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Chapter Text

It was no longer one of his prophetic dreams.

It was a call. Hades had summoned him during his sleep.

Nico didn’t like having his sleep interrupted, but his father’s palace was different. The spirits were restless, and even Cerberus seemed more nervous than usual. The flickering shadows around him were unsettling, to say the least.

Hades, his father, was not well. It was explicit on his face, now paler than Nico had ever seen, and what should have been his fine Italian silk suit was slightly pulled and torn in very specific places.

Nico knelt before his father’s presence. He didn’t hold back for Hades, though the same couldn’t be said for some of the other gods. “You summoned me?”

Hades sighed, something that sounded more like resignation than anything else. “Spare me the formalities, Nico. I’ve come to warn you of something none of the other gods will: our world is collapsing, and we are collapsing with it.”

Nico’s eyes widened. How? How was the world collapsing? Were the gods really disappearing? A deep fear surged inside him; Nico knew that more than half the world functioned under the gods’ influence—be they Greek or otherwise—so what did this mean? How could he simply accept that the world he knew and the people he called family were going to be gone, extinct, or whatever fate had planned?

“I don’t have much time before my existence fades until this is undone. Go and speak to Rachel Elizabeth Dare, she will know what to say—if it’s not too late. One by one, we will disappear, and you will be the only one left aware of our world.”

“Why!? Why will I be the only one!? How do you know that!?” Nico exclaimed helplessly, the lack of information unnerving him. He couldn’t be the only one to retain awareness of the gods—that wasn’t possible. And why was the world collapsing? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He couldn’t be the only one.

Hades simply stared at him. “One of the oldest prophecies, even older than the one given about my brother’s son, is about to come true, and the first step for that is the temporary end of our existence.”

“Nico, my son, if you fail, nothing of our world will remain, and the Greeks will never exist again.”

—

Nico woke up trembling in the dark of cabin 13.

He… he needed to talk to Hazel. He needed to talk to Chiron. And he urgently needed to talk to Rachel.

It must have been early morning because the sounds of the camp waking up were already audible.

He was shaking. His hand was trembling more than anything. One breath at a time, Nico calmed his previously racing heart.

He didn’t understand. Maybe he wasn’t meant to understand. But why would the gods be disappearing? After the whole Giant War and the sacrifices required to prevent Gaia from taking over the world, why would the gods’ existence be fading? And on top of that, why would the existence of his world be placed in his hands?

Nico shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t feel powerless and useless. But now, in the early morning, with his hands trembling, that was the only thing he could think about himself. After all, when had Nico ever been strong enough to do things right? It certainly wasn’t when he transported Athena’s statue from Rome to Camp. And definitely not in front of Cupid.

Maybe he had never been strong enough. Maybe he had just pretended to have an unnatural strength after Bianca’s death to cope with the fact that his sister was no longer with him.

Nico didn’t want to cry. But he also didn’t want the fate of the world in his hands. Unfortunately, fate doesn’t care about what demigods actually want.

Nico took a deep breath, trying to ignore his trembling hands, and wiped his face to clear the tears that threatened to fall. These were the moments he wished Bianca were by his side, hugging him and telling him that everything would be alright.

But Bianca was no longer with him, and, apparently, he was once again responsible for saving the world.

—

Will was frantic, Nico realized. His blond hair was completely disheveled, he had more dark circles under his eyes than Nico had ever seen on the son of Apollo, even after the Giant War, and his clothes were badly wrinkled.

“Nico. Nico, I need your help,” he said, breathless, catching up to him right after Nico left Cabin 13 fully dressed. “I already called Chiron, but we don’t know what’s happening. The… the demigods just aren’t responding anymore.”

Nico blinked. There was no way this was related to what Hades had said, was there?

And only now Nico realized. The noises he had previously heard from the camp waking up weren’t from the usual communal joy of another summer day; it was more like a nervous frenzy of demigods waking up and realizing what was happening.

Nico didn’t respond, but let himself be hurried to the infirmary by Will. He had to be sure. He had to be sure there wouldn’t be any more casualties.

The infirmary was chaotic, filled with the children of Apollo shouting in frustration at each other. Chiron greeted them with a stoic expression. The situation seemed almost obvious, if Nico didn’t already know more about death.

At least fifteen kids from different cabins, though most seemed to be from Hermes, were lying unresponsive to anything—words, touch, nothing.

But they weren’t dead. Just… just without heartbeats, as impossible as that sounded. They weren’t dead, Nico knew that.

“Child, don’t tell me we lost them overnight,” Chiron asked, visibly concerned by the situation.

Nico took a deep breath; he should know more than this. He approached Travis and Connor Stoll, both lying on cots side by side, practically petrified. “No. They’re not dead. But this can’t be anything good.”

“It never is,” Chiron agreed. “What did you see? In your dreams?”

Nico should have known that Chiron, after thousands of years of teaching, could identify the apathetic expression that accompanies demigods with prophetic dreams. “Hades… Hades summoned me. This is meant to happen, and the gods are disappearing. I believe Hermes was the first.” He assumed, since most of the unresponsive were Hermes’ children, though there were one or two from Athena as well. She must already be losing influence. “It seems I’m the only one who can fix this. I need to talk to Rachel.”

Chiron nodded, stoic, and when Nico knew he was about to direct him out of the infirmary to speak to the Oracle, Piper rushed in, with someone very familiar over her shoulder—Rachel Dare.

“She… she fainted in the pavilion. No heartbeat. I don’t know what to do,” Piper admitted, handing Rachel over to Will to place on a cot. “What’s happening? To all of them?” Piper asked nervously, glancing around the infirmary and then back at the two of them, Chiron and Nico.

Chiron rubbed his forehead in a clear sign of distress. “Honestly, we still don’t know, but it can’t be anything good. For now, I ask that you try to calm the others and tell them that if this happens to any other demigod, they should come here immediately. If you find Annabeth, please call her here.”

Piper nodded, taking a deep breath, and quickly left the infirmary. Nico knew everyone was nervous, and he couldn’t blame anyone. If even Chiron was nervous, the demigods had every right to express it in their own way.

Nico knew that Chiron had said something to him, but he hadn’t paid attention, going straight to Rachel, who had just been quickly assessed by one of Will’s brothers.

He had false hopes that she would respond to him. She needed to respond to him. If not her, then the Oracle of Delphi needed to warn him of what was coming. But seeing Rachel’s calm and almost relaxed expression made him hesitate. What had even a mortal—though she carried the Oracle of Delphi within her, she was still a mortal—done to cause this to happen? What had Fate planned for him?

She opened her eyes. Nico’s hand immediately rose to her neck, checking for a pulse. Still nothing.

The atmosphere in the room became heavy, and unconsciously Nico noticed that everyone in the infirmary who had been working stopped their constant frenzy and stared at him. More specifically, they stared at Rachel, who, with green eyes and an open mouth, released a green mist that was the beginning of the prophecy to come.

The swirling mist, in a strange shade of green, hit Nico’s senses as he stepped back.

“From the lingering angel in life's maze,
Must play the lyre's forgotten phrase.
The rhythm of shadows will shine in decree,
And the Sun will decide if They still hold sway.”

Her eyes suddenly closed, and Nico hurried out of the infirmary. He knew who he had to speak with.

—

Hazel was clearly stressed next to Frank. Even through the Iris message, the tension was palpable.

“Tell me it’s not just here. Please, I need to know what’s going on. Our best healers are trying, but almost half of the Legions aren’t responding.” She leaned on the table in front of her and covered her face. “I know you were trying to talk to Reyna, but she’s busy trying to understand… understand what’s happening with the Legions. Frank will pass along everything you say. It’s just that I… I’m worried about you, Nico, and everyone else.”

“None of them are dead.” Nico clarified, trying to keep the fear from creeping into his voice. “And Rachel announced another prophecy. And my father summoned me: I’m at the center of the prophecy. ‘From the lingering angel in life's maze,
Must play the lyre's forgotten phrase.
The rhythm of shadows will shine in decree,
And the Sun will decide if They still hold sway.’”

Frank sighed audibly. “I wasn’t expecting this. I’ll inform Reyna and the senators as soon as possible, but we’ll keep our distance unless our help is strictly necessary. I don’t want to say it, but this is the Roman protocol implemented based on the fact that some of the Greek prophecies only involve you, without requiring Roman intervention.”

Hazel nodded, worried. “Frank is right, but if you need help, please contact us.” She glanced sideways at Frank and then turned her attention directly to Nico. “I know we don’t have much time left, but is there anything you can already tell from the prophecy?”

Unfortunately, Nico had to disagree—he knew absolutely nothing beyond the first verse that spoke about him. “Honestly? Nothing for now beyond the first verse, ‘from the lingering angel in life's maze’ refers to me, and according to Hades, I will be the only one aware of the Gods for an indeterminate period of time.”

Hazel nodded uncertainly as the Iris message began to flicker. “Nico, good luck. I don’t know if we’ll be able to contact you again, but please try and let me know if there’s any significant news.” She hesitated for a moment. “I love you, Nico. I know you’ll make it.”

Frank nodded, placing a hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

The message ended.

—

The nine-year-old girl poked the campfire’s flame with a stick, ignoring everything around her.

“Lady Hestia,” Nico greeted her with a slight bow before sitting beside her.

“Nico, hello.” She said, putting the stick aside and gazing at him with her usual gentleness. “The fire will always burn, no matter where it is, the flame will welcome you.”

Nico nodded. It was as Hestia had once said: she was the Last Olympian, and she would remain if anything happened to the Throne of the Olympians. “I seek advice.”

“I know, the fire always tells me everything. My home is your home, my fire is your fire, and wherever there is a hearth, I will be present.” Hestia placed a hand on Nico’s shoulder and then returned to staring at the fire. “Your trial will be more than a mission. It will be challenging, unpleasant, but there will be people by your side. The hearth will always be an open path and something to turn to, but when you feel I am no longer there, the Sun will help by conjuring the energy that sustains a home. You will know who to turn to, Nico. But more than anything, you will need to be careful.”

“The shadows tread a path of darkness, but the angel will tread a path of peace if they follow what is right.” Hestia continued. Nico already knew that, in the prophecy given, the angel was him, and now, with what Hestia was saying, it only confirmed that. “Go in peace, Nico di Angelo, but do what is necessary to return.” Hestia waved and then simply remained where she was, staring at the fire. Now Nico knew that Hestia would always be there as she was now, but, just like in this very moment, she would no longer speak with him.

—

Nico wasn’t a stranger to the presence of some gods, like Hades and Hestia, but seeing Apollo in his human form outside Cabin 13 startled him.

“I see there’s still time.” He said, and without asking for permission, entered Nico’s cabin, with Nico following behind, confused. “Well, let’s see, a prophecy dating back many years, perhaps thousands, is about to begin, and you’re at the center of it. Nothing you don’t already know, obviously.” Apollo shrugged and sat on the bed next to Nico’s while the demigod remained standing. “I’m not going to make you go on a mission to retrieve a forgotten lyre. Speak to any of Hermes’ children, and they’ll know where to find it. Unfortunately, this time, I didn’t get the credit for that instrument.” He stated almost flippantly. “And Hermes is disappearing, so he won’t be much help anyway.”

Nico nodded, still a bit confused. The day that had barely begun was already giving him a headache: first Hades, then Hestia, and now Apollo wanting him to talk to one of Hermes’ children. Nico massaged his temples. “And why are you here? I mean, your help is very useful, but I could’ve figured this out on my own.”

“Don’t get too cocky, son of Hades. You wouldn’t have been able to find the Lyre, not being the first Lyre ever created. Know that I’m running out of patience; my children are currently using my energy to keep this camp in order and to give you enough time to retrieve the Lyre and figure out what to do with it. And, as you’ve probably already noticed, some of the gods are practically out of energy. Hermes is one of them, and I haven’t gone yet because my children are trying to maintain order.” Apollo waved, speaking in a deliberately cheerful tone for the serious topic at hand. “And honestly, I’m only helping because I don’t feel like ceasing to exist.” He shrugged. “Well, good luck.” He vanished in the usual blinding flash of the gods, leaving behind an almost nauseating floral perfume scent.

Nico threw himself onto his bed. Why in Hades did this have to be on him? Couldn’t a demigod have just one minute of peace?

—

Today was probably the rare and only day Nico saw Hermes’ cabin quiet.

When he entered, only three people were inside: sisters Julia and Alice Miyazawa, and a little girl sitting on one of the beds, whose name Nico didn’t know.

“Nico, hey…” Julia greeted, skeptically, leaning on the bunk frame with her arms crossed. “Need something?”

“Apollo sent me here.” Nico said, not wasting time with pleasantries. “I’m looking for Hermes’ Lyre.”

Julia’s eyes widened, but she didn’t argue. She exchanged a glance with Alice and nodded. “Look under the bed where Luke used to sleep, Alice. It’s probably there.”

Hesitantly, Alice walked to one of the bunks at the back of the cabin, bent down, and felt around the wooden floor until a click was heard. With some effort, she pulled something out of the floor that Nico assumed was the Lyre.

Carefully, Alice took the Lyre in hand and walked over to Nico. “I don’t know why you need it, but if Apollo sent you, it’s our duty to give it to you.” She extended her hand and handed it over.

Nico meticulously studied what was supposed to be a lyre; it appeared to be made from what he assumed was a turtle shell or something similar, and its strings had a strange texture, not quite like typical strings.

“I don’t know if you know the story of how the first Lyre was made.” Nico shook his head, indicating he didn’t. “Well, it’s said that Hermes, shortly after being born, set out at night to find Apollo’s cattle. On the way, he found a turtle and killed it, along with a cow. He stretched the skin over the turtle’s empty shell, fashioned strings from the cow’s guts, and created keys from reeds to tighten them. Thus, Hermes boasted, having just created the Lyre, which was said to produce sounds more perfectly harmonious than Pan’s flute.” Alice shrugged. “There’s more to the story, but I feel like it’s not necessary at the moment.”

Nico nodded. “Well, thanks for the help.” Just as he was about to turn and leave, he noticed the little girl, who had been sitting on one of the bunks, now standing in front of him. “Do you need something?”

The girl squeaked, startled, and began nervously picking at her nails. “You’re… you’re Nico, right?” Nico nodded. “Daddy… I mean, Hermes, came to me in a dream. He said you should only play something on the Lyre when you know the exact song to play and at the exact moment it must be played. It wasn’t up to him to tell me what the song was, but… but he said Chiron has the sheet music.” The girl began tapping her foot on the floor, clearly uncertain and uncomfortable with the attention she was receiving.

“Wow, thanks.” Nico said, thoughtful. Why were the gods being so helpful? Reaching the cabin door to leave, Nico turned to the girl who was still watching him expectantly. “What’s your name?”

“Tamar.” She said, glancing anxiously at Julia and Alice, who stood by her side. “My brother, Tolya, is in a deep sleep. I know you’ll help him.”

Nico bit his lip, unsure if what Tamar said was entirely true. Could he really save everyone?

“Thank you, Tamar,” Nico said as he left.

He didn’t know if he could save everyone, but he had to at least try.

—

Not long after Nico had easily — perhaps too easily — retrieved the lyre, Chiron appeared, handed him a piece of paper, mentioned he was going to check on the chaos in the infirmary, and disappeared.

Now, Nico sat by the canoe lake, staring out over the empty waters, trying to make sense of the sheet music that he had no idea how to read. His fleeting peace — already tenuous at best, considering he was about to embark on a mission that could decide whether the world he knew continued to exist — was interrupted by the presence of the Athena counselor and the sole Poseidon counselor sitting beside him.

“Nico, hey,” Annabeth greeted, though her expression was far from happy. It wasn’t exactly a time of celebration, not after Gaia’s defeat, and certainly not now, with another looming threat. “Chiron told us about the prophecy. Do you need help?”

Nico shrugged. “If you can read lyre sheet music, that would be a huge help.”

Percy frowned in confusion. “A lyre?”

“I don’t know if Chiron explained the prophecy to you, but the second part says, ‘he must play the forgotten lyre.’ It’s this one here,” Nico revealed the lyre he’d retrieved from the Hermes cabin. “Apparently, it’s the first lyre, created by Hermes.”

“And you just… got it, like that?” Percy asked, studying the instrument.

“The gods are being generous. I think they’re trying to stay on the good side of the person who’s going to keep them alive,” Nico said, knowing there could be no other reason for the divine assistance he was receiving.

“That’s odd,” Annabeth interrupted, examining the sheet music Nico handed her. “I don’t know how to play the lyre, but I know enough about music to say this doesn’t look normal. I’ve seen some sheet music before — my stepbrother plays guitar — and this doesn’t resemble anything I’ve ever seen.” She handed the paper back to Nico. “Sorry, Nico. Maybe one of Apollo’s kids can help.”

Nico nodded, not surprised. Nothing ever seemed to be that easy.

“Look, are you okay?” Percy asked, concerned. “I mean, really okay? You’re handling all this… so calmly. I know what it’s like to have the world’s weight on your shoulders. It’s not easy. You’re one of the strongest demigods I know, but still… it shouldn’t be this easy. It’s not easy to take in that everything depends on you.”

Percy was either incredibly perceptive or terribly dense, Nico thought. Nico understood Percy’s worry, especially considering no one had asked him such questions during the Titan War.

“I don’t know how to react, to be honest,” Nico admitted, staring at the horizon. “Right now, it’s easy. But what happens when it’s not? What if I freeze when I’m supposed to act?”

Annabeth wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Normally, Nico hated being touched, but this time, he allowed it. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes. Don’t think about us when you’re out there — think about what you love, what you want to keep in your life.”

Nico let out a grim chuckle. “Then I’ll be thinking about you guys.”

Percy laughed, pulling Annabeth to her feet and offering Nico a hand to help him up. “Hey, I know this is a lot to handle, and it’s scary. But, Nico, you’re stronger than any of us. You’re a lot smarter than I was two years ago. You’ll figure it out and make it back, maybe with a few new scars that’ll just make the new campers even more scared of you.” Percy grinned. “Now, leave me with Annabeth and go find that boyfriend of yours in the infirmary.” Percy gave Nico an encouraging slap on the back and turned and went the other way, holding Annabeth’s hands.

Nico blushed at Percy’s comment. “Hey!”

Percy and Annabeth walked away, laughing.

—

Will was clearly overwhelmed, trying his best to be a good example for his siblings who were rushing around the infirmary.

“Will, can I talk to you for a minute?” Nico asked after waiting for him to finish a conversation with Kayla.

Will nodded, giving some quick instructions to his siblings before turning to Nico. “What do you need? And please don’t say it’s about the prophecy.”

“It kind of is. Annabeth said the sheet music for the lyre looks strange. I was hoping you might be able to read it.”

“Let me see…” Will squinted at the paper in silence for a few minutes. “Annabeth’s right. It’s weird. Maybe it’s something only a god can play.”

Someone inside the infirmary called for Will, and he handed the paper back. “Sorry, Nico, I can’t help with this. But I know you’ll figure it out. Good luck.”

But what if he didn’t figure it out?

—

At some point between the afternoon and evening, Nico dozed off, only to wake in a hazy state, unconsciously playing a haunting melody on the lyre before falling back asleep.

He knew this had happened because he dreamt of himself doing it.

Could things get weirder?

In fact, it could.

Persephone appeared in his dream, and as if that wasn’t enough, Nico couldn’t understand a word she said.

He woke sometime around two or three in the morning to find a small pouch containing three pomegranate seeds from Persephone’s garden, another seed of something unrecognizable, and a stash of ambrosia sealed in a ziplock bag on his nightstand.

Nico groaned. Why was everything so strange?

The worst part? He knew exactly what he had to do: change clothes, chew the unknown seed while remembering the melody he’d played in the dream, and prepare for whatever came next.

Nico got dressed, pulling on his usual black jeans, a simple black shirt, his thick jacket with inner pockets for the ambrosia and pomegranate seeds, and combat boots, which concealed two knives — one of regular steel, the other celestial bronze. He strapped his Stygian iron sword to his waist.

And now, the strangest part of all: chewing a seed that might very well be poisonous and recalling a melody from a dream.

But first, he scribbled a note for whoever would come looking for him in the morning, assuming they weren’t all in some strange deathlike trance already — much like what Persephone’s pomegranate seeds caused, but somehow… different.

Nico calmed himself, taking deep breaths as he sat on the edge of his bed. If he was going to do this, he needed to clear his mind as much as possible.

With his eyes still closed, he picked up the unknown seed and placed it in his mouth. It tasted sweet at first, but as he chewed, it turned to ash, like dust on his tongue.

Trying not to think about the taste, Nico focused on the eerie, mournful melody the lyre had produced.

Then, he blacked out.

Chapter Text

His eyes betrayed him; as soon as Nico opened them, he was greeted with dizziness. He placed his hands over his eyes to shield them from any light that might be coming in too strongly.

Slowly, he regained his senses. The place he was in smelled of decay. Bitterly, Nico wished his sense of smell hadn’t returned. Then he finally felt the ground beneath him: he was sitting on cobblestones, but there was something almost like sand in his hands.

At last, his vision returned to normal, no longer assaulted by brightness.

Exhaling, Nico looked around; he was in some kind of alley, the street poorly lit despite the lack of clouds in the sky. All the windows of the buildings around him were shut, but that didn’t stop the feeling of being watched.

Slowly, Nico got to his feet. His whole body ached; it was almost the same sensation as getting out of the jar that confined him. Quickly, Nico pushed the thought away.

Between crawling and walking out of the alley, something creaked behind him, as if a hinge that had never moved finally did. Nico turned his head just in time to see a glimpse of someone rapidly closing a window, and the first thing the son of Hades did was run.

Clearly, Nico was not in his best state; his aching body and dizziness didn’t help much. He assumed he was running in a straight line while gasping for breath, not looking back. The unsettling feeling of being watched hadn’t passed.

At the end of the alley, he was greeted by a busier street. The people passing by didn’t glance twice at his appearance, as if accustomed to seeing breathless children running about.

Without thinking further, Nico turned right and ran, trying his best not to bump into anyone to avoid drawing attention. He could still feel eyes on him, but it was more subtle.

Gradually, he slowed his pace until he was walking briskly—like someone late for work.

Looking around, merchants were advertising their goods, and people hurried by, looking down, avoiding eye contact.

At some point, during his long walk to figure out what to do, Nico had to dodge two carriages (what year was he in? Nico wondered) and grabbed a piece of fruit from a vendor before running off. After that, he sat leaning against a low wall almost facing the sea, a little further back from the port, where ships greeted his sight.

The flags of the ships, Nico noticed, were ones he had never seen in his life. Of course, it made sense; after all, this whole world was strange: the people, the clothing, and the spoken language. Nico didn’t even know the name of the place he was in.

When the son of Hades finished eating the fruit, he set it aside and continued watching. A little further along, but practically at his side, a man stopped and plastered a poster on the wall. Suddenly he turned to Nico and said something in a foreign tongue.

Sighing, Nico looked at the man, staring at him in confusion; hopefully, that would be enough for the man to realize that Nico hadn’t understood anything.

The gods seemingly answered his prayers, for soon the man spoke in a language that, though strange, was recognizable. “Kei ryezich Ravkayash?” Surprisingly, the son of Hades was able to understand the man’s speech; he had asked if Nico spoke Ravkan.

Although he didn’t know what Ravkan was, he could respond. It was as if he was speaking English to himself, but the moment the words left his mouth, they were automatically translated into that foreign tongue. “Da.” The pronunciation sounded strange, but that was yes in whatever language it was.

Incredibly, from that moment on, the conversation sounded entirely in English. “You’d better get off the streets, kid; the curfew is about to start, and the militia will be here any moment. So unless you want to get arrested, you’d better go home.” Without looking back, the man turned and left.

With hardly any time to process the information, the man was already gone. Nico cursed to no one in particular. This was about to get complicated, wasn’t it?

Still sore, but not exactly aching as before, he stood up and walked toward the poster the man had posted. On it was a drawing of a tall man with angry features, dressed in clothing that looked like a military uniform. Additionally, there was something written that Nico couldn’t read. After much analysis, at the bottom of the poster, he found a translation, in whatever language it was that he understood: wanted poster for someone named Darkling, shadow summoner.

For what felt like the millionth time, Nico cursed, now audibly. If he hadn’t been sure before whether to hide his powers, now he had confirmation to never show them.

Whoever this Darkling was, Nico would hate to cross paths with him. Quickly, he ripped the poster off the wall and tucked it into his back pocket. Then, he wandered aimlessly in the opposite direction from where he had come.

The city was deserted. For whatever reason this curfew existed, people were truly adhering to it. The windows of the buildings were closed one by one, creaking and making noise in the darkness of the night.

Nico continued walking, despite the unsettling feeling of being watched.

Nico stopped. Footsteps. There were people behind him.

Without even turning around, Nico ran.

He ran as if his life depended on it, because maybe it truly did.

—

Nico was the son of Hades, not just any god, but the god of the underworld, not the god of geography or maps.

That was what he thought when he found himself cornered in a dark alley, with his only escape blocked by four people, some of whom had weapons in their hands.

He could smell the dampness in the air, the dirt ingrained in the ground.

The first man, with a gun in hand, stepped forward, the cold smile on his lips revealing how much he underestimated Nico. “Did he really think he could escape from us?”

The second man, equally armed, let out a rough laugh. “The end for these guys is always the same.”

Nico noticed the swords in the hands of the third man, who, unlike the others, was dressed in very dark shades of blue. The blades glinted in the weak light, and the man raised an eyebrow upon seeing Nico watching them. “If the bullets fail, the swords will do the job,” he said with a shrug.

The fourth person, a woman in a deep red coat that seemed stained with dried blood, leaned against the wall of the alley. Disinterested, she looked at her nails as if whatever was about to happen to Nico was tedious. “Wrap this up quickly, or I’ll have to do it myself.”

The sword man laughed, turning to the other two. “She’s not kidding. It’d be easier to let her handle this.”

The second man shrugged, relaxing his gun for a moment. “Why waste ammo, right? Come on, Marya. Do your magic.” He waved his hands, as if trying to mimic a pattern.

Upon hearing that, Nico’s panic only grew. What was this “magic” she could do? His heart raced. His eyes darted from one figure to another, searching for an escape, any opening.

But there was none.

As the air grew heavier, Nico forced himself to take a deep breath. Fleeing into the shadows didn’t seem like an option, not with the weakness he felt. He couldn’t take the risk.

“Am I going to regret this?” The woman’s voice came, filled with scorn. “The kid’s heart is about to explode. So pathetic.”

“Regretful? Just delivering his dead body to the boss, because then the body will be yours,” replied the first man, aiming the gun directly at Nico’s chest. “Don’t even think about running, kid.”

Nico was trembling now, cold sweat running down his neck as he pressed his back against the cold brick wall. The wall was his limit. He couldn’t travel through shadows; the exhaustion pounding in his head constantly reminded him of that. If he traveled, he might never come back.

Marya smiled as she moved her hands in a fluid, almost refined pattern.

“Too late, kid.”

The ground seemed to tremble beneath Nico’s feet (or maybe it was his legs that were shaking). His heart, which was beating frantically, froze for a second. A second that felt eternal.

Nico’s blood ran cold.

His heart stopped.

—

Nico gasped, pleading for air.

If he had complained about pain before, now double that coursed through his body.

His head was spinning from dizziness, and he could feel his heartbeat in his mouth. The taste of iron came as he tried to run his tongue over his dry lips. Blood. He was bleeding and hadn’t even realized it.

Shortly after, Nico’s vision adjusted; he was trapped. His wrists were tied with rough ropes behind the chair he had been placed in. His sword was missing, but they had left his jacket on him.

Nico shuddered; his whole body felt as if it had been run over by a truck. His clothes, however, prevented him from seeing where bruises were starting to form. He had no doubt those four people had beaten him after he had passed out.

With his heart racing, he surveyed his surroundings. There was no escape. He was trapped. Tied to a chair. The only exit was a metal door a few meters in front of him.

Nico tried to stay calm; the memories of being trapped in the jar did little to help him.

His breathing quickened. He forced his eyes shut, but all he could see was Bianca, the same as three years ago.

He was pulling himself out of those thoughts when he heard footsteps coming from what must have been a hallway. One of the figures that had surrounded him in the alley appeared: the sword man. His cold, calculating eyes examined Nico with a kind of silent satisfaction.

“He’s awake,” the man said in an almost casual tone. “He was tougher than the others.”

The woman in the red coat, Marya, entered shortly after, dragging a wooden chair across the floor with an irritating creak. She sat down facing Nico, crossing her legs and observing him with a bored expression.

“You should consider yourself lucky,” she said, clicking her tongue. “If we were sure you were a Grisha, we would have already shipped you off to some buyer. But it seems the boss has other plans for you since we don’t know.”

Nico didn’t reply; after all, what was a Grisha?

“It doesn’t matter what he is,” the man said after the silence. “The kid here appeared out of nowhere, and that’s more than enough for us. And for the boss.”

Marya smiled predatorily and turned her gaze back to Nico. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll find out everything about you soon. And if you’re lying… well, I personally guarantee it won’t be pleasant.”

Nico felt his heart race again. He couldn’t use his powers, not here, not now. The mere mention of someone controlling shadows being hunted and having a wanted poster made him realize the danger he was in. Of course, he didn’t know the whole story, but his instincts told him not to reveal himself. What kind of demigod would Nico be if he didn’t trust his instincts? If these people mistook him for whatever a Grisha was because of how he ended up here, finding out he could manipulate shadows would probably only make them more suspicious.

“And where is the boss?” Nico asked, trying to buy time while thinking of a way to escape.

The man looked at Marya, who shrugged. “You’ll meet him soon,” she said. “He likes to see the merchandise in person. But I can assure you, if he knows you’re worth something, it’s over.”

Nico swallowed hard. He was trapped, injured, and without his sword. Escaping into the shadows was not an option; the state his body was in said a lot. Moreover, he didn’t know how far he could go without knowing the place and without being caught again.

More footsteps approached, and this time the door creaked open. A tall man, with scars on his face and a cruel look, entered the room. His clothes were simple, but his imposing presence made it clear he was in charge.

“This is the kid?” the boss asked, his eyes quickly scanning from Nico to Marya.

“It is,” she replied, smiling. “I think he might be something special.”

The boss walked up to Nico, leaning in to look at him closely. Nico held his gaze despite the rising fear. He had faced worse things than this. Or at least that’s what he tried to convince himself.

“He’s not just any Grisha, from what you all have told me,” the boss murmured. “If we find out, we should be able to sell him for a good price.”

Marya laughed, leaning forward. “You think he could be worth more? Maybe there’s someone out there willing to pay a lot for that kind of power… if we can find out what it is.”

Nico felt the sweat trickle down his forehead. Every second that passed only heightened his growing panic. He needed to get out of there before they discovered more than he could hide.

The boss stepped back a bit and looked at the others. “Let’s see what he knows. Start interrogating him.”

The sword man stepped closer again, the blade in his hand reflecting the dim light. “This won’t take long,” he said, smiling.

Nico took a deep breath, despair flooding his senses. Just as he was ready to close his eyes, he was hit by a familiar pain: the pain that comes when a blade strikes and tears into your skin.

Nico groaned from the unexpected pain. The man looked into his eyes and smiled with scorn. “A little pain is always good.”

Silence reigned for a moment before Marya shot a glance at her companion, and he stepped back.

Marya took control, leaning forward. Her cold gaze ran over Nico’s face, her fingers pressing on his pulse as she felt the rapid beat of his heart. She removed her hand from his wrists and looked even deeper into Nico’s eyes. “You appeared out of nowhere, Grisha, and you’re not going to lie to me. So tell me: what’s your order?”

Nico looked at her, the desperation rising. He tried to control his breathing, but his heart was racing. “I’m not a Grisha,” he said firmly, though the pain in his leg, still throbbing from the cut made by the sword man, was distracting him. Moreover, Nico truly had no idea what a Grisha was, but it couldn’t be something good.

“Liar,” she said with a slight smile, her eyes glinting with malice. “If you weren’t a Grisha, you wouldn’t be alive right now. They saw you appearing out of nowhere; if that doesn’t mean you’re a Grisha, then I’m not one myself.”

Nico didn’t respond. He knew that anything he said would be used against him, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t explain where he was from. The slightest mistake could reveal secrets he knew he had to keep hidden.

The man, impatient, approached again, spinning a smaller blade between his fingers; his sword was now in its sheath. “Enough with the talk. If he doesn’t want to speak, we can make him talk our way.”

Marya slowly stood up from the chair, dragging it back with a creak, and walked to the wall, crossing her arms as she watched. “Do you really want to test my patience?” She looked at the man, who nodded and prepared for another strike, but this time it seemed the blade would be much more precise.

Nico twisted to try to pull away, but he was immobilized. “I already told you! I’m not a Grisha! I was trying to escape from another gang and hid in that alley! You’re making a mistake!”

Marya’s companion scoffed while she remained silent, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, so now it’s another gang,” she said sarcastically, moving closer again. “How convenient.”

She returned to her leaning position. “You’re terrified. Which makes me think there’s more than you’re telling. If you’re not a Grisha, then who are you? How did you end up here?”

Nico closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t make them suspect him even more. But he knew the truth would put him in more danger than lying.

The man lost his patience. “We don’t have time for this. If he’s not going to cooperate, let’s end this quickly.” He sheathed the blade in another sheath but not before plunging it deep into his leg—causing Nico to react with a strangled scream—and pulled out a small vial from his pocket. The liquid inside reflected the dim light of the room, and Nico suddenly knew that this wouldn’t be good.

“This will help you remember how you really got there,” the man said with a cynical smile, uncapping the vial and handing it to Marya.

“Hold his head,” Marya ordered, and the man immediately grabbed Nico by the hair, forcing him to tilt his head back. Nico struggled, but with his hands tied in the rough ropes and the pain in his body, he was too weak to resist.

The liquid was poured into his mouth forcefully. The bitter, burning taste made him gag, but part of the substance was already trickling down his throat. Nico coughed, but he couldn’t spit any of it out, which must have been poison.

His muscles began to relax involuntarily, a feeling of weakness flooding his body. His vision started to blur, and he felt his body grow heavy, sinking into the chair he was tied to.

“He’ll be out soon,” the man murmured, watching Nico’s reaction.

“Let him pass out. We’ll still have time to make him talk when he wakes up,” Marya said coldly, stepping back and watching as Nico struggled to stay conscious. “And if he doesn’t talk, what’s one more body?” She shrugged.

But it was useless to try to resist. The darkness began to envelop him, and the sound of their voices slowly faded away. He knew he had clearly been defeated, and soon he would face more pain and interrogations. And this time, Nico didn’t know if he would be able to hide everything.

And then, finally, what should have been the third time that day, Nico lost consciousness, plunging into the unknown.

Chapter Text

Tolya knew four things at that moment: first, he was trapped somewhere with his shoulder throbbing from three gunshots and burns scattered along his arm; second, the people who captured him were some type of criminal faction located near the port city of Zierfoort, down in southern Kerch; third, there was a boy — he couldn’t be more than fifteen — trapped with him, drugged, and his heartbeat was erratic; and fourth, his sister and Sturmhond would probably break into this place within two hours to get him out.

Well, Tolya thought, at least I’m not alone.

In fact, the only reason Tolya was captured was something close to a hostage situation or something like that. Sturmhond had the ship docked in Zierfoort to hunt down the guys who’d captured Tolya to settle a debt. And by debt, he meant killing the gang leader and taking the money they had, since they ran one of the largest illegal smuggling and Grisha trade markets.

However, it’s not as if these criminals — whoever they were, because Tolya couldn’t care less — weren’t prepared. They had at least ten armed men, three Grisha Heartrenders, and one Inferni, all against Sturmhond, Tamar, Tolya, and four Etherealki from Sturmhond’s crew.

(In hindsight, Tolya thought it didn’t make sense for the gang to trade Grisha while they had Grisha working for them.)

So, the criminals had the advantage in numbers. It was only easier for them once Tolya took three shots to the shoulder while fighting two Heartrenders, too distracted to notice. Of course, in the end, most of the shooters ended up dead, and the Grisha unconscious, but they still had a debt to settle and eventually drugged Tolya at some point while he struggled against the last Heartrender, who was fighting side-by-side with the Inferni, with Tolya’s shoulder throbbing.

In the end, Tolya really didn’t know what happened — just that he woke up handcuffed to a stone wall with an unconscious boy next to him, also handcuffed. In fact, he managed to pick up bits and pieces of information from anyone passing by the front of their cell and talking too loudly: apparently, Sturmhond had defeated and killed the others but hadn’t noticed when Tolya was captured.

Not that Tolya needed to worry; his sister was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry, and she would definitely be angry after Tolya had been captured.

Now, Tolya took a moment to study the boy; he was young but extremely thin and pale, which couldn’t be good for his health. His hair could use a trim — unless he was planning to let it grow past his eyebrows and start blocking his vision — and he was wearing some strange clothes, to say the least (not that Tolya cared about his clothes; it wasn’t like he kept up with any country’s fashion trends). As Tolya looked closer at the boy’s body and features, he noticed a few recent cuts on his leg and coagulated blood in various places under his clothes, suggesting bruising all over his body, which probably meant that either he had fought back against the guys who captured them or he’d been beaten after being thrown in there. Either way, it wasn’t good.

Belatedly, Tolya wondered why the boy was there, because he clearly had to have a reason, while Tolya was only there because he was part of Sturmhond’s crew. What was someone so young doing there?

If he weren’t handcuffed to the wall with a throbbing shoulder, Tolya would have shrugged. He knew he’d be freed soon, and if the boy didn’t wake up to explain himself and say where he needed to go, he’d be taken with them, likely for Sturmhond to interrogate and find out why he was there. Sure, Tolya could wake him up now if he wanted, but he didn’t know how long the boy had been drugged or with what, because if it hadn’t been long and the boy woke up and a guard noticed, they’d both be in trouble. Besides, with his hands tied, he couldn’t do much.

Given the boy’s current state, he’d probably end up traveling with Sturmhond’s crew to their next destination, and depending on Sturmhond’s judgment, he’d be dropped off at the next city they stopped in or maybe stay with them.

Tolya sighed and leaned his head against the cold wall. Sooner or later, he’d be freed. After all, if his shoulder weren’t in its current state and if those criminals hadn’t taken the trouble to immobilize and separate his hands, which only stopped him from using his abilities, he’d have been out of there a long time ago.

Once more, Tolya glanced at the boy. He seemed suspicious. But, honestly, if it were the boy who’d woken up and Tolya who was drugged, he’d probably seem suspicious, too.

Tolya turned his head to the other side and tried to relax. He’d be out of there soon enough, and he knew it.

—

Tolya woke up to the sound of metal keys. His sister, in all her glory—with bloodstained clothes and a fierce grin on her face—stood in the doorway of the open cell, a bunch of keys in hand, swinging them lazily. Sturmhond stood just behind her, arms crossed.

“Need help?” She dangled the keys again, taunting.

“No.” He winced as he tried to shrug. “Come back in two days to see if I’m not tired of your face.” He replied sarcastically.

Tamar chuckled in what was almost a suppressed laugh and moved to release him. Finally, once Tolya managed to stand, he stretched his uninjured arm and looked at them both.

“Who is he?” Sturmhond asked, eyes fixed on the still-chained boy.

“I don’t know; he was already here when I woke up. He hasn’t come to yet.”

Tamar frowned. “His heartbeat is off. Do you know what happened?”

“I think he was drugged, but I’m not sure.”

Tamar nodded. “First, I’ll get those bullets out of your shoulder.”

His sister came over and used her Corporalki skills, carefully removing the bullets embedded in his shoulder. Tolya bit his lip, holding back any sound. Although Tamar and Tolya weren’t healers, they managed to patch people up when needed; after all, Heartrenders and healers shared similar abilities.

“Why didn’t you do this sooner?” Tamar accused, tossing the last bullet to the ground.

Tolya sighed in relief once the final bullet was out. “Not sure if you noticed, but we’re useless with hands cuffed.” He emphasized. “And I couldn’t even see the wound, let alone remove the bullets without making things worse.”

His sister grunted but raised her hand toward his shoulder, closing her eyes in concentration. Tolya knew she was healing the wound; he felt it as the muscles pulled and the skin slowly but painfully closed up.

“You’d better make sure you can actually fight next time,” Tamar said as she withdrew her hand. “I’m not in the mood to waste my energy on you.” She was clearly lying, Tolya thought.

Finally paying closer attention to Sturmhond, Tolya noticed the captain had just unshackled the boy and was helping him up. “Well, now that you’re done bickering, one of you take the kid here while I go handle the rest of those guys and get my money.”

Without hesitation, Tolya slung the boy’s arm over his uninjured shoulder and held onto his side. Sturmhond nodded. “Grevyen’s outside; he’ll help you get to the ship. No guards along the way; just go straight and take three rights to get out.” Tolya nodded in agreement but waited. The captain turned to his sister. “Now, Tamar, ready to beat up a few smugglers?” Tamar grinned, lifting her axes.

Once both of them left the cell and Tolya could only hear shouts and gunfire, he began dragging the boy. It was time to find a way out.

Grevyen was waiting outside with weapons drawn. He immediately helped Tolya with the boy, slinging the kid’s arm over his shoulder. Due to his small stature, the boy was practically being lifted by the two of them.

“Do you know who he is?” Grevyen asked as they began walking toward what Tolya assumed was the Volkvolny.

Tolya shook his head. “No, he was already there when I woke up.”

Grevyen grunted in response, and they walked in silence.

—

Nico was swallowed by darkness.

He was suffocating.

The darkness enveloped Nico like a suffocating cloak, the air thick with shadows pressing in from every direction. He tried to move, but his body was bound by invisible chains.

It was one of those nightmares that left him gasping, haunted by memories that refused to stay buried.

He felt the cold bronze jar, the claustrophobic space pressing against his skin. The echoes of his own labored breathing filled his ears as he relived the suffering, trapped with nothing but darkness and his own despair. Hours seemed to pass, stretching his sanity to its limits. Nico could feel every inch of the jar closing in around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. Fear clawed within him—a fear he knew all too well.

The pomegranate seeds Persephone had given him only provided temporary relief in the void as he drifted between consciousness and oblivion. An oblivion that left him breathless, feeling every beat of his frantic heart.

An oblivion that gave way to a new vision—Bianca.

She was just a few steps away, staring at him with vacant eyes, as if she didn’t recognize him. She was frozen, unreachable, standing just beyond his grasp as he tried to reach for her. “Bianca…” he murmured, his voice trembling. The echo of his rough, broken voice filled his ears, too loud, too sticky.

But Bianca just stood there, unmoving, her form flickering in shadow. And then, without a sound, she disintegrated into dust, scattering into the air before he could even breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His chest rose and fell faster than ever.

Around him, he saw flashes of battle—monsters tearing apart demigods he couldn’t save. Nico was back in the Underworld, the overwhelming memories crashing over him in an unrelenting wave. Minos. Tartarus. The countless souls begging for mercy. The weight of their empty, accusatory stares bore down on him as if he were somehow responsible for their pain, for their imprisonment. Maybe he really was.

Everything came rushing back in an inconsistent blur, the feeling of always being alone, always bearing the weight, always being left behind.

Then he was back in the jar, his body cold and lifeless as he floated in what should have been darkness. No air. No hope. He wanted to scream, claw his way out, but he was too weak, too weak even to lift a finger.

Nico couldn’t take it any longer; he was falling, sinking into a pit of desolation, deep and inescapable. His chest heaved, his breathing heavy, as he fell endlessly into the agony of his past.

He tried to open his eyes, but all he saw was the void. Infinite, lifeless. He gasped a sticky breath, pleading for air to fill his lungs, but he choked as he begged for more.

He would never be himself again. Not now.

—

Tamar returned to the Volkvolny with Sturmhond and several Grisha crew members at her side. None of them were injured, just exhausted.

Unfortunately, when they arrived at the warehouse where her brother had been held and searched the place, too much time had passed, and all the “Grisha merchandise” had already been sold — except for the boy — leaving them to return only with money in hand. And a satisfaction deep in their minds that those people would never harm another Grisha again.

Tamar forced a smile. It wasn’t the ideal outcome, but when had they ever played with the cards they wanted?

Sturmhond, though his lips curved in a smile, kept a pensive expression. Tamar knew it was all because of the boy. Even she couldn’t hide her concern — anything else would be a lie.

After a brief interrogation of the smugglers, they found that no one had confirmed if the boy was actually a Grisha, meaning he hadn’t been sold yet. But the smugglers intended to torture him further to extract information.

Tamar sighed in relief, grateful they had arrived in time to find the boy still alive.

As soon as they boarded the Volkvolny, Sturmhond wasted no time. He ordered departure before nightfall, planning to sail through the night. The less-exhausted Squallers took their positions, raising the sails in preparation. The sea was choppy, so the Tidemakers rested for now.

Tamar and the captain approached Tolya, who was sitting on the deck next to the unconscious boy, monitoring his heartbeat.

Tolya looked up. “Any news?”

Tamar cleared her throat. “They’re Grisha smugglers, and they suspected the boy might be one, but no one was certain.”

“He’s a Grisha,” Sturmhond concluded. “Those men who captured him drug and interrogate Grisha to sell them later. He’ll stay on board until he wakes up, and then we’ll see if he knows anything.” Sturmhond gestured toward the still-unconscious boy, now lying on the Volkvolny’s deck.

Tolya nodded, his brow creased with worry. “He had some bruises and deep cuts on his leg. I did what I could, but the drugs are delaying his recovery. Waking him now wouldn’t be wise.”

Sturmhond agreed. “I’ll give everyone a break, but I want to meet with you two in my cabin later. The sword we found must belong to the boy; I’d like to see if you might know anything about it.”

The twins nodded, and as Sturmhond walked away, Tolya asked, “What sword?”

“Iosif found a peculiar sword while we were interrogating the leader. He said it was with the boy when they captured him, but it’s unlike anything I’ve seen. Made of dark iron,” Tamar said, sitting beside her brother. “It’s fitting, really; the boy himself is strange.”

Tolya laughed. “That suits him.”

Tamar leaned against her brother. “Nikolai mentioned we’re headed to Novyi Zem; someone hired us there.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “We’ll stop near Cofton to meet the client.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Sturmhond was reserved when he told me. He said a whaler would be better suited for this job than the Volkvolny. I suspect we won’t be here long.”

Tolya put an arm around Tamar’s shoulder. “That’s strange, isn’t it?”

“And when isn’t it?” she replied, a hint of laughter in her voice.

He chuckled dryly but nodded in agreement. “So, how many days’ journey?”

“Three or four, depending on the current.”

“Novyi Zem, here we come,” he exclaimed, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Here we come.”

—

The boy had been unconscious for two days.

Tamar passed through the curtain that separated the boy’s hammock from the rest of the crew. Tolya was standing beside the hammock, checking on him. “The drug has left his system; now it’s just a matter of time before he wakes up.”

Tamar furrowed her brow and pressed her lips together. “I’m here because of that. Sturmhond asked me to see if it’s time to wake him up.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that I’m eager to do so.”

Tolya hesitated and frowned. “Where does he want us to do this? Here isn’t the best place,” he said, pointing to the thin curtain separating him from the crew.

“In his cabin. It’ll be more private there.”

Her brother nodded hesitantly, probably not wanting to wake the boy by force. He moved toward the hammock and lifted the boy, placing the boy’s arms over his own shoulders. Tamar moved and helped, wrapping her arm around him as Tolya had.

They carried the unconscious boy down to the cabin below deck, where the door was already open. Upon entering, Sturmhond greeted them with a nod, pulled out a chair, and walked to the door behind them, closing it.

The twins placed the boy in the chair, his head tilting back, making the dark circles under his eyes and his paler-than-usual face more noticeable.

“I think it’s time to wake our guest,” the captain smiled. “Not that I’m thrilled to do it, but our client might take too much interest in him if he sees him passed out, and that’s something I’m not keen on.”

Tamar looked around the cabin; she was leaning against the table in the center of the room, close to the chair where the boy sat. On the table were the weapons found with him: his peculiar sword and small blades that had been tucked into his boots. Tolya, on the other hand, was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, surveying the cabin, while Sturmhond stood directly in front of the boy, a short distance from Tamar.

“Speaking of which, who is this client?” Tolya asked, his lips pressed — a habit he had when worried.

Nikolai smiled. “General Kirigan,” he said with a resigned sigh.

Tamar’s eyes widened, surprise and apprehension crossing her face. “You’re saying the Darkling is our client!?” She exchanged a glance with Tolya, who wore a hardened expression.

Tolya shook his head slowly, as if trying to process. “Do you know who he is, don’t you? The man who nearly destroyed Ravka!” His voice held a lower, graver tone, but the concern was clear.

“It’s madness,” Tamar murmured, arms crossed defensively.

Nikolai kept a cautious smile, though there was tension in his gaze. “I admit it’s dangerous company,” he said, trying to lighten the weight of the situation, “but you, as well as my crew, are safe with me in charge. And besides, it has something to do with Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner.” He smiled. “We won’t spend long in the Darkling’s company; I have other clients offering more.” He shrugged. “I’ll explain the details later… Now, what do you think about waking him?”

Tamar grunted and nodded in agreement. Nikolai could keep his offers to himself for now, but even she knew he’d be compelled to tell them later. So, Tamar moved her hands, focusing on gradually increasing the boy’s heartbeat until it became too rapid.

The boy’s eyes widened, and he gasped as if he hadn’t breathed in weeks, his torso slumping forward, precariously resting on his knees, that slight support the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor.

His eyes reflected fear as he looked at the three, his hands trembling, and he bit his lips, fighting disorientation.

“Who… who are you?” he asked in a shaky voice.

Sturmhond chuckled and leaned forward. “Funny, that’s exactly what I was going to ask you. Who are you?”

Chapter Text

Nico didn't hate his life. Well, not until now.

The dream he had had struck him with a grief and dizziness he had never felt before. Maybe it was because he really was far from home this time—whatever “home” was at the moment. Or maybe it was because he had no idea what liquid he had been forced to ingest, but he was absolutely certain that it was still in his system.

But now, the only thing Nico wanted to do was throw himself off a moving boat, straight into the sea, never to return.

Or not really.

In fact, Nico just wanted a break.

The realization of his heartbeat accelerating hit him before his surroundings did. He gasped, the rapid rhythm of his heart not helping. Sweat trickled down his temple and Nico thought he was going to die.

When Nico finally regained some of his rhythm for normal breathing, he realized he was propped up on his knees, staring at a rip in his pants where the wound should still be open but wasn't, leaving only a raised, gnarled scar, and beneath his feet an expensive-looking rug.

His hands were shaking. 

His vision seemed blurry and he heard his heartbeat like a dull echo in his ears.

Did he look up to see two people? No. There were three. There was a tanned woman in an olive green outfit standing next to him, her intense golden eyes regarding him suspiciously. There was a man who looked very much like the woman in Nico’s peripheral vision, though he was taller and more intimidating. And practically in front of him was another man with strange red hair—not at all like Rachel’s, Nico thought—and his green eyes stared at him as if they were trying to decipher his soul.

The first positive thought that crossed Nico's mind was that he was no longer tied up. But soon after that came the realization: who were these people?

Nico hesitated, biting his lips and trying to stop his hands from shaking. What if these were his buyers? The ones the woman, Marya, Nico remembered, had mentioned. 

A pang of fear hit Nico before he pushed her aside.

Nico pursed his lips. “Who… who are you guys?” He asked, his voice coming out shakier than he would have liked.

The redhead laughed, leaning his body forward and looking deep into Nico's eyes. “Funny, that's exactly what I was going to ask you. Who are you?”

Nico blinked. What? These people didn't know who he was and yet he was in a room with them?

Nico urgently wanted to get up, his position in the chair making him feel vulnerable. However, he knew that if he stood up, the risk of his legs not obeying him and him falling to the floor was even greater.

He forced himself to breathe, trying his best to calm himself. He scanned the room: a single door, this one practically guarded by the dark-haired man. His sword and blades were on the table, next to the woman. The woman must have seen him looking at the blades and let out a crooked smile when their eyes met. The room was full of maps on the walls and there was a table at the very back that looked like it had a bottle of liquor on it.

“Well, we don’t have all day.” The redhead said, interrupting his thoughts. He walked a little and dragged a chair that Nico hadn’t seen before, placing it in front of him. Only then, the man sat down in a relaxed posture and faced him. “I don’t like having strangers around, so unless you introduce yourself, you’ll remain a stranger.”

Nico hesitated, looking at his trembling hands. Should he trust these people? Considering his situation, it would probably be best not to trust anyone. But then again, he couldn't just sit back and wait and see what happened.

“My name is Nico.” His voice was hoarse and he forced himself to remain calm.

The man let out a grunt that sounded more like a muffled laugh. “See? We’ve got a start, Nico.” He emphasized his name.

Nico wanted to bang his head against the wall when he hesitated again for what felt like the tenth time. “And who are you guys?”

The redhead smiled, as if he had already expected this question. As if Nico were an open book with pages waiting to be read. “It seems I’m a terrible host, doesn’t it?” He let out a laugh as he pointed to himself, almost calculatedly. “Well, allow me to introduce myself: my name is Sturmhond, captain of the ship you’re on right now. This”—he paused dramatically as he pointed first to the woman and then to the man—“is Tamar and Tolya.”

The names unnerved Nico. This Tamar was nothing like the frightened daughter of Hermes who had been looking out for her brother’s well-being. The same little girl who had told him he would help her brother, without even doubting his abilities for a moment. And if that Tamar’s brother was anything like her, then this man in his side view, Tolya, was nothing like her either.

Nico wanted to laugh; the fates loved to play with him. Now, it was just a matter of another cruel prank.

A catch that certainly meant he was supposed to stay close to these people.

Nico sighed and clenched his fists. “Why am I here?” He asked before any intrusive thoughts could cross his mind and he reacted on impulse.

The son of Hades felt the pressure in the room. The moment he asked the question, the three people looked at him even more intensely. Tamar disguised her gaze by holding one of her small blades in her hand and watching it as she twirled it between her fingers. Tolya looked away to stare at the wall with the maps. Sturmhond, however, made no attempt to pretend, just continued to stare at Nico.

Sturmhond stared at him for so long that Nico thought time would stop. That look… it was the look of someone calculating exactly what to say and weighing his choices. “We weren’t going to just leave you in the hands of those smugglers. After all, they’re all dead now, so it would be the same.” He shrugged, as if he’d just said he’d had breakfast, not that he’d killed an entire gang of smugglers.

“What?” Was Nico’s only reaction.

“Well, they were doing illegal things. Anyway, I’m more interested in one thing: why exactly were you the only one who wasn’t sold as ‘Grisha merchandise’?” He asked, leaning down to look Nico up and down.

Nico tried hard not to react. The truth? He had no idea. Nico had been hearing the term 'Grisha' ever since he had been cornered in that alley, but he had no idea what it meant. However, the way people were saying it implied that it was something common. In other words, Nico obviously couldn't respond and use the excuse that he didn't know what a Grisha was.

Suddenly, a memory came to his mind. Just before they poured that strange liquid into her mouth, Marya had spoken as if she was both sure and unsure if he was a Grisha.

“They…” Nico hesitated. “They thought I was Grisha, but they weren’t sure.” He paused and looked down, unable to meet Sturmhond’s unnerving gaze. “They wanted to find out so they could sell me as Grisha merchandise. Something about raising the price.”

The captain made a sound, almost in agreement, but not quite. “And why weren’t they sure?”

Nico swallowed. “I have no idea.”

“So you’re a Grisha.” Sturmhond said, as if Nico had just told himself he was.

“What? No!”

Tamar moved beside him, setting the blade down on the table. “They wouldn’t kidnap you for anything. Not even just to make sure.” She looked him in the eye when Nico lifted his head. “So either you’re a Grisha, or you’re a Grisha. No exceptions.”

Nico took a deep breath to keep from screaming. This conversation was making him even more frustrated. And who were these people? “Of course not! I have never been and am not a Grisha.” He paused, his next words important. “I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Sturmhond smiled, as if he couldn’t believe his words. “Wrong place at the wrong time? Unlikely. Tell me, what really happened?”

Nico’s head was spinning. Couldn’t these people just leave him alone? “I told you! But those guys said I ‘appeared out of nowhere’ in an alley, which is clearly impossible!” Shit, Nico closed and opened his mouth. He couldn’t let himself act on impulse, he had just shared too much. Nico hesitated. “It was probably some trick of the light thing. How could someone just appear in an alley out of nowhere?” He laughed at his own words, trying to lend credibility to them, as if those smugglers were crazy. Deep down, Nico knew they weren’t.

The captain smiled. “Hmm, interesting. Yeah, even for a Grisha, appearing out of nowhere is a bit of a stretch.” Sturmhond glanced at him, but then his gaze went straight to Tolya, who shook his head.

Nico's heart raced, had he said something wrong? He forced himself to remain calm.

“Regardless,” the captain began to speak and stood up, “I’m more curious about something else.” He walked over to the table Tamar was leaning on and took Nico’s Stygian iron sword in his hand. “What does this sword mean to you and what is its material? You know… I’m just curious.”

A lump formed in Nico’s throat, but he answered anyway. If he didn’t, it would probably raise even more suspicion. “It was a gift from my father…” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t true either. It had been forged in the Underworld, not given to Nico by Hades. “It’s been in the family for a while. As for the material, I can’t tell you.” He shook his head, trying to make his point. “My father didn’t have a chance to tell me before he left me.” Nico swallowed hard, he was telling more lies than he thought was right.

Sturmhond dropped the sword on the table with little to no care. “Interesting, to say the least. Now,” he tugged at the sleeve of his blue coat and glanced at a clock, “I think it’s getting late. Tolya, how about showing our guest your net?”

Tolya waved and motioned for Nico to stand up. 

With great difficulty, Nico stood up, his legs threatened to give out, trembling, but he held on to the back of the chair to steady himself on the floor.

Nico heard the door open, but he was more interested in looking at his own sword than leaving at the moment. 

The redhead smiled and followed his gaze. “The blade will stay safe with me for now. We can come to more agreements about this later. Now, go rest, tomorrow someone will show you the ship.”

Honestly, Nico held himself back from cursing or glaring at Sturmhond. He wanted his blade back and he wanted to get out of here. Nico stomped off after Tolya. He glanced bitterly back at where Sturmhond and Tamar were glaring at him.

Nico sighed, now he was absolutely sure that he hated his life.

—

The swinging of the hammock he was in did nothing to calm Nico down.

Sturmhond, he thought, reminded him of Percy, with his sarcastic comebacks and easy smile, and of Annabeth, with his critical eyes and shrewdness. It was unnerving. 

Nico looked up at the wooden ceiling. The smell of sea air and humidity did not calm him. From what little he had seen of this ship, it was nothing like the Argo II. But then again, the Argo II was a magical ship that could fly. Obviously it would be nothing like it.

As he followed Tolya to where he was now a few hours ago, Nico noticed several furtive glances in his direction. Some came from the crew on duty, others from those already in their hammocks. They weren't malicious glances, just... curious.

Nico sighed. He hated ships.

He had been lying in that hammock for a few hours now, unable to sleep. His mind was racing, thinking too much about the situation he was in. He wouldn't force himself to sleep either, not if he had to face Bianca in his dreams.

If he could, Nico would never sleep again.

Nico wanted to get out of that hammock, look at the sea through the railing and maybe jump off the ship. But unfortunately, he knew that he had not been put in that hammock by chance; Tolya was sleeping a few meters away, but Nico had no doubt that with any movement he made, the man would wake up.

Or maybe the man wasn't sleeping, just pretending to soothe Nico's senses. That didn't improve the situation.

As the waves crashed against the ship's hull, Nico thought of everything he had left behind: the camp; Will, the bold and courageous son of Apollo—the same one who had said Nico could not shadow travel without proper rest—; Hazel, in New Rome; and most of all, the memories. The gods. His life.

Maybe, just maybe, the thing Nico never thought he would miss, but here he was brooding over with nostalgia, was his life with the people at the camp. Sure, he had gone through a lot of bad and unhappy times, but when Nico lost Bianca, it was the people there who welcomed him, told him he was family, and worried about him.

Percy, with his charisma, was always behind the son of Hades, maybe, Nico thought, Percy saw him as a little brother. Annabeth didn't show it much, but deep down, Nico knew that she cared, just like Reyna, even before bringing Athena Parthenos to camp, she was always asking about him, supporting him.

And then there was Hazel. Hazel reminded him of himself in every way: she was from a different time, with different customs, and a huge heart. Hazel was kind, loving, and, though shy, very brave. Hazel perhaps had a little of what Nico never had: courage. But most of all, she was his sister.

Nico's chest tightened, he hadn't even been able to say a proper goodbye to all these people.

Nico didn't want the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he didn't want to miss his family much less. But Nico didn't want many things either.

He turned onto his side, sighing, and for the first time, he felt like he had fallen asleep on his own.

—

The next morning came quicker than Nico could have expected. He had barely rested completely, not with the restless feeling of the new environment, so his exhausted body wished he had stayed in the hammock longer.

But Nico knew he couldn't. The nightmares hadn't come to haunt him that night, but any time he fell asleep, it was a likely chance. A chance he wanted to avoid.

Nico was awakened by the sounds of the ship. The crew was moving around, preparing for another day at sea. Tolya led him to the bow of the ship, where Sturmhond and Tamar were already standing, both holding and eating some dried fruit.

Before even greeting them, Nico looked at the landscape. It was breathtaking. The vast blue that surrounded them reminded him of home, of the time he spent on the Argo II.

“Good morning, distinguished guest. Or should I say, Nico.” Sturmhond greeted, with an easy smile. He extended his hand, offering a fruit.

Nico took the food. “Hello.”

Tamar leaned forward next to Sturmhond and Tolya, who had come to her side, and laughed. “It seems your mood is not very good this morning.”

“Neither is mine, so don’t pick on him.” Tolya said, elbowing her.

“You just haven’t eaten yet.” She replied, handing him a piece of fruit.

Nico watched the interaction curiously. He was now leaning on the railing, looking out at the ocean and the ship. The three sails on the three different masts were hoisted. On top of the main mast, there was a man, observing the surroundings. At the helm, almost at the stern of the ship, another man. The crew was spread out across the deck, some playing cards, some fighting, and some skillfully tending the ropes.

They looked like a family, Nico thought wistfully as he finished eating the fruit.

Sturmhond cleared his throat. “Tell me, Nico,” he emphasized his name, as if it were fun to tease him, “do you know how to fight?”

Nico stared at him for a moment. That was strange. Wasn’t this the person who had confiscated his sword and said they would come to an agreement later? “Yeah… my hand-to-hand combat isn’t that refined, but I can hold my own in a fight.”

Tolya tilted his head at him. “What about your sword? Do you know how to use it?”

“I know,” Nico said without preamble. It would be weird to say no, to lie about it. He had lied about so many things that maybe this was one thing he should tell the truth about. “Why?”

Tamar looked down at her nails, disinterested. Then her gaze wandered pointedly to Nico. “Just curious. You act like someone who knows how to handle a fight.”

Nico, however, read between the lines: you carry yourself like a warrior, she meant. And Nico knew that, perhaps, after the traumas, the wars, and the fights, he really did carry himself like one.

“Come, fight with me.” Tamar interrupted his thoughts, walking forward and watching him closely.

“Now that’s something I’m interested in seeing.” Sturmhond said, joy in his voice.

Tolya laughed and agreed, betting his money on Tamar as she handed him his axes.

Nico sighed, he had no choice, did he? “Let me guess: without hurting, maiming, or killing?” He said, approaching cautiously.

Sturmhond and Tamar laughed. “That’s the spirit!”

Nico slid in front of Tamar, trying to ignore the watchful eyes of some of the sailors who had now gathered below deck in a curious, whispering circle. 

He clenched his hands into fists, aware of every tense muscle. Her expression, relaxed and slightly teasing, bothered him more than he cared to admit. 

Nico didn't want to fight, not here and not now, but he knew that the sooner he got on these people's good side, the sooner they would trust him.

Tamar moved first, a direct attack that forced Nico to step aside. He was used to fighting monsters, but Tamar moved methodically, with deadly precision. Her fists were fast and true, and Nico barely managed to dodge them.

“I know you haven’t eaten properly yet, but has that slowed you down?” Tamar taunted, dodging his punch with ease. She ducked quickly and spun, trying to hit him with a kick.

Nico jumped back, feeling the wind from the blow pass inches from his face. He recovered and attempted a counterattack, moving to the left and throwing a punch toward her abdomen. But Tamar grabbed his wrist with terrifying speed, her smile only growing as she yanked him off balance.

At that moment, when Nico realized his height difference with her, he hated it.

He stumbled and had to quickly catch himself, feeling his frustration rising. It was clear that Tamar knew what she was doing, and he was being too cautious. If he kept this up, she would easily defeat him—and that would be humiliating.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Tamar commented, releasing his wrist and taking a step back, signaling for him to attack again.

This time, Nico focused on observing her movements instead of blindly attacking. He crouched down slightly, studying Tamar’s posture, her muscles ready to counter any sudden movements. Then, in a quick impulse, he feigned a direct attack, but at the last second, he dodged to the side, aiming for her shoulder.

She was caught off guard, staggering back from the impact, but quickly recovered, laughing.

“Showing something you know, huh?” Tamar said, now more interested. She stepped forward again, but this time Nico was prepared.

The fighting became a bit intense. Nico wasn't used to it, at camp, things went differently; the strategies were different and few fought as well as Percy and Annabeth.

But Tamar was relentless, her attacks were faster and heavier than Nico was used to. It reminded him a little of the way Percy fought, but more intense. Maybe like Clarisse. Still, he tried to take advantage of the opportunities, slipping between the gaps in her blows, seeking a balance between attacking and defending.

The tension of the surrounding crew increased by the second, their gazes following every movement. Even Sturmhond, who had previously seemed to be merely enjoying himself, was now watching intently, as if trying to decipher every detail of the fight.

It was then, in the middle of a blow that was harder to dodge, that Nico felt a familiar chill run through his veins, the one that signaled the beginning of his body’s automatic response to use his power. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to push the feeling away. No, not here. Using any of his abilities would draw too much attention. Besides, he couldn’t reveal himself, not now, that they still thought Nico was a Grisha—whatever that was—and still distrusted him.

It was clear that Tamar had noticed his hesitation when she smiled, as if she had detected some weakness, and took the opportunity to advance with a sharp kick to his abdomen, making him retreat with a groan.

Nico took a deep breath, feeling the pain radiate through his body, but he took a step forward, raising his fists again.

Nico kept his fists raised, but the impact of Tamar's kick still reverberated through his body, forcing him not to give in to the pain. He tried to focus, adjust his breathing and ignore the curious looks around him — especially the intense gazes of Tolya and Sturmhond —, but their presence only made him more nervous. In truth, Nico was not used to this type of direct fight without his weapons, not at the camp, where it was more than necessary to know how to use his blades to properly defend himself from the monsters.

Tamar wasted no time; she lunged forward quickly, kicking in a low arc, forcing Nico to jump back. He stumbled, barely recovering, and attempted a counterattack with a straight punch. However, her speed was superior. She dodged effortlessly, grabbing his arm and spinning him around, leaving him completely exposed.

Nico pulled his arm free, but in one swift movement, Tamar tripped him and sent him crashing to the deck floor, drawing gasps from the crew around him who had stopped to watch. Nico felt pain throb in his shoulder as he tried to stand up, but before he could even lift his head, Tamar was standing over him, one foot pressing down on his shoulder to keep him down.

“Is that all, Nico?” she asked, her voice laden with a mocking tone, playing with the sound of his name on her lips.

Nico huffed, but didn’t try to pull away. Tamar knew what she was doing, and he knew that if he tried to force himself free, he’d only look more awkward. Instead, he opted for an awkward smile. “I warned you my hand-to-hand combat wasn’t the best.”

Tamar narrowed her eyes, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. After a moment, she stepped aside, allowing him to stand. Nico stood slowly, massaging his sore shoulder as he heard the laughter of some of the sailors around him. Sturmhond, for his part, watched with an amused gleam in his eyes, but also an intense curiosity, as if trying to see beyond what he had just witnessed.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Tamar said, but with a half-smile. “You can manage. But if you want to survive around here, you’re going to have to improve.”

Nico took a deep breath, still feeling the pressure of the fight on his body. He just nodded, as if accepting the criticism in good grace. Deep down, he knew he had held back, refusing to use any ability that might draw attention, because if he had been in a fight with his monsters, he would have invoked his powers, perhaps even called for help from the skeletons. Not that Tamar, Tolya, and Sturmhond needed to know that. The only thing Nico wanted was to go unnoticed, something he knew would not be entirely possible, but rather, desired.

“So, when’s the next class?” he replied, his tone casual, forcing a smile as he watched Tamar’s satisfied face.

She let out a light laugh, while Tolya studied him in silence, and Sturmhond continued to watch him with that gaze that seemed to want to unravel any secrets of his.

Again, Sturmhond reminded him too much of Annabeth, assessing and cataloging everything in his mind with a single glance.

“Is your shoulder sore?” Sturmhond asked, watching Nico massage the tense muscle.

“A little,” he admitted. “Nothing that won’t pass.”

Besides, if he really needed to heal, Nico knew he still had ambrosia and nectar—he had belatedly checked the night before. All of his minor healing items, plus the strange seeds Persephone had given him, were still stored in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Sturmhond nodded, but said nothing in response.

Tolya, Nico noticed, was watching him silently as he tried to regain his composure after the fight, stretching his arm with the sore shoulder. There was something appraising in his gaze, a steady serenity that contrasted with Tamar’s light teasing. Nico stared at him for a second, but quickly looked away, returning his focus to the conversation.

“Are… you siblings?” Nico asked, trying to sound casual but genuinely curious. They both had too many similarities to be just cousins.

Tolya raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised by the question. “Yes,” he replied. “Twins, actually.”

“Why, did you think we looked like we were just old friends?” Tamar laughed, her eyes shining with amusement.

Nico shrugged, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I just… noticed some similarities.” He observed the two, who seemed to complement each other in their movements and looks, an almost imperceptible synchrony. The golden tone of their eyes and the dark color of their hair gave it away a little too.

“We’re from Shu Han,” Tolya said, almost as an explanation. “And that alone tends to raise a few eyebrows around here.”

Nico nodded, noticing that there was something defensive about the mention of Shu Han, as if he were not a welcome local. He had no idea what that meant or what tensions might be behind the comment. Probably a country or something, Nico thought. “I imagine that would draw attention.”

“More than we’d like,” Tamar added, narrowing her eyes. “That’s how we know when someone’s hiding something. Like you, Nico. But don’t worry; we’ve dealt with strange types before.”

Sturmhond smiled, his intense, observant gaze never leaving Nico. “Though, unlike you, they tend to be a bit more… talkative. You’re rather quiet, I must say.” He studied him as if waiting for a reaction that might confirm whatever suspicions he had.

Nico remained calm, trying to appear relaxed. “I just prefer to listen,” he said. “It helps me understand the environment.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. In the Senate in Nova Roma, Nico had always been quiet, observing, trying not to be discovered as a Greek posing as a Roman. It might not be any different here, he thought.

“Fair enough,” Sturmhond said, his gaze calculating. He then leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms. “But while you listen, I hope you’ll also learn to defend yourself without needing your sword. It’s in good hands, for now. Just… temporarily out of your reach.”

Nico felt a pang of frustration. He didn't want his weapon in the hands of others, without his access, almost as if part of him was trapped with them. And he knew he wouldn't leave the ship until he got it back, meaning he would most likely have to spend more time with these people. 

Perhaps, Nico thought, this was what the Fates wanted. It was his duty, his path, and his destiny to remain in the company of these people in order to succeed in his mission. 

“I understand,” he replied, more seriously. “But I would like to get it back at some point.” He measured his words, hoping there would be no adverse reactions.

Tamar gave a dry laugh. “That depends on how much you’re willing to show.” She took a step closer, her gaze fixed on Nico as if trying to see through his skin. “But tell me something, Nico… what exactly do you know about fighting?”

Nico took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Enough to get by. I’ve faced some… difficult situations.” It was the most he could say, he thought, without having to reveal too much more about where he came from.

“So that’s it,” Tolya commented, leaning forward as if digesting the answer. “You speak like someone who has seen battles, and you don’t seem like the type to shy away from them.”

Sturmhond glanced at Tolya, exchanging a subtle, intrigued glance with him, before turning back to Nico. “That’s a rare quality, especially in someone your age. Who taught you to fight like that?”

Nico hesitated. Part of him wanted to lie, but he knew that would certainly complicate things even more. Especially if he had to refrain from telling the same story to other people. “I… learned by observing. And from some people who… aren’t around anymore.” He saw a flash of recognition pass through the three of them, an understanding that, although Nico expected it—after all, they were travelers, warriors, pirates—or whatever—it was unexpected by the way they let it show.

“I’m sorry about that,” Tolya said, with a sincerity that took him by surprise. “It’s not easy to live with loss.”

Nico looked away, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going. He felt like he was revealing too much, and even if it was in a discreet way, that group seemed to be quite skilled at reading people, something that made him even more tense. Nico sighed, but remained silent.

Sturmhond broke the moment with a smile that belied the seriousness of the situation. “Well, you survived the first test,” he said, nodding toward the deck and the crew that had long since dispersed. “But don’t get used to it.” He laughed. “As I would say to anyone who comes aboard with me: welcome to the Volkvolny.”

Nico felt a headache forming. He felt that fate would keep him intertwined with these people for a long time to come.

Sturmhond stared at him deeply. “Aren’t you even going to say thank you?” He asked and walked away, as if he didn’t need an answer.

Tamar and Tolya laughed. “You get used to it,” Tolya said. “Well, at least I did.” He shrugged.

Tamar, who had just finished arranging her axes at her waist, put her arm around Nico’s shoulders, to which Nico flinched violently at the sudden touch. “You must be hungry. Come, let’s eat.”

—

Tamar led him to the gun deck, which Nico discovered was where they had slept, along with the rest of the crew, with the only exception that all the hammocks had been moved away. Probably, since there was no one there at that time, this was Tamar's choice after passing through the galley: it was quiet and would not attract unwanted attention from the other crew members.

Nico was eating some kind of bread with dried meat, along with Tamar and Tolya, when he thought: how long had he been unconscious?

Honestly, he didn't know. It could have been a few hours, and then those people showed up to take him away from that place and he woke up. Or it could have been a week.

Nico was staring at his food. What had really happened? 

Tolya probably realized “is everything okay?” He asked.

Nico swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t okay. “How long was I unconscious?”

They both stopped and looked at each other. “On the ship, about two days. But we don’t know how long you were in that place.” Tamar informed him. “We didn’t wake you up because the drug they gave you could have adverse effects if we woke you up before it left your system.”

Nico opened and closed his mouth. Didn’t they wake him up? How were they going to do that? By shaking him? Unlikely. He hesitated before asking, “How did you plan on waking me up, then?”

Nico finished eating his bread and leaned against the wall behind him. The smell of the sea air wasn't helping him stay focused.

The brothers looked at each other again, but this time with hesitation, with complicity. “We are Heartrenders, of the order of Corporalki.” Tolya stated.

What? What the hell are Heartrenders or Corporalki supposed to be?

Nico didn't understand a thing. That's why he looked them both in the eye. "What are Heartrenders?"

Apparently, Nico asked the wrong question as they both stared at him like he was crazy.

“You don’t know what Grisha are!?” Tamar half exclaimed, half asked, in disbelief.

Shit. Nico clearly couldn’t say he didn’t know. “Well… yeah, I know?”

“Was that supposed to be a question?” Tolya asked indignantly.

Before any conversation could take place, Tamar sat on the floor, cross-legged, and motioned for the two of them to sit down as well. Hesitantly, Nico sat down and leaned his back against the wall behind him.

“If you say you know, then what are Grisha, Nico?” She asked, leaning in with an almost predatory gaze.

Nico was screwed. His heart was now beating a thousand times. Shit, he shouldn’t have lied. Especially after the conversation he had had the other night. What was he going to tell these people? Nico swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know.”

Tamar sighed, but made no attempt to ask why he didn’t know or why he had lied in that impromptu interrogation the night before, almost as if she knew he had. “Grisha are humans who practice the Small Science. Our abilities are like extensions of the natural world. Traditionally, we are separated into three orders: the Corporalki, which include Heartrenders and Healers; the Etherialki, Tidemakers, Squallers, and Infernis; and the Materialki, which includes the Duraste and Alchemists.”

Nico nodded, but his mind was spinning, how was he supposed to know what each of these names meant?

“Heartrenders and Healers,” Tolya began, “have abilities over the human body. Heartrenders can exert their power over any part of the body, even stopping organs from functioning. Healers are the other side, as the name suggests, they specialize in healing. As for the Etherialki, their power lies in the manipulation of different natural elements, Tidemakers for water, Infernis for fire, and Squallers for wind.” 

Hm, Nico thought, it was almost like it was Percy, Leo, and Jason, maybe he could get used to it. 

His mind lingered for a moment on something else Tolya had said: 'Heartrenders can exert their power over any part of the body, stopping organs from functioning.' What? Could they both kill Nico at any time they wanted? Could they stop his heart? Nico bit his lip and frowned, but refrained from asking. 

“The Materialki,” Tolya continued, “have their abilities focused on composite materials, such as metal, glass, and chemicals.”

“There are some Squallers and Tidemakers on board,” Tamar said. “They help us with the wind and current when they are not favorable.”

Nico nodded. The whole explanation left him a little confused, but maybe he could deal with it as reality. And maybe, he thought, Nico really would be considered a Grisha if they found out about his power. But then again, he remembered the poster he had seen in town, that person manipulated shadows, and yet Tamar and Tolya had not mentioned any Grisha who could do that. So it was very likely that he was something marginalized. Maybe even seen as “bad and evil.” Stereotyped.

Yes, now he had another reason not to show any of his Hades-related abilities.

Tamar leaned forward, a slightly more aggressive expression on her face. Suspicious. “How did you not know? About the Grisha, I mean.”

Nico had known this question was coming, but it didn’t stop him from swallowing hard. “I lived away from society for a while.” It was a half-truth, considering the Lotus Casino and Hotel. “My parents were gone and my sister was the one who took care of me,” another half-truth, “but she always tried to keep me away from the news and the cruelty of the world. I suppose any older sister would do that.” He looked away, looking at his hands that were starting to shake at the thought of Bianca. “When she left…” Nico hesitated, it still wasn’t easy to talk about. “I guess I just wanted to run away and hide from people. That’s what I did.”

Nico couldn’t see Tamar’s or Tolya’s expressions, but from the moment of tense silence that followed, it was probably something like pity. Yes, he knew it might not be the right thing to do to share so much about himself, but here he was, alone in this world without even understanding people. So, he thought, it was kind of fair.

Nico clenched his fists, but before he could say anything, Tamar interrupted his thoughts. “I’m sorry about your sister.” That’s what everyone always says, he thought bitterly, his feelings won’t change anything. “If you want to know more about… anything, you can ask.”

Nico’s eyebrows rose in surprise. This wasn’t… expected. But then again, he supposed, these people were strange.

“What Tamar here is trying to say, Nico,” Tolya cleared his throat and spoke with a little more humor, “is that if you want to know about the Grisha or, I don’t know, how the ship works, if you ask, we will tell you.”

Nico raised his head, finding himself being watched intently by two pairs of golden eyes. “Thank you…” he said awkwardly.

Tamar gave him a smile much more discreet than Tolya's. 

The man abruptly stood up and held out his hand to his sister. Tamar, as she balanced herself, held out her hand to Nico, who took it. Tamar's hand was calloused, like that of many demigods, he thought. Of someone who knows how to wield weapons and who, considering the ship, skillfully maneuvers between ropes.

Tolya spoke first. “Can your skinny body handle heavy work?” he asked, almost as a rhetorical question. Before Nico could even think of an answer, he continued, “Because if you’re going to stay here, you better know how to work with ropes.”

Nico stood there for a moment, processing. “If you just stand there, you’ll get lost.” Tamar warned him from up ahead.

Nico laughed and followed the twins. Maybe he did have a place here this time, but that was a melancholy thought, whenever he belonged somewhere, he didn't belong anymore soon after.

Chapter Text

Novyi Zem was a strange country.

Nico had been left at the port with some money given to him by Sturmhond. “Walk around town, do what boys your age do.” He shrugged as he handed Nico the money. “Just meet us here when the sun is on the horizon.” Then the captain walked off with Tolya and Tamar in another direction.

Their feet made noise on the not-so-empty cobblestone streets during the early hours of the morning. Merchants were beginning to set up their stalls to sell their wares.

The pants they had given Nico the night before were itching against his skin. The fabric felt harsh against his black pants and all he wanted to do was scratch his leg and take them off. Not that he had anything else to subsist on with the ones he was wearing now. Thankfully, he kept his usual shirt and jacket on.

Turning his attention away, Nico stopped in front of a stand with sweets and breads. He didn't know what most of them were and the merchant stared at him, waiting for what he would order. The sugary smell early in the morning was incredible. While the smell of the breads reminded him of home. 

His mother would be in the kitchen, making bread and cookies, while Bianca would fix her hair in a loose braid in front of the bathroom mirror and insist that Nico brush his teeth. Nico, at this time, however, was just focused on going to the kitchen and secretly grabbing a cookie and eating it before his mother offered it to him.

Thinking back, his mother probably knew that he would take the cookies and put them down so Nico could reach them. He would always give one to Bianca too.

Nico smiled bitterly, melancholy. His mind wandered a little more before the merchant made one of those fake coughs people use to get someone's attention. Nico met the man's gaze for a moment, then looked back at the sweets. 

Luckily, on the small wooden counter was a picture of what must have been the currency conversion. No one had really explained to Nico how money worked, but he supposed they wouldn’t—no one knew Nico wasn’t from this world. 

Feeling grateful for this convenience factor, Nico looked at the coin conversion and took some of his own—technically, Sturmhond's, but that didn't matter—placing them on the counter and pointing to the bread he wanted. 

The merchant frowned, certainly impatient with his delay, but he took the coins, counted them, and put them away. Then he took the sweet, wrapped it in paper, and handed it to Nico, skeptical.

Nico thanked him and walked away quickly, he didn't want to be under that man's gaze anymore. He stopped walking to sit on a low wall overlooking the port, already busy in the early morning. 

As he sat down, Nico took a moment to look at the pastry, not sure exactly what he had ordered; from the look and smell, it was a cinnamon bun. Without thinking much, he bit into it. Still warm and probably the first batch of the day, the taste reminded him of home. It reminded him of waiting impatiently with Bianca while his mother cooked, listening to music on an old radio. Then it reminded him of Bianca alone in the kitchen while his mother worked, baking the Di Angelo family’s signature cinnamon pastries—according to his mother.

Nico sighed when he saw that the pastry was gone, but smiled. The sun was already much higher in the sky now than it had been when they had landed. In just a few days, Nico never thought he would miss home, but here he was, crumpling the paper the candy had been wrapped in, seeking comfort from the previous feeling of nostalgia.

His home no longer existed, not here. And he doubted it would ever exist. Before, he had the naive feeling that if he returned to Italy, he would find his village and see the ruins of his old home after being struck by lightning. Then, after Bianca's death, after his fight with Percy and after facing several unimaginable horrors, his home became the camp. The camp, however, did not exist here. 

His old home didn't exist here. But neither did his new home. Maybe the fates didn't want me to have a home, he thought.

—

More time passed with Nico observing the pier before he decided to actually explore the city. By now, the city was already crowded and the usual buzzing sounds of people coming and going filled his ears.

Nico felt out of place, like never before. 

He sighed and let out the air he didn't know he was holding. He walked through the busy streets. Thinking back, he didn't know where he was going, or what he was looking for.

For a moment, he felt distracted and looked around. People were now going to their jobs and getting ready for the day. A few feet in front of him, three siblings were running around laughing, teasing each other. All three were dressed simply—which made his chest twist with longing at how much it reminded him of his neighborhood in Italy. The eldest, a girl with blond curls, was trying to calm the vibrant energy of the other two who must have been twins.

Nico continued walking aimlessly, but at some point, the image of Annabeth came to his mind. With hindsight he realized that it was because of the older sister he had seen. The girl's curls framed her face just like Annabeth's did, rebellious but restrained at the same time.

Although he hadn't stopped walking, his pace had certainly slowed. What would Annabeth do?, he thought. She was, without a doubt, the smartest of them all, the best strategist as well. Part of that was courtesy of being Athena's daughter, the other part, however, was entirely ingrained in her. Looking a little closer, he realized that he was in a relatively large city, and that kind of city, especially one with a busy port, should have some kind of library. Besides, libraries, according to Annabeth herself, were almost always synonymous with knowledge.

And what did he need most now, in this new world? Well, it was definitely knowledge.

Nico smiled, he had an idea and a quarter of a plan of what he was going to do from now on at least. The rest he would figure out later. 

—

Nico didn't know where to begin. At first, the idea of ​​finding a library seemed simple—it seemed like it would solve all his problems—but in a city he didn't know, he soon realized that he might have underestimated Annabeth's genius. And his own dyslexia, too.

Nico knew several languages: Italian, English, Ancient Greek, and Latin. But nothing prepared him for being in a city where he couldn't read the signs and plaques. And while his dyslexia wasn't as bad as most demigods', nothing prepared him for looking at the writing in this city and not only not understanding a single letter, but seeing everything jumbled up.

Luckily, his English was apparently the same language as one of the countries he had been to. Ravkan, if he remembered correctly. Small miracles that his communication in this language, so strange and yet so similar to English, had been successful. 

He sighed and tried to search for information, maybe somewhere there was a translation of the words he saw into Ravkan.

As he wandered aimlessly, just taking in the sound of his footsteps on the cobblestones, the occasional shouting of a bustling city, and the salty smell of the sea air, he barely realized he wasn't paying attention. That was until he felt something collide with his legs, making him temporarily lose his balance.

If it weren't for his heightened instincts, he would have fallen hard to the ground, but Nico quickly regained his balance and pulled whatever had hit him back to his feet. It was actually a child. A boy.

The boy took two steps back, trembling, fear in his eyes. He held both hands against his chest and looked away to stare at his own feet. After a few moments of tense silence, he looked up and stared at Nico, fearful.

The tense shoulders and frightened eyes reminded him of the younger children who arrived at Camp; always ready for someone to tell them it was all a crazy dream or a cult and scold them for being there and believing in everything.

Suddenly, Nico understood. It wasn't that the boy wasn't afraid of Nico, in fact he was, but he was much more terrified by the prospect of Nico scolding him right there.

Frustrated, Nico ran his hands through his hair and knelt down to be eye level with the boy. The boy took another shaky step back, but made no attempt to run away.

“Can you understand me?” He asked, hopefully the boy would understand him and could even guide him to his destiny.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case and the boy curled up even more, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing his shoulders.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Nico whispered, trying to sound as gentle as possible. When the boy turned his gaze to him, Nico held up his hands in a placating manner. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeated.

The boy whispered something in his own language, but Nico clearly didn’t understand. However, the gesture Nico was making—keeping both his hands raised—seemed to have calmed the boy down. The grip on his hands loosened, and he let them fall to his sides.

Nico smiled a little, realizing that his approach worked. When he noticed that the boy had calmed down, he pointed to himself. “Nico.”

This seemed to work, as a universal (dimensional?) way of introducing oneself to someone who didn't understand one's own language, for the boy also pointed to himself. “Pyotr.”

The name sounded very strange, but Nico made sure to repeat it. “Pyotr?” The boy, in response, smiled and nodded sharply.

For a moment, they both stood there staring at each other and a thought came to Nico's head. If before he hadn't understood the language properly, not until he actually said something, if he did that, however, with any of the other languages ​​he knew, would it be possible for this boy to understand him?

That is, if he spoke Italian, Ancient Greek, or even Latin, would his brain associate that with whatever language was spoken in that city? He shrugged, it was worth a try.

“Puoi capirmi?” He asked, first in Italian, if the boy could understand him. The boy looked at him with confusion written all over his face. Italian was a no, then. Latin perhaps? “Potesne me intelligere?”

For a moment, it looked like it wasn’t going to work. Not until his face lit up and he gave a very sincere smile. “Ita te intellegere possum!” 

Although he hadn't had much time to get used to Latin, Nico knew what that phrase meant. Pyotr understood him. Okay, apparently the language of this country translated into Latin in his mind. Of course, Nico had no idea how that worked, but for now, he was okay with thinking that the gods were being merciful.

“Are you lost?” he asked, again in Latin.

The boy gave a mischievous smile, but looked down at the ground, as if he had been caught in a lie. “I got separated from my mother… then I ran off looking for her. Oh! I’m sorry, sir! For falling into you!”

Nico laughed, it sounded like something he would have done when he was his age. “Don’t worry. Want to try and find your mother?”

The boy choked. “My mother tells me not to talk to strangers…”

“I’m not a stranger if I’ve already introduced myself.” Nico countered, though Pyotr was right in theory.

Pyotr chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Hmm… the last time I saw Mom she was over there.” He turned around and pointed in the direction Nico had been heading in earlier.

“Alright, let’s go then.”

The boy smiled and walked away quickly, occasionally looking back to see if Nico was still following him.

After a good twenty minutes, entering unknown streets and passing by shopkeepers advertising their wares, they both arrived at a large square. Until then, the silence between the two during the time they walked had been filled with Pyotr's observations about how the day was going.

The square was surrounded by trees and had a few benches for people to sit on. There were several shops scattered among the buildings that surrounded the place. On the other side of the square, standing in front of a shop, was a woman frantically waving at someone else. She was nervous, running her hand through her hair and looking around several times.

When Pyotr saw it, he wasted no time. Nico only realized he had run away when he heard the boy's voice shouting "Mommy" several times. 

Nico walked calmly until he had crossed the square and reached the two of them. He could hear Pyotr talking anxiously to his mother about the man who had helped him get there—that is, Nico. His mother was hugging him tightly, if the wrinkles forming in the boy's shirt were any indication.

“Never do that again, Pyotr. Never again!” She pulled him into her embrace even tighter.

Nico kept a nice distance between them, letting them have their meeting properly.

When Pyotr pulled out of his mother’s embrace, he had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry, Mommy…”

Not wanting to pry too much into family matters, Nico let his attention drift away from everything. He seriously needed a break. Even though he had only been in this world for a few days—at least he assumed it was only a few, ignoring the fact that he had been drugged—he seriously needed to get his mind off of absolutely everything.

His attention only returned when he heard his name being called several times. It was Pyotr telling his mother about how he had helped him. The woman looked at him with a grateful smile. “I don’t even know how to thank you.” She said, studying Nico’s face. “But thank you so much for helping him.”

Nico frowned and licked his rough, chapped lips. “It… it was nothing. He was just lost and needed some help.”

The woman nodded. “Thank you very much anyway.”

“No problem. If it’s not too much to ask, I’m not from around here, and I’d like to know if there’s a library here.”

She smiled. “I can help you with that. The nearest library is about fifteen minutes away. If you turn right there”—she pointed to a path around the trees—“and then walk straight ahead for about fifteen minutes, you’ll come to a square that looks a lot like this one. If you leave the square on the left side of the fountain, you’ll be right in front of the library building.”

Nico nodded. “Thank you very much.”

“Thank you. Pyotr here has a way of being very adventurous, let’s say.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He smiled and said goodbye to the two, following the path the woman had indicated.

— 

The library building was old, decorated with some sculptures that Nico didn't recognize, but well signposted — considering that, for some reason, he could now read that writing that had previously seemed so strange to him.

Honestly, he wouldn't question it. If the gods wanted him to understand, then he would understand and not ask any questions about it.

Nico pushed open the large wooden doors of the building and was greeted with the smell of old books. Looking around, all the reading furniture was made of dark wood, and despite it being morning, there were already a few people sitting around, absorbed in their reading and research.

He went to the back of the library, with several shelves positioned, and entered the history and geography area, marked only by small letters. It was extensive, more than he could have imagined.

Without really knowing what he was looking for, Nico just picked up some books that talked about the history of the world or a country.

When he sat down at an empty table at the back of the building, he began to randomly open the books. The first one had a generic title about telling the history of the world. Nico never imagined it would be so different, but it was. The countries showed different cultures, customs and stories. Showing off their traditions that had not been lost in centuries of history.

The most prominent country in this scenario was Ravka. A war-torn country, currently divided by the so-called Shadow Fold, with a culture of relative acceptance of the Grisha, who were compulsorily drafted into the Ravkan army.

From the few whispered words Nico heard from the other crew members on the ship during the days he was there, the country he was kidnapped from was Kerch, which Nico discovered was a small island located in the so-called True Sea, ruled by the Merchant Council. In addition to being home to several types of gangs and smugglers.

It took a little longer — also due to his dyslexia — but Nico finally managed to find information about Novyi Zem, a country that had not been involved in most of the conflicts that occurred in the world because of its geographical position. From what he understood, the Grisha here were blessed with their powers, so there was not much discrimination against them. It was also a nation known for the cultivation of Jurda, a plant widely used as a stimulant.

A little more research revealed other relatively important countries, such as Fjerda, which is a country completely against the Grisha, seeing them almost as aberrations and having a division in its army to hunt, capture and kill them. There is also Shu Han, known for its experiments against the Grisha and the unfinished conflicts on the borders of Ravka.

Nico sighed and leaned back in his chair. All this research was giving him a headache, getting him nowhere. No, he thought, if anyone asked him about anything, he would know more about geography. He could even claim to be from Ravka, but he had fled to Kerch.

Frustrated that he had spent more time than he should have on this fruitless research, Nico rested his head in his hands. What else was he supposed to do? What else was he supposed to research? How was he supposed to acclimate himself to this world?

Nothing made sense.

Until it did.

Nico deliberately remembered several crew members talking about the Saints.

Nico stood up, leaving behind the disorder of the books he was reading and went to the shelves of Grisha history, or zowa — as they are known in Novyi Zem — and read title by title, until he found what he was looking for: a book that spoke about the Saints. This one, however, was written in Ravkan, “Istorii Sankt'ya” was the title, its translation being something close to the history of the Saints.

Picking up the book, he hurried back to his seat, cleared away the clutter, and opened it, reading the introduction. The saints are figures who, despite their divine gifts—most likely meaning their Grisha abilities—have experienced profound human suffering and demonstrated resilience. The whole mix of supernatural intervention (again, most likely explained by the fact that they are Grisha) and human vulnerability paints a rich and complex picture of sainthood that resonates deeply with those who believe.

Nico delved deeper into the reading. At some point in the introduction, it talked about normal people worshipping a Saint. Their worship could be done to ask for intervention or a miracle. Each Saint had a different domain.

His tales include miracles and martyrdoms of well-known saints such as Sankta Lizabeta das Rosas

and Sankt Ilya in Chains, to the strange and obscure stories of Sankta Ursula, patron saint of those lost at sea.

His limited knowledge on the subject led him to realize that perhaps most of those who are originally from Ravka choose a saint to be their guide. Nico wasn't sure, but it kind of made sense. He had heard whispers from the crew he knew to be from Ravka asking for protection from Sankt Nikolai, the patron saint of sailors.

After the introduction, many texts and images of the saints followed the pages. Nico read many of the stories and analyzed the pages. One image in particular caught his attention. It was a girl with black hair and a tired appearance holding a tunnel with her hands, forming a path for the people behind her to pass.

It was Sankta Marya of the Rock.

Her story was about carving passages and forming paths in a collapsing mining site. Her legacy was about the Suli still being able to find shelter in the paths Marya created. About always having shelter.

But that wasn't necessarily what caught Nico's attention.

Sankta Marya is the patron saint of those who are far from home.

And Nico was far from home. 

If anyone were to ask him, Nico would even proudly say that he was a worshiper of Sankta Marya.

If someone asked him why, he would talk about Bianca, the one who had been his home for a long time.

(Belatedly he realized that the woman who had captured him days ago was called Marya. This Marya, however, had nothing to do with Sankta Marya.)

Sankta Marya reminded him of Hestia. Maybe because they were both young little girls.

—

At sunset, Nico returned to the dock where they had left him. He could see Tolya and Tamar standing ready in front of a huge ship. Perhaps twice the size of the Volkvolny. Earlier that morning, before disembarking, Sturmhond had told Nico something about a whaler. Nico just hadn't imagined it would be so big.

The twins waved at Nico as he approached.

“We were going to leave you here if you took another two minutes.” Tamar stated with a merciless look.

Nico gave a forced smile. They clearly wouldn’t do that. Sturhmund was too proud to leave a stranger he wanted to know more about lying around.

An awkward silence fell before Tolya waved them aboard the ship. The captain intended to set sail while the sun was still on the horizon, so they couldn't afford to delay too much.

Soon the entire crew was in place, the sails hoisted and Sturmhund at the helm shouting orders. 

The ship set sail much faster than Nico expected. Hearing the whispered conversations, Nico knew that they were heading even closer to a town called Cofton. Theories indicate that whoever Sturmhund's client was, did not want to meet him in the town they were currently docked in.

Nico sat in a hammock somewhere and closed his eyes, trying not to feel sick. The longer he spent on this ship, the more nauseous he felt and the less hungry he was. Sure, Nico knew he was skinny—a war hadn't helped in that regard—especially considering being trapped inside a jar for a week—but his thinness was starting to attract attention.

His stomach, however, would not accept food. When it did, it would be perhaps only one meal a day. Right after eating, most of the time, he would lean over the ship's railing and vomit up what should have been a meal.

Some of the crew had already noticed, he was sure of that.

Just thinking about eating made Nico feel even more nauseous. The sweet treat he had eaten earlier in the morning had already made him feel full.

But it wasn't enough, he knew.

(If it were back home, at camp, Will would be by his side, supporting him. Will would encourage him and, almost miraculously, get him to eat at least two meals. But this wasn't his home anymore .)

A weight tilted the hammock Nico was sitting in, pulling him out of his thoughts. Tamar stared at him as if she could read his soul.

“What did you do today?” She asked, turning her gaze forward.

Nico swallowed. “I went to the library. I figured I needed to catch up on some stuff.”

Tamar, Nico noticed, turned her attention to his hands, now clasped together in his lap, fidgeting anxiously.

She hummed in understanding. “That makes sense.” The silence stretched a little longer. “Did you even eat lunch? There’s no way you spent the entire day inside the library.”

He pursed his lips. Tamar’s voice held concern. “No.” He sighed, knowing better than to lie. “I did end up spending the whole day in the library. But I ate first thing this morning.” Nico said, trying to ease the feeling that he’d at least eaten something.

The woman sighed, as if she had already expected such an answer. Her golden eyes spoke of uncertainty to Nico. And he knew it was about how to act, how to approach such a subject. The crew had already noticed, in less than two days, his habits. Tamar and Tolya were certainly the first to discover it, since when they were both not with him, one of the twins kept him company.

Tamar visibly swallowed. “I’m worried about you,” she said, staring straight ahead. The words seemed almost foreign coming from her. “Yesterday you only had a small lunch, and you didn’t even have dinner. Same thing the next day.”

The words died in Nico's throat, she was right. But this worry was so... strange. The last people who worried like this were Bianca, Will, Jason, Reyna, and maybe Percy.

But Tamar had not known him for two days.

Nico only noticed the silence when Tamar stood up, extending her hand. “You will eat with me and the captain. Sturhmund wants to talk to you.” He stood up, seeing that he had no other option.

What was so important that Sturmhund had to talk to the stranger that was Nico?

He didn't know, but he doubted he would want to know.

Chapter Text

The captain's room was almost as shabby compared to the other ship—Volkvony—which scared Nico.

The walls and floor were made of wood, but the wood was stained with age and the floor creaked with every step. An antique-looking red carpet must have been one of the most expensive items there, along with perhaps the framed maps on the walls and a candelabra on the farthest table near a window, which was now bathed in moonlight. The entire place was lit by a light that Nico couldn't tell where it was coming from, and at a table in the corner, Sturmhond stood smugly behind a chair. 

This table, as it turned out, had a white tablecloth and was laden with food that Nico didn't care to recognize, spread out on silver platters. A glass pitcher held what Nico guessed was wine, and there were three places set at the table—no doubt for him, Tamar, and Sturmhond. 

Sturhmund smiled dryly. "I've been waiting for you. Have a seat." He said, pulling out his own chair and sitting down.

Tamar was quick to follow, but Nico stood there for a few seconds, hesitating. 

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. “I don’t bite, you know?” Sturmhund said sarcastically, helping himself to a piece of bread and something that must have been fish. 

Nico nodded stiffly, and forced himself to sit up. The sickly smell of sauce and fish filled his nostrils, and he almost wanted to start breathing through his mouth, just so he wouldn't have to feel it again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tamar helping herself to fish and vegetables he didn’t recognize, only to pass the platter into Nico’s hands. An awkward silence settled over the table as Nico plated his food, interrupted by the occasional clatter of cutlery. 

As soon as Nico finished putting a small amount of food on his plate, Sturhmund picked up the jug of wine and poured glasses for the three of them. Nico couldn’t help but scowl at the drink—he had never been a fan of alcohol, but he doubted that refusing it here would be a good idea. As the sour, woody smell of the wine reached his nose, his stomach churned. A metallic taste formed in his mouth before he even touched the glass—to bring it closer to his plate—and for a moment, he swore he could hear Dionysus laughing at the situation.

Oddly enough, the three of them began to eat in silence. Sturmhond kept casting unfurtive, even amused glances at Nico. His muddy green eyes stared at him without scrutiny while his strange red hair moved with every subtle movement he made towards Nico. Tamar, on the other hand, moved her golden eyes between the food on Nico's plate and himself, her expression stern with concern.

Nico, for his part, just tried his best not to react. He felt his already tense shoulders getting closer and closer to his head as he struggled to keep his hands from shaking while holding the heavy silverware. 

Automatically, under the strange gaze of his companions, Nico put a piece of fish in his mouth. Until then, he had only tried to taste the bread, now, he thought it would be better to take a little more risk. The strong flavor of the animal added to the sauce that accompanied it, probably made of some alcoholic beverage, made Nico feel sick. His stomach turned violently. If he had to compare it to anything, he would have no parameter, the closest he could describe it would be an extremely strong and salty food, with a strong taste of fish and alcohol. 

Quickly, Nico forced himself to swallow it all and put another piece of bread in his mouth, trying to mask the sensation and the bad taste. He almost reached out with a trembling hand to grab the wine glass, but thought better of it. Some of his trigger had been the alcohol in the sauce, so drinking wine would be a bad idea. He picked up the luxurious silverware again and just ate the vegetables on his plate. 

Sturmhund smiled with something almost akin to mockery, watching Nico’s trembling hands. “You know, many say it’s a privilege to eat with a ship’s captain. But few know why. Do you know why you’re here with me, Nico?”

Nico pursed his lips. He really had no idea. He lifted his gaze from his plate and directed it to look at Sturmhond. Because of their height, Sturmhond and Tamar towered over him, even when sitting down, which did nothing to lessen the feeling of oppression. 

“I have no idea.” Nico finally replied, setting his cutlery down on the plate.

Sturmhond was slow to respond, preferring to sip the wine in his glass slowly. “Darkling is the client we’re going to meet.” The captain said, as if it were something to fear or react to.

Finally, he understood, remembering the poster he found in the city he had woken up in. The same one he had put in the pocket of his old pants. 

Nico raised an eyebrow. “The one who’s being sought?” 

Sturhmund smiled, as if he had expected this answer. “Only in small towns in Kerch or Fjerda. He’s influential in Ravka still, you know. And he offered a good… sum. Guarantee.” Again, he raised the glass of drink to his mouth. “Are you here because I need a… favor?” The captain feigned confusion. “No, not a favor. I saved you after all, so it’s not like I owe you anything. If anything, it’s you who owes me, isn’t it?”

Nico saw Tamar stiffen, and he found himself doing the same. He swallowed hard, but forced himself to nod. 

“Good to know we’re on the same page, Nico.” Sturmhond said, grinning widely. “Now… what I need is for you to keep an eye on our client. Not our client, actually. Darkling is bringing someone very… important, but not without guarantees, there will be Grisha and soldiers with him. I need you to keep an eye on those soldiers. I already have someone to take care of the Grisha.”

Nico nodded, but the story itself didn’t add up. “Why?”

Sturmhond let out an almost dramatic laugh. “Our next non-Darkling client is making me do something crazy.” He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the wineglass in his hands. Then he smiled like Leo would when he was about to tell a joke. “We’re going to outwit the Darkling.”

Tamar let out a slow sigh beside him, and smiled madly. “Here’s the plan…”

—-

Nico gasped under the balustrade, regaining his breath and dignity. 

He dragged his body against the wall, falling with a thud to the floor. His breathing was still uneven and the bad taste in his mouth.

The musty smell, the taste of the food, and the strong taste of the wine did little to help. Combined with the rocking of the sea, he felt more nauseous than ever.

Sturhmund had made them toast to a successful action in the coming days, but his analytical gaze on Nico said something completely different. Nico, at the time, forced himself to swallow the drink and act normally, but as soon as he escaped that room and Tamar's gaze, he did nothing but lean over the ship.

And dump your guts into the sea.

Nico ran his hand over his mouth, wishing he could never taste that flavor again. 

He sighed, leaning his head back and looking up at the sky. The unfamiliar constellations did little to calm him. He squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip, and dug his nails into his palm. Maybe that would help.

But it was inevitable to feel far from home and sick. 

This only made things worse.

Nico decided to focus on other things. The sound of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship; the sound of the wind from the Squallers shaking the sails; the humming of some crew members nearby, but far enough away that they hadn't seen him. 

Hesitant footsteps, however, were not on the list of sounds he wanted to hear.

Nico didn't bother opening his eyes. Facing the darkness of the night with a sky full of strange constellations wouldn't help him at all. Nor did he stop pressing his nails into the palm of his hand. 

He felt the movement of air before he actually heard the rustle of whoever’s clothes sat next to him. Calloused hands first touched his left wrist and then wrapped around his fingers to stop him from hurting himself. The size of those hands indicated Tamar. 

Tamar didn't say anything, but she gently pulled Nico's hand towards her and he could feel his skin being patched up. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, and until the nausea passed, he wouldn't, so he didn't know if it was really Tamar. 

The feeling of his skin being patched up was strange, but the warmth of Tamar’s hands eased the strangeness of the situation somewhat. Even shrouded in the haze of thoughts, he couldn’t help but wonder about the strangeness of his Grisha abilities. She hummed to herself, still silent, as she gently placed Nico’s arm down and concentrated on repeating the same process on his right hand.

“You shouldn’t hurt yourself like that.” Was the first thing she said. “There’s blood under your nails now.” She scolded.

Nico's heart broke and he tried to sink into his jacket, searching for a non-existent comfort.

Tamar looked like Bianca. 

She gave his right hand a comforting squeeze before lowering it, but she did nothing to get up and leave. Nico heard her clothes rustle and felt the air move as she put some distance between them, but he did nothing to open his eyes.

Her head was spinning, her stomach felt like it was eating itself alive, and the nausea still lingered in the background of it all.

“You could have asked for water since you can’t handle wine.” Tamar said, but not in a scolding way. 

“We both know what that would be like.” Nico replied, thinking of Sturmhond, not with a disappointed look, but something more amused, almost wicked in a deceptive way.

Tamar hummed at his response, but didn’t bother to respond to it. If Nico hadn’t been feeling so bad, maybe he was actually thinking straight—Tamar had known Sturmhond much longer than Nico, that should mean something.

“Do you want to talk about all this?” She asked softly, after a few moments of silence. 

“How did you find me here?” He deflected the question. Sure, the ship was open and the place he was in was easy to access, but that was if it was with the sun shining in the sky. Right now, the moonlight was too weak to make out much of anything and the lamps only made clear the places that really mattered, and where Nico was was not one of those places.

“One of the Squallers saw you leaning over,” she replied, not mentioning who the Grisha in question was. “Want to talk?” Tamar asked again, almost eagerly.

The caring tone of voice reminded her of Reyna.

(And Bianca's, not that he would admit it.)

If it had been Reyna, perhaps Nico would have accepted the offer. But it wasn't her. It was, in fact, someone he had just met. 

Nico slowly opened his eyes and pulled his knees up to his chest. He felt a headache starting, which would only make his nausea worse. Slowly, he looked at Tamar beside him. She had a gentle smile on her face, but the glint of concern in her eyes betrayed him a little. “I… I'm fine.” He spoke, looking away to the Squallers located far away on the deck.

“I can see your tension from far, Nico.” She said, following his gaze. “Even if I can't see it, I can feel it.” 

A silence deepened between them. Nico leaned his head against the railing behind him and sighed.

“You don't have to say it if you don't want to…” Tamar added, as an afterthought. 

Nico felt his eyes watering, but he blinked it away. Tamar wasn't Bianca, he repeated to himself mentally. 

But how could he not buy both? Bianca always said the same thing to Nico when she saw him upset with her or his mother: you don't have to talk if you don't want to, Nico . She understood him. She knew he was afraid to tell her about his upsets with her or his mother and she didn't force him to tell her. 

Instead, Bianca would look at him with that characteristic gentle gauze, while tucking a longer strand of Nico's hair behind his ear and telling him that she was there for him. Bianca would either stay silent, or chat about her day just to distract Nico from whatever had gone wrong. 

So why in Hades was Tamar doing the same?

Why was she being so nice like Bianca? Why did her gauze look the same as Bianca's? And how did she know what Bianca was saying to him? 

Tamar didn't know, Nico's mind supplied. But in the heady haze of memories he found himself in, it hardly mattered.

“You… you remind me of my sister.” He admitted with a strangled sigh, but soon regretted it. The words were out of his mouth before he could even think straight or realize who he was talking to: someone he had only known for a few days.

If Nico had been in his right mind, he would never have done this. He would never have admitted such weakness. Back home, in the camp, it had taken him a while to open up to those closest to him—in some cases, forgiveness had to come before repentance. But here, in this strange world, it seemed his mind was consumed with nostalgia, and so such admissions came more easily. 

Maybe this was all a defense mechanism. He didn't want to get attached, but he still knew he had to get close to these people. His mind could be playing tricks on him so that he would fool himself into letting go of the self he knew. 

But he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to let go of his old self just so he wouldn't get attached to those people and make a smoother transition from this world to his own. He wanted to remain who he was and still be able to do what was necessary to return to his world.

Suddenly, he remembered Hestia's words: "Your ordeal will be more than a mission. It will be challenging, unpleasant, but there will be people by your side." If that meant that he should, yes, leave that side of himself that was in his comfort zone to open up to other people so that they could help him, then so be it. If he had to be honest, Nico would say that it would take much longer than expected (you don't change overnight, after all), but his mind, intoxicated by confusion, thought it would be easy.

Nico wasn’t looking at Tamar when she answered, but her tone of voice gave away that a fond smile should be playing on her lips. “The one that protected you?” She asked softly. “I… that’s good to hear, then.” She said awkwardly, probably not knowing what to say to that. “Well, at least I hope it’s something good.” She laughed, trying to ease the tension.

Nico found himself feeling more relaxed. Maybe it was because of Tamar’s easygoing attitude. Or maybe it was because she didn’t ask any uncomfortable questions. He didn’t really know why. Maybe because Tamar reminds me of Bianca, he thought.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing.” He replied, a hint of a pained smile dancing on his lips.

Beside him, Tamar sighed. "Tolya must know some poetry to represent this. He always knows about poetry." She said, and when Nico turned to look at her, she had a smile on her lips. Suddenly, she pointed to the sky, the same sky that Nico felt repelled to look at. “Do you see that constellation?” She showed a round constellation, with a few brighter stars in its center. "They say that the universe originated there. The ancient legends, the ones that no one really knows from which people they came, claim that whoever is brave enough to enter the vastness of the dark nights and reach the three constellations will be able to walk freely between the veils of the worlds. Personally, I don't believe much in that; there are living Saints walking with us, so the veil of the worlds is my last concern. But I know that there are people who find comfort in knowing this. In knowing that there are other places we can go to and that there are even more places we can travel to.”

The stars formed a faint spiral across the night sky, a path long formed and traced. “Tolya has told me once or twice that this is a portal between worlds,” Tamar said with a smile. “Not that he needs an excuse to recite poetry about it.”

For the first time, Nico stared at that sea of ​​unknown stars in awe. Yes, perhaps he was one of those people who found comfort in this legend. If gods existed in his world, if Saints existed here, who would say there weren't other places to go? Or even other places to return to.

Tamar continued talking for a while, explaining a little about some of the constellations she knew; the Saints were the origin of most, but sometimes Fjerdan or Kaelish legends were involved. 

After a while, Tamar's voice became quieter and the noises of the sea and the Squallers became louder. The nausea he had felt before had improved somewhat, especially with Tamar distracting him from everything, telling him about what she knew.

Tamar had done the same thing Bianca did when Nico didn't want to talk about a situation, he realized. Tamar was practically the same as Bianca. His heart clenched, aching. He clenched his hands into fists and pursed his lips. Why did he keep comparing the two?

“You need to go to sleep.” She finally spoke, pulling him out of his thoughts. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Nico shook his head. “I'll stay here a little longer.” 

She smiled sadly, as if she had already expected this. “Alright then.” 

Tamar moved a little closer to where Nico was, as they had been separated by a few centimeters before. She didn't say anything, and didn't even wait for him to say anything. 

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the rustling of the sails and the characteristic sound of the sea. 

So they both stayed until Nico fell asleep.