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Chapter Text

Surely you haven't heard that the Twelfth Olympian is back.

His ascension, they said centuries later, was like himself - demonstratively loud and radiant, blinding the council gathered for the summer solstice and causing the destruction of several palaces. He burst into the throne room in a whirlwind of music and sunshine, still in rags that barely concealed the gold of his hair and the glow of his blue eyes. He appeared before his own father, bowed his knee in reverence, ready to accept his fate. The golden throne, once lost, returned, shuddering heaven, and the fate of the god was a foregone conclusion. Zeus the Thunderer exclaimed, severely breaking the silence that had descended on the council.

“Welcome back, my son,” and in the blue eyes the restrained moisture has accumulated - how long has god not heard this treatment. He bowed to his father again, walked to the throne with long-forgotten grace and regained his former brilliance with a snap of his fingers.

“I can't believe it,” the sitting near to him Hermes whispered to the wine god. “So many years have passed.”

“We knew it would happen one day,” Dionysus disagreed. Hermes shook his curly head.

“But not in a thousand years.”

The Sun God mowed down a suspicious look towards his younger brothers, but did not dare to squeeze into the conversation - for that there will still be time, the advice of the summer solstice was a priority. Zeus the Thunderer did not take a wary look from his firstborn, half-hearted listening to Athena's report on mortal affairs. The ascension of the Sun god to Zeus seemed a harbinger of imminent trouble, but he did not want to overshadow the joy of family reunification. There will still be time.

In the shadow of the golden throne, hidden from divine eyes, a sprout of a poisonous flower sprouted from a crack, and far below, in the kingdom near the ancient gates of Tartarus, among the voids of the underworld, the Blood River raised a toast.

“For the sun god,” a wry smile illuminated the face hidden behind the veil. “And for Olympus.”

“Let it stand forever,” the Winged Shadow echoed. “Miraculously surviving.”

The hubbub of celebration that followed drowned out conversation between the calamities for the rest of the night..

*

The celebration of the Summer Solstice deafeningly walked all over Olympus, the muses surpassed themselves in chanting the exploits of their master, Dionysus was generous with exquisite wines, gods and goddesses circled in dance until sunset, even Hades smiled sparingly, watching the sparkling happiness of the heavenly capital. The very culprit of the stormy celebration watched everything from behind the shadow of an old cedar, sipping wine and squinting from flashes of gold around. Hermes stood next to him, rustling his wings on his sandals, surprisingly perceptively remaining silent until Apollo turned to him with a question in his eyes.

“You are quiet today,” Hermes replied. Apollo almost sighed. A thousand years had taught him quiet happiness, and returning to the glittering palaces continued to give him a headache, which is why Apollo preferred to stay away from the crowd, remaining in the field of vision of everyone who needed him.

He knew they were celebrating his miraculous return when, in a thousand years, hope had almost run out, but celebrating seemed blasphemous. Apollo knew the reason for his exile, unlike the rest of the inhabitants of Olympus, but talking about it with his father, who stubbornly avoided him, hiding behind the thin camp of his wife, seemed akin to defeating Gaia. So Apollo remained among the Olympians, smiling and shining in divine glory, secretly hoping to intercept his father before he locked himself in his own palace.

“Was Olympus seriously damaged?” Apollo asked worried, instead of answering. Hermes looked at him incredulously, but obediently noticed.

“If you pay attention to the right side, you'll see a lovely golden tile,” but as soon as Apollo turned his head to the right, no tile was found.

"It's not there.”

“It was there this morning,” Hermes disagreed. “As there was no fountain in the morning at the palace of Aphrodite, and the statue of our father had hands.”

Apollo wrinkled.

“Was the father angry?”

“Surprisingly, no,” the views of the two gods slanted towards Thunderer, smiling invitingly to Ganymede. “Rather, he's glad.”

“My return?”

“The fact that the council hall remained intact,” at a blank look, Hermes pointed towards the building. “It was destroyed a thousand years ago.”

Into your exile, left unspoken. The shadow of gloom ran over Apollo's face - he did not like to remember those early years when despair almost swallowed him, and love grew inside with poisonous ivy, burning through the insides. Love remained there inside, fenced off by centuries of humility and acceptance, and the pain from it no longer tormented the tormented insides, but sometimes burst to the surface to remind of itself.

Apollo was much more worried about the destruction caused by him, and there was no more convenient pretext for talking with his father than now. Therefore, having said goodbye to Hermes, the god of the Sun went straight to his father, blocking his view of their cupbearer. Zeus pressed his lips displeased, but, looking up, put a friendly mask on his face. Apollo almost shuddered.

“My son,” said Zeus. “Aren't you supposed to dance with the muses?”

“How can I? When the good part of Olympus collapsed through my fault.”

“Who attributed it to you?” Zeus frowned. “Point and I'll punish them.”

“Father,” Apollo looked at him wearily. “You know why I'm here.”

“No, son,” Zeus almost turned away, ready to leave, but eventually changed his mind. “That was a thousand years ago. The Moirs themselves said there was no longer a threat.”

“After the throne room was destroyed? Because when I left, he was still standing.”

“Throne room,” Zeus grimaced. “It was destroyed not by the Moirs, but by Nyx's son, the Blood River. Or have you not heard the story of the calamity of Zeus living far underground?”

“It seemed to me that these are fairy tales.”

“Not all of them,” Zeus's gaze dimmed, millennial memories coming alive right in front of him. “He arrived at Olympus almost like you, only carrying blood and pain behind him. He destroyed the throne room, laid down the remaining Olympians and cursed us. When I went to the Moiras to find out who he was, they called him their punishment, a disaster sent by Chaos for our sins. Then it spread like wildfire, demigods, younger gods, monsters - everyone suddenly started talking about disasters.”

“That's why you're so tense,” Apollo remarked quietly. “You're waiting for him to come.”

“The Blood River never missed a chance to get on my nerves,” grumbled Zeus. “The collision of Poseidon and the Winged Shadow, and the Blood River enters Olympus as his home, the appearance of your first blessed child - rumors differ about the Blood River, which brought his own child to the threshold of the Camp. It's always here somewhere. It cannot be that he makes an exception today.”

“Can't he rejoice at my ascension?” Apollo corrected himself under his father's cautious gaze. “Your kid's back.”

Zeus only shook his head.

“Go rest, son, we'll talk tomorrow.”

Questions continued to swirl in his head even as Apollo wisely backed away, leaving his father alone with the cupbearer, even as the muses ushered him to the stage, served up a harp and persuaded him to perform old songs. The paranoia of his father gradually passed on to Apollo, when he, circling in a nymph dance, looked around, expecting to meet the Blood River, but the festival ended peacefully. Apollo, barely standing on his feet, was dragged into his own palace by smiling Artemis, and her hunters, already in their own chambers, warmly said goodbye to both of them. Only Thalia followed behind, remaining in the palace to spend the night next to her mistress.

“Rest,” asked Artemis, putting Apollo to a guest bed. “We'll talk in the morning.”

Apollo fell asleep immeasurably happy.

*

Zeus, who came to his own palace with the thought of a good night, should have remembered that his own paranoia rarely let him down. Not all of paranoia, but most of it — the part that concerned the Blood River, now lounging in Zeus himself favorite chair.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can't I congratulate you on the return of your son?” a laughing smile began to play on his thin lips. “It's convenient, isn't it, that your son broke the curse on the day of the solstice? Still a day, and your reign has come to an end.”

“So that's all?” asked Zeus incredulously. “Is the curse broken?”

“My curse is broken,” the Blood River corrected as he rose. “What will decide the Moiras or especially Chaos, I am not given to know. But my advice to you, Zeus the Thunderer, watch the Gates of Death as I watch mine.”

“Aren't the unrest in the ancient lands your fault?”

“We, the children of the Night, do not favor the gods,” snorted the Blood River. “We love mortals.”

“Surprisingly.”

“Deal with your problems, the Thunderer, and maybe I'll put in a good word with Chaos.”

“You'll not,” Zeus fell on the sofa not far from the chair - the desire to go somewhere instantly evaporated, and he suspected the influence of the calamity - he, after all, remained a god. The Blood River just led with his shoulders, long hair swayed and neatly lay on his slender back. The Blood River was all like that - slender and thin, like a dagger, digging into a defenseless side, possessing almost worse destruction than the heaviest mace. He was the true son of his mother, the goddess of the Night, as deadly as he was beautiful, if they were not ready to bite each other's throats, Zeus would even invite him to his bed. The Blood River shriveled, the poisonous green eye behind the black veil sparkled with pure hatred, and the calamity disappeared, leaving behind a sugary scent of its own flower that made Zeus wince.

Ganymede was waiting for him. Apollo was waiting to talk to him in the morning. The Blood River was waiting for his trip to ancient lands. Poseidon and Hades expected assurances from him that the curse had disappeared, and Hera most likely expected his death. Zeus suppressed his irritated exhalation.

Damn the Blood River.

*

In the morning, Apollo was summoned to the throne room, and Artemis was almost ready to prevent him from leaving her palace. Hermes, arriving to deliver the message, was willing to let her do it. Apollo, if he were not so tense, if he did not expect a conversation with his father as much as if he didn't want him, he would laugh at the faces of his siblings. Thalia, who came out to the voices of the gods, shook her head.

“He won't expel you again.”

“At least know we're going to look for you,” Hermes asked, and immediately grimaced. “I'm sorry.”

Apollo, unable to hide the shudder, only waved off with a trembling hand.

“Never mind,” he added hastily, noticing the look on his twin sister's face. “That was a thousand years ago.”

And escaped before Artemis stopped him to reveal his secrets. A thousand years ago - too implausible an excuse for his sister, who saw his suffering from unhappy love, who saw the garden, which Apollo, surprisingly easily lying to himself, called the garden of reflection. Only the last flower of this garden should not have entered it. He did not hit, the thought swept through, because he died of old age, and not from your love, who chose the life of a mortal when he swore to you in eternity.

“Just don't cry in front of me,” Dionysus asked as Apollo burst into the throne room. “I'm not your vest.”

Father's heavy sigh, coupled with the surprisingly talkative god of wine, brought Apollo to his senses. He made a short bow.

“Father. Did you want to see me?”

“I wanted to see you and Dionysus,” Zeus agreed. “And Hermes, but, I'm afraid, he'll have to turn on on the way. Your calm has come to an end, son.”

“Is this connected with the Ancient Lands?” Dionysus entered into a conversation, until Apollo had time to think of a new exile. Zeus grumbled about something vaguely similar to "how does he know everything," but according to him he blurted out.

“It would be too dangerous to send our children there.”

“Unlike the three gods,” Apollo said skeptically. Zeus gave him a warning look, but Dionysus answered.

“Something strange is happening in the Ancient Lands, and given their close location to the gates of death, father is naturally worried.”

“And sending demigods is like sending to certain death,” finished Apollo, suppressing the sarcastic "when you all began to care." “I agree.”

Zeus nodded contentedly.

“Leave tomorrow with the first sunrise. Warn Hermes, he's on way too.”

Zeus escorted them away, barely finished talking, so Apollo and Dionysus were turn up not far from the armless father's statue, watching life on Olympus in full swing.

“I'm glad you're back,” Dionysus said after a brief silence. “You've been missed.”

“I'm glad too,” Apollo smiled lightly as he glanced down at his little brother. “It's strange to hear that from you.”

“Don't get used to it,” Dionysus immediately shaved off. “I'm in a good mood today.”

“Does it have anything to do with Hermes's suffering?”

Dionysus only rolled his eyes in response, dissolving into a whirlwind of vines. Apollo shivered on the cloying aroma of wine before heading off in search of his twin sister. Yesterday they barely had time to talk to each other, but today he was going to spend the whole day with her. They could go hunting - mortals, taking up the mind, finally left more wildlife where Apollo could get lost with his sister - or stay here in the palace of Artemis, Apollo did not care, he needed a sister. With Olympus quietly changed, oddly behaving gods, and memories Apollo had no intention of stirring for another thousand years, his sister seemed the only safe place. There was still Delos, but the return to his native island, to his mother, was postponed until the remaining problems were resolved. After the ancient lands, after talking with his father, after visiting the Camp, after... After.

Artemis was found at the fountain of Aphrodite, talking to Thalia, until the hunter noticed Apollo awkwardly stopping two feet away and pulled her mistress to turn around. Artemis greeted Apollo with a light hug.

“It went well.”

“My father wouldn't kick me out,” Apollo assured her. Thalia stepped in.

“Then why call now?”

“Something about problems in ancient lands,” Thalia's face darkened.

“I thought it was calamities having fun.”

“Don't throw off all the blame on calamities, sister,” Artemis smiled at her. “They help.”

Thalia seemed barely hold back to utter curses on their heads. Apollo in his wanderings met calamities only once - the Green Witch passed through those edges, nourishing the dried earth with her energy. In those days, there were rumors about her confrontation with Demeter, when one of the parents of Demeter’s children fell ill with flower disease and died, coughing up flowers from his lungs. Apollo, who heard this, was deeply glad that he was born a god - he did not want to imagine how often he would have to die at the whim of the gods of love. But the Green Witch, having met him among mortals, only gifted him with fresh vegetables and healed the wound received in the battle with the monster of Tartarus, another who escaped through the Gate of Death and did not die in the second Gigantomachy.

Artemis took Apollo hunting, leaving Thalia to keep an eye on the rest of the female hunters for the rest of the day as they pursued the three-horned snow-white deer, just like in the good old days, when there were still no expulsions, repeated battles and broken hearts. Hours later, with the loot freshened and roasted on the fire, the two of them sat around the fire, and Apollo listened to his sister's stories, about the hunters, about Thalia, about Olympus, and told his own, about wanderings, met new friends and old acquaintances, about defeated monsters and the hope of returning. They did not talk about exile, or about the search, or about their father, and even more so about the green eyes that came to Apollo in a dream.

Until, of course, Apollo's luck ran out, and sister asked in a quiet, gentle voice.

“Are you still?”

“Yeah,” sighed Apollo, preventing his sister from continuing. “I know what it looks like, but sometimes... still hope father was wrong.”

“He lived life as a mortal,” Artemis reminded inexorably. “Married mortal and conceived several children. I can still hear echoes of their kind in New York, brother.”

Apollo grimaced. He didn't like to remember that time, that relationship that led to the pain that, subconsciously, Apollo always expected. Fate could not be generous with eternal love after all these years, after all his failures, when he promised himself to try one last time and no longer try, when, after Lester, he suddenly realized that the man in front of him was the one with whom Apollo was ready to spend eternity. Not when he went to Styx to change his own vow to never marry a pledge of allegiance to his future husband. He did not violate it, this oath, even when it no longer surrendered to anyone, even when a thousand years have passed, and the descendants of his lover live in the city that he defended.

“You haven't said his name since,” Artemis continued quietly. “What are you hoping for?”

“That he would be reborn,” Apollo confessed for the first time since his exile. “He'll be reborn, he'll remember me, and we'll be together.”

“Are you ready to forgive him? After all?”

“I forgave him a long time ago, Artie,” he smiled at his sister. “I forgave Percy Jackson a long time ago.”

Artemis said nothing more, devoting the remaining time to the shootout of the flying crows. Apollo joined his sister a moment later, recalling that they should not stay until late at night - tomorrow he should go to ancient lands at first light.

And deep in his soul he hoped that on this journey he would again meet the one for whom the soul yearned for all a thousand years.

Chapter Text

Dionysus was waiting for him at the bridge, unusually serious and collected, with a full glass of wine, which he drained in one sip, it was worth seeing the approaching companions. Hermes, who arrived a minute later, gave the brothers an expressionless look.

“We must be prepared for anything,” and looked strangely at Dionysus. He dismissed everything at once - both from the close attention of Apollo, who was not accustomed to the harsh hypostasis of the younger Olympian, and from the waiting Hermes, as if trying to get into the head of the god of wine. Apollo would beware of getting into the head of the god of wine, you never know will remain insane until the end of his days.

“We're ready.”

“Right. I have a bow,” Apollo agreed, waving at the quiver with arrows behind him, and met with prolonged silence. Hermes and Dionysus looked at each other, one with restrained skepticism, the other with hope barely clinging to the hem of the toga.

“See?” Dionysus smiled wryly. “He’s got a bow.”

“I feel sarcasm in your words, brother.”

“Ignore him,” Hermes asked, shoving Dionysus away almost imperceptibly. “He got up on the wrong foot.”

Dionysus only snorted and disappeared, leaving Apollo and Hermes to catch up with themselves. It was strange to see Dionysus young, so much like his first divine years and surprisingly not falling into madness after the lifting of his father's prohibitions. Perhaps the punishment benefited him in the same way that it benefited Apollo, or perhaps Dionysus is hiding something - the god of the Sun was ready to believe anything. Expulsion obliges not to exclude a single option.

Epirus has grown since the time of the last Gigantomachy, its buildings stretching to the sky rose above small buildings from the twenty-first century, braided with stalks of lianas and constrained by centuries-old oaks that the apple had nowhere to fall. The small cities of mortals at that time were all like this - a cross between the past and the future, linking generations and paving hope for a better future. Apollo during his wanderings loved to stop in such cities, follow old memories and watch them become the foundation of the next generations. Sometimes, in especially difficult days, when Apollo's calm was in the balance, and memories were found like surf, he liked to stop for a year or two, renting a one-story house in a remote forest and imagining, deep in his heart, that he was not living alone, that, if he went beyond the threshold, and he would hear the laughter of his beloved, having fun fishing, and his son would drop in to visit him.

Terrible days, after which Apollo walked irritable and nervous for another decade.

“House of Hades,” Dionysus solemnly proclaimed, stopping a stone's throw from the stairs. “Are we too early?”

“Do you want to wait until dark?” Hermes asked sullenly. “To deprive us of the opportunity to give at least some rebuff?”

“We are gods, brother,” the god of wine recalled irritably. “We can handle the monsters.”

“Not the ancient children of Tartarus,” the god of thieves said. “Honestly, Di, which side are you on?”

“Common sense.”

“Brothers,” Apollo shouted, putting his hands on the two gods’ shoulders. “Don't fight.”

“I'm not fighting,” Dionysus remarked offended. “For a fight you need both to have intelligence.”

“What are you hinting at?” growled Hermes, and Apollo had a desperate desire to just let his brothers fight. The shadow flashed behind one of the columns made the sun god alert.

“Stop it,” he hissed, dragging the two gods by the ears of each other. “And focus on the mission, there is someone there.”

Carelessness as a hand removed, and silence, frozen, dark, descended on the house of Hades. Apollo pulled out a bow, the creepers braided the hands of Dionysus, the caduceus of Hermes knocked deaf on the ground, and the snakes on it hissed. A slight rustle was heard, and again the shadow flashed at the border of consciousness. Apollo pulled the string. The creature, whoever it was, was fast, ate shadows and, like all the children of Tartarus, grew stronger with the arrival of darkness; Hermes was right, it didn't make sense to wait until dusk, unless they wanted to rebuild material bodies for a century.

“Don't move,” Apollo said with only lips, releasing the arrow. It flew with a slight whistle, barely touched the thickened shadow and disappeared into the foliage. For a moment it seemed that nothing had happened, and Apollo had already reached for the second, as the monster roared and jumped out of the blessed shadow, attacking Dionysus straight.

It is worth saying that Apollo during his exile saw many strange species of creatures that do not have a single enlightenment of consciousness, but capable of extraordinary cruelty. He managed to tame some with raw meat, and they disappeared into the underworld, others followed him, hiding him from dangers and serving as good interlocutors for a dozen years, others had to be mercilessly killed before they went in search of mortals. There were still fourth - visions of pure rage, inhumanly fast, half poisonous, with glimpses of intelligence drowned out by primal malice. Apollo hated to fight with them, avoided them while he could, sometimes he took them away from people, and if there was a fight, he barely got out of it alive. Looking at the creature in front of him now, as high as a twenty-story house, covered with matted blue-black fur, with horns of six feet each, snorting like a bull at a rodeo, Apollo almost said goodbye to life.

The lianas of Dionysus braided the creature's snout, but broke with the ease of wet paper as the beast huffing bellowed desperately. Apollo's arrows, fired a dozen at a time, bounced off the fur with flies, only stirring up fun - the beast disappeared into the shadows in the blink of an eye, jumping out to the right of the barely dodged Hermes. The laser beam released by the caduceus flew by, and Apollo almost took the symbol of power from his brother, wanting to aim better. The beast did not give them a break, playing in the shadows cast by the house of Hades, appearing behind their backs and throwing them into nearby trees. Dionysus, who decided to whip the monster with vines in the eyes, flew exactly into the column of the building, groaning and barely moving.

“We need to drive him inside,” Hermes shouted, aiming at the beast so as not to inadvertently hit his younger brother. “There in’s the Gate of Death.”

The plan, in theory, was excellent, but Apollo deeply doubted that the three gods could interest the monster for such a long time, especially when the delicious yelling food was down the hill. Hermes caduceus hit the beast in the side, and he broke into the house of Hades, barely dodging metal teeth. Apollo helped Dionysus get up and went after his brother himself, pulling on a bowstring. Just think, and he decided that it was safer to send demigods in search than to go on their own.

Hermes was found pressed to the Gate, furiously thrashing the call button, while the beast, sensing despair, circled around, growling deafeningly and clawing its hooves on the marble floor. Apollo met his brother with a glance, took aim, ready to shoot when the Gate peeped like the arriving elevator, and the beast froze, barely moving his ear. After, and Apollo will describe it as Madame Luck's boredom, a few things happened: the Gate opened and Hermes was almost inside, Apollo fired an arrow and missed, the beast rushed straight at him with insane speed, spreading its mouth full of sharp teeth, Dionysus screamed from somewhere from the entrance, and something seemed to grab the monster, forcing whine and crawl away.

At the entrance, straight after the frightened god of wine, the Blood River entered.

Apollo, of course, heard rumors about the firstborn of the Night, descending from heaven like a fallen star from the sky, but hearing and seeing are different things. He was handsome, in a fluttering dark green silk dachang over black robes tied with a dark belt, with hair as black as night, waves lying on a slender back, with a barely visible scar on his left cheek, and a veil hiding a good half of his face. His aura, resembling the ocean depths, settled on his shoulders like the sky, filling each dark corner, while the outstretched hand clenched in his fist dropped, and the calamity himself, leading with his shoulders, looked around at the presented battlefield. Apollo realized that he was lying and staring only when the Blood River looked at him point blank and smiled easily, as if he remembered a long-forgotten joke.

“Stop it,” grumbled Dionysus, raising the embarrassed sun god almost by the scruff of his neck. “Just luck that the Blood River was nearby.”

“Amazing luck,” croaked Hermes, who roared at the brothers. Apollo knocked him on the head, gently bowing to the calamity that continued to be silent.

“Afraid I don't know how to thank you.”

“Gratitude isn't needed,” the voice of calamity spread across the building with gentle purrs. “The fact that the Thunderer sent at least someone to figure it out is already worth a lot.”

It was... surprisingly offensive.

“We thought your brothers were having fun here,” Hermes made a feeble attempt to defend themself. The Blood River turned his eyes to the god of thieves, and his face became stiff.

“It's convenient to attribute the sins of the world to us, isn't it? Especially when you want to whitewash your own.”

“We should still deal with the monster,” Dionysus recalled. Apollo shuddered, looking at the quiet beast in surprise - he completely forgot that they were struggling with something. The beast whined again, lay down on the marble floor and looked with devoted scarlet eyes at the smirking the calamity, the Blood River waved his hand.

“It'll be dealt with.”

The monster disappeared, leaving behind an unexplored aroma of flowers, and the Blood River, having straightened his long sleeves, noticed.

“Were you sent to deal with the monster, or was there something else?”

“The Gate of Death,” Hermes answered for all. “Our father thought they were open.”

“So? Are they open?”

“No,” Hermes said again. “But somehow this beast got out.”

“We'll check everything within a hundred feet,” Apollo finally felt they were entering familiar territory. “Here I wandered only in the first century, but my old shelters must remain. We'll look around, then report to our father.”

“Excellent plan,” the Blood River smiled, and Apollo had to chase away the thought of how beautiful he was. “Do you mind if I join?”

“It would be an honor,” Apollo sincerely agreed, not giving the brothers the opportunity to refuse. Being beautiful was one thing, but the Blood River just saved them, who knows how many more dangers they'll hit before they get to the truth - help, also so powerful, is a must.

The sun god tried not to think about whose smile surfaced in his head.

*

When Apollo was a thousand years shorter than he is now, he fought in the repeated Titanomachy and Gigantomachy, was reduced to mortal punishment, and returned back a renewed god, deeply grateful to the demigods for their hard work. In those days, he spent a lot, a lot of time with his own children, testing his own father's patience and testing the boundaries of ancient laws. Father, the great Zeus Thunderer, only sighed, turning a blind eye to the antics of his own firstborn, already humiliated by paranoia and two almost lost battles. Apollo, having fun teaching the rest of the Half-Blood Camp children along with his own, was somehow surprisingly drawn into the orbit of the then great hero, Poseidon's son, Percy Jackson.

Apollo didn't want to get involved, in fact, Apollo wanted only a calm remnant of eternity and, possibly, love, but to associate himself with a demigod who refused immortality and could die at any moment seemed the worst idea. But Apollo contacted, one sunny day in the Camp, finding himself staring intently at Percy Jackson, conveniently holding an Apollo laughing daughter in his arms and pointing somewhere beyond the horizon, telling something in a quiet, heartfelt voice, looking so gently that he touched the divine heart. Apollo fell, fell down with amazing ease, fell to the very depths and was ready to become mortal again, if only the incredible, amazing Percy Jackson shared the rest of his life with him.

Artemis warned him that Percy Jackson was unlikely to accept divinity, even for the sake of Apollo, reminded how such stories end for him, but Percy seemed different. Artemis might have argued, but Percy Jackson for Apollo seemed a happy ending after a series of terrible, painful romance, when the last chords are played, and related souls remain with each other for eternity. Eternity, a song played in his head when Percy Jackson first agreed to a date and kissed chaste goodbye, when he began to smile at every Apollo arrival at Camp, began to share his own secrets and listen to secrets of the sun god. Eternity, the muses sang when Percy first visited Delos and there, spread out on the golden sand, washed with the rays of the sun, shyly said that his father again offered him divinity. Eternity, echoed the melodies of Apollo, in Rome meeting with Percy their first anniversary. Eternity, Percy whispered to him in the dead of night after the summer solstice, when they postponed the ascension until twenty-one. Eternity, Apollo thought confidently, going to Styx to ask for replacement vows.

Apollo called Percy Jackson his eternity.

Until Apollo was banished from Olympus, destroying his throne, and Percy Jackson married Annabeth Chase five years later.

Forty years later, finding himself in New York without the opportunity to return to Olympus in any way, Apollo found a neat white house in the suburbs, where, according to the Internet, sixty-year-old Percy Jackson lived with his family. Apollo then ran onto the porch, knocked on the door once and immediately fled, not ready to face the harsh reality. He might have said that it was about hurt pride, might have lied that he could not accept how easily he was replaced by mortal, but the heart, always the human heart of Apollo, broken into sharp shards, sang a different story.

He remembered that then he spontaneously blessed some girl with a child, but did not remember either the name or the child himself, drowning in his own grief and self-pity. On that day, he vowed himself not to appear again in New York and endured a century, until, of course, the news of Percy Jackson's death reached the wilderness into which he buried himself.

That day, standing on the grave of his love, Apollo was ready to forgive his lover for anything, if only he would return to him, hug him as before and promise a distant eternity. But Apollo now had nothing in return, only a vague hope for ascension, and a stupid, bitter love that no one needed.

Then, on that one distant day, he cried sobbing, cried for a love that was not destined to happen, for a sister and family he would never see again, for his children forced to grow up without a father, and more, for more, he cried for Percy Jackson going where Apollo would never find him.

More on the grave of Percy Jackson, he did not return and think, hope about him forbade himself.

Until, centuries later, he ascended again, bursting back home in the dawn rays, where every corner illuminated by the glow of the sun reminded Apollo of a long-lost love and hope, such a terrible, immortal sprout breaking back into a barely glued heart.

*

Apollo led them on overgrown paths, listening to rustling foliage, not turning to his companions in fear of questions that Apollo would have no answers to. Hermes walked right behind, putting the caduceus forward, ready to attack invisible monsters at any moment. Dionysus limped behind, admitting through his teeth at the exit that the beast had bitten through his leg. The Blood River walked next to Dionysus, wisely deciding to make sure that no one was killed along the way. They walked in silence, moody and awkward, as Apollo resisted the urge to speak every five minutes. He was used to humming when wandering around the neighborhoods of big cities, he was used to being silent when hunting monsters, but the company never brought so much inconvenience that it was just right to run away.

“As in the good old days, right?” after a few hours of aimless wanderings Hermes could not stand it. Dionysus snorted, the Blood River sniffed, and Apollo, realizing that they were not addressing him, suppressed an avalanche of questions. When did Hermes and the Blood River have good old ones?

“Watch the road, Hermes,” the Blood River asked in the end, and the god of thieves obediently shut up, approaching Apollo. Hermes noticed at a suspicious glance of his brother.

“I face calamities sometimes, during my mailings.”

It did not become clearer, but Apollo postponed the interrogation until the time when Hermes and Apollo would be left alone, not overheard by anyone except themselves and Artemis. Perhaps before returning to Delos.

“What are we looking for?” Apollo asked as the company reached his final hiding place. The Blood River approached the sun god silently, standing behind his back and exhaling goosebumps on his bare shoulder. Apollo, flinching with intimacy, thoughtlessly took a step to the side.

“Something like a cut,” upset notes were heard in the voice of calamity. “Split. Usually, the opening of new Gates is accompanied by faults in the ground.”

“What happens if we find one?” Hermes asked, carefully looking around the overgrown stone. The Blood River moved away towards the god of thieves, giving Apollo a chance to breathe normally, he talked about containment and sending for the rest of the calamities that they would probably have to seal inside and out, and Apollo could not get rid of the idea that they were looking for the wrong there. Something else was happening, something that called on ancient creatures to attack people, waited in the wings and breathed them all in the back. The gift of prophecy, which had not made itself felt for so long, disturbed the remaining nerves of the sun god, forcing him to look back and forth as his brothers and calamity went deeper and deeper, swearing and teasing. Apollo turned around, holding the bow at the ready, almost sure that a similar creature was waiting behind him, but there was only silence around. That ice cold, the alarming silence that comes with Fate, as if before the throw of Python, forcing him to retreat. As soon as a step was taken, three pairs of eyes flashed in the darkness and disappeared, returning the sound to the forest.

“Brother,” Hermes's voice brought Apollo out of his stupor. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Apollo shook himself, turning on the concerned god of thieves. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just saw something.”

“I hope not a prophecy,” Hermes grumbled, hitting the spot surprisingly. “Come on, the Blood River and Dionysus found the entrance, we must somehow close it.”

Chapter Text

When Apollo, led by Hermes, arrived at the breaking of the new Gates, he was waiting for a vision of complete suffering on the face of Dionysus, while the smug the Blood River warmly communicated with two gods absolutely identical to each other. Or, more likely, calamities. Hermes, next to Apollo, somehow sighed very sorrowfully, stepping into a clearing hidden in the trees, where an ugly-looking crack hummed deafly with restrained force and carried the familiar aroma of death.

“Twins,” Hermes greeted calamities as Apollo moved closer, looking around the god of wine with concern. Dionysus strained through clenched teeth.

“I'm fine, everything's almost healed.”

“Lord Hermes,” one of the twins said mockingly, poking his brother's side. “What an honor to meet you here. Dad's errands again?”

“Rather, we were asked to investigate,” Apollo intervened, dragging the god of thieves away until he started the incident and they had to deal with Nyx in addition to other problems. Apollo heard stories about the strange impact of calamities on the gods, about the amazing aggression of some and the almost universal tranquility of others, but was always convinced that these were only ridiculous delusions and the gods were actually able to restrain themselves. Perhaps not always.

“Lord of the Sun,” one Twin greeted in surprise.

“It's good to see you among the Olympians,” echoed the second, smiling too broadly.

“You are calamities,” Apollo began, pausing to remember which ones. “The Twins of Chaos.”

“He knows us,” one of the Twins turned to Blood River, whipping a long tail across his brother's face. “Imagine.”

“They're my little brothers,” the Blood River smiled softly at the two calamities. “They came to seal the break.”

“With themselves?”

“Oh, my dear Lord Di,” the First Twin held out, appearing in a flash to the right of Dionysus, who snorted in irritation. “How are you? Big brother said you were hurt.”

“Your Big Brother talks too much.”

“But we were worried,” the Second Twin materialized on the left. “You're ours after all, Lord Di.”

Dionysus seemed ready to explode. His face, under the slightly insane smiles of Twins, took on a shade too golden for a quiet life. Apollo, taking pity, tried to return the attention of calamities to himself.

“All Olympians have calamities?”

“As all calamities have Olympians,” The First Twin sent the sun god an oblique grin and immediately cried out when Dionysus walked all over his ribs. “Di, did you get off the wrong foot?”

“It's true,” Hermes hastily intervened, restoring his peace of mind.

“And I have one?” Apollo raised his eyebrows. If he had a calamity, it was worth making an appointment, maybe they would've talked about music and sharing responsibilities. Or perhaps hunted. It's always nice to have powerful acquaintances. Apollo's brothers, along with calamities, turned to the Blood River, with questions in their eyes, fearful and waiting, but he did not lead his ear, only looked at the sun god and answered quietly.

“If you want to.”

“What do you mean if you want to?” Dionysus cried indignantly, shaking Apollo. What kind of haze is this at the Blood River?

“The Calamities usually become as a result of a strong quarrel,” switched to the god of wine Blood River.

“I didn't quarrel with these!”

“Lord Di, be afraid of Chaos,” the Second Twin purred affectionately, with his fingertips running over the wine god's not hidden by toga nipple. “We've been fighting since we met.”

“Get your flippers off me!”

“Nor, Vis, we have a task,” the Blood River wedged in, tired of having fun at their expense, and Twins from Dionysus was blown away like a wind. Apollo suppressed the desire to whistle in surprise, if only his younger siblings listened like that, many problems would be solved by clicking.

Nor and Vis, Apollo remembered, again looking at the quietly Twins, barely seeing through the darkness of their faces, still to understand who is who. The twins, following their older brother, returned to the study of the gap, which continued to disgustingly spoil the green landscape. The tear itself was like an open wound, bleeding with darkness instead of blood, with spreading webs of small cracks along the edges, giving off cold instead of searing heat, with audible echoes of someone's growl. Apollo saw the Gate of Death with his own eyes, but never thought that they were formed like this, from an ugly ulcer inflicted on nature, ennobled later only by the inspiration of Thanatos.

“Resembles a cut from a sword,” noted one of the Twins under the consonant nods. His brother continued.

“But how huge must the sword be?”

“And whose is it?”

“There are only a few such swords,” Apollo came closer, examining the new Gate. There were few swords capable of breaking the fabric of reality by connecting worlds - one for each pantheon, kept behind seven seals by the gods of war. Stealing one of the swords meant starting a war, and stealing and using - Apollo didn't want to even think about it. “We need to contact Ares, he's the guardian now.”

“I'll go looking for the Raven of Night,” the Blood River glared at his two brothers. “The Twins will stay here.”

“We're at Olympus,” Hermes said glance to Apollo. “We'll report to our father and find Ares.”

“Dionysus,” Apollo called his brother. “You'll stay here.”

The god of wine, already preparing to go home, stared at his older brother in a daze, could only indignantly grab the air with his mouth under the chuckles of three calamities. Apollo was ready to apologize later, compose an album for his brother and remain due to him, but leaving Hermes in return seemed an even worse idea - he not only reacted strangely to Twins, but Twins bypassed him on the tenth road, not only not answering the god of thieves, but not even looking at him. Between future carnage and temporary inconvenience, Apollo chose second.

“Good luck, Lord of the Sun,” the Blood River grinned. “Maybe we'll see each other again.”

Apollo only jerky nodded in response, returning to Olympus to the howls of Dionysus and the comforting teasing of the twins.

“Don't leave me with them!”

“Come on, Lord Di.”

“We'll have a great time.”

“Brother!” was the last thing Apollo heard, disappearing into familiar sunlight.

*

Olympus met them with sounds of lyre coming from the gardens, merging into one conversations and curious spirits watching the arriving Olympians from behind the trees. Apollo turned back, half expecting the enraged Dionysus to follow the brothers, but behind was only Hermes, who had raised his eyebrows. The god of thieves only smiled knowingly at Apollo's gaze.

“He'll be fine.”

“Do you think the Twins will be able to contain the monsters?”

“Knowing Twins,” Hermes sighed. “They won't climb themselves.”

Apollo just nodded. The twins seemed to know what they were doing until, of course, they began to be distracted by Dionysus. And they were wild enough to scare away any unfortunate person who tried to get out through the rift with their own aura.

“Are they all like that?” Apollo could not help asking. “Calamities.”

“I've a normal one,” Hermes shrugged, smiling for the first time since meeting the Twins. “Maybe you'll meet one day.”

Apollo's thoughts returned to the calamity intended for him: what will he be like, what will he look like and in a quarrel will they be after the first meeting, like Demeter with the Green Witch, or will they become good friends, like Hermes with his own? Or, and Apollo sighed, giving thoughts to flash, will they be the reborn Percy Jackson? The Blood River, when he offered, as if he knew the stupid love story of Apollo and either sympathized or offered a replacement. The God of the sun looked toward the brother talking on the caduceus. Did Hermes tell the Blood River the details, or did the calamity know only what the majority knew - that Apollo stole Percy Jackson, fell, and the glorious hero returned to his former life, as if the sun god never existed. Apollo, listening to the multiplying interpretations of their story, was only more horrified, naively hoping that Percy, in his mortal life, didn't encounter it, or stopped it every time he heard. Otherwise, Apollo, at their future meeting, will simply die of embarrassment.

“Thinking of Jackson?”

“Of my calamity,” Apollo denied, quelling the panic. “What do you think he will be?”

“Do you really think that the Blood River will give you it?” Hermes raised his eyebrows, thought, grimaced and answered himself sour. “Of course he will. I can't believe it.”

“He was surprisingly nice,” Apollo added. “After our conversation with father, I thought that he would be more...”

“Bitchy?”

“Unfriendly,” Apollo ended diplomatically under an incredulous shake of his head.

“It's just you.”

“Agree, I'm irresistible,” Hermes in response looked at the sun god almost with pity, but didn't develop the topic, even if Apollo wanted to know why the calamity, which doesn't favor the gods, so warmly to him.

Father, who met them at the entrance to the Council Hall, didn't give Apollo to ask Hermes for answers. Zeus's eyes were gloomy, his lips pressed together, holding back the words that were about to burst from his lips before the doors behind the brothers closed with a dull thud, cutting off the conversation from any extra ears. Hermes took on the role of mediator, describing their journey to the house of Hades, a hulking beast moving through shadows, and a rift formed far off the beaten track by one of the sacred swords. Apollo, who during the conversation realized that no one was going to acknowledge the help of calamities, climbed in to tell how the Blood River first saved them from the beast, and then helped to find the gap.

“He helped a lot,” the sun god finished under his father's weary gaze. “We couldn't have done it without him.”

“He said where is he going?” Zeus asked instead of any words of gratitude, Hermes explained that he was looking for the Raven of Night. Zeus nodded in agreement. “Hermes, find Ares, tell him to check the sword. Apollo, stay, we need to talk.”

Hermes, casting an alarmed glance at his older brother, disappeared with a bow, leaving Apollo alone with their father. Father, surprisingly, didn't seek to start a conversation, instead motioning to go deep into the Council Chamber, to a small corner of rest built by Hestia thousands of years ago, where the Bessie ophiotaurus was still played in a makeshift aquarium. On a table not far from the warmly crackling fireplace are nectar and ragweed with several mortal snacks, and comfortable armchairs have taken on a familiar golden shape and are overgrown with pillows, momentarily transporting Apollo to his favorite living room on Delos. Zeus, who went to the fireplace first, only hummed, sitting in one of the chairs, Apollo sat opposite, carefully taking a glass of nectar, just not to sit idle. Father continued to be silent, he either looked at the peaceful fire, then at the frolicking Bessie, then drank his own nectar. Zeus did not look at Apollo, he gathered his thoughts.

“Do you remember how we had this conversation before?”

“It's hard to forget that,” the Sun god replied cautiously, swallowing you banished me a week later. Apollo accepted that exile, passed with honor and returned home, he will not be ashamed.

“The Fates came to me that day,” Zeus continued to watch the fire. “They said that Chaos isn't calm, that your mortality woke him up, and our mistakes only made him angry. They told me to give him an offering, as mortals made offerings to us.”

“It became my exile,” Apollo finished quietly. “Because the alternative was Olympus.”

“Words cannot express how much I appreciated your sacrifice,” Zeus finally looked at him with too old eyes on a young face, gray hair, which Apollo didn't see upon his return, walked along his father's temples, divine gray hair, which cannot be removed by willpower alone. “But it seems to have made everything worse.”

“The Blood River,” Apollo uttered the name of the calamity with mild alarm. “He arrived punishing.”

“He may have been a punishing hand,” Zeus's look became thoughtful. “But he is an ally rather than an enemy.”

“Are you telling me to befriend him?” Apollo asked in surprise, Zeus grimacing.

“Oh we, of course I don't. I would keep you from him as far and longer as possible, but you've already met,” his father's eyes, serious and worried, reflected the blazing fire of his older sister. “I ask you to be careful. Recognize his strength, respect his help, but be wary of him. Calamities aren't our family, they are Night's children serving Chaos, you never know when they will stab you in the back for their own gain.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Apollo shook his head. He knew this without paternal guidance, he wasn't naive or careless, and certainly didn't intend to fall in love, not after past relationships.

“Because we need their help,” Zeus admitted reluctantly. “They may be the evil, but they will never put mortals in danger.”

“There's someone else.”

“The Blood River won't tell me so easily,” Zeus sighed irritably. “But he likes you.”

“My irresistibility doesn't mean that I'm not busy,” Apollo recalled, Zeus's grimace became unpleasant.

“It's hard to forget about it,” Thunderer pulled himself together. “But he respects you as much as he can respect God, and he probably offered to help you.”

Apollo frowned, but perhaps his attempts to appeal to his father's gratitude led Zeus to such conclusions that he didn't explain his father's strange hints. The Blood River captivated and fascinated, but not enough to forget about the promise to find the rebirth of Perseus. Apollo gave up playing at love, from now on he will either wait for his old one, or will remain without a relationship, as Aunt Hestia and Artemis remained all the years. An incredibly attractive club.

“Go to your uncle,” Zeus advised. “He'll tell you where you can find the Blood River.”

“Don't you know?” Apollo was surprised, by the sour face of his father, realizing that no, he does not know. And it doesn't mean that he didn't try to find out.

*

The invitation of his uncle to his kingdom burning his palm, while Apollo, who settled on a black toga with a golden shoulder pad and the same gold belt, maneuvered between the lined columns of souls, making his way to the towering black palace, an accurate reflection of the rebuilt Council Chamber. The paint on the black walls felt as wonderfully new as the gardens nearby and the towering fence. Apollo didn't remember the small craters around the palace, but perhaps the calamity of Hades almost destroyed his kingdom as the Blood River almost swept Olympus away. Alecto, who was swooping to the sun god, snatched permission from his hands and cut it into small parts with her claws.

“The Lord is waiting in the throne room,” she proclaimed, spreading her leathery wings and taking off, watching with a keen eye every step of the god who set foot on their lands. The silence in which Hades spent days and nights was always suffocating for Apollo, but now, when the search for the Blood River was still looming ahead and attempts to persuade him to ally with the gods, Apollo almost suffocating, taking off at a brisk pace along the steps, to the throne room, where Hades standing at the throne when the rapidly opening doors only rolled his eyes.

“Did you forget manners during wanderings?” Apollo in response only smiled, vividly remembering the same grumpy, sweet child, due to become his son-in-law a thousand years ago. Apollo knew that Nico went to his father after - and Apollo hated reminders of the early years even more - Will's death, but didn't know if he would meet him here among the Underworld, how didn't know if he would like this meeting, not after that, how his expulsion led to so many deaths of his children that he was unable to protect or find, only to hope that his family would help them.

“Uncle,” he greeted cheerfully, arms outstretched. “Glad to see you. Your beautiful wife said hello.”

“My beautiful wife communicates with me enough to remember your meeting,” Hades said. “Did my brother say why you're here?”

“I will go to negotiation with the Blood River in his kingdom,” Apollo's attention was captured by several painted frescoes with a series of battles of Hades with a tall man in black clothes in a creepy white mask, either smiling or sad. “Is this your calamity? Ghost King.”

“We call him Master of Asphodel,” Hades looked back at the painted marble. “The Asphodel Meadows are now his habitat. He built the Ghostly Capital there.”

“I hear they like to make some noise.”

“They're far enough away not to bother me or my people,” Hades protested. “I haven't seen him in centuries.”

Hades looked resigned, like a patient living out his last moments, as if meeting with disaster brought him hope, and not just the annoying buzzing of a fly. The strangest reactions to those who should be nothing more than allies in preserving peace on earth.

"I can't give you a pass to the Capital," Hades continued, startled. "But they always accepted lost travelers.

“Why should I go to the capital?”

“The Kingdom of the Blood River is through it,” the uncle replied mysteriously, confirming in veiled terms that he had no idea where the Blood River lived. Apollo tried to contain his snort.

“Shall I give something to the Master of the Asphodel?”

“Only my most benevolent wishes,” Hades dismissed, as if he hadn't missed the possibility of meeting a moment earlier. “We'll see each other whenever it pleases the Fates.”

The audience with his uncle on these words officially ended.

Chapter Text

If Apollo had to describe the Ghost Capital, the words flashy and stormy would have been quite sufficient. The Ghost Capital, as soon as Apollo went deeper from the palace of Hades towards the Fields, greeted him with the noise of crowded streets and the lights of lanterns hanging everywhere. It stretched as far as the eye could see further along the Fields, skillfully skirting the borders of Lethe and Styx, reminiscent of a peacock with its tail fluffed up. The Capital drawing into its depths with promises of a happy life, even if it seemed that the ghosts here were engaged in nothing but work. At the very gates, not far from the waters of Styx, there were fields of strange-looking cereal crops, and the flowers that adorned the few houses he encountered resembled the glow of precious stones, more suitable for the garden of Persephone than the kingdom of the dead. The ghosts encountered all wore animal and human masks of various shapes, colors, and sizes, calling loudly in the markets and feeling painfully real when they collided with the sun god. They were all in a hurrying somewhere, running after someone, and leading to the city center, where the road forked in two directions - on one side were magnificent temples, filled to the brim with praying followers, and on the other, surrounded by inflorescences of rubies, topazes, and jasper, stood a palace, almost twice the size of Hades's palace, with many outbuildings, spires reaching into the sky, and a garden leading right to the threshold. The dirt road led through an arch of scarlet lanterns, skirting the peaceful Phlegethon stream, straight to scarlet gates decorated with images of wild animals of the Underworld. Gates swung invitingly open as Apollo stepped onto the sapphire-studded staircase.

The shouts of celebration and delighted laughter were deafening for a moment, the bright clothes of the crowd were blinding eyes as the sun god made his way further to the throne room, skirting towering statues of calamities, past dancing maidens in silks, players shouting at each other and tables overflowing with underground delicacies. Twice he was lost, three times he was pulled towards the dancing couples by maidens in exquisite masks, until at some point his elbow was firmly grasped by a golden-haired man in a snow-white girded robe with wide, long sleeves, under which scarlet undergarments were visible, with a golden mask with a pattern reminiscent of the sun, and a beautiful, strangely familiar smile adorning his full lips.

“I'm afraid,” the man's voice rang like bells. “Today is not the best day to wander alone.”

“What are they celebrating?” Apollo asked, obediently following the beautiful vision. The man laughed sheepishly.

“My birth,” and without giving Apollo time to ask more questions, he led him through the onyx-decorated beaded curtains, into a quiet part of the halls. The noise that died down as they entered made him stagger, but the prince - who could not be anyone but a prince - kept Apollo on his feet, wincing sympathetically.

“It can be a little overwhelming,” the glow around the prince, which Apollo initially took for a play of blazing lights, didn't disappear, forming a halo above his golden hair, reminiscent of sunlight.

“Thank you,” Apollo muttered, shaking his toga under a curious look. The prince's eyes were turquoise, slightly darker than the eyes of the sun god himself, with small lines of dark green at the very edges. “You found me so easily.”

“It's hard not to notice a lost god,” the prince didn’t deny. “Besides, my father described you very accurately.”

“I didn't know that the Ghost King had children,” Apollo noted in surprise, the prince laughed.

“The Ghost King is my husband,” the turquoise look became sly. “My father is a little higher than him.”

Apollo decided not to pronounce the name of the Blood River, obediently following the prince through the halls of the palace. Golden columns towered above them, scarlet marble echoed dully from their sandals, a golden staircase wound, leading them higher, into the inner halls of the royal family. They passed the throne room, going into a burgundy living room with comfortable sofas, richly decorated carpets and a large table, already occupied by deities who turned to them. The card game laid out between them was clearly interrupted, but no one showed indignation, only the god sitting closer to the exit raised an eyebrow.

At the head, hidden behind a familiar, eerie white mask that fit tightly to his face, sat a tall, broad-shouldered man. His obsidian hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, his snow-white neck was hidden behind a high collar of a black cloak, and his clothes, held together by a wide belt, seemed to absorb all the light of the candles, and he himself seemed to be woven from the shadows that swirled at his feet like a tamed lion. To his right, in scarlet battle attire, sat a tall maiden who reminded Apollo of a female version of the god of war, only her gaze was rather tender, relaxed after recognizing those who had entered. Next to her, in comfortable hunting attire, in a mask decorated with rubies, sat another goddess, whose golden gaze shone with warmth no worse than the fireplace blazing in the distance. Opposite the two women, to the left of the Ghost King, there were two people - a goddess with a white face in a golden shawl and a god in a scarlet toga, with the skulls of dogs on his left shoulder.

“Husband,” the prince greeted the Ghost King, pulling Apollo by the hand to the empty sofa. “We have guests.”

“I see,” a muffled voice came from under the mask. “Glad to see you, Lord Apollo.”

“Your Majesty,” the sun god nodded in response. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Goddess — calamity? — snorted in armor, waving away the jab of her sister sitting next to her. The prince chuckled too, looking at Apollo with slight surprise. The Ghost King only bowed his head in recognition. It seemed that the Master of Asphodel didn't like to speak, leaving this right to his spouse, who was now about to introduce the seated deities. The pair of rulers of the Ghost Capital seemed surprisingly harmonious, although they would hardly shine among the Olympic gossip — they both enjoyed each other's company too much for a third party to interfere.

“You know my husband, Lord Apollo, to his right are my aunts, the Scarlet Lily and the White Rose,” the women smiled. “And to the left are my husband's siblings, Lady Melinoe and Lord Zagreus.”

“It is good to know that you've returned,” the White Rose's quiet voice intervened in the conversation like a stalking hunter. “Your sister can now rest easy.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow in surprise, taking a closer look at the calamity in front of him. The White Rose just smiled at him, amused by his gaze, the snow-white drops on her mask fluttered as she made herself more comfortable, gracefully resting her chin on her hand - the game was forgotten.

“Found something interesting, Lord Apollo?” White Rose's voice was filled with laughter, the Ghost King grumbled.

“I'm afraid she's busy.”

“I,” Apollo immediately flushed, barely restraining himself from trying to jump away as far as possible. Or, preferably, run to the surface and lock himself in Delos. “That's not what I meant. I'm busy too.”

“Don't scare the poor Olympian, brother,” Zagreus chided contentedly, to White Rose's satisfied hum, as if Apollo had unknowingly passed her test. “He's already all on edge.”

“You're incredibly fearless, Lord Apollo,” Melinoe noted, her voice slightly raspy, as if she hated using it almost more than the Ghost King did. “Coming here, to the den of calamities, for a consort's feast. Something very bad must’ve happened.”

“Or he came to see someone,” White Rose playfully disagreed, to Scarlet Lily's muffled laughter. “Isn't that right, Lord Apollo?”

“It's not what you think,” the sun god muttered, trying to shake off the terrible embarrassment. Everything was fine on Olympus, and Apollo wasn't going to talk about the problem with the rifts until he made sure at the Blood River that calamities could be trusted with such things. There was still the meeting. A businesslike, completely professional meeting of two immortal beings, which shouldn't be called a vulgar see someone. “True.”

“Father warned us about your arrival for some reason,” the prince consort looked innocently worried. “He usually doesn't let gods in.”

“He's not just a god, nephew,” Scarlet Lily's rough voice was heard, and the prince, turning his gaze to his aunt, instantly became as embarrassed as Apollo.

“Blood River has a strangely special attitude towards me,” this question, which Apollo had never been able to extract from Hermes, was ringing in his head like an alarm, and there was no better opportunity to ask it than to the younger siblings of the Blood River himself - they should know his mood. Only calamities seemed to freeze for a moment, looked at each other strangely under the rolling of Melinoe's eyes and the laughter of Zagreus and simply stared at Apollo, making him almost fidget. “Or he doesn't have a special attitude towards me. I am a god, after all.”

“Oh, cousin,” sang Zagreus, looking at Apollo with slight pity and great amusement. “You're not just a god. I think you should ask Blood River himself. No one can answer that question better than him.”

Apollo could vividly imagine the warm breath on his shoulder, the purring voice and the charismatic smile, especially after such a question. He knew where it could lead him, and he avoided it like the plague, wondering if a thousand years was enough to return to old habits, and despising himself for it. The White Rose took pity on him.

“You attracted him many years ago, Lord Apollo.”

“He considers you not only a worthy ally, but a worthy god,” Scarlet Lily continued. “His attempts to show his respect may seem obscene at best, but I'll speak with him about it.”

“He wouldn't do anything against your will, Lord Apollo,” the Ghost King confirmed. “He isn't like that.”

Zagreus snorted with amusement again, looking at White Rose as if he were sharing an old joke. White Rose shook her head in gentle irritation, reminding Apollo so vividly of his twin sister that he had to stare again. How often did they cross paths? How many sisterly secrets had they shared? And why did Thalia have this aversion to calamities when the White Rose was so mesmerizingly beautiful?

“Lord Apollo,” the Ghost King called out. “Do you like to play?”

It seemed to break through the languid mood that had descended on the room, the gods and calamities returned to the forgotten game, starting anew, while the prince explained the rules in a hushed voice. Apollo, who continued to be in the clouds, every now and then looking at the peaceful surroundings, listened with half an ear and remembered almost nothing, hoping for the decency of the hosts.

The hosts turned out to be worse than Hermes.

“Honestly, Lord Apollo,” Zagreus stoically held back his laughter, while the lyre of the sun god was given the Scarlet Lily. “Isn't your younger brother the god of lies?”

“I usually avoid playing with him,” Apollo grumbled, looking with suffering at his own bow lying on the Ghost King's couch. The mask of the mayor of the Ghost Capital smiled too widely, which should have been frightening, but Apollo had managed to get used to it during the hour spent in the company of the gods.

“Don't be sarcastic, Zagreus,” the Scarlet Lily scolded. “Wait for my husband.”

“Your husband,” the god of rebirth rolled his eyes. “He can beat anyone. Even the god of lies.”

“He's still sulking,” the prince whispered trustingly to Apollo. “Last time, uncle came here for the Winter Solstice Festival and took Zagreus's favorite shawl.”

“He's been eyeing it for a whole century,” the aforementioned god complained. “And he took it, bastard.”

“One day you'll get your revenge, brother,” there was barely suppressed laughter in the Ghost King's voice. “Revenge will bring you victory.”

“Don't encourage him,” Melinoe croaked. “He'll sell himself out so soon, and then I'll have to help Thanatos get him back.”

“It was only once!” Zagreus exclaimed to everyone's loud laughter. The White Rose cast an amused glance at the surprised smiling sun god.

“Shall we play again, Lord Apollo?”

“I don't think I'm ready to lose myself, and that's all I have with me.”

“What about your lovely toga?”

“Sister,” Scarlet Lily slapped calamity on the hand. “Be respectful. We'll play on the sandal.”

“Try again, Lord Apollo,” the Ghost King nudged. “You might succeed.”

Something in the words of calamity seemed sincere to Apollo, and he decided. On the first round he lost the sandals. On the second, he miraculously got them back. On the third, he was lucky enough to take the lyre, only to lose it again on the fourth. On the fifth, the last, Apollo won again. The Ghost King, noticing the sun god's hesitation, asked.

“You have a choice.”

“I need the location of your older brother,” Apollo sighed. “And I need a bow.”

“Choose the first,” prince quietly advised. “You can always come back for the second.”

“My husband is right,” the Ghost King agreed. “You can always come back for your bow. Or ask my brother for a new one.”

Apollo tried in vain to suppress his blush, while the Ghost King received a slap on the back of the head from the Scarlet Lily sitting next to him, and the prince, realizing that Apollo would soon spontaneously combust if he stayed in the drawing room for a moment longer, took the sun god by the hand and pulled him toward the exit, bidding farewell to everyone at once for both of them. He pulled and pulled, forcing them to run down the stairs again, past the painted walls and golden columns, past the surprised servants who saw them off and celebrating courtiers, toward the beautiful garden, away from the noise around them, until they found themselves in a tree-covered pavilion by the shore of the Phlegethon. Only then did the prince stop, straighten his clothes and carefully examine Apollo, who was coming to his senses. The smile on the prince's lips was apologetic.

“I'm sorry,” he said finally. “My family likes to tease.”

“Very much so,” Apollo agreed with a sigh. The prince covered his wide smile with his hand. Apollo only shook his head. “Laugh, your highness, I allow it today.”

The prince's laughter, pure and ringing, enveloped Apollo in the summer rays of the sun, warmed him to the very insides and spread warmth instead of ichor. It was amazing how someone as stern and powerful as the Blood River could give birth to someone as gentle as the prince, born as if from the sun's rays.

“I apologize,” the prince bowed deeply after laughing. “Allow me to make amends.”

“It's not necessary.”

“Of course it is,” the prince protested, taking Apollo's hand again. “I bet you didn't see the entire the Ghost Capital, but ran straight to our palace.”

Apollo didn't dare admit that it was so, as the prince pulled him toward the exit of the gardens, toward the noisy streets, toward the crowded markets and towering temples, toward the afterlife of everyone who had ever lived on earth.

The bazaar where the prince and the sun god had come stretched across the street, overwhelming with the aroma of hot spices, lit by the subdued light of lanterns running from house to house, while the ghostly merchants hauled their wares towards them: some sweets from all over the world, some raw meat, some delicious fruits and vegetables, and some dishes and jewelry. Not a single one of them missed the chance to greet the prince consort and his beautiful companion, surely a god, for who could be more charming than a god. The jewelry here in the underworld was truly precious, so skillfully made that Apollo, if he had had drachmas, would've bought himself a couple or two, especially the golden halo crown with diverging rays of the sun, or the beautiful translucent silk offered by the ghost with the tarantula mask. Or perhaps he would buy some of the local food, especially the Turkish sweets sold by the ghost in oriental clothes.

“Oh, di immortales,” Apollo whispered, catching sight of a bow made of shining imperial gold, trimmed with blue kevlar with gold inserts, with a diamond handle and a gilded bowstring. “It's beautiful.”

“Next time, bring some drachmas,” the prince standing nearby chuckled. “You can’t come here without money.”

“You shouldn’t come here even with money,” Apollo shook his head, having already noticed a jug nearby, belted with iridescent aquamarines. “Incredible. And all this beauty is Underground.”

“Nothing prevents immortals from dropping in for a visit,” the prince disagreed, leading Apollo away to the towering temples. “The younger gods often come here.”

“And the Olympians?” the sun god asked with interest, the prince shrugged.

“Perhaps. You can never tell who's hiding under the mask.”

It seemed the prince wasn't talking about the gods at all, but Apollo didn't continue conversation, more fascinated by the architecture of the temples than by the strange subtexts of prince consort. He's had enough of the hints.

There were about thirty temples in total, all of them different from each other, but they harmonized strangely, not standing out from the general order, although, upon approaching, one could say that the temple of the Green Witch resembled swaying fields of wheat, and the temple of the Will-o'-the-Wisp looked like tongues of flame. There were several more temples built according to the Greek standard, all of them neatly located one after another, like an island separating from the rest. The prince explained that they belonged to the rivers of the Underworld, to which the inhabitants of the city brought gifts in gratitude for the opportunity of a peaceful afterlife, while a little further away, closer to the main temples of the Capital, there were temples of the gods of death, including Hades and Persephone.

“My husband may be their calamity,” the prince said gravely. “But we would never allow the dead to show such profound disrespect.”

The temple of the prince consort himself was located close to the temple of the Ghost King, while two huge, absolutely identical buildings were located on a rise a little further and gathered many more worshipers than in all the others.

“Temple of the Scarlet Lily and Blood River,” said consort. “The temples of the Will-o'-the-Wisp and the Green Witch were supposed to be here, but they chose places closer to the city, and they're still more revered on the Lost Paths. The Winged Shadow prefers to be revered in the City of Drowned, it is further along the Styx, if you are interested.”

“The Ghost King doesn't mind that his glory is taken by others, does he?” Apollo asked, the prince chuckled.

“That's right. The Ghost King doesn't need a temple to feel love of his people. Come, it's time to put in a good word for you to my father.”

Apollo didn't want to go inside, not least because he knew how to put in a good word with the gods, and the last such offering still haunted him in the nightmares of his new exile, but the role of donor, especially like this, standing before the altar of the Blood River, looking at the amazingly accurate life-size statue, where the eyes of calamity seemed to be fixed on him, made his whole-body itch. Apollo didn't kneel, as the prince consort did, so that his robes spilled around him like a snow-white lake, the sun god only placed the sacrifice given by the prince on the altar and bowed his head for a moment.

“Please,” Apollo whispered a prayer in his mind. “Accept my audience and listen. Olympus needs your help.”

A sea breeze washed Apollo from head to toe, causing him to stagger. The Blood River accepted his gift favorably.

“You need to go up the Phlegethon,” the prince consort explained as they left temple later, walking towards the aforementioned river. “Wherever the winding path leads, follow it. It'll lead you to the source and the kingdom of my father.”

“It would be much better if you came with me,” admitted Apollo under a sympathetic look.

“I wouldn't dream of a greater honor, but the festivities here aren't over yet, and my husband needs me. Perhaps later, when you return from my father, I'll follow you.”

“To the surface?” Apollo was surprised. The prince only shrugged his shoulders with a familiar gesture, throwing his hair back.

“Don't you need company on your adventures?”

They parted at the bank of Phlegethon with promises of a quick meeting, the prince returned to the palace to his husband, and Apollo, armed with the bow hastily handed to him by the prince as a parting gift, headed further along the river, mooing a tune he had picked up at the bazaar.

All that was left was a conversation with the Blood River. Not a big deal.

Chapter Text

The journey along the mouth of the Phlegethon turned out to be the most peaceful journey that Apollo had made in the last thousand years, darkened only once by an encounter with a huge black rhinoceros, the python on whose tail almost stung the sun god, until he, having shot once and making sure that the skin of the monsters of Tartarus was always depressingly impenetrable, ran far away. Otherwise, both small settlements and wandering animals didn’t pay attention to Apollo, allowing him to freely reach the source of Phlegethon, the kingdom of the Blood River, located right on the mountain pierced by the waters of the fiery river. Lycoris.

There were many rumors about Lycoris, the kingdom of the firstborn of Night. Some said that his kingdom was built around the gates to Tartarus, that calamities fought with monsters, day and night, until they snatched victory with their teeth and built themselves home on the bones. Others said that Lycoris used to be the ruins of an ancient temple of Night, destroyed during the migration under the land of Hades, and Nyx gave her firstborn both the mountain and the temple on his birthday, and after Blood River brought his newborn brothers and sisters there. Much later, Lycoris was joined by peace-seeking demons, followed by monsters and lesser gods, as well as lost ghosts who hadn't taken root in the Ghost Capital, so Lycoris became a place of peace, protected by the rivers of the Underworld and woven into the foundation by the charms of the firstborn, who didn't allow those who brought war to enter.

Lycoris was amazing. Built in the mountain where Phlegethon originated, at the very source, it resembled islands separated by the waters of a fiery river, connected by narrow paths leading to a majestic building in purple tones extending beyond the mountain - the city resembled the flower of death, whose name it bore with honor.

Apollo walked past the welcoming columns, adjusting the black shawl the prince had thrown over him more comfortably and clutching his bow tighter in his hands. Stone roads branched in different directions, leading to separate palaces, around which smaller buildings sprouted like mushrooms. Thus, near the Stone Dragon Palace protruding from the mountain walls, there was a village with Chinese-style houses, with a small market illuminated by blue translucent lights, a school from which children were pouring out, and a theater where several giggling demonesses were heading. Further along the path, a view of the Will-o'-the-Wisp Palace opened up, and even further - the White Rose Palace, surrounded by the dense forests of the Underworld. To the right of the entrance was the Night Raven Palace, more like a military headquarters than a residential building. The palaces of calamities went in a semicircle, most of which were hidden behind the Blood River House.

The path leading to the threshold of the palace was wide, fenced with an obsidian fence, so there should have been no fear of falling straight into the fiery river. Apollo was still slightly afraid, carefully stepping on the paved stones until he reached the main street, from where green lanterns were already directing him either to the school buildings, or to residential buildings, or offering a direct path to the majestic gates, decorated with images of raging underground rivers, swirling hurricanes and poisonous flowers. The gates opened in greeting as Apollo approached.

Beyond the gates was a garden. The trees there were lush and bright green, like an oasis of the outside world that had descended underground, growing on green paths separated by smaller dirt paths, bordered by topiary like a green labyrinth. An ivy-covered staircase led to a spacious entrance hall where the marble floor reflected the gardens, divided by stripes of green and blue, adorned with moving waves, giving the impression of walking on water. There, leaning against one of the azure columns, sat a tall man in dark robes, with a blueberry mask adorning his face, reading documents in his hands. The man seemed to have stopped for a moment to check something, and then got lost in the texts in front of him. He reminded Apollo of Hermes, always in a hurry on business, but sometimes also hanging over something, lost in the world for long moments. Apollo didn't want to interrupt, but finding the Blood River in the labyrinths of the palace seemed almost impossible.

“My apologies,” the sun god cleared his throat, causing the man to perk up and stare at the intruder in surprise. “I've an audience with the Blood River.”

The man continued to stare. Apollo adjusted his shawl, shifting uncomfortably.

“The Ghost Herald, eh? It's a pleasure to meet you, my brother has spoken highly of you.”

“Yours,” came the deep voice of calamity. “Brother. Your brother spoke well of me.”

“Is that surprising?”

“No, of course not,” the Herald shook his head. “We see each other often.”

They were silent.

“Forgive my rudeness,” the Herald finally couldn't stand it. “But are you sure that only my brother spoke well of me?”

“And your wife, the Scarlet Lily,” Apollo obediently remembered. The Herald looked at him as if he couldn't decide whether the sun god was mocking him or not.

“My spouse, the Scarlet Lily. That's right. And you've never heard from me again.”

“I'm afraid not,” Apollo looked apologetically at the calamity, even with all his efforts unable to recall anyone similar to the Herald from his past acquaintances. The Herald looked at the guest in front of him with curiosity for a good minute, then, muttering something about mom help our poor brother, bowed impeccably and said:

“Forgive my incompetence, we welcome you, Lord Apollo, to the halls of the Blood River. Please, follow me.”

The Ghost Herald led him through long corridors to the entrance to the throne room. The throne room was enormous, with columns entwined with golden dragons, islands of crystal-clear water connected by bridges, emerald carpets with a familiar solar pattern, and a high oak staircase leading to a majestic jade throne, where, dressed in emerald silk flowing like waves, in a fur-trimmed black cloak, with a guan like large petals of a familiar-unfamiliar flower, in a black veil with diamond drops woven into it, Blood River sat, resting his chin on his hand. At his feet snorted a huge silver dragon, and behind him, soaring to the high ceiling, blazed a fire - the symbol of his younger brother. The Herald walked to the rounded center of the junction of four bridges, made a superb bow and proclaimed.

“Lord Apollo requests an audience, my king,” Apollo followed, bowing his head in greeting.

“Blood River, king of calamities,” the sun god glanced sideways at the Herald's slightly distrustful gaze. “A few days ago, you said that I could ask for your help. I ask it now, on behalf of Olympus, on behalf of my father. We need you.”

“On behalf of your father,” the voice of the king of calamities, at their first meeting like the purr of a tamed panther, now spread like rolling waves, echoing off the walls. The dragon at the feet of Blood River opened a displeased blue eye, looking at the newcomers with idle curiosity. Blood River continued. “I didn't offer to help your father.”

“Then accept the request as mine,” Apollo immediately answered, fearing that the king of calamities would drive him away. Blood River chuckled in surprise.

“I don't throw around such offers, Lord Apollo, and you have only one. Are you ready to exchange it for help to the one who banished you from Olympus and kept you the laughing stock of the Three Worlds?”

“My exile,” Apollo said firmly. “Was my decision alone. My father only asked.”

A stunned silence fell over the throne room. A muffled "what?" was heard from the Herald, and the dragon looked warily at the frozen statue of Blood River. Even the fire behind the throne died down slightly.

“Your decision,” Blood River repeated slowly, clearly struggling with himself. The Herald continued for him.

“But the rumors said otherwise.”

“The rumors say a lot,” Apollo noted, slightly irritated. Blood River quietly noted.

“True. Rumors say a lot,” and he patted the growling dragon on the head comfortingly. Then Blood River stood up, majestic and proud, straightened his sleeves, under which thin metal bracers glittered, and went down, straight to Apollo, while the dragon, convinced that no performance was expected, fell asleep again. Apollo stoically suppressed his panic. Blood River wouldn't kill him, he couldn't, he accepted the sacrifice of peace in the Ghost Capital, he wouldn't break his promise.

“Brother,” the Herald called warningly as Blood River approached.

“Don't worry,” he smiled kindly at his brother. “No one will die today.”

“That's no consolation,” the Herald muttered to a quiet laugh.

“I'm going to speak with our guest alone,” Blood River passed Apollo very close, the sea breeze hitting him right in the nose and immediately disappeared when the king of disasters, walking along the western bridge towards the slightly open door to the corridor, turned to the sun god. “Come, Lord Apollo, my audience will not continue here.”

And Apollo, casting a last glance at the still tense Herald, followed, wondering whether Uncle P even knew that the son of the Queen of the Night was also his son.

*

Blood River led them through corridors lit with blue lights, past paintings of modern art and panoramic windows opening onto the other side of Lycoris - the side of the remaining palaces. If the tension hadn't been so palpable, Apollo would've stayed here longer. Over the years of wandering, he could only sense the masterpieces being born, leaving inspiration to the muses and gods of other pantheons, but the most painful thing was the inability to keep track of everything as before, when he could spend days and nights only looking at the created paintings, walking in small galleries and admiring the flourishing art. It was as if everything that Apollo would've laid eyes on was collected here, from abstractions to realism, from paintings to sculptures, ending with a surprisingly lively landscape on dead land. The light, he thought, was perfect for a day at the easel. His fingers itched to pick up a brush. Perhaps Apollo will be able to beg permission from Blood River to visit his own palace, later, of course, when everything is decided.

Percy would’ve loved it here.

The heavy oak doors opened in front of the Blood River, revealing one of the largest libraries Apollo had ever seen. Rows and rows of books, tomes, and scrolls stretched up to the vaulted ceiling, a huge crystal chandelier tapering like a pyramid hung from the ceiling, and from it, enclosed in a dome, golden lamps moved in all directions, flying up and down from small, gold-trimmed carts set every five feet apart. The library was like a maze, with several alcoves containing oak tables and chairs, others with settees and tables, others with rocking chairs and small windows looking out onto a lush garden, and one of the largest with a circular spiral staircase leading to a hidden second floor. It was along this that the Blood River ran up, deftly maneuvering between the bookshelves, Apollo could barely keep up with him. The second floor, imitating the structure of Lycoris, was an island connected by not very reliable rope bridges, on each of which there was a reading room fenced on all sides, where a fire burned quietly and comfortable-looking chairs were located. Apollo hoped that there were chairs there, otherwise what was the point of the rope bridge test, if isn't for a small Elysium.

The study that Blood River led them into was small and round, with a table with sweets and tea, a crackling fire in the fireplace, and shelves with a dozen books. Apollo sat down comfortably in one of the dark green chairs next to Blood River, took the offered tea with a gesture and looked closely at the veil hiding his face. Now, up close, the lower half of the calamity's face seemed familiar, as did the hands, calloused, with small webs of scars, gently clasping the cup. Apollo couldn't see Blood River's eyes, only one, the left one, glowed a poisonous green, seemed another precious stone to match the diamonds shimmering in the firelight.

“Do you like what you see?” the voice of calamity, purring again, startled Apollo.

“I,” Apollo faltered. “Not true. It’s just your eye. A very unusual one. An eye.”

Blood River snorted softly, took a sip from his cup, and turned his gaze to the fire. Apollo closed his eyes for a moment. Coming here had been a very, very bad idea.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” calamity broke the comfortable silence. “Are you willing to use my gift for those who were happy to banish you from Olympus?”

Apollo had no doubt. “Yes. They're my family.”

“They abandoned you.”

“That doesn't mean they don't have a second chance,” the sun god said firmly. “My… journey taught me to give a second chance.”

“And you give it to everyone?” Blood River asked with interest, looking at Apollo again. It seemed he was asking about something else, something that hid the god's heart, kept behind seven seals, or rather about someone else. That answered the question was, how much Blood River knew about Apollo's foolish love. Not that Apollo could be embarrassed.

“Yes,” he said firmly, under the piercing gaze. “I give it to all.”

“You’re a very good god, Lord Apollo,” Blood River noted. “And very loyal. That’s commendable.”

Blood River fell silent, only took a sip from his cup and looked at the fire again. He bit his lower lip in thought, quietly tapping his long finger on the gilded handle. Thinking. Apollo was thinking too, tasting the tea and the sugar-covered fruit. He could stay here in Lycoris, live, build a house next to the palace of the king of calamities, ask permission to visit and, surrounded by peaceful calm, wait for Perseus to return. Apollo knew they would've much to talk about, talk about feelings carelessly discarded by one and carefully kept by the other, about past relationships, ascension and the possibility of being together again. Here, surrounded by the scent of the sea breeze, in a peaceful calm that the sun god hadn't experienced for so long, Apollo swore that he would never let Percy Jackson go from himself again, that he would marry him, bind him to himself and not return him to the mortal world. Percy Jackson was promised to him by the destinies, Percy was supposed to stay with him, for the rest of eternity. For the eternity, which they swore to each other.

If necessary, he would steal Percy's ghost and bring him here. Blood River seemed only too happy to have fun at the expense of the panicking gods.

The fire turned silver for a moment, flared up more strongly, and returned to its previous red hue.

“Okay,” the Blood River's voice brought Apollo out of the stupor of his wandering thoughts. “I'll help you. But know that this is help for you, not for Olympus, and especially not for Zeus.”

Apollo nodded in agreement and carefully noted. “You and my father don't have the best relationship.”

Blood River snorted. “We had disagreements in the past.”

“And they led to the destruction of Olympus,” Apollo noted skeptically. “And the battle with the Olympians. My father said it was a punishment from the Fates.”

“I had personal reasons for destroying Olympus,” Blood River answered quietly, dangerously, so that goosebumps ran across the sun god's body. “More selfish than following the dictates of the Fates. Our interests simply coincided.”

There was something else in all this, itching at the edge of consciousness, not allowing him to grasp. As if something, or someone, was sending the Mist, confusing his thoughts, and the collected facts didn't want to fall into place, jumping over one another, disappearing and appearing, as if playing a game whose rules Apollo didn't understand. Knowledge pushed him to figure it out, to get to the truth, to shake the calamity in front of him so that he would stop expressing himself in riddles, and Logic sang that this could be done later, when the cracks healed, the trickster who decided to have fun would end up in prison, and Apollo would give himself a rest. This time Apollo listened to Logic.

He sat up straight in his chair, put his tea aside, and explained that the alliance Zeus had asked for was vital, that they assumed a trickster who didn't care about the ancient laws, that they couldn't close the rift themselves, especially from the inside, that Zeus was afraid that someone more ancient would decide to remind them of themselves.

“I hope your father doesn't think that Chaos dreams of destroying Olympus,” Apollo paused awkwardly. Blood River sighed woefully. “Holy Night, that even sounds ridiculous. Destroying Olympus would be like destroying his own work.”

“But he sent you for a reason.”

“We are the balance, keeping the Olympians humble, reminding them that mistakes must be paid for. We are here for a better world, not its destruction,” Blood River exhaled long, calming down. “It must be someone else, someone who has a grudge against both Olympus and the calamities.”

“Do such people exist?” Apollo raised an eyebrow. Blood River only shook his head.

“Much more than you think.”

*

It was decided that Apollo would join Hermes, who had arrived with Ares, in New Athens while Blood River checked the functioning Gates and spoke with the Fates. A hunt would be declared for the monsters of Tartarus that had been attacking mortals, and the calamities would travel the world in search of rifts and warn the pantheons of the thief.

“Perhaps,” Apollo suggested cautiously, under Blood River's watchful eye, as the two set out for the Ghost Capital. Black, fire-breathing unicorns led them along Phlegethon, sometimes breaking into a gallop, sometimes returning to a trot. “I could use a little calamity in my quest, too.”

“Have you spotted one?” Blood River asked cheerfully. Apollo smiled softly in response.

“Your son. He offered to accompany me to the surface.”

“My son,” Blood River muttered wearily. “He can't sit still. He's wanted to explore the mortal world ever since he discovered the encyclopedia of landmarks in the library. Be careful, or you'll be stuck somewhere in Europe for a century or two.”

Apollo only laughed, entertained by Blood River's tales of the prince consort's childhood, his too-quick crush on the Ghost King, and his stubborn desire to marry him. Blood River's voice was laced with pain the entire time he told how his son had danced with every maiden within a few feet of him at the Winter Solstice Festival, and then brought the Ghost King out there, nearly ripping his mask off to prove he didn't care whether he was ugly or divinely beautiful. Thank the Night for Zagreus.

“I can’t believe it,” Apollo laughed and wiped tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. “He is surprisingly persistent.”

“He got this from his father,” something in the voice of calamity made look at him. “Just as stubborn.”

“And his father?”

“I haven't met him,” the Blood River shook his head. “I found my son in the maternity hospital, his mother died in childbirth, and he was left all alone.”

“And you took him.”

“As the Queen of the Night once took me,” Blood River smiled tenderly. “I raised him as my own, granted him immortality and crowned him as my firstborn. He is my son in all things, I blessed him as you gods sometimes bless children, and I carried him home.”

Blood River, Apollo thought, walking through the noisy streets of the Ghost Capital, past the bazaar where the confused sun god was bought gifts one after another, one had only to cast an interested glance, didn't look like what Zeus described him as, what the whispering spirits imagined him to be, what the stories of the lesser gods painted him as. None of the calamities seemed to fit the multiplying rumors.

Percy Jackson once decided to put aside the rumors and get to know the new Apollo as no one else had bothered to know. Perhaps Apollo wouldn't be able to do it like Percy Jackson, but he would do his best, and he would learn about calamities as no one else had bothered to learn about them. Perhaps they could even become friends.

The Ghost King, along with his courtiers and the prince consort, were waiting for them at the threshold of the scarlet palace. The prince, seeing Apollo in a black shawl, happily waved his hand with a lyre and a bow clutched in it. Apollo exhaled happily, taking his own things and giving back those borrowed from the prince for a while. The blue bow, bought by Blood River from that merchant, tucked away in an endless pouch, burned his side, but the sun god paid no attention to it. A gift is a gift, to refuse it would be a waste of money.

“How was your trip?” the prince asked curiously, glancing at his father, who was hugging White Rose. Apollo waved his hand towards the king of calamities.

“He's here,” and made the prince giggle.

“You should come to our area more often,” he remarked. “Dad becomes surprisingly flexible with you.”

Apollo tried hard not to blush. Blood River, having finished greeting his brothers and sisters, approached the duo with a wide, happy smile adorning his face.

“Don’t bother god, son.”

“Dad,” the prince rolled his eyes, immediately sighing happily in his father's arms, burying his face in his neck. Bloody River's smile became piercingly tender, immediately setting heart into a gallop. If I didn't have the one, I'm waiting for, Apollo thought, I would allow myself to do this.

“Your father, your highness,” Apollo cleared his throat when the prince seemed about to fall asleep in his father's arms. “Allowed you to accompany me.”

There were squeals, wails and happy laughter when Red Lily, followed by Zagreus, noticed Blood River's twisted face. The prince ran off to gather a few things and change his clothes, and the Ghost King followed his husband to make sure there was nothing extra in the travel bag.

“I can't believe it,” White Rose teased, nudging Blood River in the side. “You're letting your son go to the surface. What happened to our Mr. Overprotective?”

“My son has grown up,” Blood River answered evenly, as if by rote, to Zagreus and Melinoe's giggles. “And I'm learning to trust him.”

“I'm glad you finally realized it,” Scarlet Lily said, too sincerely. Apollo couldn't help but snort. Blood River just waved them all away and ran off to check on his son. Scarlet Lily shook her head. “And if he was an only child.”

“Sister,” White Rose scolded. “Don't be like that.”

“It’s not for you to pump him out when His Highness gets into trouble,” Scarlet Lily snapped. White Rose just rolled her eyes.

The prince consort was ready within the hour, his robe tied tightly over his trousers and shirt with a simple leather belt, his hair neatly pulled back into a high ponytail with a simple gold ribbon that matched the gold bracers and gold pattern on his boots, only the mask was the same. The prince smiled, bidding farewell to his family, and taking Apollo by the hand, led him out of the Underworld, back to the mortal world, into the dense forest that had been a park centuries ago. Apollo snapped his fingers back into his sun robe, shook out his hair, and looked around, wondering which way they should go to New Athens, and whether it was worth giving an impromptu tour to someone who had never set foot in the mortal world. Turning to the prince, Apollo suddenly realized something.

“I never asked your name.”

The prince raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh. I'm afraid I sometimes forget to introduce myself. Prince William, firstborn of the Blood River. Do you think I should remove my mask?”

Apollo, still stunned by the name of his dead son, could only nod. The mask evaporated in golden rays, revealing turquoise eyes. And the prince's face, and the prince's face... the prince's face was... it was...

“Lord Apollo,” he asked worriedly, leaning forward to catch the swaying sun god, unable to tear his eyes away from the all-too-familiar face.

His William, his little ray of sunshine, extinguished almost immediately after his banishment. His oldest pain.

His William was looking at him right now, gently touching his elbows and asking something.

His William was the son of the Blood River.

Chapter Text

Percy Jackson was twenty when he lost the love of his life.

“You're being dramatic,” Leo told him, eating the remains of yesterday's lasagna. Leo had been living with him for two years, ever since that fateful day when he burst into Percy's rented apartment with big eyes and a trembling voice, pointing at the awkwardly stomping ghostly Jason with three stab wounds on his body. Percy had made sure he wasn't talking to a hallucination (which was a definite plus) and had calmed Valdez down as best he could. Jason had confessed to him later that evening that he had sensed sadness from one of the seven and had shown up where he was needed most. And had tried to help.

“Dude,” Percy sighed then, shaking his head. “Next time, look for me.”

Jason was looking at Percy with sad eyes now, pointing finger at Leo, as if trying to shut him up. Leo waved him off.

“Seriously, Aquaman, he could have just… gone somewhere on an errand for Mr. Lightning.”

“On our anniversary?” Percy raised an eyebrow, pulling a third batch of cinnabons out of the oven. Maybe Clarisse would agree to take half for herself. Or a third. Whatever.

“Are we considering the possibility that he got tired of you and dumped you without even a text?” Leo grimaced, and Percy with him. The Calypso story hadn't been a pleasant one for anyone in the room, but Leo, who'd been abandoned in a strange country with Piper going to find him, especially hated any mention of it. The fact that he was bringing it up now was a sign that things were going really badly.

“Or he's trapped on some island without his divinity because his father doesn't approve of your upcoming wedding,” Jason said, voicing Percy's thoughts. He'd spent the last week running through scenarios in his head, from the most trivial to the most unpleasant.

He and Apollo had been together for two years, and even though Percy was planning to ascend at twenty-one, the thought of "he'll leave you, he'll get bored, and he'll leave" still flashed every now and then, creating a tandem with insecurity, dripping into his brain with enviable regularity. Apollo's presence, his smiles, his look and laughter, his plans for them, drove the thoughts away, but now, a week later, everything had returned, and the pitying looks of his friends did not help. They all seemed to think that the Story with Calypso would now become the Story with Apollo, and Percy would need to be searched for all over country so that he didn't do stupid things. Percy could not explain Clarisse's constant calls and Chris's offer to visit a therapist in any other way.

“I like the second option better,” Percy grumbled, pouring tea for him and Leo. “And I ain't ruling out the first one.”

“Perseus,” Jason said in a praetorian tone, looking darkly at his friend. Percy sighed. “You're going to ascend; you're going to get married. Whatever bug bit my brother has nothing to do with you.”

“The gods are fickle,” Leo disagreed, stealing a cinnabon. Jason frowned.

“Not my brother.”

“None of us should wonder what's going on in Lord Apollo's head,” Katie walked into the kitchen with a huge bag of groceries, ignoring Leo's terrified screams and Percy's grumpy "where did you get the keys?" “What we need is a god who knows exactly what's going on.”

“You suggest we turn to Dionysus?” Percy raised an eyebrow, Katie shrugged.

“That's my best option; I'm sure Grace agrees with me.”

“You don't even see him,” Leo whined, as they tried to foist fresh carrots on him instead of a cinnabon. “Leave me alone with your vegetables, woman!”

Percy snorted, watching the impromptu wrestling match between two friends as he put greens, vegetables, and eggs that Gardner had kindly brought into the fridge. Katie had been bringing him groceries all week, keeping a close eye on him to make sure he ate only healthy food and didn't let himself go, as if to keep him from slipping into post-breakup depression. Percy had only been angry about this behavior for the first two days; the rest of the time, when Apollo had been gone longer and longer, he had simply accepted everything as it was. They might not have broken up, but he still didn't want to do anything about it.

Jason looked at Percy from his place next to Leo, raising an eyebrow. Percy knew what Grace was asking him, and he knew he agreed with Katie's argument about finding Dionysus. The choice was Percy's, go and do something, or stay and suffer, making Apollo his what if.

It was too bad Percy couldn't sit still for long.

“We're going to Camp,” he decided when Katie made Leo bite off half a carrot without spitting it out. Katie smiled at him like a proud mother watching her baby take his first steps, and Leo finished his tea in one gulp and gave a chuckle and a thumbs up. With that kind of support, Percy could only hope that everything would be okay. Otherwise, it was not accepted.

*

The bike that Percy had been repairing with Leo's help purred as it stopped near a Large House, followed by a white minivan, from which Katie, wrapped in a shawl, emerged and Leo, extinguishing several fires in his hair. Percy took off his helmet, turning it over in his hands.

He didn't want to talk to Dionysus. They hadn't had the best relationship since the ancient lands, when Bacchus had forced him to fight his friend for his own sick fantasy, but they seemed to have come to an agreement over time to stay out of each other's orbits, even if they were both at Camp at the same time. Percy wasn't sure he wanted to disrupt the fragile peace, but Apollo was missing, and Dionysus, whatever Percy thought of him, was actually supporting their relationship. He had to know what was going on.

Jason materialized next to Jackson, who was still sitting on the bike, and grumbled. “You have to do this.”

“You know that,” Percy sighed. “I don't like him.”

“I don't always like him either,” Grace's speech filter had been slightly damaged by death. “But we don't have a choice. You're not going to Artemis.”

Percy winced; this was the worst idea ever. Artemis might have supported Apollo, but she had made it clear that she wouldn't give Percy her approval so easily, having learned the hard way to see the potential of her brother's broken heart and picking it up century after century. Percy didn't blame her, he was just as protective of Leo, glaring at anyone who tried to get close to him, but now, especially with the sun god missing, they couldn't have a calm conversation. Not with blaming each other.

That left Dionysus, because catching Hermes was like holding water in a sieve, a waste of time.

“I hate that idea.”

“You agreed to it,” Jason reminded him.

“Because it’s the right one,” Percy sighed, making up his mind. He climbed off his bike, straightened leather jacket Chris had given him and Clarisse for Christmas, and ran up steps, bursting into the House with grace of a tank. Katie, Jason, and Leo were right behind him. Dionysus was in the living room, reading, shaking a half-empty bottle of Diet Coke, looking infuriatingly placid for someone whose brother had been missing for a week. Everything inside Percy clenched, a hot fire surged up, and a wild wolf growl escaped his lips when Percy, taking the god of wine by surprise, squeezed his thick neck and pinned headmaster to the wall. Dionysus wheezed, tried to pull away, but Percy squeezed harder, moved closer to the wall, and hissed.

“Where. Is. He.”

“Jackson,” Dionysus grabbed Percy's forearm with both hands, unsuccessfully yanking it away from himself. “Hades take you, let me breathe.”

“You don't need to breathe,” the grin on the son of Poseidon was wild, and in his eyes, always like the sea, poison splashed. The ichor in Dionysus's body sang, caressing Percy like a contented cat, offering to break out of boring body, to wrap himself around his little lord, offering to submit, promising... Jason hit his friend on top of head with the hilt of his gladius.

“Wake up, damn it.”

Percy blinked away the haze, backed away from the wine god coughing up ichor, and tried to catch his breath. This hadn't happened in a couple of years, the blood hadn't spoken to him, bending him to its will, the emotions hadn't burst to the surface, destroying everything in their path. It had started and ended with Jason's death, when Percy had nearly destroyed a suburb in western New York until he'd been hit in the head with a gladius by the same ghostly Grace. Jason in present looked at him with alarm and sadness, almost touching Percy's shoulder in a sign of consolation. Leo whistled behind him. Dionysus stood up, adjusted his purple tracksuit with pride that remained, looked at Percy with bloodshot eyes, and, deflating, sighed.

“Jackson,” he began, thought, and turned away. “You won't like it.”

“I haven't liked it for a week now,” Percy disagreed. “Truth will just wipe out options.”

Dionysus paused, sat down at the table and motioned for others to sit down, glancing sideways at the gladius made of imperial gold, still flying by itself, like a faithful guardian of Percy Jackson's sanity. Percy Jackson calmly sat down opposite the god of wine, forcing him to move away a little. The ichor, joyfully rushing to his throat, flowing into strong fingers of demigod, would give Dionysus nightmares.

“It's not your fault,” the wine god began, under a blank stare. “And it's not Apollo's fault either. In fact, no one has any idea what really happened.”

“What do you know?” Leo asked, moving closer to Percy in support. Dionysus fell silent again, thinking.

“All we know is that Apollo was banished from Olympus by our father, his throne,” Percy took a noisy breath, Dionysus continued cautiously. “His throne disappeared, as if it had never been there.”

“He’s not an Olympian anymore?” Katie asked in horror, stepping between Leo and Percy and squeezing their shoulders. “But how is that possible?”

“Hasn't he already been punished?” Leo frowned. “Why banish him again?”

“We don't know,” Dionysus seemed to age a century. “We've tried to find out. Father won't tell, not even to his wife.”

“Hera asked?” Gardner asked in surprise.

“Hera isn't as bad as you think,” Percy answered quietly, under Jason's grateful gaze. “She changes, just like the rest of them.”

“Johnson is right,” Dionysus breathed out almost in relief, the storm dying down. For a while. “Our stepmother tries, especially after… Apollo's mortality.”

“My death,” Jason corrected quietly, Percy stealthily glancing at his best friend. Hera might not have liked most demigods, considering them the result of a broken oath, but she loved Jason as a mother loves her child. At least she had the respect to attend his funeral and quietly weep as looked at tombstone. Percy only saw her because he remained by granite monument, unable to get up and walk away as the others had tried to do, only able to quietly blame himself for refusing to help out of principle, having decided to put himself first.

Clarisse had told him that if he needed someone to talk to, she was always there. Percy had never thought he'd be in Clarisse's shoes.

“They had a huge fight,” Dionysus continued, still glancing at gladius every now and then. It seemed oddly familiar. “Stepmother hasn't been to Olympus for a week. Artemis, too. Hermes is running around the States, looking for any sign of Apollo.”

“But why would Uncle banish his son again?” Katie shook her head. “Even if he's not happy with his wedding.”

“That's only one option,” Dionysus said. “There's another. Hermes saw the Fates come to our father in throne room.”

The ground shook, and Percy's eyes took on a venomous glint. Gladius hit him lightly on the top of head again, shaking him. Katie squeezed Percy's shoulder tightly, Leo nudged him in side with his elbow. Dionysus tried to move away.

“I'll kill them.”

“Percy, no,” Katie snapped. “Come to your senses.”

“You can’t go against the Fates,” Dionysus said, ready to run from those murderous green eyes. He’d never been afraid of demigods, mortals who lived only by the blessing of their divine parents, but he’d never met anyone like Percy Jackson. Percy Jackson was a god cursed with mortality, whose powers grew with each passing year, and Dionysus didn’t really want to know what realms would be subject to his will after his ascension. His brother needed to get back as soon as possible. “Jackson, it’s the Fates.”

“The Fates will be dealt with,” Percy growled softly. Floor beneath them began to crack. Percy, noticing this, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled, looking piercingly at the god of wine again. “What else?”

Dionysus swallowed. “The Fates aren't easy to find, they usually don't answer even the call of Zeus, let alone us. I know that your father still tries to contact them, but to no avail. The Fates come and go as they please.”

“And now Uncle has done what they wanted,” Katie shook her head. “If Zeus doesn't crack, there's no hope.”

“Any idea where Uncle might have sent Apollo?” Percy had calmed down enough to ask questions. His calm was like a band-aid on a hole in a dam, but Percy had nothing more to offer. They wasted too much time, stopping for hysterics would do nothing for them, it would only increase Apollo’s chances of dying.

Dionysus shook his head. “Hermes thinks no further than the States, but without a divine trail, finding a god hidden by the Fates is nearly impossible.”

Percy nodded. The idea of ​​finding a temple to the Fates in ancient lands had been swirling around in his head, but that was more of a backup plan when nothing else worked. Right now, they needed to spread out, map the States, and start looking for missing god. If Zeus or the Fates thought they could stop his wedding to Apollo, they should've left Percy to rot in Tartarus instead of kidnapping his fiancé.

“I'll join the search,” Percy said seriously, and thunder rumbled outside. Dionysus jumped in surprise, looking out the window warily. What the hell?

“What the hell?” Leo whispered, getting up to see what was going on, when Annabeth burst into the living room.

She was covered in blood, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes wild and crazy. She nearly blew door off its hinges, stopping in doorway to look at the assembled group. She was breathing heavily, clutching her ribcage tightly as if she'd run a marathon, and it seemed she could barely form sentences, only stare at them all in absolute terror.

“There,” Chase breathed. “In the infirmary. Will. Oh, God, Will.”

Percy was the first to break, flying out of the House like a bullet, followed by the others, forgetting about Dionysus and the search. In the infirmary, surrounded by the scurrying children of Apollo and a scowling Chiron, Will Solace was suffocating on his bed. His entire chest had been gutted, his insides seemed to have barely been put back in place, his left leg was broken, poison was oozing from his punctured right side, and the hair on the back of his head was all covered in his own blood. Katie covered her mouth with her hand, Leo recoiled, and Percy could only watch, futilely trying to keep all the blood from flowing out of his body. Will was delirious, thrashing around on the bed, held down by several children of Ares, while Chiron tried to do at least something, but without Apollo's help, healing was impossible. Will Solace was dying in their arms, dying from the venom of Tartarus, injected into his blood with a bite to his side, dying from his wounds, dying, and none of them could do anything.

Will's soul, clinging to his body with all its might, finally gave in, and Nico's screams echoed throughout the Camp, the ground spat out several skeletons, but Will remained motionless. Clarisse grabbed di Angelo by the waist again, pressing him to her and turning him away from the terrible sight in front of them, and Percy... Percy only closed fading blue eyes, pressed his lips into a thin line and tried to hold back his tears.

From the infirmary and further, a deathly silence fell over the entire Camp, even the birds stopped singing, and the trees rustled their leaves, you couldn't hear the splashing waves or the neighing of the Pegasus, only a deathly silence that caused a ringing in your ears. How many more would they have to lose after all the wars they had survived? How many more children...

“Gods,” Percy breathed, looking up at Clarisse, who was staring at him in horror. “Children of Apollo.”

The nightmare was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Will was buried in a golden shroud.

Percy remembered details only fragmentarily, only how fire consumed body, burning brightly, painfully, rising to the sky in a silent cry of injustice. Percy could only watch, holding Nico in his arms as he wept, promising himself that he’d find remaining children of Apollo and keep them safe.

A few days later, they learned of death of Austin and Kayla, who didn't manage to return to the Camp in time. News that Apollo's children were being slaughtered like cattle had spread far and wide, and New Rome had opened its doors to Greek demigods. They rushed from city to city, sending out orders to satyrs to search for children of the sun everywhere and bring them to Camp Half-Blood for further transportation to safety, but while they'd managed to keep children safe, deaths of Elizabeth Whistle and James Corwell, one a scientist and other a twenty-five-year-old elementary school teacher, showed that they now had to worry about Apollo's adult children as well.

“Do monsters have a list?” Chris grumbled discontentedly as they all shared what they had learned at yet another hastily assembled council. “How do they know exactly who to kill?”

“If only we had a god of demigods,” Percy sighed when he saw eleven-year-old Carlos on the list of dead. “We might've a list like that.”

Dionysus helped them as best he could, planting deadly vines around the camp while Kymopoleia, who had come to help because of Percy's seal eyes, cast protective runes on the camp. Rhode, who came after her sister and dragged Asclepius, found from somewhere, with her, helped in the Infirmary. Asclepius was in bad shape, barely able to stand from burden of his father's domain, but he remained at the Camp, unable to abandon his brothers and sisters. It was Hazel who brought idea to fruition, visiting them one evening when Amanda Sadie had died in their arms and Ares cabin was preparing her burial shroud.

“I've been practicing with Hecate these days,” Levesque told midnight council, drawing a few runes on a piece of parchment. “I'll need the blood of Asclepius, and Percy Jackson.”

“How is this supposed to work?” Drew frowned, tracing a few patterns with her sharp fingernail. Piper, leaning over her sister, nodded in agreement. Asclepius, looking younger, as if trying to shed some of responsibilities he'd been given, dozed on Percy's shoulder.

Asclepius these days was jumping from a gray-haired old man to a young man with dark strands in his tousled hair and didn't leave Percy's side for a step, panicking every time he didn't find him nearby. Dionysus looked at younger god with concern and slight amusement, asking Percy's uncomprehending look how the god of healing felt about upcoming wedding. When Percy answered positively, Dionysus snorted.

“I think he's taken you for his second parent since then,” Dionysus paused for a moment, looking at Asclepius who came out of Infirmary, dragged along by a disgruntled Katie Gardner. “What a generation, no respect for gods.”

“Do you think he's here because he feels safe?” Percy frowned, folding his arms over his chest. Dionysus shrugged.

“I've never encountered such a thing, and I'm not a god of logic, Jackson. I judge only by what I see.”

“I hate it when you do that,” Percy sighed. “But if it's true, it's better that he stays here. No one knows if divine children are in danger.”

Dionysus only turned to him with concern, as if idea had never occurred to him, but since then he himself didn't allow Asclepius to overexert himself. The powers of healing weighed on Asclepius, causing migraines and fatigue, and no one could do anything but continue search for the sun god and operation to save remaining children.

Once Percy had agreed, and, carefully holding Asclepius, had followed Hazel into the Hecate cabin, they began ritual. These were to be tracking runes, following divine trail of the closest relative, runes ancient and unused enough to have faded into oblivion unless you had stubbornness of Hazel Levesque.

“We could've used Asclepius,” Hazel told him when they had finished ritual with the god of healing and sent him off to sleep in Apollo’s cabin. “But we would've spent a lot of time untangling threads of affection, and your realm is tied to blood.”

“My realm is not tied to blood,” Percy grumbled, but when he saw his friend’s displeased look, he corrected himself. “Yet.”

“But can you tell me who is Apollo’s child and who is his ex-lover?” Hazel pressed, her eyes intense, pressing, glowing an eerie gold in light of the fire lit for ritual. She was now a priestess of Hecate, a daughter of Pluto, and the Praetor of New Rome, and Percy couldn't contradict her.

“I’ll do my best.”

*

It was actually ridiculously easy. It was middle of the night when Percy, Hazel, Chris, Clarisse, Piper, and Drew were gathered in the Great Hall to plan mission. Leo set up a few metal balls around table and fired up an electronic map of America, which was immediately filled with golden lyres. Drew grimaced sympathetically, but Percy waved her off. He and Apollo had that same conversation about exes, and he didn't dwell on it anymore. The past was the past, the present was the present.

The blood Percy had dropped on hologram spread, and Percy began methodically filtering out traces that weren't Children of the Sun. A good half were filtered out. The rest were children with large clusters in Long Island and San Francisco. There were only a few dots scattered across continent, and Percy concentrated on them, paying special attention to the most remote areas. Hazel and Drew were busy activating information on lyres, while Piper and Chris methodically rustled sheets, writing down names. Percy carefully marked those who were already on the list, who were closest to satyrs and demigods in search, and who needed to be rescued first.

“What do we tell the adults?” Leo frowned, looking through a fairly large number of adult names. “They can't just drop everything.”

“Another question is how we get to the same Costa Rica,” Piper sighed. “We have too many children and too little time.”

“I'll take care of portals,” Leo offered and blushed slightly under Hazel's curious attention. “Along with children of Hecate.”

“Drew and I can help,” Levesque suggested, Drew nodded in agreement. Annabeth, who had been typing something on her laptop, suddenly spoke up, startling everyone.

“I'll take care of city issue,” Leo exhaled long, almost falling to the floor. Clarisse cursed floridly, and Percy mentally agreed with her. Nerves are shot.

“Annie, I don't think so,” Piper tried, but Annabeth cut her off.

“No, you don't understand. Leo's right. We can say they're being hunted, or knock them out and move them to New Rome, but life won't end there. And they all have families, kids, grandkids. They need jobs, they need something normal that can help keep them safe.”

“What's wrong with New Rome?” Hazel said, offended. Percy answered for Annabeth.

“Romans can only put up with Greeks up to a certain point,” and Hazel had to agree with this. No matter how strong alliances between two camps were, old rivalries and hatreds weren't easily eradicated; decades of peace were needed, not a few tense years in which Romans had already been seriously attacked twice. Greeks needed a city.

“I'll go with Annabeth,” Chris offered. “I'll take the Stolls. We can convince Mr. D to approve construction and location of city.”

“I'll talk to my sisters,” Percy said. “We'll lay foundations of protection. They say the Atlantean runes are especially powerful for that.”

The full list was ready towards the early morning, when they're all barely able to stand on their feet and, having barely left the Big House, were immediately attacked by a very angry Katie Gardner, who sent them off to bed. Katie took list away, saying that she could handle Fleecy's challenge, they needed to come to their senses. No one argued with Katie.

The next morning brought news of eight-year-old Alice, killed in a hellhound attack. Percy nearly threw up when a barely able-bodied Gleeson brought in small body, wrapped in a sheet. Clarisse, clutching Jackson's shoulder painfully, took body from satyr, making arrangements for a burial, while Percy, unable to move, could only watch through the roaring in his ears. He was only able to shake himself when Jason, with a chilling touch, reminded him of his duties. Percy was running from one task to another, leading several searches at once, contacting several search groups at once through Fleecy, helping his sisters with protective runes, and preparing to go on a quest himself with Clarisse. It was too dangerous to send demigods too far from the Camps where they'd not be able to return in time, and after so many deaths, Percy wasn't ready to lose anyone else. He would've gone alone, but Clarisse had the look of someone who would've locked him on a desert island if Percy had gone to his death in an act of self-sacrifice. Jason, standing right next to La Rue, had no better look.

“I'm staying here,” Jason told him a few days later as Percy checked over his bike and loaded his backpack with essentials. Clarisse was saying goodbye to Chris in the distance, her younger brother Ed was grumpily talking to a worried Katie, and several other demigods were gathering nearby. Percy and Clarisse were supposed to meet Frank and a group of Romans at the Brooklyn Bridge, where Romans and Greeks would mingle and head off to Canada with Clarisse at the helm while Percy and Frank headed to Chile. Percy glanced sideways at Grace but said nothing, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Jason continued, “Annabeth and Leo need my help.”

Percy nodded quietly, running his fingers along etched lines on his bracers (a gift from Leo for their first year as neighbors) and checking number of daggers, stun gun, cables, garrote, and flamethrower. Jason looked doubtfully at bracers, shining with Stygian steel, and then looked at Percy's long hair, held in a convenient bun by an enchanted spear, at his belt hidden under his leather jacket, and the pendant with trident, gleaming with Atlantean iron. Percy grinned. “Want to offer help?”

“If I need to,” Jason didn't deny it. “Are you sure this is enough? Did you forget anything?”

“Don't worry,” Jackson's grin turned wolfish. “I still have a gun.”

Jason just rolled his eyes, the gold coin in his hands flashed and disappeared, followed by Grace, bringing Percy back to reality. They had no time to waste. They got into their cars and bikes, said their final goodbyes to remaining demigods at Camp, and headed off to meet Romans. Clarisse, casting a serious look at Percy, rode closest to him. After nightmare began, she was the only one who preferred to watch Percy from afar, not trying to get into his soul and pry him with uncomfortable questions, only unquestioningly followed orders and took control of the Camp when she saw that Percy wasn't coping. They didn't spar together, didn't throw the usual jibes, only Clarisse's gaze was always heavy, promising a long, awkward conversation when all this was over. Clarisse, when she wanted to, had the patience of an octopus on the hunt, and Percy dreaded the day when he'd inevitably fall into one of her traps.

Frank was waiting for them at the bridge with a dozen of his warriors, looking rather grim. As soon as he saw Greek cavalry approaching, Zhang visibly relaxed, waving his hand in greeting. Clarisse got there before Percy, quickly hugging her brother and, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, turning away to the river. Percy hugged Frank next, holding him tightly, fighting back tears, and Frank squeezed him tighter in return, as if trying to take away some of the burden that Percy had shouldered. Other Romans greeted Greeks awkwardly, glancing every now and then at their praetor and studiously not looking at Percy. Frank, noticing this, snorted contentedly, mouthing "emperor", for which he immediately received a jab in the side. Percy allowed himself to relax a little. They'd cope, no matter how hard it was. As long as they had each other, they'd cope.

Frank introduced Clarisse as his older sister, ordering them to follow any of her orders, and Clarisse, patting Frank on shoulder and threatening with her eyes to kill both Frank and Percy if they even thought about dying, went to distribute groups. Quebec, Yukon, Ontario, a few were supposed to comb through Nunavut, where several of Apollo's adult children had apparently gone, and Montreal and Ottawa. Clarisse, looking over demigods, promised to keep in touch with everyone, waved to start the jets produced by children of Hephaestus brought from both camps, and went to Percy and Frank, who were waiting for their last farewell.

“I don't know what I'll do to you if you don't come back,” she said, clapping them both on shoulder. “But I'll think of something. Fly and don't die, rookies.”

Percy grinned at her, and Frank, handing Jackson his backpack full of provisions, turned into a twenty-foot dragon in one fell swoop. Percy threw the backpack and the bike, which had folded into a suitcase, onto Frank's back, climbed in himself, and, waving at the gaping Romans and Greeks, set off for Chile. They still needed to save children.

*

They flew for a long time, through the dunes of the parching desert, past towering sand dunes, barely escaping a sandstorm, further, to inaccessible mountains and majestic volcanoes with snow-covered peaks, past dense forests at their feet, to a densely populated city that reminded Percy of New York, with its noisy streets, concrete high-rises and dense green parks, landing at the foot of one of the mountains, far from civilization, where Frank returned to human form, and Percy, turning the bike and putting provisions in the magnifying trunk, pulled out a map and a list from his backpack. Frank went in search of food.

“Di immortales,” he grumbled, pulling out containers of sandwiches. “Did Katie pack the food?”

“Maybe,” Percy said, marking four kids from Santiago and five from Argentina. “Why?”

“These are veggie burgers.”

“They're delicious.”

“Percy,” Zhang sighed. Jackson gave him a teasing look.

“Frank,” and went back to his notes. Danny and Armin were twins, easy to find, but Diego, a thirty-year-old family man living in Las Condes, would be a challenge. As would Andrea, who had her own apartment in Vitacura and a young daughter. “We're lucky we don't have to chase them all over the country.”

Frank looked over Percy's shoulder, reading summary of four biographies, and chuckled in agreement. The look Frank gave him at last was sympathetic, but Percy ignored his friend, not about to be distracted from his search. It didn't matter. It didn't matter that the twins were only six years old, and in another life, they would've picked them up in a Maserati with Apollo together, that these children wouldn't only never meet their father, but would be forced to live locked up in New Rome, fearing for their own lives. The main thing was that children were alive.

Twins had green eyes and curly blond hair, and Percy had to suppress inappropriate thoughts about his own children, whom he might never meet. The twins' mother, a pretty girl named Anna, handed them over without much fuss, explaining that she had expected something like that from a man who had introduced himself as a god from myth. Danny looked grim, hiding his brother behind his back, a bruise decorating his cheek, thinner than any child should be, and glancing at half-open front door every now and then, ready to run as far as he could at the slightest provocation. Armin, who was smaller than his brother, immediately took a liking to Percy and Frank, tugging his brother to pack his things while the adults discussed adult matters.

“Don't think I don't love them,” Anna told them finally, as children followed Frank out, Percy lingering for a moment, wondering if he should use the Mist that never worked. “It's just... I'm young, I have my whole life ahead of me. I hope you can take care of them.”

Percy almost wanted to hit her. The thought of handing over his own children to two suspicious strangers like dead weight was sickening, and Percy didn't want to think about what would happen to twins in six years. Perhaps he should've warned her that her boyfriend would probably not treat her any better if the children disappeared, but some people learned from their mistakes. Percy left house with a crooked smile plastered on his face.

“So, our father really is a god?” Armin asked curiously, his accent thick. “And who are you?”

“You can call me Uncle Frank,” Zhang smiled at them. “And this one is technically your second father.”

The twins' eyebrows shot up to their hair. Percy, driving the borrowed car, sighed. “Frank,” in the backseat, Danny's perpetually frowning face brightened for a moment, but then closed, Percy's heart clenched. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm your second father.”

“Why didn't dad come himself?” Armin almost crawled forward, looking at two adults. Percy pursed his lips.

“It's complicated.”

“He doesn't want us?” Danny asked defiantly, Frank's eyes widened in horror. Percy grimaced.

“No, he just... can't be here now. You're in great danger, and he's afraid that his appearance will make things worse.”

“But we'll meet him, right?” Armin cocked his head to the side in curiosity, looking at Percy with his most honest green eyes. “Yes, daddy?”

Percy could only nod helplessly. Frank gave him an amused look and tried to answer the twins' barrage of questions.

The rest of trip went much better, Diego was a pleasant man who took news of his impending death with dignity of an experienced demigod (that is, he sighed long and deeply and cursed in ancient Greek). Diego said that he had lived at Camp for several years in the early nineties, but had returned home to his mother, and then, when monsters no longer ruined his existence, he had stayed with his wife, who turned out to be daughter of Eris.

“I asked my father for his blessing,” Diego said when everyone had left after dinner and Armin and Danny had fallen asleep, exhausted from the day. “I can easily hide from monsters, and they're mostly concentrated in the States. Do you think that now that my father is exiled, my blessing doesn't work?”

“We don't know,” Percy shook his head, exchanging glances with Frank. “But we don't want to risk it.”

Diego nodded, glancing at picture of the happy family hanging on wall. Percy desperately didn't want to touch a demigod whose life was no longer like surviving, but it was the only way. Diego nodded understandingly, and in the morning, when they're packing, he called a personal helicopter. Armin clung tightly to Percy when it was time to say goodbye, even Danny wouldn't let go until Percy promised Frank would fly with them. Frank looked at Jackson with a devoted look, but didn't argue.

“You're an idiot,” was all he said when it was time for helicopter to leave. “I swear, I'll tell Clarisse on you.”

“I'm not going to die,” Percy said grumpily. “They might. Make sure they get to Camp safely, and then come back. I promise I'll be alive until then.”

Frank snorted at that, and they parted ways, leaving Percy alone to search for Apollo's last child.

Percy wasn't entirely sure that he and his bike wouldn't be kicked out of the house, but it was worth at least trying, rather than thinking about changing his image right at threshold of apartment, where distracted concierge had let him in too easily. It was worth suspecting something was wrong. Door was unlocked, and Percy, carefully pulling dagger out of his bracer, walked down hall to the living room, where a tall, tanned man sat on sofa, crossing his legs and rocking a two-year-old girl, all sharp cheekbones, full lips and creatively disheveled black hair with gray. The man left a gentle kiss on forehead of the sleeping girl and raised his sand-colored eyes to Percy. A drying wind blew, closing open window, the man - a god - smiled, but the smile didn't touch his eyes.

“The famous Perseus Jackson,” god's voice resembled a scorched desert. “It's an honor to meet you, but I'm afraid you're late. As am I.”

“What happened?” Percy slowly put dagger back, sat down on sofa nearby. The man sighed raggedly, squeezing girl tighter in his arms. He spoke hoarsely, barely audible, afraid to disturb child.

“She knew what would happen, my Andrea, she had gift of prophecy. I told her to run, but she didn't want to deprive Elena of a normal life. She said that they'd all be in the States, that there was nothing to worry about. They came for her, just like they came for others. I buried her in the mountains.”

The girl stirred uncomfortably, and the god began rocking her again, softly humming a lullaby in Ancient Greek. Once she calmed down, the god continued softly. “I don’t come to the States much, so I don’t really know what’s going on, but it has to do with Apollo, right?”

“Yes,” Percy said hoarsely. “He was banished.”

“No one was expelled so that their children were hunted,” the god noted. “I can help you find others.”

“What good will that do you?”

“I ask for your protection for my daughter. Elena can’t stay here, but my cabin and my children aren't at Camp, and she’s too young to be alone,” the god pulled his daughter close again. “She’s all I have, Lord Jackson, and I can’t lose her. Especially not now.”

Percy smiled weakly. “She’ll be safe and happy; I swear by Styx.”

Thunder was heard, and the god, softening, bowed his head low. “Notus, god of southern winds, at your service.”

Chapter Text

Notus turned out to be the nicest god Percy had ever dealt with, even including Apollo. Notus seemed out of touch with mortal life, running into almost every person he encountered and immediately apologizing profusely. He was handsome, of course, like all the gods, but something about his twitching limbs, awkward smiles, and curious eyes made him seem rather cute, almost like a child who shouldn't be left alone.

“I'm not very good at talking to other people,” Notus sighed as his Mist allowed them to cross the border into Argentina and they continued their journey, approaching, by Percy's calculations, the first child of Apollo living in this area. “And with the gods, too.”

“And you don't talk to anyone?” Percy asked curiously, stopping Elena from putting stone she had found in her mouth. Notus shrugged.

“With my parents, sometimes. And my brothers, but I haven't seen my brothers in about five hundred years. They're not very sociable.”

Percy was tempted to ask how he had met Andrea, but it sounded rude even to his ears. So Percy said nothing, secretly hoping that Notus'd bring up subject of his love, but Notus seemed more interested in the dense forests they were riding through than in idle talk. Helena wandered from arms of the god of south wind to Percy's and back again, sleeping most of the way and obediently fussing about when they had to stop to rest. All in all, Percy had found experience of traveling through Uruguay to be peaceful and painless enough, which Percy sensed would change as they traveled further. Percy, with Notus's help, had already found four children of Apollo when a familiar helicopter landed in the suburbs of Buenos Aires, urged on by a dragon on its tail. The helicopter, surprisingly, was piloted by Leo.

“Shouldn't you be in Mexico?” Percy grinned widely, squeezing Leo tightly in his arms. Leo wheezed, untangled himself from Jackson's arms, and snorted arrogantly.

“I can finish faster than you think.”

“He and Drew tried out the portals,” Frank, who had turned into a human, smiled proudly. Leo blushed pink to tips of his ears and, stuttering, tried to deny everything. Frank only patted Valdez on shoulder with a satisfied smile and, looking suspiciously at Notus, began to carefully load the two unconscious people inside. Percy, throwing one last glance at the embarrassed Leo, hurried to help.

All in all, things were going well. Clarisse, having contacted Percy through Fleecy, said that they had managed to save everyone, only one had been taken to infirmary with serious injuries, the rest had gotten off with a slight fright and minor injuries. Brazil, which had perhaps the largest concentration of Apollo children, was almost finished, judging by the decreasing list, there were a few children in Texas, a scientist in Paraguay and a small four-year-old who moved from city to city every day, who was almost impossible to track.

In Buenos Aires, there was one ten-year-old girl, whom Percy was going to go after, having given demigods to his friends. She lived in a not very prosperous area of city, Notus had managed to notice several terrible creatures there, they needed to get to her before monsters did.

“I’ll be close,” Frank promised as Leo, having agreed to pick them up in three days, flew off towards open portal, muttering something about invisible magical lines and runes. “Lord Notus.”

“Notus is fine,” the god of south wind waved his hand, watching the point where his daughter was moving away. “I serve Perseus Jackson in exchange for protecting my child, I should call you Lord, Praetor Zhang.”

Frank raised his eyebrows, Percy sighed. If this continued, Percy would've problems. “It’s okay, Frank. We’ll be here by evening.”

Frank let them go with a heavy heart. Buenos Aires greeted them with the noise of streets, crowds of tourists and stifling heat. Notus seemed to feel at home in the city, turning his face to hot wind, while Percy, grumbling, tried to figure out how to evaporate sweat that had completely soaked his T-shirt. They drove carefully, making their way through the crowded streets, houses becoming gloomier the closer Percy got to his destination.

Solana was easy to find, she lived in a private house and seemed to be waiting for them, dressed in light trousers and a T-shirt, looking too serious for a ten-year-old and clutching her backpack tightly to herself. Percy stopped next to her, took off his helmet and smiled welcomingly, dropping to one knee to be at the same level with her. Solana, glancing sideways at Notus who had materialized next to her, cautiously approached.

“Have you come for me?”

“Yeah, dear,” Percy smiled at her, house behind Solana looked at them with broken windows and smashed furniture. The ichor in girl's blood clung to him in fear, begging him to run as quickly as possible. “We'll go away now, and you'll tell me everything, won't you?”

Solana nodded quickly. Percy, lifting baby onto his hip, returned to bike, sat Solana in front of him, carefully placed helmet on her head and started the engine. The feeling of a predatory gaze on back of his head didn't leave him until they reached busier streets. Solana was quiet, looking around curiously when Percy, stopping at one of small cafes, took her to get lunch, but she held Percy's hand too tightly. Notus remained on guard, so only Solana, who was happily eating a double cheeseburger and greasy fries, and Percy sat at the table.

“Mom said that someone had to save me,” Solana confided, finally having eaten her fill. “She said it would be Dad, but you don't look much like him.”

“I'm your dad's fiance,” Percy admitted, Solana nodded with satisfaction. “What... happened? At home.”

Solana shuddered. “I don’t know. I saw red eyes, and then mom gave me backpack and told me to hide. I heard screams, and when they stopped, house was destroyed and mom was gone. Just blood.”

Percy winced, glancing out at the street. Solana, a small, quiet little girl, also glanced at the window and suddenly swayed violently, pressing closer to Percy and pointing a finger at a dark corner. “There. Dad, there.”

Percy noticed him too. He was tall, almost twenty feet tall, with a long, narrow neck and equally long limbs attached to a large body covered in thick, dark green fur, his two large fangs, reminiscent of a saber-toothed tiger, were covered in a maroon substance, and his beady black eyes stared straight at them. The monster stretched its mouth into a semblance of a smile, took a step forward and howled silently, as if it had run into an invisible barrier. Percy picked Solana up in his arms and, mentally begging Notus to start bike, hurried away. Solana hid her face in Percy's shoulder, clutched him tightly and sobbed quietly. Percy kissed top of her light head.

“I'll get us out,” he promised quietly, weaving between customers and flying out of cafe. Notus nearly fell, quickly getting out of the way, only looking at him strangely. Percy glanced at shadowed alleys again, afraid to see something similar. “There was something there, Notus. I don't know what it is, but we need to get out of here.”

The long-clawed paw of shadow-moving creature couldn't reach them without getting a sunburn, and Percy closed his eyes for a moment, picking up speed. They needed to get out of the city before dark.

*

Texas greeted her with blazing sun and a fight with a common dracaena, which after a fight with a creepy snow creature that Clarisse had barely escaped alive, was more training than actual combat. Piper, who had joined her because she could only be around her sister for so long, wiped slime off her blade and winced with an entirely Aphrodite expression. Clarisse smirked; children of Aphrodite, even those in deep denial like Piper, were all the same. Piper, like Selena once upon a time, was at least pleasant to deal with. Especially now.

“I don’t understand,” Piper grumbled as they walked up stairs to twenty-two-year-old Lisa’s apartment. She paused for a moment, exhaled deeply, and looked very severely at wall in front of her. “Shut up, Jason.”

“What did he say?” Clarisse asked curiously. Jason's ghost was a surprisingly cheerful conversationalist, and Clarisse regretted that her acquaintance with child of Jupiter was so short. At least Seven was always willing to share their complaints about their best friend. Piper muttered something in Cherokee and looked tiredly at Clarisse.

“Jason is making fun of me,” Piper blushed at Clarisse's raised eyebrows, but answered honestly. “I thought I wouldn't meet you here.”

“Oh,” Clarisse nodded. She could have been offended, but the legendary Longing Piper McLean (they all called it with a capital "L") was more cheerful, especially since Clarisse, like any self-respecting demigod at Camp, was making bets. “Reyna was here, but Artemis called her, and she left. You missed each other by literally a day.”

Piper's blush deepened, if possible, and judging by murderous look she was giving wall, someone ghostly was laughing really loudly. “I hate y'all,” she thought for a moment and looked at La Rue pleadingly. “Don't tell Drew.”

Clarisse tried hard to hold back her wild laughter. She probably wouldn't tell Drew, but Chris and Percy would be interested. “How come you haven't gotten together yet?”

“We weren't going to,” Piper shrugged twitchily, stopping at the nondescript door. “She always wanted to be a Huntress, who am I to take that away from her?”

Clarisse was pretty sure Reyna would give up everything if Piper asked her to, but maybe that wouldn't do anyone any good. Piper may've known Reyna better than Clarisse did (or she may've been an insecure girl who had fallen deeply in love for the first time, but Clarisse ignored Percy's voice in her head), but Clarisse understood Reyna the way a child of war might understand a child of war. They all needed someone like Piper, someone fierce but soft and gentle, a home to fight for and return to in the end, someone who'd give their battles meaning. Her father had Aphrodite and Hephaestus, Clarisse herself had Chris, Percy had Apollo, Reyna, well, had Piper.

Perhaps it was worth talking to Reyna.

The door was opened by a blonde beauty with bags under her eyes and a tired look in which Clarisse immediately recognized Apollo's daughter, who had left for university a few years ago. Her scent was terribly weak, she had been brought to the Camp only because otherwise she would've been left an orphan and forced to wander from one foster family to another. Lisa looked unwell, but she smiled when she recognized Clarisse and let them in. The apartment was not luxurious, but it was cozy, homey, the kind Clarisse would like to have with Chris when this was all over. Like this, they would've a bedroom adjoining the kitchen, a separate office where Chris could work, and downstairs, in same building, Clarisse would open a studio for hand-to-hand combat training. In this apartment, Chris would propose to her, carry her over the threshold after wedding, and then, much later, they would move into a larger apartment and set up a nursery there. She and Chris would've beautiful children.

If they survive, of course.

“Father can't be banished again,” Lisa shook her head when they explained what was going on over tea. Lisa was the last demigod left in Texas, and they could wipe the state off map, and Clarissa wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. They still had a four-year-old out in the middle of nowhere, and it was time to catch him, not talk adults into saving their lives. If Clarissa had her way, she'd knock everyone out and deal with the consequences later. Or she'd leave it to Piper, who was amazingly good at talking to people.

Lisa was less than thrilled, to say the least. “I have exams,” she grumbled as Clarissa hurriedly threw essentials into her duffel bag. “I can't just throw everything away like that.”

“We can't risk your life for some exam,” Clarisse grumbled, under Piper's displeased look. Piper clearly wanted to kick her. Clarisse continued. “If you don't value your life, no problem, we'll leave you here. The question is, how are you going to look Will in the eye in Elysium and say that you gave up without a fight?”

Lisa winced, and Clarisse winced guiltily. Perhaps she had overdone it a bit, but there was no other way to help. She decided to soften the pill. “Besides, Annabeth is working on plans for New Athens. University would be very useful there.”

Lisa seemed about to argue anyway, but something hit the window. Clarisse glanced toward street and cursed, grabbed stunned Lisa by shoulders and dragged her out into hallway. - Come on, sunshine, move.

“What is it?” Lisa breathed out hoarsely, pulling on her sweatshirt and grabbing her bag. “What the hell is going on?”

“We don't know,” Clarissa pushed them to move as quickly as possible. “But they're all after you.”

Lisa's eyes widened. The birds circling Apollo's daughter's house weren't like usual Stymphalian birds. They were huge iron skeletons covered in translucent skin, with elongated beaks and eyes blazing with fire. They circled house like vultures, throwing stones at window in turns, but it seemed they hadn't thought to break glass with their beaks. Clarissa wasn't going to stop and watch them do it anyway, she was already putting Lisa on bike and doubtfully wondering what to do with Piper, when suddenly one of the birds raised its head and looked straight at Lisa. Lisa cried out.

That was a mistake.

The whole flock, fluttering, flew up, a strange sound was heard, similar to the scraping of metal on metal, as if the birds were communicating with each other. Clarissa covered Lisa's face with her helmet and turned to look at a worried Piper. “I know Jackson taught you all how to ride a bike.”

“I’m not leaving you,” McLean snapped. “If anyone’s going to go, it’s you. She’s got a better chance of surviving with you.”

“You think I’m going to leave you here alone?” Clarissa protested, but Piper just smirked.

“I ain't alone,” and the gladius floated up next to her. Clarissa rolled her eyes. Give the Seven a good look and they’ll squeeze every ounce of juice out of it. Show-offs.

“If you die, I’ll kill you. And Jason, too,” and she climbed onto the bike behind Lisa, not listening to laughing answer. She couldn’t turn around, or Clarissa would stay behind her, take fight, and Lisa would die. They had a mission, even if that mission meant running away from battlefield in disgrace.

But, as it turned out, Clarissa didn't have time to think about escaping for long, the birds caught up with them literally in a few minutes, managing to wound Lisa in the side, while she, along with La Rue, fought them off with all means at their disposal. Piper arrived in time, covering Clarissa's back, while Jason's gladius chopped and stabbed, obsessively flying around Lisa, who had settled down near one of walls. The birds seemed to only get closer, attracted by Apollo's bleeding child, Piper's arm was ripped open, and Clarissa limped on her right leg and periodically checked the wound in her stomach. Adrenaline drove them to fight on, but fatigue took its toll. Several times Jason barely managed to save their lives, and Clarissa knew perfectly well that they wouldn't hold out much longer. And even more so, they wouldn't escape, these creatures were inhumanly fast and they managed to kill them only because they were interested in playing with their own victim.

They needed a god. Preferably an Olympian, but Clarisse wasn't on good terms with them the way Percy was, and her father or Artemis... Clarisse wasn't that desperate. But when one of those vicious claws slashed across Clarisse's back, and Piper fell to the pavement next to her, coughing up blood and clutching her throat, Clarisse begged anyone who'd listen. Almost immediately, there was a flash of light, and all the birds fell dead, their necks broken, Piper and Lisa passed out, and Clarisse, holding on for dear life, could only watch in disbelief. There, arms outstretched, in a white dress that shimmered like peacock feathers, her licorice braid draped over her shoulder, stood the goddess Hera, her back to them, and the birds at her feet were thrashing in their death throes. Hera turned around, frowning with concern, crouched down in front of Clarissa, who was still holding on to consciousness, and stroked her cheek gently. She looked at someone over Clarissa's shoulder, and a sad, soft smile lit up her lips. Hera looked back at Clarissa.

“You should rest, child. I'll take you home.” Clarissa's eyes closed of their own accord.

*

It was getting dark. Percy dropped Solana off just in time to turn and plunge a poison-soaked dagger into the bony hand. The creature howled inhumanly, trying to shake Percy off, but Percy sensed blood and commanded it to flow to him. The blood was black, ancient, like a wildcat ready to claw at his face if he came close, it wasn't going to obey him, but Percy pressed harder, feeling a painful pulsation in his stomach.

If he ascended now, he'd strangle someone. Preferably the Fates, of course, but Zeus would do.

Percy barely dodged fangs snapping close to his ear as blood howled in his head, splashing poison into his hand. Percy cursed, pulled out the dagger, and drove it higher, hitting a fleshy shoulder. The claws managed to rip open his chest, and a scream came from behind him. Percy's eyes widened.

“Notus,” he barked, watching out of corner of his eye as the god of south wind held a struggling Solana tightly. “Get out of here.”

Notus would've gone, leaving Percy alone, but Solana clearly had other plans. The scream of “No!” cut through the darkness around him again, making his insides turn over, the creature's other arm was noticed too late, and Percy, squeezing his eyes shut, braced himself for pain, as the creature howled shrilly, flinched away from Percy, screeched and tried to crawl away. Percy, backing away and barely able to stand, could only watch as it clawed at its skull, while smoking burn marks appeared on its hairy body.

The creature fell silent with a death rattle, the corpse falling heavily, raising a cloud of dust. Percy was still breathing heavily, fighting poison in his body, when he felt something heavy and snotty fly at him, almost knocking off his feet. He exhaled and scooped Solana up in his arms, hugging her tightly, placing his shaking hand on the back of her fair head and burying his face in her hair, closing his eyes. Alive. Solana was sobbing intermittently, like a wind-up toy, repeating “no” and “daddy”, and Percy, barely able to think, could only whisper meaningless words of comfort, struggling with uninvited dampness in his eyes.

That's how Frank found them: Solana in tears, Percy in shock, Notus on guard, and corpse of the creature, which, contrary to usual, didn't crumble into a cloud of dust. Frank sighed very tiredly, but, noticing child in Percy's arms, he only shook his head.

“Are you okay?”

“Relatively,” Percy admitted honestly, shifting his grip on Solana. “Do you have ambrosia?”

“I did. What happened here?” Frank nodded at the burned corpse. Percy swallowed; he wasn't ready to tell it twice.

“We should discuss this at the council.”

Solana wasn't going to leave Percy or his long-suffering knees anytime soon, so she sipped her soup, leaning comfortably against Percy's chest while Frank was busy bandaging. The idea of ​​a short rest belonged to same Frank, who, having looked at half-conscious Jackson and tearful child, simply sat them down a little further away, shoved in ambrosia and took out the first aid kit. Notus immediately volunteered to guard them and ran off to the monster's corpse, leaving Percy alone to listen to condemning sniffle of his best friend.

“You know,” Frank finally said, tightening bandages on his chest and making Percy hiss. “Leo didn't make us mirrors for us to look at.”

Percy grimaced. “I'm sorry.”

Frank just sighed again, but mercifully changed the subject. “Brazil is officially over. Clarisse went to Texas to get the last child.”

“A scientist from Paraguay?” Frank only grimaced. Percy wanted to ask more, but not now, not with child next to them. “He's the only one left. Did you find out where they were staying?”

“Yep, but they left again,” Frank shook his head. “Either mortal is very smart, or someone is covering for him.”

Apollo's name wasn't spoken, but implied, and Percy couldn't suppress desperate hope that he'd be there. It didn't matter that Apollo's first instinct wasn't to find Percy but his former lover, and reason for his new exile, all Percy really wanted was to find his fiancé and finally exhale anxiety that had festered in his soul. He could handle the rest, he just needed Apollo.

They all needed Apollo.