively around her. His eyes, a stormy sea of emotions, fixed on her. “Go ahead, Mother.”

Rhea took a deep breath, her eyes distant as she delved into the past. “It's been a long time since that incident. It was a year or two before Zeus' marriage to Hera, perhaps. The children here…” She gave a soft smile at her Olympian grandchildren, their curious faces reflecting their anticipation, “ …they didn't exist yet. Hera had always been bad-tempered. I sent her to Oceanus and Tethys to learn how to control her temper. I believe this is known to everyone?”

“Yes, Mother. What happened next?” Hestia’s voice was gentle, yet it carried the urgency they all felt.

“The water realm is a realm of freedom,” Rhea began, her voice steady and measured. “It has very few rules, but those few are expected to be followed rigorously. If broken, the consequences are severe. According to a decree of Lord Pontus, every territory should have a minimum of three rules and a maximum of seven. Oceanus’ territory also had three basic rules. The first was honesty and basic respect towards the races that belonged to his territory. The second…” She trailed off, taking a moment to swallow and wet her dry throat.

She breathed in deeply, steadying herself before continuing. “It was the second and the most important rule that Hera broke first.”

Ares’ brow furrowed in interest. “What was the rule?”

“Do you remember the area we passed through to reach the common hall this morning? At the very back, there is a grand palace. That palace belongs to Zyenthea. No one is allowed inside without explicit permission. Despite several warnings, Hera entered that palace.”

“Is no one truly allowed inside?” Athena’s curiosity was piqued, a glint in her eyes.

“Only a select few—Oceanus, Tethys, Lord Pontus, and Lady Thalassa—have that privilege,” Rhea explained, noticing the spark of intrigue in Athena and Hermes’ eyes. She added sternly, “Don’t even think about it. After what Hera did, Zyenthea undoubtedly put additional protections in place. Given that we didn’t see the palace this morning, it’s clear only those with permission can even perceive it.”

Athena muttered under her breath, “Why didn’t she have protection before? What a fool!” Suddenly, a jolt of electricity zapped her, causing her veins to tingle. She turned to Zeus, eyes wide in shock. “Father?”

Zeus shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

Rhea’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “It is you who is behaving like a fool. A Goddess of Wisdom should know better than to call Lady Power a fool. Do you really think she wouldn’t know? Take this as a warning. Mind your words, Athena, and consider this a lesson.”

Poseidon interjected, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “What happened next, Mother?”

Rhea’s expression turned serious again. “The reason behind the lack of initial protection was simple—trust. Oceanus trusted Hera to abide by the rules as long as she was a guest in his household. That trust was misplaced. Behind that palace was an ever-blooming and enchanting garden.” She glanced at Apollo, her eyes softening slightly. “Apollo, that was the garden you saw in your vision.”

Apollo nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And the shell?”

Rhea continued, “I’m getting to that. In the garden was an egg. I don’t know its full significance, but Hera accidentally stepped on it, and it broke. When questioned repeatedly, she denied it. If she had admitted her mistake, she might have been forgiven, or at least spared from the curse. Honesty was all that was required.”

Demeter looked puzzled. “But didn’t Hera come to the land after leaving Oceanus’ territory? I remember she stayed with me for a few months.”

Rhea nodded. “Yes, after she was punished. Whatever that egg was, it was significant. I have never seen Zyenthea so furious. She was enraged, and for a moment, I feared she would destroy the entire universe. Even Oceanus and Tethys couldn’t calm her. In the end, Lords Time and Change, along with Lady Inevitability, had to intervene.”

Rhea’s eyes were distant, her voice tinged with the weight of the past. “It was a moment of great turmoil, one that I hope none of us ever have to witness again.”

“That egg must have been truly significant,” Ares remarked, leaning forward with interest. “What happened next?”

“Then?” Rhea’s voice grew sombre, her eyes reflecting the gravity of the past. “Then it was havoc. Zyenthea was hellbent on destroying Hera’s essence. If she had succeeded…”

“Hera wouldn’t be alive among us. She would have been wiped out of the universe,” Poseidon finished grimly. “Can… Can she do that?”

“She is Power. She is Cosmic Energy. There is nothing she cannot do, Poseidon,” Rhea replied with a heavy sigh. “Only when Oceanus intervened, asking her to let Hera go and reminding her that while Hera had broken the rules, they must not stoop to her level, did Zyenthea relent. Zyenthea respected Oceanus. He is her father. That was the only reason she complied with him that day. Otherwise, there was little chance of Hera surviving. As punishment, Hera was banned from the Water Realm unless specifically invited.”

“That’s why Mother never approaches the sea,” Ares pondered aloud, a look of realisation crossing his face.

Rhea nodded. “Yes.” She turned towards Apollo, her expression softening. “And that’s why, darling, you felt your orphic powers surge so strongly when you spoke the curse. As one of her representatives, you felt the cosmic power so acutely.”

“Representatives? How can I be Lady Zyenthea’s representative, Grandmother?” Apollo asked, his voice coloured with surprise.

Rhea frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. “You are the God of the Sun, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you know that the Sun was created by Zyenthea and Thalassa? It used to be their seat before they moved to the water realm. It is still one of their seats, albeit not an active one. The Sun is a realm. You do know you are a king, right?”

Apollo’s eyes widened in shock. “What!?”

Everyone except Zeus was equally stunned. Rhea immediately understood the source of the confusion. She turned towards Zeus, her glare sharp and penetrating.

“Why haven’t you informed Apollo of this, Zeus?” Rhea's voice was laced with disappointment.

“There wasn’t a need,” Zeus murmured, his gaze shifting away from hers. “I am here. I handled it.”

“Handled it?” Rhea’s tone was incredulous, quickly morphing into anger as she stood up abruptly. “Let’s see how you’ve handled it. Come and open the portal to the Realm of the Sun.”

“There is no need, Mother,” Zeus responded nervously. “We can go another day.”

The sound of a slap echoed through the hall, sharp and startling. “You dare lie to my face? How audacious have you grown!” Rhea’s fury was palpable. “Do you assume I do not know that only a representative of the Sun can enter its realm? Have you taken me for a fool?”

Zeus’ face flushed with anger at the humiliation, his powers crackling and filling the air with the sharp scent of ozone. But Rhea was unfazed, her own anger radiating heat. The tension was thick, and everyone watched uneasily, except Apollo, whose expression remained unreadable.

“Mother, I am the King of the Gods. You cannot speak—”

“SILENCE!” Rhea's voice thundered, filled with a wrath none had seen before. “I never thought my son would turn into such a selfish, arrogant, and ruthless being. Exactly like your father. Your arrogance has reached such levels that you dare to raise your voice against me?”

She grabbed the front of Zeus’ robe, pulling him down to her eye level with surprising strength. “I think I need to remind you that your life is owed to me. I let you live, which is why you are a King today. I made you a King, not the other way around. I saved you. I am the one who protected you. I am the one who guided you. You do not get to flaunt your power or authority to me. I made you, and I can dismantle you. Do you understand?”

Zeus avoided her eyes, staggering back when she finally let him go.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” Rhea’s voice echoed with authority.

“Yes, Mother,” Zeus replied quietly, his head bowed. Yet, his pride was wounded terribly in front of everyone.

The room remained silent, the weight of Rhea’s words hanging heavily in the air.

Rhea continued, her voice trembling with anger and frustration. “Your audacity, your pride, your behaviour... These were the exact reasons why I had to bow my head in shame before so many. Not to mention, your actions are why this family isn’t what it should be. From Metis to Leto... you created all sorts of problems, driven by your selfishness and desires. Do you truly think I do not know why you laid with Leto without her consent? Do you think I am unaware of your manipulations? Of how you whispered that Leto was not the kind of girl I wanted for Hades?”

Zeus flinched at the accusation, his face growing paler with each word.

Rhea’s voice wavered, heavy with pain. “It is because of you that Hades doesn’t wish to see my face! Because of you, I... denied Hades when he asked for justice. That day, I lost my eldest son. That day, our family was broken—all because of your manipulations.”

A heavy silence enveloped the room as everyone grappled with the weight of Rhea’s revelations.

“Justice for what, Grandmother?” Apollo’s voice was cold, his golden gaze piercing through the tense air.

Rhea gasped, realising the full extent of her outburst and the audience before her. She stuttered, “Apollo... I—”

She took a deep breath, her expression softening into a sad smile. Perhaps today her family would fracture even further, but she knew that keeping this hidden now would only complicate matters more.

“Justice for what, Grandmother?” Apollo repeated, his tone demanding answers.

Rhea sighed deeply, her eyes reflecting a sorrow that had been buried for too long. “For Leto. For the wrongs done to her.”

Apollo’s expression hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. “What happened?” Artemis came to stand by his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. The siblings braced themselves for what was about to be revealed.

Rhea closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the strength to continue. “Hades loved Leto deeply.” She shook her head, a sad smile on her face. “No, he still loves her the same. He intended to marry her, but Zeus intervened. He... he took her against her will. Hades sought justice, but I, blinded by my arrogance and the need to control my son’s life, denied him. That decision cost me my son’s love and trust.”

The room was thick with tension, the silence oppressive. The weight of the truth hung heavily over everyone. Artemis had staggered back on learning how she had been conceived, a sense of devastation clinging to her. 

Apollo’s eyes burned with a volatile blend of anger and sorrow. "And you said nothing, Grandmother?"

Rhea's voice trembled, barely rising above a whisper. "I thought I was doing the right thing. Hades was my eldest son. I had dreams of his marriage. Leto was his friend before she was his lover. I wanted a princess for him, not... a normal second-generation titan from one of the titan's families. I was arrogant and selfish. I didn’t see how much they loved... still love each other. I see now how wrong I was."

Zeus remained silent, his face ashen. He had never seen his mother so devastated. For the first time, he felt a pang of guilt that he could not dismiss.

Apollo stood frozen, his eyes now darkened with a turbulent mix of anger, sorrow, and disbelief. The revelation from his grandmother had struck him like a physical blow, leaving him reeling with emotions he struggled to contain.

His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with restrained fury. His mind raced, grappling with the weight of what he had just heard. It was a betrayal beyond comprehension, perpetrated by the very figure he had revered as his father, Zeus.

The truth shattered his perception of his family, casting shadows over cherished memories. The pain etched deep lines of anguish on his usually composed face, betraying the turmoil within.

Meanwhile, Artemis' fierce and composed demeanour crumbled under the weight of Rhea's words. Her eyes widened in shock, tears welling up and threatening to spill over. She fought to keep them at bay, but the truth about Leto's suffering and the betrayal by her father struck her deeply, leaving her heart in turmoil. Her eyes flickered with the kind of fierce, unrestrained anger that had driven her through countless hunts and battles. Yet, alongside the rage was an overwhelming sense of sorrow. The weight of her mother’s pain, the years of silence and denial, pressed down on her like a crushing burden.

She took a step forward, her voice trembling with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. "How could you do this, Father?"

Her question hung in the air, a stark reminder of broken trust and inflicted pain.

Apollo scoffed, “How could he? Come on, sister. It makes me wonder... were we just tools to him?” He savoured the flinch from Zeus, locking eyes with him. "No wonder he favoured us over his legitimate children. They didn’t expand his power like we did. Like I did." He gave a mocking smile. "Now it’s clear why he didn’t want us reconnecting with our mother."

"Apollo, you are misunderstanding me. I—" Zeus began, only to be silenced by the betrayal and fury that shone in his son's eyes. And Artemis, his daughter? She refused to acknowledge him. 

Artemis turned towards Apollo. "Are you coming with me, brother?"

Ares' eyes widened, and he was about to interfere, only for Hephaestus to gesture for him to stay back.

Apollo nodded, and both siblings disappeared in tendrils of mist.

As the mist settled, Zeus staggered back, his eyes wide with incomprehension. The silence was thick with unspoken words and lingering tension.

Zeus took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Mother, I... I never intended for this to happen."

Rhea's gaze was unwavering, filled with a mix of disappointment and sorrow. There was a sad, broken smile on her weary face. "Intentions mean little when the consequences are so grave, Zeus. Perhaps now you understand what it means to lose someone you care about."

Meanwhile, Apollo and Artemis reappeared in a secluded glade, far from the palace. The air was thick with tension and the soft sounds of nature did little to soothe their turmoil.

Apollo's emotions surged within him, a chaotic storm of frustration, anger, and guilt. The guilt for ignoring their mother for so long gnawed at him, intertwining with his sorrow and leaving him feeling raw and exposed. His chest tightened, and his breaths became shallow as he struggled to contain the torrent of emotions. Tears welled up in his eyes, shimmering with the intensity of his inner turmoil. He tried to hold them back, his body trembling with the effort, but the weight of the revelation was too much.

With a strangled sob, Apollo broke down, his tears spilling over and streaming down his face. His cries were raw and unrestrained, echoing through the quiet glade and mingling with the rustle of leaves and distant bird calls. He sank to his knees, his hands gripping the earth as if seeking some form of stability amidst the chaos inside him.

Artemis, equally devastated, was overcome with her own mixture of anger and sorrow. Tears streamed down her face as she watched her brother collapse under the weight of their shared grief. Despite her own anguish, she moved toward him, her steps unsteady but determined. She knelt beside Apollo, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. Her own sobs mingled with his, creating a symphony of shared pain and sorrow.

After what felt like an eternity, the intensity of Apollo and Artemis' sobs began to lessen. Their breathing gradually steadied, and the storm of emotions that had raged within them started to calm. Apollo wiped his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand, taking deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to regain his composure. Artemis, still holding him, loosened her grip slightly, her own tears drying as she focused on calming her brother. The easiest way was to get him to focus on a matter.

Artemis turned to Apollo, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "What do we do now, brother?"

"We need to find Mother," Apollo said hoarsely, his voice still thick with emotion. "But we don't even know where she is."

Artemis nodded, her face determined despite the lingering sadness in her eyes. "Let's go to Grandmother and Grandfather's house. They might know where she is, or at least they can help us figure out what to do next."

Apollo took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. "You're right. They’ll know what to do."

With a shared resolve, the siblings stood up, supporting each other as they regained their footing. "Let's go," Artemis said, her voice steady now, though her eyes still reflected the pain they had just endured. They disappeared, reappearing a few lanes away from where Phoebe and Coeus. 

As they approached the house of their grandparents, the air grew calmer, and the comforting familiarity of the place brought a sense of solace. The small, ancient house loomed before them, its stone walls and homely decorations brought forth a familiarity and comfort.

Apollo knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet surroundings. There was shuffling inside and a candle was lit. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Phoebe.

Her eyes widened in surprise and concern as she took in the sight of her grandchildren, their faces marked with traces of tears and exhaustion. "Come in, both of you," She said softly, stepping aside to let them enter. "But first, both of you need rest. Go to sleep. We will speak tomorrow."

Inside, the warmth and safety of their grandparents' home enveloped them, offering a temporary reprieve from their turmoil. Apollo started to protest, but Phoebe gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "I may have given you the site of Oracle of Delphi as inheritance, grandson; that doesn’t mean I am bereft of the Gift of the Sight. I may not know all the details, but I am aware that something significant has happened for both of you to be here at this time of the night. You need to be strong for what lies ahead, whatever it is. Rest now, and we will start fresh in the morning."

Artemis glanced at Apollo, and seeing the exhaustion in his eyes mirrored in her own, she nodded reluctantly. "Alright, Nana."

Phoebe led them to a cosy room filled with soft, comfortable beds. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a serene glow that seemed to promise a night of peace.

"Sleep well, my dears," Phoebe said, her voice tender. 

As Apollo and Artemis settled into their beds, the weight of the day's revelations remained heavy on their hearts. The emotional storm had left them drained, and soon, exhaustion claimed them both.

In the quiet of the night, Phoebe stood by the door, watching her grandchildren sleep. She whispered a silent prayer to Lord Time, hoping for strength and guidance in the days to come. With a final glance at Apollo and Artemis, she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

“Persia? Why are you up?” Annabeth asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she came to stand beside her friend on the balcony.

Persia glanced at the twinkling stars, her expression contemplative. “I don’t know. It feels right; like something has changed. Like balance has been restored.”

“What?” Annabeth asked, frowning in confusion.

“Nothing,” Persia replied, shaking her head. She gently steered her friend back towards the den they had made in her room with Will, Thalia, Jason, and Nico—all four of whom were fast asleep. “Let’s go to bed.”

Annabeth gave her an exasperated glance but followed her back to their makeshift sleeping area. As they settled in, the sense of calm that had drawn Persia to the balcony lingered, a quiet assurance that all was as it should be.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟎 : 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 — 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟑

Rose, vanilla, and earth. The scents wafted through the air, stirring memories Apollo hadn't revisited in centuries. He blinked his eyes open, surprised to find his head resting on his mother's lap. Her fingers combed gently through his hair, a soothing gesture he had long been deprived of. It felt undeniably comforting.

He glanced up, catching sight of the back of a book. His mother, half-seated and half-lying down with a cushion for support, was absorbed in her reading. He shifted slightly, searching for his sister. Artemis was nestled close, her head resting on their mother's shoulder, arms draped protectively over her stomach.

"Awake, Apollon?" His mother’s voice, soft and tender, broke the silence.

He looked up to see the book had vanished, replaced by his mother's warm smile. A quick glance to the side revealed Artemis, her hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep, stirring awake.

"Yes, Mama," he replied, his voice husky and heavy with emotion. He saw his mother’s smile widen, a rare and precious sight. It had been far too long since he had called her that.

"Good morning, Mama," Artemis echoed, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and shame. Leto’s eyes sparkled with unspoken joy and hope. Her children had returned. It had taken time, but now they were here, and she was determined not to let them go again. She had faltered before, but this time, her resolve was unshakeable.

"Good morning, sweethearts. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Mama—" Apollo began, only to be gently silenced by her.

"Hush, son. Not so soon. I prefer not to delve into heavy topics first thing in the morning. Freshen up. We will have plenty of time to talk, unless you plan to return to Olympus?" She looked at them, her heart racing, torn between hope and disappointment, even as she maintained a neutral expression.

"Our duties can be fulfilled without residing in Olympus. We will relocate to Delos or Delphi, Mama," Apollo assured her, sensing her lingering doubts about their commitment to stay.

"Alright then," Leto's relief was palpable. "Freshen up. I'll prepare breakfast for you both."

When Apollo returned after washing his face, the room was spotless. His sister sat cross-legged on the mattress, animatedly chatting with their grandmother while nibbling on a piece of bread.

"Take a seat, love," his mother stood there with a welcoming smile. "We have much to discuss for today’s function."

That made Artemis sit up straighter, her curiosity piqued.

“Children,” Phoebe began as her daughter and grandson settled in, “today is the final day of the function, and it is the most crucial part of the entire debacle.”

“Why?” Artemis asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I am getting to that,” Phoebe replied with a fond smile. “Today is the day connections and alliances are made. There might be beings from different races who will approach you for various kinds of alliances. Do not agree to anything outright. Be evasive but polite. Do not promise anything, nor disrespect or deny an alliance if it comes your way. Be charming and persuasive enough to maintain dialogue. Understood?”

“Yes, but Nana, why would anyone want an alliance with us?” Artemis asked, confused. “We are powerful among the Gods, yes… but wouldn’t Kings speak with other Kings? We are not Kings of a race.”

Leto sighed, “Yes, about that… I believe last night you found out Apollo is technically a King from your other grandmother?”

The mere mention brought yesterday's incident sharply into focus. Apollo stiffened, and Artemis clenched her fingers, suppressing her emotions. He gave a short nod in response to his mother.

“How do you know?” Artemis asked, confusion mingling with her intense emotions.

Leto rolled her eyes, “I am a representative of The Moirai. It isn’t difficult for me to discern what had my children so distressed that they appeared in the middle of the night at their grandparents' home.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, Mother. What were you saying?”

“About that… The Sun is one of the ancient seats of Power, Fire, and Life, although it is inactive at the moment. No one since the beginning of creation had been its representative. Helios became the Titan of the Sun by pure chance. After that egg was broken accidentally by Hera, the inherent imbalance of the Universe magnified. Such that even The Sun had to choose a representative.”

There was a lingering sadness in Leto’s tone. She shook her head, continuing, “Anyway, I can give you the history lesson later. For now, just remember that you’re representing The Ancient Seat of The Sun. So present yourself in a firm yet kind manner. Alright?”

“Okay, Mama.” Apollo nodded. Artemis asked, “What about me?”

“The Moon is… well, it’s another story. I’ll tell you later. However, my dearest, you might be approached as well given your connections to us. Some of those proposals might even be marriage ones…” Artemis’ eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, only to be silenced by the stern look on Leto’s face. “Do not behave foolishly. You will reject them politely or redirect them to another topic. If you cannot do so, redirect them to either your Nana or myself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good.”

“Now to the second most important part before we start to prepare ourselves for the lavish brunch ahead. Today we will be seated with Zyenthea. Apollon, you will take your seat beside your mother, and Artemis, you will take the seat in front of him. Do not mess up the seating arrangements. It is important,” Phoebe said.

“Why will we be seated with Lady Zyenthea?” Apollo asked.

“Because of my connection to her and The Moirai. Our family’s connection to Lord Time is also one of the reasons. Several other important beings, mostly members of the Royal Court of Vortexia, will be present. Most of them are beings of various powerful races who continue to enjoy Zia’s favor. However, I know that Rhea and her children will at least join us at the table, so be prepared to face them,” Leto replied.

Apollo and Artemis nodded. Phoebe got up, “Alright then. Let’s get ready. We do not want to be late.”

“Good morning.” Leto greeted Zyenthea, leaning to kiss her cheeks as she took the seat to her right, shooting a smile at Hades who was already present at his  customary seat at Zyenthea’s left. As instructed, Apollo took his seat beside her, after greeting the Head of the Table — as in Lady Zyenthea. He was conscious of the power that nearly wafted from the woman, now that he paid attention to his surroundings; not to mention he was so near her for the first time. 

He took his time to observe the table taking note of the people joining them — his mother’s godfather who was also the King of the Goblin Race, King Jared took a seat beside him with a smile, beside him was the Faerie Queen Agatha, opposite King Jared and beside his sister Artemis was King Haraldr the Elven King. He stiffened when the oldest Olympians approached, Rhea taking a seat beside the Faerie Queen, which forced his father— no, Zeus to take a seat beside Haraldr. Hera sat beside him, Hestia beside Rhea, Demeter was beside Hera and Poseidon opposite Demeter and beside Hestia. 

That still left six seats open. The other head of the table was vacant and he could guess who would be seated there as the woman approached, followed by her demigod family.

Persia greeted everyone, “Good tidings of the day, everyone.” She smiled when Haraldr, Agatha, Jared, and Rhea responded to her greetings. She took a seat opposite her mother, at the other head of the table with Nico and Annabeth at her left and right respectively. Will was beside Annabeth, followed by Thalia, who was opposite to Jason. 

The table was now fully filled with all its occupants and slowly silence deigned upon them. 

Zyenthea gestured at the bevy of servants nearby. “Serve.” Instantly, they sprang into action, lifting the lids off the various dishes on the table and filling glasses with wine and juice.

When a server approached Poseidon with a platter, Persia’s soft yet firm voice cut through the ambient noise. “Only salads and soft bread for my father. Do not serve him any of those greasy dishes.”

Poseidon frowned, his confusion evident. “Daughter?”

“What?” Persia arched an eyebrow, her tone light but unyielding. “I told you not to drink. If you didn’t want me to find out, you should have hidden the glasses better. Not to mention the smell... Lord Dionysus’ strongest, I believe?”

Poseidon gaped at her, a mixture of shock and amusement on his face. “How did you even find...?”

Persia blinked innocently, her expression one of mock surprise. “I looked. Now, none of that greasy food for you.” She turned to the server boy, “Please take that wine away as well. Just lemon juice for him.”

Poseidon sighed, clearly resigned. “I assure you, darling, I am alright. It’s just a small problem. It will be taken care of.”

“Are you a physician now, Papa?”

“Well no—”

“Then don’t argue. Eat.”

Silence descended upon the table. The demigods seemed unperturbed by the exchange, while the other guests watched with intrigue. Hades, Zyenthea, and Leto observed the interaction with expressions that ranged from amusement to approval.

Hades’s gaze fell sharply on the server as he neared Persia’s portion of the table with a plate of blueberries. “Stop!” His voice sliced through the murmur of conversation, drawing the server’s attention like a whip crack in a silent room.The young server halted, trembling slightly under Hades’s intense gaze. Hades’s tone softened as he explained, “Persia is allergic to those berries. What is it doing at this table? Have it shifted elsewhere. And while you’re at it, remove those cashews as well.”

Jared arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Why the cashews, Hades? I don’t recall anyone here having an allergy to them.”  He seemed to dismiss the presence of Rhea and her children except for Hades, as though they were mere afterthoughts.

Hades’s expression remained stoic as he replied, “My son has a sensitivity to them. Speaking of which, I haven’t properly introduced you to my heir.” With a slight, respectful nod, Hades continued, “Allow me the honor. Nico, this is King Jared of the Goblin Race. Jared, meet my heir and Crown Prince, Prince Nicolo.”

Nico bowed his head gracefully, his tone carrying the weight of formal respect. “Heir Nicolo of the Underworld extends his greetings to His Majesty, King Jared of the Goblin Race. May your enemies fall before you.”

A glint of surprise lit up Jared’s eyes, quickly replaced by a pleased grin. “The traditional greeting of our race! How delightful. May the Venerable Mother grant you favor, Heir Nicolo. Blessed be!”

As the blessing enveloped Nico in a soft, ethereal glow, Jared’s gaze shifted to Hades with a look of appraisal in his eyes. “You’ve raised him well, Hades. It’s rare to encounter such a well-versed heir these days.”

Hades dipped his head in acknowledgment, pride evident in the glimmer of his eyes. Jared’s expression became more earnest as he continued, “I would like to extend an invitation, Hades.” He paused, waiting until he had Hades’s full attention. Once he had it, his tone was warm and inviting. “I would be highly pleased if you and your children would join me and my family for dinner this evening. I think it’s time we revisit and strengthen our alliance. What do you say, son?”

The warmth and sincerity in Jared’s request were unmistakable. 

Hades took a moment, his gaze drifting to Nico, who offered a subtle nod of agreement. Meeting Jared’s approving and welcoming eyes, Hades finally responded, “It would be an honor, Jared.” He lifted his wine glass in a gesture of toast. “To our families and our alliance!”

“To our families and our alliance!” Jared echoed, clinking his glass with Hades’s.

“That reminds me,” Zyenthea said, effortlessly shifting the table’s focus to herself. Her gaze landed on Leto, “It’s been quite some time since your family has dined with mine, Leto.”

Agatha, Haraldr, and even Rhea’s eyes widened at the weight of her words. Leto flushed under the sudden attention. “That was ages ago, Zia. We were children back then, just a few thousand years old.”

“Yes,” Zyenthea agreed with a hum. “Far too long, if you ask me.” Her eyes moved to Persia, who had been observing silently. “What do you think, sweetheart? Should we renew our alliance?”

Persia took her time, swallowing her food before responding. “It would be appropriate to renew the alliance, Mama. Profitable, even, considering the changing tides of the seasons.”

“To us or to them?” Zyenthea asked, arching an amused eyebrow.

“To both.”

“Diplomatic, as always,” Zyenthea replied, pride shining in her eyes. “Your papoú has taught you well.”

Persia shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Well, you heard her,” Zyenthea said, leaning back in her seat and meeting Leto’s stunned eyes. She reached out to grasp Leto’s hand with a warm smile. “I rarely deny my daughter, given she hardly asks. You know my reasons, Leto. However, I wouldn’t agree if not for the truth in her observations. I’d be glad to host you and your family this evening to renew our alliance.”

Leto remembered how Zyenthea had refused to renew their alliance because of Apollo and Artemis’s behavior towards Persia when Coeus had asked a few months back. For her to change her decision now, Leto’s eyes flickered to Persia, who offered a small, reassuring smile. Only her daughter could sway her mother’s mind.

And perhaps, Apollo and Artemis’s choice to stay with their mother had also played a part.

“It would be an honor, Zia,” Leto said, her voice soft with gratitude. Zyenthea patted her hand gently before returning to her meal.

There was a brief silence as everyone processed what had just transpired. By then, the second course was being served.

Agatha turned her attention to the new faces at the table, particularly the demigods. “Your Grace, I don't believe we have been introduced to your friends.”

“Family, Queen Agatha,” Persia corrected immediately. “My apologies for the oversight.”

“Family?” Agatha echoed, her surprise evident. “It would be an honor to meet them, Your Grace.”

“Allow me to introduce them,” Persia said, gesturing to her right. “You’ve already met Nico, my godbrother. To my left is Annabeth, my constant companion. Beside her is William, our little genius. To Nico’s right is Jason, the youngest and most pampered one. And, finally, beside Will is Thalia, the mother hen of our group.”

Agatha smiled, both amused and surprised at the warmth in Persia's voice.

“I thought I was the most pampered one,” Will interjected dryly.

Jason rolled his eyes. “You can keep the title, sunshine.”

“Children,” Thalia admonished, glaring at them both. They gave her sheepish looks and returned to their food.

Persia shrugged at Agatha and her mother’s amused expressions.

“Now, now, Thalia, let the children be,” Zyenthea interrupted. “As it is, you all grew up way too soon.”

“Not you too, Aunt Sally,” Thalia groaned. “Persia spoils them as it is.”

“Oye!” Persia gave her a half-hearted glare. “I’m not the disciplinarian here. That’s your job.”

“You have designations in your group?” Haraldr asked, leaning in with curiosity. “Are you the leader, then, Your Highness?”

“No, Elven King. That is not how our dynamics work. We are a team, a family. There is no single leader among us,” Persia replied, gesturing to Annabeth to continue.

“Technically, we do have specific roles, if you can call it that,” Annabeth explained, meeting Haraldr’s intrigued gaze. “It’s based on our skills. We typically refer to these roles only in warlike situations.”

“Would you elaborate, my lady?” Haraldr asked politely. “I admit, I am curious. The six of you are a peculiar group.”

“With our diverse experiences, you wouldn’t find it peculiar, my lord,” Annabeth replied. “Amongst us, I am the advisor. Nico is the enforcer. Thalia is the tactician. Jason is the arbitrator. Will is both the assassin and the physician. And Persia is the diplomat. Thalia and I also rotate as the spokesperson of the group.”

“That’s interesting,” Haraldr said, leaning back in his seat. “Who makes the decisions, then?”

“That’s a combined effort,” Thalia replied smoothly. “Teamwork allows us to be efficient and effective.”

“Certainly. It is a novel concept for me. Perhaps because elves are solitary beings. You’ve given me much to think about, ladies. Thank you for such an enlightening conversation.”

Annabeth bowed her head in response. “It was indeed an enjoyable conversation, Your Highness.”

“So, Your Grace, does that mean your position in the Triumvirate is that of a Diplomat?” Jared inquired, his gaze steady on Persia.

“Yes, King Jared,” Persia confirmed with a nod.

“Triumvirate?” Hestia’s voice wavered slightly, her eyes darting between Hades and her mother, Rhea. “Forgive me, I’m a bit confused.”

“Allow me to clarify,” Jason interjected warmly. “The Triumvirate refers to the trio of Lords chosen by a primordial deity, Aunt Hestia. For example, in the Underworld, it consists of Lord Hades, Lord Tartarus, and Lady Nyx. In the Water Realm, it includes Lord Oceanus, Lord Nereus, and Persia. The Triumvirate has three roles: Arbitrator, Diplomat, and Enforcer. In the Water Realm, Persia serves as the Diplomat, Lord Oceanus is the Arbitrator, and Lord Nereus is the Enforcer.”

Jason had observed how the other immortals at the table had sidestepped the Olympians and Rhea. However, he couldn’t let Hestia be ignored, for she was the only Olympian he respected without reservation.

“Oh, that’s enlightening. Thank you, nephew,” Hestia said, her tone softening with understanding.

“Nephew?” Jared’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Which god is your father, child?”

“Lord Jupiter,” Jason replied with calm neutrality.

“Jupiter?” Jared echoed, his expression shifting to one of realization. Agatha’s eyes flitted between a rigid Hera and an uncomfortable Zeus as she smirked.

“King Zeus,” she added with a touch of irony.

Zeus shot a sharp glance at Agatha, but she quickly met Jared’s gaze. “Lord Jupiter is King Zeus, Jared. Quite intriguing, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Jared murmured, his smirk widening.

“What is so interesting?” Zeus nearly growled, his patience thinning.

“It’s fascinating how you are both a subject and a king to Apollon,” Jason said, his voice steady.

“What?” Zeus’s irritation grew.

Apollo’s curiosity piqued as he stopped himself from mimicking his father’s expression.

“As the King of the Gods, you are the sovereign to Apollon. However, as the Sun God, Apollon rules over the Nine Planets. Both Jupiter and Earth fall under his domain. Quite ironic, wouldn’t you agree?” Jared’s gaze met Apollo’s, who barely masked his surprise.

The revelation hung in the air, drawing an uncomfortable silence among the gods.

“It’s certainly interesting,” Rhea said, attempting to break the silence.

“Yes, indeed,” Jared agreed, his gaze shifting from Zeus to Apollo. “It’s a reminder of how interconnected our roles and realms can be.”

Zeus, still visibly unsettled, cleared his throat. 

Jared, sensing the tension, cautiously changed the subject. "My Lady, if I may be so bold, I’m astonished that Queen Rhea and her children have joined us at your table. Why would you allow such a thing after…?"

The effect was immediate. The table fell into a tense silence. Persia, Thalia, Nico, Annabeth, Jason, and Will exchanged confused glances; Zeus tightened his grip on his spoon; Rhea stiffened, and Hera paled. The rest of the original Olympians cast wary looks between Zyenthea and Hera. Apollo, Artemis, Leto, Hades, Queen Agatha, and King Haraldr watched with keen interest.

Zyenthea calmly set down her spoon, meeting Jared’s questioning gaze. "You’re right. Normally, I would never have allowed Rhea and her children anywhere near my table."

"Then why did you?"

"Rhea is not here as the Queen of the Titans," Zyenthea replied, her voice steady. "She is here because she is King Poseidon’s mother. And King Poseidon is my daughter Persia's father. My daughter wanted her father to be seated with her. I simply honored her request." She shrugged slightly. "Of course, I couldn’t very well invite him alone when his immediate family was present. So, I’ll tolerate a few fools. It’s the least I can do for my dearest daughter, King Jared."

King Jared nodded, but Persia’s voice, edged with coldness, cut through the air, "Is there a problem, King Jared?"

"Not at all, Your Grace," Jared replied evenly. "I meant no offense. I was simply curious, given the history between the two sides. I don’t know your father well enough to judge him, but I’ve heard many say how much you resemble him, both in appearance and in certain traits. Yet, I haven’t noticed those traits in him."

Persia pressed her lips together, hiding a smile at the disgruntled expression on her father’s face. "What history?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Zyenthea interjected smoothly, casting a sharp glance at Jared, "I’ll explain later, darling." Then, with a cryptic warning, she added, "Brace yourself."

Her words sparked a murmur of confusion around the table. Persia, however, recognized the signal and straightened, her posture shifting from relaxed to guarded. The woman bowed to Zyenthea, a simpering smile on her face. Persia raised an eyebrow when she turned to her. 

“Greetings, Princess Persia. It is such a delight to see you among the revelers. I hear great responsibilities are upon you. I trust your diplomatic duties aren’t too burdensome for someone so young?” The woman’s voice was laced with an edge of condescension.

“They do say youth is the time for vigor and endurance,” Persia responded coolly, taking a deliberate bite of her meal. “I find both serve me well in my duties.” Noticing the silence settling around them, she continued, “However, you will have to forgive my youth, my lady, for I do not recall you from my studies. May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

Annabeth stifled a smile, continuing to eat as though nothing unusual was happening. Opposite her, Nico’s smirk was unmistakable. The other occupants were either hiding their smiles or watching the exchange with fascination. The woman, caught off guard, forced a smile and introduced herself.

“I am Queen Mother Andrea of the Western Territories, Your Grace.”

Persia’s gaze remained steady. “I see. Any relation to Prince Aurelius?”

“My grandson, Your Grace.”

“I’ve had the opportunity to work with him,” Persia acknowledged. “He is one of my favored advisors. His contributions, especially in dealing with the traitor, were quite ingenious.”

Andrea’s smile tightened, the strain evident. “Indeed, Your Grace. Aurelius is a credit to our family and our territories. Much like yourself, he carries significant responsibilities, though perhaps not as... daunting as yours.” She quickly added, “I imagine it must be a heavy burden for someone so young. The weight of an entire kingdom’s diplomatic relations on such youthful shoulders. One might worry about inexperience leading to... unfortunate decisions.”

Persia took another bite, savoring the moment before replying. “Experience is indeed valuable, my lady, but so is innovation. Youth brings a fresh perspective, something often lacking in more... seasoned circles. Adaptability and keen insight can be just as beneficial as years of experience.”

Annabeth’s eyes sparkled with restrained amusement, while Nico openly smirked. The tension around the table was palpable, but Persia maintained her calm, confident demeanor.

Andrea’s smile became strained. “Of course, Your Grace. Yet, it is always wise to heed the counsel of those who have walked the path before us. History has much to teach us, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed,” Persia replied, her tone light but edged with steel. “History is replete with lessons, particularly about the dangers of overreaching ambition and the folly of underestimating others. It would benefit the seasoned members to remember their past mistakes lest they repeat them.”

Andrea’s eyes flashed with irritation, though she masked it quickly. “Wise words, Your Grace. I’m certain your reign will be noted for its... unique approach.”

Persia inclined her head slightly. “I do hope so, my lady. And I trust your counsel will continue to guide your grandson towards making astute and strategic decisions for the Western Territories. It’s always a pleasure to see the younger generation receiving such... dedicated guidance.”

Andrea’s expression hardened for a moment before she forced another smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is my life’s work to ensure my family and my territories thrive.”

“As it should be,” Persia replied, her tone warming. “Family is everything. It binds us, strengthens us, and reminds us of our duty to those we serve. I look forward to seeing how our respective territories can work together in the future.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Andrea said, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgment. “I shall leave you to your meal. Until next time.”

As Andrea departed, Persia watched her with a satisfied smile. She turned back to her companions, meeting their amused gazes.

“Well, that was... refreshing,” Persia remarked.

Annabeth chuckled softly. “You handled that beautifully.”

Nico grinned. “I thought she might implode for a second there.”

Persia shrugged lightly. “Let her try. She’ll find I’m not so easily intimidated.”

Zyenthea raised her glass, her eyes shining with pride and warmth. “You handled that immensely well, darling.”

“The credit goes to you, Mama,” Persia said, raising her glass in return, her eyes twinkling with mischief and affection.

“Truly, Your Highness,” Agatha praised with a smile, “that was brilliantly played. I can see why you are the diplomat of your team and why Lord Pontus has entrusted you with such important duties.”

Persia nodded in acceptance of the praise, her demeanor relaxed once more as the conversation shifted to more pleasant topics.

Zyenthea and Persia walked through the opulent corridors of the inner palace, their footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor. The grandeur of their surroundings contrasted sharply with the unease simmering beneath the surface. As they entered a cozy room adorned with warm tones and soft, inviting furnishings, Zyenthea’s demeanor subtly shifted from the regal poise she wore in public to a more personal, concerned tone.

“Sit down, Sia,” Zyenthea gestured gently, her voice carrying an undertone of gravity. She waited for her daughter to settle into the plush chair before taking a seat herself. The warm, intimate setting did little to ease the tension in the air.

“What’s this about, Mama? You seemed quite serious earlier.” Persia’s curiosity was tinged with concern, her brows knitting together as she watched her mother closely. The past few days, she had noticed a peculiar tension in her mother’s actions—a stiffness in her movements, a hesitation in her words that was unusual for her composed mother. It was as though she was carrying a burden she wasn’t ready to share.

Zyenthea hesitated for a moment, her usually steady eyes betraying a flicker of worry. “There’s an important matter I need to discuss with you. The dwarves have requested a meeting.”

“The dwarves?” Persia’s confusion was evident. “I’m not familiar with them. Who are they?”

“They are a reclusive branch of the Fae species, diminutive in size and known for their solitude. They dwell at the foot of a massive mountain in the realm of Kirkmisk, where they enjoy the favor of Lord Time.” Zyenthea’s voice was steady, but the tension in her eyes remained. “Their isolation makes them quite mysterious, and they are all blessed with prophetic or orphic abilities connected to various spheres of time.”

“Prophetic abilities?” Persia leaned forward slightly, her discomfort deepening. “And what would they want with me? I’m hardly someone of significant importance.”

Zyenthea’s expression softened, but there was a glimmer of something deeper—an unease she couldn’t fully hide. She reached out, placing a hand over Persia’s. “Sia, I need you to remain composed and not react immediately. There’s more to this than meets the eye.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper, filled with a mix of concern and reassurance. “There are truths… truths you’re not yet ready to hear. I fear the dwarves may reveal them before I’m able to prepare you.”

Persia’s heart skipped a beat. The unknown was something she had always detested, and now, that same unknown seemed to be closing in on her. “You’re unsettling me, Mama.” Her tone was tinged with anxiety, her fingers tightening slightly around her mother’s hand. “When exactly will the dwarves meet with me?”

“They will arrive after the Dance of Dzīvi is completed,” Zyenthea replied, her voice soothing but laced with a quiet urgency. “Worry not, Sia. I am here, aren’t I?”

Persia nodded slowly, though the apprehension was still clear in her eyes. Her mind raced, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on her chest. The peculiar tension she had sensed in her mother now made sense— she was hiding something, and whatever it was, it was significant enough to draw the attention of the dwarves, who rarely involved themselves in the affairs of others.

At that moment, a servant knocked and entered, disrupting the private conversation. The servant’s voice was polite but carried a hint of urgency. “Your Grace, Princess Persia, Lord Pontus requests your presence to rejoin the party.”

Zyenthea nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you. We shall join Pontus shortly.”

As the servant exited, Zyenthea turned back to Persia, her gaze filled with a blend of maternal concern and determination. “We must return to the festivities now. Remember, stay calm. I promise you, everything will become clear once the day is over.”

Persia stood, though the weight of the unknown still hung heavily on her shoulders. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The prospect of facing the dwarves—the enigmatic, prophetic beings who served as the mouthpiece of Time—was daunting enough, but the idea that they might reveal something her mother was deliberately concealing filled her with dread. She had always trusted her mother’s judgment, but the uncertainty gnawed at her. What could be so significant that her mother, usually so composed, was now showing cracks in her calm exterior?

As she followed her mother back toward the grand hall, Persia’s thoughts churned. She hated being kept in the dark, but more than that, she hated the feeling that something was slipping beyond her control. Whatever the dwarves had to reveal, it was bound to change everything. And that, more than anything, unsettled her deeply.

The anticipation for the Dance of Dzīvi rippled through the gathering like a gentle wave. The sea was calm, a vast expanse of deep blue mirroring the clear skies above. Mystical sea creatures and beings from all realms hovered around the perimeter, their eyes glowing with eagerness. The air was thick with the significance of what was to come—this dance was not merely a tradition but a sacred ritual, essential to maintaining the balance and vitality of the sea itself.

As the first notes of the lyre music resonated through the water, the sea seemed to come alive, responding to the ancient magic woven into the melody. The Triumvirate—Oceanus, Nereus, and Persia—moved to the center of the gathering, where a circle of glowing sea stones marked the sacred dance space. The water within this circle shimmered with an iridescent light, a testament to the ancient forces at play.

Oceanus led the dance, his movements as fluid and graceful as a gentle wave. His hands drew arcs of light, channeling the energy of the sea as if pulling it from the depths themselves. The water responded to his command, swirling around him in luminescent patterns that reflected the boundless life force of the ocean.

Nereus followed with powerful, deliberate gestures, his movements echoing the strength of waves crashing against ancient cliffs. His energy added depth and strength, causing the water to pulse and thrum with raw power, grounding the ritual in the primal forces of nature.

Persia moved with a harmonious blend of grace and strength, her steps light and precise as she weaved the energies of her grandfathers together. Her gestures were a dance of unity, combining Oceanus’s fluidity and Nereus’s power into a seamless whole. She felt the weight of her role—this dance was not just a performance but a fulfillment of her duty to the sea and its creatures.

As their combined efforts formed a huge, glowing orb of pure life energy between their hands, the audience watched in awe. The orb pulsed and grew, filled with the essence of the sea and the vitality of its inhabitants. It was as if the very lifeblood of the ocean was being renewed before their eyes.

The music swelled, and the orb grew brighter and more radiant, casting a mesmerizing glow that illuminated the ocean depths. The Triumvirate’s movements became more urgent and powerful, their energies converging in perfect harmony. The orb responded, expanding and vibrating with a life of its own.

With a final, synchronized gesture, Oceanus, Nereus, and Persia brought their hands together, and the orb exploded in a brilliant burst of light. The radiant energy dispersed, spreading throughout the sea in luminous waves. Every creature, from the smallest plankton to the mightiest whale, felt the surge of life and vitality. Coral reefs glowed with renewed energy, and the ocean floor shimmered with a vibrant, magical light.

The sea itself seemed to sigh in contentment, the dance having renewed its lifeblood and ensured its prosperity. The trio stood together, their breathing heavy but their faces reflecting the deep satisfaction of their sacred duty fulfilled.

Persia glanced at her grandfather, who gave her a proud nod, and then at Nereus, whose stern features softened with approval. She felt a sense of accomplishment but also a lingering unease. The dance had gone perfectly, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was about to happen—something that would challenge her in ways she wasn’t prepared for.

As the magical glow faded and the sea returned to its normal brilliance, cheers of happiness erupted from the beings of the Sea. But the joyful atmosphere was quickly pierced by a deep, resonant voice that carried an ancient authority.

“Ah! After so long, I sense balance in the air. It brings a fulfillment to my heart.”

The crowd fell silent, their attention snapping to the source of the voice. Standing at the edge of the gathering was a diminutive figure, barely three feet tall, yet commanding respect with his presence. He carried a staff taller than himself, etched with symbols of time and power.

“King Dimitrios of the Dwarves!” Lord Pontus bellowed happily, striding forward to greet the guest. “What a pleasant surprise! I thought you would not be able to come at all.”

Persia’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the dwarf king. The beings of the sea murmured among themselves, the unexpected appearance of Dimitrios adding a new layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere.

“None of those titles, Pontus!” Dimitrios replied, his voice carrying a hint of admonishment. “Titles are for those who care only for position and its benefits. Those who respect their duties require neither.”

Pontus chuckled, kneeling down to embrace the dwarf. “Still the same as ever, I see. I am happy to see that seclusion has not dulled your sharp mind. It is good to see you again, Dimitrios.”

“And you, my friend,” Dimitrios returned the hug warmly, but his expression soon turned serious. “However, a dwarf does not come without a purpose.”

“And what purpose do you have in a ceremony such as this?” Pontus asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

“To meet the daughter of Lady Power, of course,” Dimitrios replied, his eyes locking onto Persia with an intensity that made her stomach tighten.

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd, and Persia felt anxiety course through her veins. The dwarf king’s gaze was sharp, penetrating, as if he could see right through her. He stepped away from Pontus and strode decisively towards her, his small stature doing nothing to diminish the weight of his presence.

Persia managed a nervous smile, her mind racing as she tried to mask the sudden onslaught of unease. She had sensed something significant was coming, but now that it was here, she felt woefully unprepared.

“Well met, Daughter of Power,” Dimitrios greeted her, his voice carrying both respect and a hint of something more—something she couldn’t quite place.

“Well met, King Dimitrios of the Dwarves,” Persia replied, keeping her voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.

The crowd held its breath as King Dimitrios stood before Persia, his gaze unwavering and intense. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, and she could feel the anticipation of everyone gathered, their eyes locked on the interaction. But there was something else—something ancient and powerful—stirring within her, a sensation she couldn’t quite name.

Without breaking eye contact, Dimitrios slowly bent his knee and bowed deeply before her, an act that sent a ripple of astonishment through the onlookers. It wasn’t every day that a king, especially one as proud and revered as Dimitrios, bowed to anyone. Persia’s breath caught in her throat as she instinctively mirrored his movement with a small, respectful nod, though her mind raced with questions.

As Dimitrios rose from his bow, he reached behind him, grasping the staff he carried with both hands. But as he held it out before him, something extraordinary happened—the staff began to transform. The wood and symbols carved into it seemed to dissolve, replaced by a dazzling light. The glow intensified, and when the light dimmed, what remained in his hands was not a staff, but a spear—its shaft made of a crystalline substance that shimmered like the clearest waters, and its blade a razor-sharp amethyst stone that pulsed with an inner light.

The weapon was breathtaking. The crystalline shaft caught the light in the water, refracting it into a spectrum of colors that danced across the sea floor. The amethyst blade was unlike anything Persia had ever seen—its color deep and mesmerizing, with veins of light running through it like streams of ancient power.

Dimitrios extended the spear toward Persia, holding it horizontally with reverence. “This,” he began, his voice resonating with a solemn tone, “is yours.”

Persia blinked, unable to comprehend his words. “Mine?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He nodded. “Yes. This is Statera, forged in the heart of the Crystal Caverns by the hands of the First Dwarf Smiths. It was yours in your previous life, when you were known by another name. You entrusted it to me before your rebirth, knowing that the time would come when you would need it again.”

Persia’s heart raced as she reached out to touch the spear, her fingers trembling. The moment her hand made contact with the crystalline surface, a surge of energy shot through her, as if the spear recognized her—like it was a part of her. Memories, or rather fragments of them, flashed in her mind: glimpses of battles fought long ago, faces she didn’t recognize yet felt deeply connected to, and a sense of power that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Dimitrios watched her with a knowing expression. “I have carried this spear through time and across many realms, safeguarding it until you were ready to reclaim it. My duty is now fulfilled.”

Persia looked up at him, her mind spinning. “But… why now? Why did I—why did she—entrust it to you?”

“There was a prophecy,” Dimitrios said, his voice lowering. “A prophecy that foretold your return and the need for this weapon in the trials to come. Your previous self knew that it was not yet time, that your rebirth would be necessary for the balance to be restored. The spear was meant to find its way back to you when you were ready to face your destiny.”

The word “destiny” hung in the water between them, heavy with meaning. Persia felt a mixture of fear and curiosity swell within her. “I don’t understand… What am I supposed to do with this?”

Dimitrios gave a small, almost sad smile. “That is something only you can discover. The spear is a part of you, and it will guide you when the time comes. But know this: the trials ahead will not be easy, and the choices you make will shape not only your fate but the fate of the entire universe.”

He bowed once more, this time to the spear itself, as if paying his final respects. “Statera,” he said softly, addressing the weapon by its name, “ I’ve returned you to your mistress. May you serve her well.”

With that, Dimitrios turned to leave, his small figure moving with a deliberate grace. He walked back toward the perimeter of the gathering, where the mystical creatures and beings parted to let him pass. As he reached the edge of the crowd, he paused, turning back to give Persia one last look—a look filled with ancient wisdom and unspoken understanding.

“I leave you now, Daughter of Power,” he said. “May you find the strength within yourself to face what is to come.”

Persia could only nod, her voice caught in her throat. Dimitrios gave her a final bow. With that, Dimitrios stepped into the shadows at the edge of the gathering, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. The sea creatures began to murmur again, but Persia remained still, her gaze locked on the spear in her hands. The weight of it was reassuring, yet it also carried with it a burden she had yet to fully comprehend.

She felt the eyes of her grandfathers on her, and when she turned to look at them, she found both Oceanus and Nereus watching her with expressions that mirrored the complexity of her emotions—pride, concern, and a shared recognition that something monumental had just begun.

The ceremony had come to an end, but for Persia, it was clear that this was only the beginning of a journey she had not anticipated. Holding the Statera, she felt a pulse of energy—a connection to something greater than herself, something ancient and powerful that had been waiting for her return.

As the crowd began to disperse, the magic of the dance still lingering in the air, Persia stood in silence, the weight of the spear grounding her as she tried to make sense of the revelation. She knew one thing for certain: her life had just changed irrevocably, and the path ahead would be anything but simple.

The sea had been renewed, balance restored—but for how long? And what trials awaited that would require the power of the spear?

Persia tightened her grip on the spear, a spark of determination igniting within her. Whatever was coming, she would be ready. She had to be.

“Welcome!!” Oceanus bellowed, his voice booming as he pulled Coetus into a warm embrace. A soft, joyful smile spread across his weathered face, the kind that spoke of countless years spent fostering familial bonds. “I’ve been waiting for all of you,” he continued, his eyes sparkling with genuine pleasure. He extended similar warmth to Phoebe and Leto, clasping their hands with a gentle firmness that radiated affection. His gaze then turned to Apollo and Artemis, offering them a smile filled with both recognition and invitation.

Leto, her own smile mirroring her uncle’s warmth, spoke up. “Uncle, I believe there hasn’t been any formal introduction. Please, allow me to introduce you to my children, officially.”

Oceanus let out a hearty chuckle, his hand coming up to ruffle Leto’s hair affectionately, a gesture that felt like a breeze stirring the surface of a calm sea. “You speak as if I don’t already know who your children are, my dear. Why such formality when we’re all family? Come now! Your aunt will have my head if I keep you waiting at the gates.”

Phoebe tilted her head slightly. “I did wonder why Tethys didn’t join you.”

“That’s because she’s been busy preparing your favorite dishes,” Oceanus replied with a conspiratorial smile, his voice dropping to a near whisper, as if revealing a well-kept secret. “Expect to be stuffed till you can’t take another bite. And I warn you, don’t expect any help from me.”

Coetus laughed heartily, the sound rich and resonant. “As if you’d ever go against Sister Tethys! We all know who’s really in charge here.”

Oceanus shot him a mock sheepish grin, his broad shoulders shrugging lightly in playful defeat as the two older men, along with Phoebe, walked ahead, their conversation already flowing effortlessly. Behind them, Artemis and Apollo trailed, their eyes wide with the barely concealed surprise that this welcoming warmth elicited.

Apollo leaned in to whisper to his mother, his voice carrying a note of hesitant curiosity. “Mama, is Lord Oceanus always so… genuine?”

Leto smiled gently. “Uncle is always genuine in his expressions and thoughts.” She turned her gaze on Apollo, her eyes softening as she reached out to pat his hand. Her touch was light but grounding,  “You’ve grown up among pretenses, son, where emotions are seen as weaknesses and power defines worth. Am I wrong?”

Apollo’s usually confident demeanor faltered, his golden eyes clouding as he absorbed his mother’s words. “No, Mama. You’re not wrong.” His voice was quieter now, almost reflective, as if he were examining the layers of truth she had just laid bare. The warmth of Oceanus’ welcome, so different from the cold formalities of Olympus, stirred something uneasy within him. The world he knew was one of masks and guarded hearts; this openness felt both foreign and inviting, a dangerous mix for a god raised to distrust vulnerability.

As they continued walking, Apollo grew silent, withdrawing into the labyrinth of his thoughts. Artemis noticed the change in her twin, her sharp eyes catching the subtle shift in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly as if burdened by unseen weights.

“Brother?” Artemis whispered, her voice laced with concern.

“Artemis… do you think I’ll ever be a good son to our mother?” Apollo’s voice was soft, tinged with uncertainty and a vulnerability he rarely showed. He kept his gaze forward, as if afraid to face the answer that might be waiting in his sister’s eyes.

Artemis stopped, her frown deepening as she studied him. The question, laden with years of unresolved tension and guilt, caught her off guard. “Are you saying this because of the debt…?”

Apollo’s head bowed slightly, the golden strands of his hair falling forward, casting shadows over his eyes. The conflict within him was palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “At first, it was mostly out of curiosity and obligation, but after…” His expression hardened, as if he were grappling with something dark and unyielding within himself. “I decided to make a genuine effort. The debt plays a part, but it’s not the only reason.”

Artemis’ frown softened into a look of understanding, though a spark of suspicion flickered in her eyes. She sensed there were deeper, unspoken reasons behind her brother’s words, reasons he wasn’t yet ready to reveal. But for now, she let it be. Patting his cheek with a reassuring smile, she urged, “Come on. Mama and the others have gone ahead. We need to catch up.”

The two hurried along the stone path, their sandals barely making a sound on the polished surface. They soon entered a large room divided into two distinct areas, each offering its own kind of welcome. To the right, the kitchen bustled with life. The air was thick with the comforting aroma of simmering stews and freshly baked bread, mingling with the sweet scent of jasmine incense. Two maids, their faces flushed with the heat of the fires, gossiped in low tones as they stirred the pots. In the center of the controlled chaos sat Tethys, her hands deftly grinding herbs into a fine paste, her movements sure and practiced. 

To the left was a softer, more intimate space. A large, plush carpet covered the floor, its intricate patterns faded but still beautiful. Surrounding a low round table was a soft beige mattress, and strewn around were pillows in shades of pale green and light blue, their colors soothing to the eye. The flickering light of wax candles cast a golden glow over everything, their flames dancing gently in the still air. A sheer white curtain separated the two areas, its delicate fabric billowing slightly with the movement of air, creating a sense of calm and serenity.

Oceanus led them to the carpeted area, his presence filling the room with an effortless authority that was both comforting and commanding. He gestured for them to sit, his tone easy and inviting. “I hope you don’t mind eating here. We can move to the dining room if you prefer.”

Coetus smirked. “Didn’t you just tell us not to be formal? Who’s showing formality now, huh?”

Oceanus raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and mock annoyance. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back, his voice light with banter. “I was asking the younger ones, not you.”

Coetus huffed, though the playful glint in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. Phoebe giggled at their exchange, a sound that seemed to lighten the air even further. Leto watched the interaction with a smile, while Apollo and Artemis exchanged a glance, both still adjusting to this easy, unguarded atmosphere.

Artemis replied politely, “There’s no need to move, Lord Oceanus. This setting is much more serene and homely than a formal dining room.”

Oceanus nodded, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “If you say so, dear.”

“Obviously she’ll say so,” came Tethys’ voice as she approached, her hands filled with terracotta plates. She balanced them with the grace of someone who had done this countless times. “Who would say otherwise when asked such a question? I told you, my lord, but would you listen? We should’ve used the dining room instead of the kitchen. They must be used to such formalities. Poor dears!”

Oceanus turned to his wife, his expression incredulous. “But… when do I not listen to you, my love?”

“In this instance, you didn’t!” Tethys retorted, though her tone was softened by the affectionate smile that curved her lips.

Phoebe chuckled, enjoying the banter between the old couple. “Tethys, I assure you, my grandchildren will have no trouble. My house is hardly a palace. If they can stay at my humble cottage, they can eat here just fine.” She turned to Artemis and Apollo, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry. “Right?”

Artemis offered a smile, while Apollo, ever the one to soothe and please, replied, “We’re comfortable, Lady Tethys. Please, don’t worry on our behalf.”

Tethys gave him a scrutinizing look, as if trying to gauge his sincerity, but eventually nodded. “If you say so, son,” she conceded, though there was still a note of concern in her voice. She turned her attention back to Oceanus. “Where are the kids? Have you sent a word to Zia? If I don’t remind her to eat, she’ll forget. What will I do with that girl?”

Oceanus reached out to gently caress her face, his touch filled with a tenderness that seemed almost sacred. “Yet she remembers to feed her own child,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Calm down, my love. Worry not for Zia. She’ll be fine. I trust the Venerable Mother to guide her.”

Tethys leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as she absorbed the comfort he offered. “I just worry. Out of all our children… Zia chose us.”

“She’ll be alright,” Oceanus repeated, his smile reassuring, a beacon of steadiness in the swirling sea of her emotions. “Now, what’s for dinner, love?”

Tethys chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “Let me bring the dishes,” she said, her voice lighter now as she moved to retrieve more bowls and plates.

As she busied herself, Coetus leaned over to Oceanus with a teasing smile. “How do you manage to calm her down so quickly, even at this advanced age?”

Before Oceanus could reply, Phoebe jabbed her elbow into Coetus’ ribs, her expression one of mock exasperation. “Perhaps with age comes experience? Maybe you should learn to speak as affectionately as he does. Your wife might just be pleased with you.”

Coetus winced, rubbing his ribs, though there was no real hurt behind his grimace. “Was that a suggestion, wife?”

Phoebe shot him a sharp look, her eyes narrowing in playful irritation, before turning to her older daughter. “Leto, your father is obtuse. I’m glad you didn’t inherit that.”

Leto chuckled, the sound soft and melodic. Artemis hid a smile behind her cup, her amusement visible in the way her eyes sparkled. Apollo was about to respond when he heard a familiar sound—the chiming of anklets, light and musical, a sound he was intimately familiar with. The moment stretched, his senses sharpening as he anticipated the arrival of the one whose presence was always impossible to ignore.

“—don’t be absurd, Medea!”

“You’re being unrealistic, Sia.”

Persia’s voice, laced with exasperation, preceded her entrance. She swept into the room with a huff, her movements quick and fluid, like the flicker of a flame in the wind. Without missing a beat, she leaned in to hug Oceanus, her affection as natural as breathing, before seating herself beside him. “Hey, Papou,” she greeted, her tone warm but tinged with the remnants of whatever had been vexing her.

She didn’t immediately notice Apollo, who was seated beside her, but he felt her presence acutely. Her scent—still the same addictive jasmine mingled with cinnamon—wrapped around him, triggering a visceral reaction he hadn’t expected. He inhaled sharply, the scent pulling him back into memories he had tried to bury, memories of the time they had spent together in his room at Delos — that now rose like ghosts in the flickering candlelight.

“Good tidings, sweethearts,” Oceanus greeted Medea, his voice filled with paternal affection as he patted her cheek. She smiled at him, her earlier frustration melting away as she took a seat beside Leto. Persia, meanwhile, leaned comfortably against Oceanus, her head resting against his broad shoulder as he kissed the top of her head. “How was your day?” he asked, his voice a soothing rumble.

“Tiring,” Persia admitted, her voice muffled slightly by her position, as she hid a yawn behind her hand.

“Oh? What were you two quarreling about?” Oceanus asked, his tone gentle but curious.

“Not a quarrel, Papou,” Medea corrected, her tone more measured now. “Just a difference of opinions.”

“About?” Leto inquired, her curiosity piqued.

“It started with a situation…” Medea hesitated, glancing at Persia for a moment before continuing. “Then it evolved into a discussion about the merits of marrying for love versus duty.”

Artemis, who had been sipping her drink, looked up in surprise. “You were discussing marriage?”

Persia, who had settled more comfortably against Oceanus, raised an eyebrow at Artemis’ reaction. “Why?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Did you think I’d join your hunters or something?”

“No,” Artemis replied, shaking her head. “Just surprised.”

“I do want to get married,” Persia confessed, her tone becoming more thoughtful. “But only to someone who has all the qualities I want in a partner.”

Medea, who had been following the conversation with a skeptical look, snorted. “And her list is unrealistic.”

“It is not!” Persia shot back, her tone defensive but not angry, more like someone defending a deeply held belief.

“It is!” Medea insisted, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing with stubborn determination. “Okay, then tell me, which male in this entire universe has all those qualities?”

Persia laughed, a bright, clear sound that seemed to lighten the mood. “You’re the granddaughter of that man!” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Medea faltered, her confident expression slipping for just a moment as she processed her sister’s words. Oceanus watched the exchange with an amused smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening as he enjoyed the back-and-forth between his granddaughters. He intervened before the debate could escalate further. “Alright, alright. Dinner is hardly the place for a debate. Where are the rest?”

Persia, now fully relaxed against Oceanus, replied, “Mama is coming. She went to check on Dario. I don’t know where Uncle Akhel is. Annabeth and Aunt Metis were in her room last I checked.”

Leto, still curious about the whereabouts of the family, asked, “Where are the rest of the family, Uncle?”

Oceanus leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful as he mentally tallied the members of their large family. “Many left by sunset,” he explained. “My daughters and sons returned to their homes. Nereus and Doris are dining with Uncle and Aunt. It’s rare for them to be together, so they’re making the most of it. Hades and his kids are with Jared for dinner, so it’s just us tonight.” He paused, thinking. “Oh! Rhea and her children left after lunch. Jason and Thalia went with them, Sia dear.”

“Yeah, I know. Something about Zeus insisting they go along. Annabeth was supposed to leave too, but she refused when…” Persia bit her lip, suddenly realizing that Apollo and Artemis were present, and hesitated, her eyes widening slightly. “Oops?”

The tension that followed her words was quickly broken by Apollo, who chuckled, the sound deep and rich, catching everyone by surprise. His laughter was a rare occurrence, especially in such a casual setting, and it drew the attention of everyone in the room. Artemis, who had been watching her brother closely, raised an eyebrow in disbelief, though a small, teasing smile played on her lips.

Recovering quickly, Apollo turned to Persia, his eyes gleaming with humor. “Let me guess, Athena tried to order and intimidate her?”

“Uh… yeah.” Persia was momentarily baffled by Apollo’s reaction. His nonchalance was unexpected, though she felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t overreacting as he sometimes did. She shifted slightly, becoming more aware of his presence beside her. The air between them felt charged, as if his earlier laughter had left vibrations that still lingered, tickling the edges of her awareness.

“Is that so?” Metis’s voice cut through the air as she entered the room, her presence commanding and serene. She moved with the grace of someone who knew her power and wore it lightly, taking a seat with the ease of one who belonged. Zyenthea and Annabeth followed closely, their movements more restrained but equally poised. Annabeth raised an eyebrow at the sight of Persia seated beside Apollo but noted how her friend leaned comfortably against Oceanus, seemingly oblivious to Apollo’s presence.

“You okay, Sia?” Annabeth asked, her voice tinged with concern as she took in her friend’s slightly tired expression.

“Hmm… yeah. Just tired. Nothing to worry about,” Persia replied, her voice low and slightly muffled by her position.

“You sure?” Annabeth pressed, her gaze sharpening, not entirely convinced by Persia’s nonchalant response.

“Yes, wise girl. Stop overanalyzing everything. I’m okay,” Persia insisted, though a small smile tugged at her lips, softening her words.

Annabeth met her gaze for a long moment, then finally nodded, though the worry in her eyes didn’t entirely fade as she took a seat.

“So you were saying, Apollo?” Metis redirected the conversation with a slight smile, her eyes betraying her curiosity. “Athena is always like this? So rude and inconsiderate of others’ feelings and choices?”

“Um… yes, my lady,” Apollo replied, his voice respectful but firm. There was a slight edge to his tone, a hint of the frustration that came from being reminded of his sister’s manipulations.

Metis didn’t reply immediately, her expression thoughtful as she processed his words. The silence was broken by Tethys, who appeared, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern. “That son of yours will face my wrath today, my lord,” she declared, her tone carrying the weight of a mother’s well-founded exasperation.

Oceanus sighed, his patience showing through once more. “Akhel will be here, Tethys. Come on, take a seat.”

As if on cue, a tall figure strode into the room, his movements purposeful and smooth. “I’m here, Tatà,” Akhel called out, his voice warm as he offered his mother a sheepish smile. “And look who I found.” He gestured to the doorway, where a slender woman stood, her posture both graceful and slightly hesitant.

“Hello, Uncle,” Astoria greeted softly, her voice as delicate as the first touch of morning light on a dewy meadow. She offered a small smile, her eyes flicking briefly to the other occupants of the room before settling back on Oceanus.

“Hello, Aster dear,” Oceanus replied, his smile deepening with genuine affection. “Why are you standing? Take a seat.” His tone was gentle, but there was a hint of authority in his words, the kind that came naturally to a patriarch who had spent centuries ensuring the comfort of those he loved.

Astoria moved gracefully to the seat beside Zyenthea, her movements as fluid as water. Akhel, however, paused beside his sister, crouching down to whisper in her ear, his tone light but insistent. “Switch seats, please.”

Zyenthea, who had been watching her brother with a knowing look, simply shook her head. “No,” she whispered back, her tone firm, though there was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she noted the curious looks from around the table.

“Sister, I’m your older brother,” Akhel reminded her, though his tone was more pleading than commanding.

Zyenthea responded with a sweet smile, the kind that only siblings would understand, before gently but firmly pushing him toward the only available seat. Akhel sighed, accepting his fate with a huff as he took his place, casting a mock glare at his sister.

Tethys surveyed the gathering with a mixture of satisfaction and mild irritation. “Now that everyone has finally decided to grace us with their presence, can we start?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she directed the question pointedly at Akhel.

Akhel, not one to miss the pointed tone, raised his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “I’m sorry, Mama,” he apologized, holding his ears in a playful gesture that belied his age. Tethys tried to maintain her stern expression, but the warmth in her son’s smile melted her resolve, and she soon found herself returning the smile, albeit grudgingly.

“Yes, let’s start,” Oceanus interjected, his deep voice bringing the room’s attention back to the table. “Please, everyone, serve yourselves,” he added, gesturing to the array of dishes that Tethys had so lovingly prepared.

As the family settled into the soft cushions around the low table, the air filled with the clinking of plates and the rustling of fabric. The dishes, lovingly prepared by Tethys, were a feast for the senses—succulent meats roasted to perfection, aromatic stews simmering with herbs, and fresh bread still warm from the oven. Everyone began to serve themselves, the bowls and platters passing from hand to hand in a gentle, unhurried rhythm.

The initial silence was comfortable, filled with the sounds of contentment as each person tasted the rich flavors of the meal. Persia, still leaning slightly against Oceanus, had allowed herself to relax, her earlier tension easing as the conversation picked up once more. The earlier conversation about marriage still lingered in the air, a thread that was picked up again by Medea as she dabbed the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin.

"So, Sia," Medea began, her voice tinged with curiosity as she leaned forward slightly, "do you really believe loyalty and trust are more important than love when it comes to marriage?"

Persia looked up, her eyes meeting Medea's. She could sense the gentle challenge in her cousin’s tone, but there was no hesitation in her reply. "Yes, I do," she said softly, yet with a quiet strength that underlined her words. "Love is beautiful, but it can be fleeting. Loyalty and trust—they're the things that keep love alive, even when the initial passion fades. I'd rather have a partner I can rely on, someone who will stand by me through everything."

Medea, never one to shy away from a challenge, leaned forward slightly, her voice laced with both curiosity and a touch of skepticism. “But Sia, loyal men are rare—especially in our world.” She glanced around the room as if to emphasize her point, her eyes landing momentarily on Apollo before returning to her sister. “We all know that infidelity is common, almost expected in many marriages.”

Persia’s gaze remained steady, a hint of determination flashing in her eyes. "I know it’s rare, Medea." she admitted, her voice unwavering. “ … but it’s not something I’m willing to compromise on. If I’m to offer my loyalty and trust to someone, I expect the same in return. If a man cannot honor that, then he is not worthy to be my husband.”

The room seemed to quiet for a moment, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Annabeth, who had been listening with a thoughtful expression, finally spoke, her voice carrying that familiar tone of insight that Persia had come to appreciate. “Medea, Sia’s fatal flaw is loyalty. It is her greatest strength as well as her most vulnerable weakness. She has always found it hard to understand how someone could be disloyal because it’s so against her nature.” She said gently, though there was no judgment in her tone—only understanding. 

Medea’s eyes widened, before she nodded thoughtfully. Persia’s lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. "Annabeth’s right, Medea," she replied softly, a note of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "To me, disloyalty is the same as betrayal. I could never be with someone who could betray me like that. I’d rather be alone than with someone I couldn’t trust. Trust and loyalty are very important for me."

The conviction in her voice made Apollo glance up from his meal, his expression thoughtful. He had seen this unwavering loyalty in Persia before, and it was one of the many qualities that drew him to her, though he would never admit it openly—not yet. Her words stirred something within him, a mix of admiration and an unbidden protectiveness that simmered beneath the surface. He quickly masked his reaction, though a flicker of something deeper remained in his eyes.

Oceanus, sensing the tension that had begun to build in the room, chuckled, his deep voice rippling through the air like a gentle wave. "There’s plenty of time for Persia to think about marriage. No need to rush into decisions that will shape the rest of her life."

Tethys leaned forward with a curious glint in her eye. “Speaking of which, my lord, what happened to those marriage proposals you received on Persia’s behalf? You’ve been rather quiet about them.”

Persia, who had been taking a sip of her drink, nearly choked at her grandmother’s words. Her wide eyes snapped to Oceanus, disbelief and a hint of panic evident on her face. "Marriage proposals? What marriage proposals?"

Zyenthea’s spoon paused mid-air, her own expression one of surprise. "What marriage proposals?" she echoed, her voice laced with both curiosity and a protective edge.

Apollo’s reaction was more subtle, but no less intense. A flash of surprise crossed his features, quickly followed by a tightening of his jaw. The thought of Persia being courted by others was unexpectedly irritating, though he forced himself to remain outwardly composed.

Oceanus, sensing the rising tension from all sides, quickly raised a hand, palm outward, as if to ward off any growing concerns. "Now, now, there’s no need to worry," he said with a reassuring smile. "Yes, a few proposals were sent our way, but I rejected all of them. While Persia has indeed been presented in society through the customary ceremonies, we have no intention of marrying her off anytime soon. She’s far too young to be burdened with such decisions, and besides," he added with a wink in Persia’s direction, "we know her standards are far too high for just anyone."

Persia let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, her shoulders relaxing as relief washed over her. The tension in the room eased with her sigh, the weight of the conversation lifting as Oceanus’ words settled over them.

Zyenthea, who had been watching her daughter closely, gave a small nod of approval, although her eyes lingered on Oceanus, silently thanking him for handling the situation with such care. Oceanus gave her a reassuring smile.

Apollo felt the tension ease from his shoulders as Oceanus reassured everyone that the marriage proposals had been dismissed. Yet, the thought of them lingered, a bitter taste that refused to fade entirely. He shifted slightly in his seat, aware of the quiet yet unmistakable warmth radiating from Persia, who was sitting close enough that her arm occasionally brushed against his.

Unable to resist, he glanced sideways at her. Persia, sensing his gaze, turned her head just enough for their eyes to meet. The proximity made the moment feel electric, as if the very air between them had come alive. For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow, and in the depths of her eyes, Apollo saw a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or the same unease that stirred within him.

The connection was brief, but it was enough to send a small, involuntary thrill through him. Persia quickly looked down, her cheeks flushing slightly as she focused intently on her food, suddenly aware of how closely everyone seemed to be watching her. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention in such a personal way, and the vulnerability of it made her skin prickle with a mix of discomfort and something she couldn’t quite name. However, her sudden nervousness showed when her hand wasn’t as steady as she’d like. Apollo, noticing this, felt a strange mix of satisfaction and curiosity settle in the pit of his stomach.

They both returned to their meals, the conversation around them continuing, but the charged silence between them spoke volumes. The subtle, unspoken exchange had left a lingering tension—one neither of them was quite ready to confront.

"Well, I’m glad that’s settled," Annabeth remarked, breaking the silence with her usual pragmatism. She gave Persia a reassuring smile. "And for what it’s worth, Persia, I think you’re right to hold out for someone who can match your loyalty. It’s rare, but it’s worth it."

Persia returned the smile, a little more at ease now. "Thanks, Annabeth," she replied, grateful for her friend’s unwavering support. With that, the conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics, the earlier tension dissolving into the background as laughter and casual banter filled the room once more. 

As the remnants of the meal were cleared away, the conversation quieted, and an air of anticipation filled the room. Leto, with a graceful smile, reached for a small, ornately decorated box she had brought with her. The flickering candlelight danced across its surface, illuminating the delicate carvings of ancient symbols and swirling patterns.

“It is customary,” Leto began, her voice warm, “to present gifts to the younger members of the family when they join us for an alliance dinner for the first time.” Her eyes softened as they fell upon Persia, a touch of nostalgia coloring her expression. “These anklets were given to me by Lord Time himself when I was but a child. They have accompanied me through many years and many journeys. Now, dear heart, I wish for you to have them.”

She opened the box, revealing a pair of anklets nestled within, each adorned with tiny pearls and delicate bells. The pearls gleamed softly, as if touched by the very essence of the moon, and the bells—small and unassuming—promised a melody as light as the wind’s whisper.

Persia’s breath caught as she looked down at the anklets. “These are... beautiful,” Persia murmured, her voice catching slightly as she accepted the gift with reverent hands. “Thank you, Leto.”

“They will serve you well, I think,” Leto said with a knowing smile. “May they bring you strength and protect you, as they did for me.”

As Persia carefully examined the anklets, the bells chimed softly, their delicate sound weaving through the quiet room. Zyenthea, who had been watching the exchange with a smile, stepped forward next, her gaze sweeping across the room before resting on Artemis and Apollo. She reached into her robe and withdrew two gleaming daggers, their craftsmanship flawless and intricate. The hilts were carved with scenes from ancient myths, and the blades glinted sharply in the light.

“These,” Zyenthea said, her voice resonating, “are for you, Artemis.” She extended the daggers toward her, and Artemis accepted them with the practiced ease of a huntress who recognized the value of a finely crafted weapon. “May they strike true, wherever your aim leads you.”

Artemis studied the daggers, her fingers tracing the carved hilts, and nodded with a satisfied smile. “Thank you, Lady Zyenthea. They are perfect.”

Zyenthea then turned to Apollo, her expression shifting to one of thoughtful deliberation as she presented him with a single arrow. It appeared simple at first glance, but as Apollo took it, he noticed the almost invisible runes that spiraled down its length, humming with a quiet, restrained power.

“And for you, Apollo,” she continued, her voice steady, “this arrow has the power to rain uncountable weapons down upon your enemies. Use it wisely.”

Apollo accepted the arrow with a slight bow of his head, feeling the pulse of magic within the wood. “I will wield it wisely,” he replied, his tone respectful, though his gaze flickered briefly towards Persia, the charged atmosphere between them simmering just beneath the surface.

The moment was interrupted by the sudden, hurried entrance of a servant. His appearance broke the warm relaxed atmosphere, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“My lord,” the servant said, bowing deeply to Oceanus, his voice trembling with urgency. “A messenger has arrived from the court of Lord Poseidon, seeking Princess Persia.”

The words sent a ripple through the room, the comfortable warmth from moments ago replaced by a sharp tension. Persia’s heart tightened in her chest, her thoughts racing as she set the anklets aside, the soft chime of the bells almost lost in the rush of worry that filled her.

“Is something wrong?” Persia asked, her voice steady but tinged with concern as she looked up at the servant.

The servant hesitated, clearly uneasy with the weight of the message he bore. “Princess Rhode has sent an urgent missive for you, my lady,” he said, his tone low and serious. “The messenger did not reveal the details, but the urgency suggests it is of great importance.”

Persia’s heart quickened as the servant’s words sank in. She rose to her feet in one swift motion, her anxiety manifesting in the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. The room, once warm and familiar, now seemed to close in around her as the weight of the unknown pressed heavily on her chest. “I must see what this is about,” she said, her voice steady but urgent, as she turned and began to move purposefully toward the door.

Just as she moved to leave, Apollo rose smoothly from his seat beside her. The movement was so fluid, so controlled, that it almost seemed to slow time itself. He stepped closer, not yet touching her, but his presence was unmistakable—solid and reassuring in a way that both comforted and unsettled her.

“I will accompany you, Princess,” Apollo said, his voice calm but carrying a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore. The way he addressed her—formally, yet with an undercurrent of something more—sent a shiver down her spine. “In case a healer is needed.”

Persia froze mid-step, the unexpectedness of his offer pulling her out of her swirling thoughts. She turned to face him fully, now acutely aware of how close they stood. The air between them seemed to hum with a charged energy, an unspoken connection that neither could ignore. Her eyes searched his, trying to find her footing amidst the sudden swirl of feelings that his proximity stirred within her. The way he looked at her—steady, unyielding, yet gentle—made her heart flutter in a way that both confused and intrigued her.

“There are healers present, Lord Apollo,” Persia replied, her voice softer now, almost reluctant as she tried to steady herself against the storm of emotions. She wanted to refuse, to assert her independence, but the connection she felt in his gaze made her words falter. “You are our guest; I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

Apollo didn’t move, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made the room around them fade into the background. There was something in his eyes—a depth, a knowing—that made Persia feel as though he could see right through her carefully constructed walls. It was as if he understood the weight she bore, the responsibility that constantly pressed down on her, and he was offering to help carry it. His words, though practical, felt layered with something more, something that made her heart beat a little faster.

“Do those healers understand Lord Poseidon's physic as I do?” Apollo asked, his voice low, almost a murmur meant only for her. His tone was calm, but there was a firmness in it that left little room for argument. “And with Lord Niklaus not here, who better than I to assist? Besides,” he added, his voice softening just a touch, “I wouldn’t consider it trouble, Princess.”

Persia’s breath hitched slightly at his words, her mind torn between the need to maintain her independence and the undeniable sense of relief his offer brought. The logical part of her knew he was right—he was an exemplary healer, and his knowledge of the gods and their ways far surpassed that of any healer in her father's palace. But there was another part of her, a part she wasn’t quite ready to confront, that was drawn to his presence.

She bit her lip, glancing toward the door, the urgency of the situation warring with the swirl of emotions that Apollo’s presence evoked in her. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that made her feel both vulnerable and strangely secure all at once. She wanted to say no, to handle the situation on her own, but the weight of his gaze—the quiet strength in his offer—made her hesitate.

Before she could respond, Oceanus stepped forward, his calm, authoritative voice cutting through the tension like a cool breeze. “Darling,” he said gently, his tone carrying the wisdom of centuries, “take Apollo with you. His skills as a healer are unparalleled, and if there is trouble, he will be able to assist in ways that others cannot. The psyche of a god is different from that of those of the sea. You know this.”

Persia looked up at her grandfather, the steady reassurance in his eyes offering her the guidance she needed. She then glanced back at Apollo, who remained close, his presence solid and unwavering. The reluctance still lingered, but the logic in Oceanus’ words—and the unspoken connection she felt with Apollo—finally tipped the scales.

She exhaled slowly, nodding her head in acquiescence. “Very well,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a note of resignation but also a trace of something else—something almost like anticipation. “Lord Apollo, you may accompany me.”

A subtle smile touched Apollo’s lips, brief and almost imperceptible, but it was enough to send another ripple of that strange, electric feeling through her. He inclined his head in acknowledgment, his voice soft yet resolute as he replied, “Lead the way, Princess.”

The tension in Poseidon’s palace was palpable the moment Persia and Apollo stepped through the grand entrance. The usual tranquility had been replaced by an undercurrent of anxiety, mirrored in the hurried steps of the servants and the hushed, urgent whispers that echoed through the marble corridors. Despite the growing unease, Persia moved with practiced ease, her stride purposeful, though there was a tightness to her posture that betrayed the tension coiled within her.

Apollo matched her pace, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a quiet intensity. 

The corridors grew quieter, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional whisper. Finally, they approached Poseidon's private chambers, the large double doors guarded by two sentinels who stepped aside at the sight of Persia, their expressions tense but respectful. As the doors swung open, Persia’s gaze immediately landed on Rhode, who stood just inside the entrance. The usually quiet princess looked pale and frail, her posture slumped. Her eyes were wide with worry, and she wrung her hands together as if trying to ward off a cold that only she could feel.

The moment Rhode saw Persia, a visible wave of relief washed over her, her tense expression softening slightly. “Thank the spirits of the Sea, you’re here, Persia,” Rhode whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and exhaustion.

Persia wasted no time, stepping closer to Rhode and gently taking her arm to steer her further into the chamber. Her grip was firm, but her touch was gentle, a silent offering of support.

 “What happened?” Persia asked, her voice calm and steady, although her eyes betrayed her concern as they flicked toward the closed doors leading to Poseidon’s inner sanctum.

Rhode glanced toward the doors as well, her expression filled with frustration and helplessness. “The healers... they won’t let anyone in. I—I don’t know what’s happened. I was in my room resting when I was summoned. They won’t tell me anything, and I haven’t been able to see him.”

Persia’s brow furrowed, but her expression remained composed as she listened. “It’s alright,” she murmured, guiding Rhode closer to the doors. “I’m here now. We’ll find out what’s going on.”

She could feel the worry rolling off Rhode in waves, and it took all her composure to keep her own anxiety in check.

Persia’s grip on Rhode’s hand tightened briefly—a small gesture of reassurance—before she turned her attention back to the heavy doors. Without hesitation, she pushed them open, the ancient wood creaking as if protesting the intrusion. The doors groaned as they swung inward, revealing a room bathed in an eerie, subdued light. 

The lead healer, a distinguished merman with a silver beard and wise eyes, looked up sharply at the sound of the doors opening. His initial expression of surprise softened into respect when he saw Persia and, behind her, Apollo.

“Princess,” the healer greeted, his tone deferential as he dipped his head. He glanced warily at Apollo, recognizing the god’s imposing presence. “Lord Apollo. We weren’t informed of your arrival.”

Persia didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze had already moved past the healer to the figure lying on the massive bed—her father. His powerful presence diminished to something fragile and unnerving. The air around him seemed to shimmer with a faint, unnatural energy, something Persia couldn’t quite place but which made her skin prickle.

“What’s happened?” Persia asked, her voice steady, though her throat tightened with the unspoken fear she kept hidden beneath her composed exterior.  A flash of that dreaded memory stirred within the confines of her mind, but she stamped it down. Taking a shuddering breath, her gaze remained still at her father's motionless form. 

Rhode hovered close by, her worry palpable in the tight grip she had on the edge of the door.

The healer hesitated, casting a concerned glance back at the bed before answering.  “Your Grace, The King’s spirit… it’s undergoing a strange phenomenon. We’ve never seen anything like it before. His power, it’s—shifting. Unstable. We’ve tried to stabilize him, but nothing works. We’re at a loss, Princess.”

Apollo stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he approached the bed. Without a word, he placed his hand over Poseidon’s chest, his fingers barely grazing the god’s skin, as he let his senses attune to the strange energy swirling within Poseidon. Closing his eyes, Apollo let his own energy flow through him, seeking out the disturbance within Poseidon’s spirit.

Persia watched him closely, her breath hitching imperceptibly as she saw Apollo’s brow furrowed in concentration.

While Apollo focused on his task, Persia turned to Rhode, her voice softening slightly as she asked, “Where are Triton and Kymopoleia? They should be here.”

Rhode shook her head, her expression fraught with worry. “Triton isn’t home. He left for a diplomatic mission five days ago. As for Kymopoleia… she hasn’t stayed here since Amphitrite was arrested. I don’t think she’s been back to the palace in months.”

Persia nodded slowly, processing the information. Her gaze returned to Apollo, whose frown had deepened, lines of concentration etched across his normally composed features. She moved closer to him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what he might be discovering.

Apollo remained focused, his hand still resting lightly on Poseidon’s chest as he felt for the underlying disturbances within the god’s essence. His silence was heavy with meaning, the quiet between them charged with the weight of what was left unsaid. Persia’s heart beated a little faster as she waited, the stillness around them amplifying every small sound—the soft rustle of the healers, the distant murmur of the sea, the faintest shift in Apollo’s expression.

Finally, Apollo opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Persia’s with an intensity that made her breath catch. “This isn’t natural,” he said quietly, his voice so soft that only she and Rhode could hear. “Something—or someone—has tampered with his essence. It’s elusive. We need to act quickly before it worsens.”

“His essence?” Persia echoed, the words almost catching in her throat. A wave of disbelief washed over her, momentarily breaking through the composure she usually maintained so effortlessly. The very idea of someone tampering with a god’s essence—her father’s essence—was as unsettling as it was horrifying.

Beside her, Rhode gasped softly, her hand instinctively covering her mouth. The color drained from her already pale face as she tried to process what Apollo had just revealed. “Who would do something like this?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And how could anyone even have the power to tamper with Father’s essence? And why?”

Persia’s brows knitted together as she forced herself to focus, her mind already trying to piece together the implications of this revelation. “We’ll figure it out,” she murmured, though her tone was more decisive than reassuring. She turned to the healer, who still lingered nearby, his face etched with concern. “Keep a close watch on him. We’ll find a way to fix this.”

The healer nodded, a mix of respect and worry in his eyes. “Of course, Princess.”

With a final glance at her father’s still form, Persia led Apollo and Rhode out of the inner chamber. The heavy door closed behind them with a soft thud, sealing off the tense atmosphere of the room. In the outer chamber, the air was cooler, lighter, but the tension remained, hanging over them like an unspoken question.

As they stepped into the quieter space, Persia turned to Apollo, her gaze searching his as she asked, “What do you suggest, Lord Apollo?” Her voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of urgency that she couldn’t fully mask. That she sought his counsel so directly—without hesitation or doubt—caught Apollo by surprise. He was used to being relied upon for his knowledge, but the trust she placed in him so openly stirred something deeper.

He studied her for a moment, the intensity in her eyes, the subtle way her shoulders held their tension, and felt a surge of something he couldn’t quite name—admiration, perhaps, or a sense of connection. He nodded, gathering his thoughts. “An extraction isn’t necessary,” he began, his tone measured as he considered the situation. “But someone is interfering with his essence, trying to weaken or drain it. However,” he added, his brow furrowing in thought, “whoever is doing this lacks the skill required. It’s as if they’re attempting something far beyond their understanding.”

Persia absorbed his words with a thoughtful nod, while Rhode stood silently by, her expression growing even more troubled. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her, and Persia noticed how Rhode’s shoulders drooped, her earlier strength giving way to exhaustion.

“Adelphē,” Persia said softly, turning to her half-sister with concern in her eyes, “would you like to rest? You’ve been through so much already.”

Rhode hesitated, the conflict evident in her eyes. She felt weak—there was no denying that—but the thought of leaving her father’s side gnawed at her. Finally, she shook her head, her voice resolute though tinged with weariness. “No, Persia. I’ll stay. I need to be here, with Father.”

A small, tender smile softened Persia’s features, though concern still lingered in her gaze. “Very well,” she said gently, understanding Rhode’s need to stay close. “But please, don’t overexert yourself. You’re not fully healed yet.”

Rhode gave her a faint smile, reaching out to gently pat Persia’s cheek—a gesture filled with affection and quiet strength. “I’ll be careful,” she promised before turning to re-enter the inner chamber, her steps slower but steady.

As the door closed behind Rhode, Apollo watched her go, a flicker of respect glinting in his eyes. “She’s strong,” he observed quietly, “After everything she’s endured, she still stands firm.”

“Yes,” Persia agreed, her gaze lingering on the closed door. Her voice softened as she added, “She’s been through more than most can imagine.”

Persia turned and gestured to a nearby maid, who approached quickly. “Summon Andrea at once,” she instructed. The maid nodded and hurried away to carry out the task. Persia then looked back at Apollo, meeting his gaze with that same steady determination. “If you wish to continue helping, Lord Apollo, I’d be grateful.”

Apollo inclined his head, his expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t mind helping, Princess,” he said, though the words felt like an understatement. There was something about the way she carried herself, the quiet strength she exuded even in the face of such uncertainty, that made him want to offer more than just his knowledge—though he wasn’t sure what that ‘more’ might be.

Persia led the way to a small, secluded seating area just beyond the outer chamber, separated by a shimmering curtain of silver threads that swayed gently as they passed through. The space was intimate, a quiet retreat from the tension outside. They both settled into the cushioned seats, the atmosphere between them thick with unspoken thoughts.

Apollo studied her profile for a moment, noting the way she seemed both composed and deeply reflective, as if a thousand thoughts were running through her mind. “Do you suspect anyone?” he asked, breaking the silence with a quiet, probing question.

Persia’s gaze shifted to the intricate patterns embroidered on the cushion beside her, her fingers tracing the design absently as she considered her answer. “There are several possibilities,” she began, her tone careful. “If Amphitrite still held her powers, she would be the prime suspect. But I… I took them away.”

Apollo’s body tensed slightly at the reminder of what he had witnessed at the court—the raw display of power, the decisive way she had stripped Amphitrite of her abilities. The memory was still fresh, and though he was a god, accustomed to power and its many forms, something about Persia’s actions had unsettled him. He hesitated before speaking, choosing his words carefully. “Could you do that to anyone?” he asked, the question heavy with implications he couldn’t fully voice.

Persia turned her gaze to him, her eyes meeting his with a depth that made his breath catch slightly. There was something in her expression—an understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight of her abilities—that made him feel as though she could see right through his guarded exterior. “I could,” she said slowly, the words measured, “but the real question is whether I would.” She paused, as if weighing something within herself before continuing. “There’s always a price to power, Lord Apollo. And every time it’s used, that price must be paid. I was fortunate that Amphitrite wasn’t a powerful being… otherwise, the cost would have been far greater.”

Apollo’s curiosity deepened, the analytical part of his mind considering the implications of what she was saying.. “What was the price?” he asked softly, more out of a desire to understand her than anything else.

Before Persia could answer, the curtain parted, and Andrea, her handmaiden, stepped into the room. The moment between Persia and Apollo broke as Persia’s attention shifted to Andrea, who approached with the quiet efficiency of someone accustomed to handling delicate matters.

“Andrea,” Persia said, her voice returning to its usual calm authority, “please look after Rhode’s children until she is free.”

Andrea nodded, her expression serious as she took in the gravity of the situation. “Of course, my lady,” she replied, bowing slightly before leaving to carry out her duties.

Apollo noticed the way Persia’s gaze lingered on Andrea’s departing figure, the subtle tension in her posture suggesting that she was relieved by the interruption. He realized then that she had been reluctant to answer his question, that there were layers to her powers—and the consequences of using them—that she wasn’t ready to share. Respecting her unspoken boundary, he decided to let the matter rest, at least for now.

Instead, he shifted the conversation to something more immediate. “Do you have any suspicions about who might be behind this?” he asked, his tone more neutral, though the question was no less important.

Persia hesitated, her fingers resuming their tracing of the cushion’s embroidery as she gathered her thoughts. “Kymopoleia,” she said finally, the name slipping out with a heaviness that hinted at deeper wounds.

Apollo’s brow furrowed slightly. “Kymopoleia? But she’s your half-sister, Princess… Poseidon’s daughter. What motive could she have?”

Persia’s expression darkened, her thoughts returning to the complicated web of family loyalties and betrayals that had long entangled her life. “Kymopoleia was always Amphitrite’s favorite,” she said quietly, “She aligns more with her mother than with Father. And she… she has little control over her emotions or her powers. She’s unstable, volatile.”

She didn’t mention the darker memory that lurked just beneath the surface—the time Kymopoleia had tried to end her life in the future. Apollo studied her carefully, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying, but he chose not to press further. 

The low hum of quiet conversation in the outer chamber was suddenly interrupted by the muffled sounds of a commotion outside the door. Persia’s senses sharpened instantly, her gaze snapping toward the entrance as the disturbance grew louder. The normally serene palace atmosphere had been replaced by something more agitated, unsettling the calm that Persia and Apollo had so carefully maintained.

A young servant, clearly flustered, appeared in the doorway, his breaths coming in quick, uneven bursts. He hesitated for a moment, glancing between Persia and Apollo, before addressing the princess with a slight bow.

“Princess,” he began, his voice trembling slightly, “there’s a man outside the chamber. He’s insisting on seeing you. It seems urgent.” 

Persia’s brow furrowed just slightly, a subtle sign of concern. It wasn’t common for an unknown man to seek her out directly, especially with such urgency. She glanced at Apollo, who observed her with a quiet, unreadable expression, his presence steady and reassuring in its own way.

“Excuse me, Lord Apollo,” she said softly, the formal address serving as a subtle reminder of the roles they each played. “I’ll see what this is about.”

Apollo nodded, his gaze following her as she moved toward the doorway, his concern masked by his usual composed demeanor. “Of course, Princess,” he replied.

Persia slipped through the curtain, the silken threads brushing against her as she stepped into the corridor. The servant quickly moved aside, bowing his head as she passed. Standing in the dim light of the hallway was Euryale, a man she recognized immediately. He belonged to the personal guards of her grandfather. His normally calm and composed expression was tight with unease, his hands clasped nervously before him.

“Euryale,” Persia greeted, her voice steady but tinged with the slightest hint of concern. “What brings you here?”

“Princess,” Euryale replied, bowing deeply, his voice low and urgent. “I apologize for the disturbance, but there is something you must know. A disturbance has been reported at the outskirts of your father’s territory. I saw a figure there—someone who didn’t belong.”

Persia’s expression barely shifted, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—an acknowledgment of the seriousness of the situation. “A figure?” she repeated, her tone measured. “What did you see?”

Euryale glanced around, ensuring they were not overheard before speaking again. “Someone moving through the waters there, as if they were searching for something—or someone. And, the traces of magic found there were unsettling, Princess.”

Persia’s mind raced, the implications of his words clear. Whoever it was had ventured boldly into Poseidon’s territory, and with everything else happening, she couldn’t afford to leave this unchecked.

“Thank you, Euryale,” Persia said, her voice quiet but firm. “I’ll investigate this immediately. Please, keep this information to yourself.”

Euryale bowed again, relief evident in the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. “As you wish, Princess.”

As Euryale retreated down the hallway, Persia turned back toward the chamber, her thoughts already focused on the task ahead. She re-entered the room with the same fluid grace, her eyes immediately finding Apollo.

“Lord Apollo,” Persia began, her voice carrying a quiet resolve. “There’s been a disturbance at the outskirts of my father’s territory. I need to investigate it. It may be connected to what’s happening here.”

Apollo turned to face her fully, a subtle crease forming between his brows. “Shall I accompany you, Princess?” he offered, his tone even, though there was a note of concern beneath the surface — she wondered whether it was just for the sake of the friendship between their mothers.

Persia’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though her eyes remained serious. “Thank you, Lord Apollo, but I can handle this. I need you to stay here with my father. If anything changes, I trust you to respond quickly.”

Apollo hesitated, the urge to join her conflicting with the logic of her request. Finally, he nodded, though the concern in his eyes hadn’t lessened. “As you wish, Princess,” he replied, his voice a shade quieter, almost as if he were speaking only to her.

The quiet tension in the room was palpable as Poseidon’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, his senses gradually returning after the ordeal that had left him weakened and disoriented. He felt the weight of his godly essence, once so powerful and steady, now flickering like a candle in a strong wind. The familiar strength he had always commanded seemed elusive, and it unsettled him deeply.

Apollo observed the god’s movements with a practiced eye. He could see the flicker of confusion in Poseidon’s gaze as he took in his surroundings, followed by the dawning awareness of where he was—and more importantly, what might have happened.

“Poseidon,” Apollo said gently, his voice low but clear in the stillness of the chamber. “Be calm.”

Poseidon’s brows knitted together as he attempted to sit up, though his arms trembled with the effort. Apollo instinctively moved to support him, but Poseidon raised a hand, signaling that he could manage on his own. The god’s eyes sought Apollo’s golden gaze with a mix of authority and vulnerability.

“What has happened to me?” Poseidon asked, his voice rough but commanding, though it lacked its usual resonance. He could feel the weakness in his own voice, the unfamiliar frailty that made him grit his teeth in frustration.

Apollo hesitated briefly, his gaze thoughtful as he observed him with a critical eye. 

“There has been an interference with your essence,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “Someone—or something—was attempting to drain or weaken your essence. Persia is currently investigating the source of this disturbance.”

Poseidon’s eyes flashed with concern at the mention of his daughter. “Persia,” he murmured, his voice softening. He struggled against the exhaustion that pulled at him, focusing instead on what mattered most. 

The god called for a servant, his voice regaining a fraction of its usual strength. The door to the chamber opened swiftly, and a young attendant entered, bowing deeply before approaching the bed, his eyes carefully lowered.

“Tell me where my children are,” Poseidon demanded, the quiet authority in his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

The servant, nervous under the weight of the god’s gaze, began to report. “Princess Rhode is resting in the outer chamber, my lord. She has been vigilant in her care for you during your illness.” He paused, his eyes flickering up briefly before continuing, “Crown Prince Triton is still on his mission and has not yet returned.”

Poseidon’s expression softened slightly at the mention of Rhode, though there was a faint line of worry at the corner of his mouth. “And Persia?” he prompted, sensing that there was more the servant had yet to reveal.

The servant hesitated, his gaze darting to Apollo as if seeking some unspoken guidance. “Princess Persia…” he began slowly, clearly choosing his words with great care, “is returning to the palace with the individual responsible for your condition.”

Poseidon’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening. “Who is this person?” he asked, his voice edged with the sharpness of a god used to receiving answers.

The servant hesitated again, the silence stretching uncomfortably before he finally spoke. “I… I cannot say, my lord. Princess Persia has ordered us to say nothing about it until she returns.”

Poseidon’s gaze lingered on the servant, a flicker of something deeper passing through his eyes—resignation, perhaps, or a resigned understanding of the situation’s complexity. He had lived long enough to know when to press and when to wait, though it didn’t make the waiting any easier.

“Very well,” Poseidon finally said, his voice quieter now, carrying the weight of a god who was not only a ruler but a father. “Inform me the moment Persia returns.”

The servant bowed deeply once more, his relief evident as he quickly exited the room, leaving Apollo and Poseidon alone again in the charged silence.

Chapter Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟏 : 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐕𝐈

As the flickering firelight cast long shadows across the walls of the cabin, Thalia lay on her bed, eyes wide open, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. The night was unnervingly quiet, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves outside the cabin. 

The warmth of the fire provided a false sense of comfort, masking the turmoil inside her. Sleep was nowhere in sight, her mind far too restless, caught in the web of thoughts she’d been trying to avoid all day. 

She had tried so hard to move past the tangled emotions Luke had left behind, but no matter how many times she told herself otherwise, she couldn’t escape the truth.

Tomorrow, they will read about the war with the Titans. It should have been just another chapter in the story they had come to hear—a story of betrayals and struggles. But she knew it wasn’t that simple, not for her. Tomorrow, Luke would be a central part of it all, and she wasn’t ready to face it.

The thought of him sent a familiar ache through her chest.

She had spent so long trying to convince herself that he didn’t matter anymore. He had made his choices, and she had made hers, but even now, she couldn’t deny the truth: Luke was still important to her.

And she hated that.

Thalia turned over in her bed, pressing her face into the pillow as if that could somehow drown out the memories. She hated that, no matter how much she pretended to hate him, she could never really let go. No matter how much she wanted to blame him for everything—for his betrayal, for his alliance with Kronos, for the way he had hurt their friends—there was always that part of her that remembered the boy he had been. The one who had been her family, her closest friend. The one she had loved.

It was maddening how much he still mattered to her. 

She groaned softly, clutching the pillow tighter. Why did it have to be like this? Why did he still hold so much power over her, even after all this time? Everything was getting so complicated. The war had come and gone, but its scars were still fresh. And now, with new challenges on the horizon—new enemies, new threats—it felt like everything was spiraling out of control again.

And Luke… Luke was always at the center of it. Always there, haunting her thoughts, as if the universe refused to let her forget him.

She hated that, too.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the questions still lingered in the dark corners of her mind. Would things have been different if she had taken his hand that day? The memory of it was so vivid—Luke, offering her a chance to join him, to fight by his side. She had rejected him, thinking it was the right choice, the only choice. He had chosen the wrong path, and she couldn’t follow him down it. But now, lying here in the silence of the night, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had made a mistake.

Would he have been different if she had said yes? Would they have fought together, side by side, instead of being torn apart by the choices they made? Would she have saved him from himself?

She didn’t have the answers, and that made it worse. The uncertainty gnawed at her.

Thalia opened her eyes again, staring out at the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Tomorrow, they will read about the war. They would read about Luke, and she would be forced to confront everything she had been trying to bury for so long. She would see him not as the boy she once knew, but as the villain he had become. And yet… he would still be Luke to her. Still the boy who had held her hand when the world had been too much, who had made her laugh when she didn’t think she could, who had asked her to fight beside him, not against him.

She turned onto her side, staring at the faint moonlight spilling in through the window. The more she thought about it, the more tangled her emotions became. Luke was still there, in her heart, no matter how hard she tried to push him away. She wasn’t sure if that made her weak or if it just made things more real. All she knew was that she couldn’t let go of him, even when she wanted to.

As the night dragged on, Thalia felt the unease settle deeper in her bones. She couldn’t sleep, not with everything weighing on her. Tomorrow would bring more answers, more stories from the past. But for now, she was left with her questions, with her regrets, and with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she had made the wrong choice when it came to Luke.

The first light of dawn crept through the small cabin window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. Thalia stretched, her muscles stiff from a restless night. She could smell the faint scent of bread warming by the hearth and hear the gentle crackle of the fire that Jason had likely stirred to life while she was still in bed. It felt peaceful, but there was a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest as she thought about what the day would bring.

Today, they would go to Olympus. Today, Luke’s story would be read.

Thalia sighed, pushing herself out of bed. She dressed quickly in the simple tunic and sandals they had been given in this ancient time. The light fabric clung to her skin as the morning air brushed against her. It was strange being in Ancient Greece, so far from everything they knew. Even with Jason, the cabin felt too empty without Persia, Annabeth, Nico, and Will. They had seen them only a few days ago at the ceremony, but it felt like ages since they’d spoken. And knowing they’d meet again today didn’t ease the tension humming just beneath her skin.

Thalia stepped into the small kitchen area, where Jason was already stirring a pot over the fire. He looked up at her with a grin, clearly in a better mood than she was.

“You’re finally up,” he teased. “I thought you’d sleep through breakfast.”

She rolled her eyes but smirked. “I don’t sleep through food, you know that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, scooping out some warm porridge into bowls. “Here. I even added honey this time. You can thank me later.”

Thalia sat down at the wooden table, taking the bowl from him. The familiar smell of honey, oats, and warm bread grounded her for a moment. It was a simple meal, but it tasted good. Comforting, even, in the midst of all the uncertainty swirling in her mind. She took a bite, feeling the sweetness melt on her tongue, but her mind kept drifting back to Luke, and the knot in her chest tightened again.

Jason sat down across from her, chewing quietly for a moment before breaking the silence. “You nervous?”

Thalia glanced up, surprised. “About what?”

“Seeing everyone today. You know... Persia, Annabeth, Nico... Luke’s story.”

She looked down at her bowl, swirling the spoon slowly through the porridge. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying her nonchalance. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” she shot back, but it sounded weak even to her own ears. She quickly took another bite, hoping to avoid the conversation.

Jason didn’t let it go. He never did. “So... you still have feelings for him?”

Thalia nearly choked on her porridge. “What? No! Of course not.”

Her brother’s knowing smirk told her he wasn’t convinced. “You sure about that?”

Thalia scowled. “Jason, drop it.”

But he didn’t. He leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re dodging the question.”

“I’m not dodging anything.”

“You’re dodging. You always dodge when it’s about Luke.”

Thalia glared at him, shoving her bowl aside. “Fine! What do you want me to say, huh? That I still care about him? That no matter how much I try to hate him, I never stopped loving him?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and the air seemed to still around them.

Jason’s expression softened, the teasing fading away as quickly as it had come. He leaned forward, his voice gentler now. “Thalia... you never had to pretend with me.”

She slumped back in her chair, the weight of the confession making her feel exposed, raw. “I just... I hate it. I hate that he still matters to me after everything. I hate that I can’t let go.”

Jason was quiet for a moment, thinking before he spoke. “You don’t have to hate it, you know. It’s okay to feel complicated about someone. Especially Luke. He wasn’t all bad from what I heard.”

Thalia huffed, rubbing her temples. “But it feels wrong. Like I should be stronger than this. Like I should have been able to cut him out after what he did.”

“But you didn’t,” Jason said simply. “And that’s okay. He meant a lot to you. He still does.”

Thalia didn’t respond, her mind too tangled in old memories and new doubts. She looked down at her hands, feeling the ache of uncertainty deep in her chest. Jason wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make any of it easier. Especially not with today looming over them, with the weight of Luke’s choices about to be laid bare in front of the gods.

They finished breakfast in silence after that, the easy banter from earlier replaced by a thoughtful quiet. The air in the cabin felt heavy, thick with the tension of what was to come. Thalia cleaned up while Jason packed the few things they needed for their journey to Olympus. Outside, the forest around them was alive with the sound of birds and rustling leaves, but to Thalia, it felt distant.

The journey to Olympus felt too real, too soon. They weren’t ready—not emotionally, not mentally. And being in Ancient Greece, surrounded by gods who had their own agendas, made it all the more unnerving. The absence of Persia, Annabeth, Nico, and Will weighed on her. Usually, they could talk things through, share the burden. But this time, they had been separated, with no time to speak, no time to feel anchored in each other’s presence.

“Ready?” Jason asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

Thalia nodded, pulling her cloak around her shoulders as she stepped outside. The mountain loomed in the distance, Olympus glowing faintly at the top. Today would be difficult, and she wasn’t sure how she would handle it. But she had to face it, no matter how tangled her feelings were.

With one last glance at the cabin, they started walking toward the path that would take them to the gods.

The towering gates of Olympus loomed before them, casting long shadows over the path as Thalia and Jason made their way inside. The grandeur of the throne room always struck her, no matter how many times she had been here. The air felt heavier, more oppressive, knowing what they were about to face. The gods were already gathered, most of them seated on their thrones, the divine energy filling the space like a storm about to break.

Thalia and Jason slipped in quietly, keeping to the edges of the room as they found their place near the hearth. Their usual spot—unassuming but close enough to see and hear everything. Thalia sat down on the cushioned mattress, pulling her knees to her chest, feeling the warmth from the fire at her back but the cold tension settling in her stomach.

She glanced around the room, her heart pounding just a little faster. Zeus sat on his massive throne, Hera beside him, her posture regal and unyielding. But it was Queen Rhea who commanded the attention of the room, her presence serene yet powerful as she conversed softly with Zeus and Hera. There was a kind of quiet authority in her that made even the gods seem smaller in her presence. But Thalia could see the flicker of worry in Rhea's eyes, subtle but there, as if she was waiting for something—or someone.

Her fingers traced the edge of the mattress as she tried to calm the nerves swirling inside her. Jason sat beside her, quiet but not entirely still, his eyes scanning the room, assessing, just as she was. His indifference toward the gods was palpable, and she envied him for it. She knew Jason didn’t care much for their opinions or their games.

But today, it wasn’t that simple. 

Thalia’s thoughts kept drifting back to Luke. She knew his story would come up, that the gods would pass judgment, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t ready for it. Not for the truth, not for the pain that would resurface.

Suddenly, a ripple of energy moved through the room, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned toward the entrance just as two chariots appeared, shimmering into view in a blaze of golden and silver light. Her breath caught in her throat.

In the first chariot stood Poseidon and Apollo. The God of the Sea looked as calm and stoic as ever, his trident resting against the side of the chariot. But it was Apollo who drew her attention. He didn’t carry his usual air of arrogance. Instead, there was a weight in his expression, something heavy and uncertain, like he was carrying the weight of worlds on his shoulders. 

Thalia’s heart clenched at the sight. She always had a soft spot for this older brother of hers.

Zeus’s guilt was obvious as his gaze fell on his son. Thalia had never seen the King of the Gods look so… small.

In the second chariot were Artemis, Annabeth, and Persia. Artemis exuded her familiar silver aura, her demeanor distant and unreadable. Annabeth stood close by, her focus sharp and thoughtful. But Thalia’s eyes lingered on Persia. She looked strong, as always, but there was a certain tension in her posture, something fragile hidden behind her defiance. Thalia had seen it before—Persia was carrying a burden, one she hadn’t yet shared.

Rhea rose from her place, her relief visible as she moved to greet them. “I’m glad to see you have arrived safely.”

The chariots rolled to a stop, and Apollo and Poseidon stepped forward first, nodding respectfully to Rhea. Thalia caught Apollo’s brief glance toward Zeus, a flicker of tension passing between father and son. Zeus looked like he wanted to speak, perhaps to bridge the gap between them, but no words came. His grip on the arm of his throne tightened, guilt unmistakable in his expression.

As Artemis, Apollo, and Poseidon moved to take their thrones, Persia and Annabeth joined Thalia and Jason by the hearth. Thalia shifted, the weight of everything pressing down harder now. She barely had time to settle before Persia gently nudged her, her voice soft. "You okay?"

Thalia’s gaze flickered to Annabeth and Persia, her eyes speaking the unease she couldn’t put into words.

Persia gently touched Thalia’s arm, her fingers warm and steady. Annabeth leaned in closer, her hand resting softly on Thalia’s shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze.

The weight on Thalia’s chest lightened as she felt their supportive touches. She glanced at Jason, who placed a steady hand on her back, his presence a quiet promise of support.

Their silent gestures filled the room with a comforting warmth, easing the tightness in Thalia’s chest. 

The quiet tension in the throne room deepened as Hades, Will, and Nico entered. Their arrival drew a few subtle glances from the gods, though no one spoke immediately. Will and Nico made their way toward Thalia, slipping down beside her, their presence quiet but comforting. Nico gave Thalia a brief nod, a silent acknowledgment, while Will settled in next to him, his expression calm but observant.

Hades approached Poseidon, his steps steady but with a familiarity that spoke of their unspoken bond. He placed a hand on Poseidon’s shoulder, a silent question lingering between them. Poseidon gave a slight nod, offering a brief but genuine smile, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.

Rhea’s concerned voice cut through the quiet. “Is everything alright?”

Hades didn’t even glance her way, his expression hardening slightly. Poseidon, sensing the shift in his brother’s mood, quickly stepped in. “We should begin,” he said, his voice calm but purposeful, deflecting the question with practiced ease.

Hades moved to his seat, the connection between him and Poseidon unbroken despite the conversation.

Zeus shifted on his throne, his fingers gripping the armrests a little tighter than usual. His eyes lingered on Poseidon, not with the usual command, but with a flicker of unease. The weight of what was to come seemed to press down on him, though he kept his posture tall.

“Persia,” he said, his voice steady but lacking its usual edge. He hesitated, then added, “The book.”

Persia gave a nod, handing the book over. Zeus asked, “Who is going to read?”

Thalia watched Rhea step forward, her movements slow but sure. There was a heaviness in the air as she reached for the book in Zeus’s hands, offering to read it aloud. Thalia noticed the way Rhea's eyes softened when she looked at Zeus, but there was something beneath it—a tension, maybe, or regret.

Zeus hesitated, holding the book for a beat longer than he should have. Thalia could see the brief flicker of wariness in his eyes, the way his fingers curled tightly around the leather cover before he finally let it go.

Rhea took the book gently, her hands steady, but Thalia felt the strain in the room deepen. Everyone was watching, waiting. Even the crackle of the hearth seemed muted as Rhea turned to face them, the worn pages of the past in her hands. Thalia couldn’t shake the knot in her chest, her thoughts drifting to what this reading might bring.

Rhea cleared her throat, “The Battle of Labyrinth.”

No one interrupted although everyone looked interested. The chapter opens from Persia’s point-of-view. Thalia leaned against Annabeth, resigning herself to an emotionally draining day.

The corridors of Hades' palace were always quieter at night, cloaked in a strange kind of stillness that most people would probably find unsettling. Not me. The cool shadows and the soft echo of my footsteps against the obsidian floors felt... familiar. Comforting, even. But tonight, the stillness felt off. Tense, like something was pressing against the walls, waiting to snap. And that had everything to do with the question gnawing at my mind since my talk with Quintus.

Something about that guy—it didn’t sit right with me. I couldn’t shake it, no matter how "helpful" or "friendly" he tried to seem. There was a tension in his eyes that didn’t match his words. I could sense it like the prick of a needle under my skin. I just didn’t know what it was yet, and that uncertainty was eating at me.

So here I was, walking these familiar halls again, hoping Uncle Hades would have some answers. He’d always been a steady source of wisdom for me—gruff, sure, but reliable. And, well, maybe I just needed someone I trusted to tell me I wasn’t going crazy.

As I neared the study, voices reached my ears, muffled but unmistakably agitated. I paused, frowning. It wasn’t like me to eavesdrop, but something told me this conversation wasn’t just small talk. Then again, Uncle Hades always seemed to be dealing with the weight of a thousand storms, so who was I to interrupt another one?