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Chapter Text

Die Axis

The contest in Athens wasn't meant to be anything more than to ruffle the Earthshaker’s pride. If it were not unbecoming of the god of his high station, he would have mindlessly gaped like a fool at the stupidity of the people of Athens.

What was meant to be a treasure was treated as a mere plain fountain, as if Poseidon would present something as simple as that!

He is a God!

Poseidon fumes and prepares to leave his impertinent niece, who was side-eyeing him smugly in her perch, when he notices something queer happening with his fountain.

The leaves of Athena’s blasted tree fell into the crystal-clear waters that were beginning to shine with a golden sheen. The waters then started to swirl, a small hand reached out to the fountain’s wall and gripped, pulling themselves up –

To reveal a very young female child.

No.

A goddess.

The sight leaves the mortals pointing and gasping in surprise, as well as both gods present. Athena only has a moment of hesitation before shrinking herself and covering the newborn goddess’s naked form.

Drawn stars littered her neck, gleaming and golden and shimmering like starlight from her bronze skin. Her hair was black as the night, and her eyes shone like Athena’s, but they were wholly and irrevocably Poseidon’s.

“Father!”

She calls out, and Poseidon is there, arranging another layer to cloak his new immortal child, momentarily ignoring the furious bout he had with the child’s mother a few moments ago.

It is not a common occurrence that goddesses are born, yet it is a common occurrence for them to be taken just a few short beats when no one is there to protect them. It is especially true for Rhodes, and everyone knows how that ended.  

Both Athena and Poseidon know this. Grey eyes gleamed and flashed as her arms tightened their hold on her daughter—her child, perhaps the only one she will ever have, as it is with her vows.

“Uncle–” Athena opens her mouth, but Poseidon’s hard stare stops her.

He reaches out a hand to cradle their daughter’s cheeks, whose gaze looks at both of them blankly. “We will speak of this later. My brother will surely hear of this, and it won’t be certain if he’ll have her best interest in mind with his judgment.”

As much as Athena would instinctually rise to her father’s defense in any other situation, this isn’t one of those. And Athena was perhaps the only one who knows far too much of her father's unwise judgment to ever trust her newly-born child to him. She won’t. She will never trust anyone, for that matter.

She regarded Poseidon with steel in her stare but nodded, and together they disappeared, leaving the people of Athens murmuring with speculation.

The Palace of Wisdom is in upheaval. Nymphs scurried to clean every nook and cranny and every tapestry in sight that the Goddess of Wisdom deemed too unsightly for her young daughter’s eyes, while she held the said sleeping child in her arms—sharp and all-seeing with her every order.

Canopies were changed, and some nymphs had gone and put together silks and fabrics to make the new little goddess’s bed. Owls and stars decorated the new tapestries, and the fountain detailing the new goddess’s birth, gold inlaid with precious stones, dotted every corner in sophisticated grandeur as the hues formed the young goddess’s portrayal—a child that could be seen as ten summers old.

No one knows what the new goddess’s name was, and as curious as the nymphs are, they now know not to ask directly lest they invite Athena’s wrath.

Yet then they had heard Wisdom’s soft croon as she sang her child to sleep.

"Κοιμήσου τώρα, αγαπητή μου Κάρα."

The nymphs tittered in awe, then, fast as the wind, leapt away from the sight.

It doesn’t take long for the news to reach everyone, from the gossiping wood and lake nereids, satyrs, and centaurs to minor gods, until Hermes hears—then everyone in Olympus also hears.

Kara.

Such a simple name for a goddess, but no one had been given the depth of adoration as the new goddess seems to wrangle with no trouble.

But then Poseidon had gone off and corrected them. No, his daughter had been born already knowing her name as Perseia. A fitting thing for a child with both parents connected to the sea, even if many kindly forget Athena’s roots.

Aphrodite watched in amusement as Zeus sent another demand to his favorite daughter to have her daughter introduced to Olympus, something that Poseidon had surprisingly halted the moment his brother sent the command.

She could have envied it. But her eyes changed in multiple colors before settling into sea green. She just ponders about whatever amusement these changes could bring.

The Goddess of Wisdom had never loved anyone deeply. She had pride in that, and she had seen time and time again what consequences that caused. She had learned long ago that love was something that is never enough.

She was too much of her father, she thinks—his pride and his everything, just with more caution and abandon for being born a daughter instead of a feared son.

“Kara.” She calls out to her daughter, who had, in a few weeks, grown into a young woman. Too fast, she wanted to voice out. She still wanted her daughter to stay as small as she had been. And with her maturing, her domain seems to show itself.

The Goddess of Loyalty turned away from the board of carved pieces in front of her and, with a beam, greeted Athena.

“Mother! Look!”

In her palm, she was showing off the intricately carved marble that resembled those mortal queens with a crown. Pride swelled in Athena’s chest at the sight of her daughter inheriting something from her when Kara had taken from Poseidon in features practically in everything.

Her daughter also developed a preference for opaque blues and golds, which Athena had just been too happy to garb her daughter with. Her veils carefully tucked stray hairs from her face as it scrunched up into a frown in concentration at the piece of marble in her hand.

Athena made herself comfortable in the chaise as she constantly watched the scene. The Goddess of Wisdom had never loved anyone deeply beforehand and hadn’t allowed herself to do so.

But this—perhaps just this time—is her due.

Olympus was in a flurry when the King of the Gods announced a celebration in honor of Athena and Poseidon’s daughter. Although, of course, everyone had also been a witness when Zeus lost his temper over Athena’s supposedly broken vow, which the Goddess vehemently insisted she had never broken. Poseidon, who had been very critical of the Goddess in the past, even defended her.

But as all gods and goddesses waited in the grand hall, the herald commanded everyone’s attention by announcing the new goddess’s arrival. They had expected a child, as they had assumed Athena’s daughter would be, given the rumors. But what they saw was a grown woman, with hair darker than the night and sea-green eyes gleaming, her body bedecked in gold silk and sapphires, a veil holding her hair in place with pearls decorating it.

A stunning vision that artistry would no doubt have had the biggest hurdle recreating.

Many hearts had been stunned that particular day, but none had the unfortunate downfall as the God of the Arts himself.

Percy had been born mad at the world. It was never her choice to be a god’s child, nor was it ever her choice to be included in some prophecy created before her mother was even a concept in her grandparents’ minds.

She was everything and nothing the gods expected, and she didn’t know if she should laugh at the irony of it all as her ichor threatened to choke her.

Not bright crimson anymore, the blood of weak mortals, pawns in greater schemes of the gods, but pure, undiluted gold.

The war had numbed and made her sensitive; it had also made her uncaring and devoted.

Goddess of Loyalty, Courage, Warriors, War, Seafarers, and Demigods.

She was in the past, and it never really completely processed until she was in the hall below a more dangerous Zeus at the peak of his power and prominence.

It was just like it had been the last time. She was asked if there was anything she wanted. But everything she had died in the future she left, gutted and gone.

Percy Jackson had denied immortality and instead wished for better treatment of her fellow demigods; they were all dead, though, due to their parents' actions.

Percy didn’t care about any timeline or whatever happened anymore when she thought that nothing could have been worse than where she left it.

But—

“The demigods. I want them, my lord. Give them to me as my domain.”

She thought she had gone numb. Maybe she had, but—

Zeus looked at her with appraising electric blue eyes as sharp as the daughter he had left as a sacrifice when she no longer suited him.

“So be it.”

There was no future anyway.

Percy had never thought of Athena as a present mother. To Annabeth, she never was, but to Perseia, the Goddess of Wisdom would turn the Earth and the entirety of Mount Olympus upside down if it meant getting what her only immortal child wanted, especially if it mattered for her safety.

Percy had never seen Athena so worked up, having taken every god’s oath that they would never dare to force her daughter into marriage. Perhaps she wanted to make her an eternal maiden as well. It was certainly safer; having or not having her husband’s love was a tragedy on its own, and Sally had made her bedtime stories a tale of every Greek tragedy known to man.

There were very rare instances of them having a semblance of normalcy because, of course, they were gods. But gods, in particular, were vicious and cruel, and she remembered it well.

But Percy didn’t want to take the oath of celibacy—no, she didn’t have plans to marry, not at all. But this kind of freedom, and with little consequence—

She could certainly understand how it got into the gods’ heads.

Percy remembered the story of that naive woman Zeus had taken a deep fancy in. She didn’t know how to change anything, even if she had plans to deviate from things, but any presence would always halt her hands.

She knew this Zeus was very dangerous, more than the one in her future. It was a good thing he didn’t fancy her for himself when he didn’t have the same compulsion of fooling and seducing Persephone while pretending to be her husband.

That very news didn’t circulate well, with Hades protecting his wife, but she knew the signs from her last visit to the Underworld—the Queen of the Dead looking at nothing and no one, her hand at her growing bosom as if she were hesitating between squeezing the life within it or gently cradling it.

But of course, things could be favorable indeed if she had Zeus’s favor. That would, however, invite Hera’s wrath. Still, what were the odds that the Queen of the Gods would even know?

Perseia smiled widely as she painted her lips dark red.

Zeus had an eye for beautiful women.

And hers, even if she never paid attention to it, could bring about wars. She strolled in the garden of the palace, and the lightning in the clouds passed her. Her dear mother had always been supportive, if horrified and curious, at her daughter’s choice of wardrobe.

Never skimpy like Aphrodite’s, but her attire made the gazes on her stay, even if she was not showing much skin—the silks that were either gold or blue, and the pearls, diamonds, and sapphires that decorated her neck and wrists.

Zeus had an eye for beautiful women.

It was no surprise that it landed on hers.

He pretended to be a dream that Perseia had conjured in her sleep.

It continued for several months, as he courted her like the knights or princes of old in Percy’s storybooks, making her want to laugh in his face. Perseia pretended to be that intrigued, innocent maiden who seemed to be taken with him yet parried him with reasons of Athena’s wrath. She had him hooked by the neck, her nails buried deep as he thrilled in the chase, and she only threw him bones of attention. But she knew she couldn’t keep up with just baiting him and not giving in.

Her mother’s oaths to the gods demanded they never force her into anything. But things were different if Perseia was very much willing.

She sought what little she knew about finding Dionysus’s mother. She knew she was playing with fate when Percy stole an essence from the woman and took it for her own. She would live a better life than she had in another—that Percy could ensure.

And on the very night after Perseia painted a picture of a maiden falling for a man who was no more than a dream, she gave in.

She hates him, she told herself, as her nails lengthened and scratched a bloody path in his muscled back, he slammed and she grits her teeth releasing a breathy  pained moan –

She hates him. This unforgivable god, and a useless father, as he growls and she reaches for him, dragging him down in a searing wet kiss that makes her toes curl.

She hates, hates, hates –

“I hope you're real” she whispers in a ragged breath as she comes down her high. A nightmare more like.

He tucks an errant strand from her sweaty face she feels disgusting, what is she doing – He smiles down at her, his image a blur in the haze of a dream but perfect as a god could be.

She slips likely becoming awake 

“As real as fate would have chosen a better time to have us met.”

She admits that Zeus is a dedicated lover. Her nights were becoming filthier than the last, and her mother noticed changes in her.

“Are you alright, owlet? Would you prefer to rest more?” Grey eyes looked at her worriedly, and Percy shook her head.

“No, Mother, I’m alright,” she reassures, nails scratching her chicken-scratch threading, marrying the rich fabric.

Athena only frowns and puts down her craft. “I insist, go back to your chambers and sleep more. You've become paler these past few days.”

Perseia sighed but smiled and nodded. “Alright, you shouldn’t worry too much, Mother. Frowns don't suit you.” She stood and kissed the goddess’s cheek.

“Impertinent child,” Athena scolds, but her face softens fondly.

Perseia only grinned and ran off but shouted, “Only with you, Mother!” her voice echoing in the halls.

It had not been Athena, but Apollo upon once visiting, who discovered she was pregnant.

Athena had smashed the vase she was painting from what she heard from her brother’s mouth, with her sobbing daughter in tow.

“WHO DARES?!”

Perseia sobs, shaking her head. “Mother, I had no one, I swear! I never left or had met any god!”

Athena was debating between screaming in anger, chasing whoever forced her daughter, and comforting her child, which the latter succeeded in. Athena came and hugged her sobbing daughter like she had when newly born, and she easily fit in her embrace.

“A name, my owlet. Just mention a name, and Mother will take care of the rest.”

Apollo stood in the corner like a statue, not knowing what to do but staying, blue eyes flickering gold now and then as he beheld the goddess who had taken his attention, but he didn’t have the reason to properly woo.

“I never—” Biting her lips, tears continued to fall from her delicate face, making Athena’s chest tighten at the sight. “But, well, there are these dreams. But I thought they were only dreams, so I—”

Grey eyes sharpened. “Are there any men in those dreams?” She held tight, and Percy trembled slightly.

“I—I don’t know—I don’t remember much. It’s just that—the dreams felt nice,” her voice stuttering in admission.

Apollo chose to step in. “Perhaps, sister, there is no man at all, and Perseia had a child of her own making.”

Percy looked at him blankly, and he smiled charmingly at her. Athena frowned in thought.

“It is entirely plausible. It would not be the first time…”

Athena nodded at her conclusion. “Then this child is entirely my daughter’s, then.”

“That seems to be the most valid conclusion,” Apollo agreed with her, smoothly earning an approving look from the Goddess of Wisdom.

“If I may, sister, perhaps I could take care of dear Perseia here while she’s in such a state. It is part of my domain, after all. Artemis can even help when she’s near her term!” he said brightly, the warmth of the sun intensifying, yet gentle on their skin.

Athena only contemplated for a moment before nodding again. “Then I trust you with my daughter’s care, brother.” She lifted her arms that embraced Perseia protectively.

Apollo’s smile couldn’t be any brighter. “You can trust me, sister.”

Percy had watched all of this with a curious expression, wide eyes dark and knowing as she looked at the Sun God, who merely winked at her.

The situation didn’t sound as bad as she imagined it could be.

Chapter Text

Obverse

He was there at every waking moment, much to the curious query of Percy.

“You don’t have to be here all the time,” she told him as he lifted a glowing hand from her bosom. “I know you have more responsibilities than noting down my welfare, and Mother merely overreacts.”

The smile he bestowed upon her was reassuring. They had grown familiar over the frequent visits of the Sun God, and Perseia dropped her cautious facade.

“Nonsense, love. Athena will have my head if you suffer any discomfort, and I certainly do not come back here often just for my responsibility.” Blue eyes sparkled as he teased her, and Perseia chuckled in response.

Percy looked out into the expansive Garden of the Palace of Wisdom, and her smile turned wistful.

“Thank you, Apollo.”

Her loneliness seemed so vivid that Apollo reached a palm to smooth out the lines in her brow.

“Always,” he told her, distancing himself slightly from her to conjure– a flute.

Percy curiously looked at him. “I know that Athena locks you here too much—” Percy released an unladylike snort that made Apollo’s lip curl in amusement.

“I never played the flute before,” Percy pointed out.

Apollo only grinned. “I was afraid I would bore you to death with my presence—so I thought of something we could do. I shall teach you how to play the flute! An incredible idea, don’t you think?”

He added bravado by waving both his arms, and Percy made a face at the sight, chewing her lips without noticing the Sun God following the action.

“I suppose… it wouldn’t be too bad,” she accepted. “And Mother wouldn’t be opposed.”

Apollo blinked. “No, she won’t—”

“Kara,” Percy said, not looking directly at him. “You had referred to me as anything but my name, so I’d allow you at least this one.”

Stunned, Apollo gaped slightly before shaking his head—if he had a heart, he’d imagine it would stop at this moment.
Perseia seemed to glow as the small fairies from the garden eclipsed her and settled on her skin. Her small palm rested on her swollen stomach, her hair flailing in a mess of curls and pearls and small diamonds. The gold of her chiton entranced him, and for a moment he thought this was a future he would fight Kronos to have.

The Athenide took a sip from her goblet and snorted down the liquid after something a fairy said, laughing and coughing. Apollo took the cup from her and, with a handkerchief, wiped her lips and the front of her clothes.

“Easy, love. Now let me—”

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She scowled and pouted her clothing drenched and her hair becoming wild with her displeased mood, but Apollo wouldn’t trade the sight for anything else.

Hera felt it like a tingle in her spine and a razor carving down her insides.

Her husband had once again betrayed her, and she, as the Goddess of Marriage, would suffer through it all.

She had thought about the plots she had—swearing off her domain of marriage, which would make her powerless in things that mattered. She had thought about it, but then what would Zeus do? Her domain kept her husband and herself locked—Hera helpless but sturdy in her station, and Zeus only ever taking mistresses.

She thought she could have loved in the past, even if he had forced her when she had resoundingly told him ‘no.’ But whatever Zeus wanted, he got, and Hera was left with tattered robes, skin itching and marred, and her purity destroyed.

What choice did she have? There was no father to protect her honor, and her other brothers couldn’t care less—Poseidon wooing that hapless nymph and Hades sequestered and brooding in his kingdom of darkness.

She had many plans before, plans to follow up with Hestia or find an onorable god with whom she could have children and be happy. Useless tinkering plans and thoughts—what had those brought her?

A crown that made her head hurt, and a family that was everywhere and barely there.

Everything was wrong. Her children didn’t care about her counsel many more times than not unless she made them truly listen. She particularly hated the birth of Hephaestus; he just reminded her of the physical manifestation of imperfections she overlooked. She thought he deserved to be thrown the moment he exited her womb. She was horrified and pained. She regretted it and didn’t—yet the sight made her hysterical.

Her life wasn’t supposed to be like this. No, it shouldn’t have been. Yes, no—

“Mother?” A soft voice woke her.
Hera donned an imperious visage and looked at Eileithyia standing in the doorway of her and Zeus’s chambers.

“Have you delivered another of your father’s bastards again?” Her voice was clipped and sharp, making the maiden visage of Eileithyia turn and shuffle, though she didn’t move closer to her mother.

“No,” she let out.

The Goddess of Childbirth hugged her arms, her gaze downcast and dispirited. “I’m here to inform you that Perseia had a son.”

Hera frowned, lips thinning. “The child—Athena declared was only her own daughter’s conception?”

“Yes,” Eileithyia said. “He’s named Διόνυσος.” Pausing to look once more at Hera, she added, “He’s very… frail. The young one.”

Hera processed those words and then shook her head. “No matter if that child survives or not. Loyalty still deserves to be honoured, and we must send gifts.”

She stalked away from the window she had been looking out of and took out a bracelet inlaid with purple and green stones, inscriptions of characters gleaming on the band.

Following the unsaid command, her daughter fully entered the room, and Hera laid the item in her palms. “Be a dear for once, and deliver it in my place, daughter.”
Eileithyia only silently bowed and disappeared out of the door.

Hera once more returned to her previous position, looking out of the window.

Percy relaxed in her pillows, slightly opening a single eye to peek at the vision of Apollo holding Dionysus as melodies echoed in her chamber from the Sun God's mouth.

She smiled tiredly but contently “Here I thought you would be gone, as mother seems to only took your service while I was still pregnant– Not after.”

“He looked just like you Kara,” he says, kissing the babe’s temple gently as he closes the distance between them.

Percy shifted slightly to look as Apollo laid the babe down beside her. Percy only remembers the blurred images of a god holding diet cokes and couldn’t call her name properly. Dionysus the son of Perseia is delicate, with bronze skin and dark hair and if he opens his eyes she could imagine it would be the same sea green as her own. She could properly think it lucky that Dionysus takes upon her features instead of a particular God.

“He does, doesn't he.” Her words agreed with Apollo as Dionysus latched a brittle grip on her finger.

“May your life be an ode of ecstasy untainted with the burden of madness, my love.” She whispers, pressing a kiss on his head

Artemis had found them like this. Apollo was looking at Perseia and tucking a hair from the goddess’s face while a gentle hand caresses the newborn that Perseia cradles.

She knows of her brother’s infatuation since the celebration of the goddess’s birth, and yet–

Perseia looked up and smiled brightly at Artemis while Apollo with a gentle smile nodded in her direction, his hand never straying away from Loyalty’s tresses. The child below them made a fuss that took Perseia’s attention away and the gentleness in her brother solidified and–ah Artemis sees it now.

I hope you know what you're getting into, brother mine.

Blue disintegrates replaced by gold as it goes straight to her own

I do.

Artemis doesn’t believe him. Not fully. 

Do not interfere, Arty.

I won’t

Dionysus was finally introduced to Olympus in spring where vines crawled and vegetation thrived.

The little frail god who couldn’t be away from his mother too long or within the arms of Apollo.

But what surprised some was the attention Zeus gave the frail child. 

“My lord Zeus.” Perseia greets him, little Dion awake in her arms as Zeus closes the distance between them.

There was something in his eyes as he beheld her form and Percy made an awkward face, like not knowing what to say more or why the god chose to linger in their presence. 

Percy knows of course but Perseia doesn’t.

“He looks exactly like you” he muses out loud and Perseia beams a smile, her shoulders relaxing 

“As many have said,” she says, avoiding eye contact with her son’s sire with the information better locked in a Pandora box with no key.

Then Zeus had done the unlikely and put a hand in the child’s lightly glowing. He blessed him, Percy guesses

“I’ve heard that he’s frail. This might help.” He lightly tells her, that none of the magnetic infuriating gods of her memories, like he shifted and Perseia was lost in the current. 

“Take care of him well, Perseia.”

He then left with Percy staring at his back blankly. 

What was that?

A glimmer of gold entered the peripheral and Apollo came close, reaching out and putting a hand on the small of her back Perseia was too distracted to notice the God’s actions.

“Are you alright? I have just seen Father talk to you,” he asks and Perseia shakes her head

“Nothing. He just said that Dion took my likeness.”

Apollo sighs before smiling “The banquet would go on for a while, do you want to go home?”

Tiredly nodding off “Yes, please.”

His hand was on her guiding and he took over to hold Dion. 

“Home it is then.”

Dion grows steadily, and before she knows it, the purple rings in his sea-green eyes become more vivid, and he would often leave with Apollo for his studies.

Perseia spends her days listening to the prayers of her growing followers, as temples are erected in her name, with Athena continuously present in each of these happenings, ensuring that her daughter’s place of worship is nothing short of perfect.

But what really caught her attention was the recent silence of the Goddess of Love. With nothing more to do, she discreetly follows the said Goddess. Then she saw it—in the garden hidden in the heart of a forest lay a beautiful youth. Percy feels that something is familiar but can’t quite remember.

Who is he? She knows him, knows something, but couldn’t recall.

Percy follows them until Aphrodite leaves the youth, and Perseia appears in his sight, garbed in her least outlandish peplos, her hair without its stars of dotted pearls crowning her head.

He doesn’t recognize or know her from his gaze, but what most intrigued Percy was the intelligence shining in those mortal eyes.

“Who might you be, my lady? It is dangerous to walk into the woods at this hour.”

Percy tucks an errant curl behind her ear and raises a brow at him. “I haven’t encountered any danger yet, although I could ask the same question of you. What brought someone as young as you deep into these woods?”

He huffs and rearranges the sling of arrows on his back.

“I’m skilled enough. And you may call me Adonis.”

Percy only gives a disbelieving look. “Well met then, Adonis. If I am not mistaken, that was the Goddess of Love keeping you company—”
She grins, and Adonis pauses before walking away from her. “It is nothing you are part of enough to question, my lady.”

Percy follows him with a skip in her step. “It is Perse. And why not? Are you one of her lovers? Does her husband know of you? Those are quite dangerous things, you might just know…”

“It is none of your concern, Perse,” he says, irritated.

Percy grins, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Oh, but I am very curious, you see, and you telling me nothing would only deepen that.” She tells him sagely, keeping up with his wide strides.

The wind was getting colder, and the sky darker, and Percy knew they were still deep in the woods.

She never left him, even when Adonis had already decided on where to camp for the night, setting up wood for the fire. Perseia continues to stay near him and continuously asks him about his association with the Goddess and how it was “utterly romantic.”

Percy thinks he is not that bad at being left with a woman for company; perhaps this was why Aphrodite was so taken with him—that and his looks.

He was obviously irritated with her but still asked her if she knew how to get back to her home.

“Of course I do, I wouldn’t come this far if I didn’t. Perhaps, Mother would question me, although she was very taken with her crafts when I left, so I think she wouldn’t notice if I left for some time.”

Adonis suspiciously looked at her but nodded. Taking out a piece of hard-looking bread from his satchel, he broke it into two and handed the other to her. “Here. You look like you didn’t bring anything of value.”

Percy twitched at that. “I’m telling you I did!”
Taking out her recent project from her own sling, Percy presented it proudly—a chessboard made of wood, shining and brand new. Adonis looked at it, curious but unimpressed.

“What will you do with that? Throw it at a bear?” Adonis says exasperatedly.

That didn’t deter Percy, not at all, even if she felt like smashing the youth’s head for indirectly insulting her work. “Hush, it is a game I created!”

She then proceeded to explain everything to him in detail. “You're the first one to see this, so be grateful, you tart.”

Her daughter seems to be gone more than usual, Athena thought as she watched Perseia don simple clothing and a cloak, with her usual jewels, with a smile as she fussed over her satchel.

“Kara, where have you been up to?” she asked, and Perseia only pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Nothing important, Mother. I’ll see you later!”

Athena’s gaze narrows as her daughter’s presence disappears. Apollo appeared behind her in a golden shower, both eyes golden and shadowed.

“Apollo,” she acknowledges. “Do you know what my daughter seems to be particularly interested in?”

“I’m afraid not, sister,” he says. “But I would like to know as well.

Athena nods, grey eyes worried. “Good. You have my blessing to follow her, but be discreet.”

Apollo follows the Goddess of Loyalty from afar, eyes trailing her as they behold normally bejewelled form. He looked away when Perseia shed her familiarity to wear a common mortal’s robe, making him frown. His little Kara had always been a fan of grandeur, something he thought she fully deserved—be it in her clothes or everything that surrounded her—so why?

Perseia walks at a mortal’s pace into a deep forest, and Apollo loyally follows, her sweet voice echoing with soft melodies. She walked what seemed a familiar path, and in the deep groves of vines and thicker leaves, with trees as old as time, Perseia gave a full-blown smile, and as she ran with abandon and leaps—Apollo’s gaze widened, surprise painting his face—Perseia in the arms of a mortal man as she laughs with delight, looking positively divine, pure and untarnished in joy in the presence of a man, and not Apollo.

“Adonis! You must take a look at what I added this time!” Perseia, to Apollo’s relief, distanced herself slightly and took out what seemed to be a scroll.

“Your ideas are unrealistic, woman.” Apollo could hear the youth drawl, and he had to hold back his rage at the pathetic worm—

Perseia only rolled her eyes, seemingly used to this. “I tell you, my ideas are fantastic!”

“They’re not,” Adonis disputed. “They are costly, too much and—who are you even going to create that for?” he exclaimed.

Perseia only huffed and took his right arm, clutching it into hers, then proceeded to drag him away.

“Oh hush, and just agree—money won’t be a problem. And of course, it will be our home! You took part in the planning after all,” she muttered the last part in a considering grumble that Adonis could barely hear.

Apollo didn’t decide to follow the pair anymore. His hands are shaking with the force of his grip, his face thunderous with rage, wrath, and longing and heartbreak. The forest was quiet, sensing the Sun God’s eerie presence. Apollo numbly follows the pair again, finding them in a secluded foliage, sitting atop a bed of flowers, just in time to see Perseia's face inches away from her mortal companion.

Something inside him breaks, and Apollo looks away and leaves in haste.

Meanwhile, Perseia forcefully slams her forehead against the strong-headed youth to make a point, making him back out with a hiss of pain, clutching his head.

“A fountain is not stupid, you ignorant mortal!”

In Delos, nymphs cried in fright and quickly fled as Apollo tore through his palace, destroying everything in place—the candelabras, the golden banners hanging on the walls, the jewels, and portraits of unfinished images of the Goddess of Loyalty. Tears filled his snarling face as he smashed decorated vases and statues made by his own hand, mindlessly muttering one name.

“Perseia, Perseia, Perseia—Have I not been clear enough?”

After destroying everything, the God seethed, plans assembling in his mind.

That mortal wouldn’t take Perseia from him.

No one can.

Apollo’s love, while never suffocating, can be cruel.

Artemis and Orion can attest to that.

The Sun God let loose a boar with sharp tusks, eyes bloody red, and a size larger than what humans normally see. 

He watched as Adonis, who was walking in the forest, let loose an arrow at the monstrous sound the boar let out, before swiftly running away when he fully saw the boar’s size.

His fair face widened in fright as his lips thinned in determination, sure-footedly running away. But a mortal’s speed is nothing to an animal blessed by Apollo himself, and sure enough, it nearly caught the youth, grazing his arm as he tried to get away. The branches of trees in his wake marred his previous complexion, tearing through his clothes and cloak.

Adonis fought through a clearing that was a dead end, realizing it to be the edge of a dangerous waterfall, and knowing of the spikes beneath if he ever attempted to jump. He only had moments before the boar attacked him, forcing him dangerously close to the edge. Eyes scanning for a retreat, he shakily stood as the boar prepared to attack him again.

The Sun God in his perch readied his bow and arrow

He only sees a golden streak and piercing pain in his ankle as he slipped, and then he was—

F
A
L
L
I
N
G

“Perse”

He whispers, remembering that they should have met at noon later as his friend excitedly adds another house into a town Adonis didn’t know what for...

Or a camp, she mentioned.

It was his last thought before closing his eyes as the pikes beneath the waterfall tore his body apart, and the waters clogged his breathing, ending him in a swift, agonized death.

Chapter Text

Denomination

Percy heard her name being called.

The next moment she’s in front of a raging river. 

Her name was called.

Percy searched and searched walking the shores away from the angry waters and there she saw it.

A torn hand dangling from a boulder, bits of pieces of clothing–

No no no no NO!

Percy wills her emotions away as she fetched what remained of the snarky youth that brought the smallest bit of humanity.

Her dress was wet as she swam and breathed through the waters that wouldn’t dare harm her.

A hand, a bleeding leg–

Percy brought everything ashore and when the other pieces of him were out of reach for her anymore she blankly sat in front of what remained of Adonis.

She wants to cry, to rage to–

There was a faint golden gleam of what was left of the youth’s leg, so very faint that if Percy was just another mortal or just the same demigod she wouldn’t see it.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath “I’m sorry”

Curling to herself as she sobbed 

“I’m so sorry”

She was so so naive.

The Goddess of Loyalty, unwilling to part with the mortal Adonis, gathered his remains, and with her anguish, he transformed into a glowing seed. She later planted it at the edge of a cliff overlooking her divine city. The seed grew into a tree unpolished by time, its trunk as pale as alabaster, stretching heavenward with leaves as red as spilt wine. 

When the flowering arrived, its crimson leaves became pale, losing their vibrant hues, replaced by silvery pink, with fruits appearing only every two full cycles. Yet, they could only be harvested on the same day they ripened, as they would fall, turning sour and becoming husks, following the winds' bellowing.

As this was done and all the fruits and flowers thoroughly fell, its leaves would turn fully silver, and soon enough, like a blanket of stars, they would all fall, leaving the tree a remnant, yet no less enchanting. Everything would repeat as a cycle, and with it, Adonis lived on—if he could not walk the world as a man, he would stand as something no god, not even Apollo, could ever tarnish, forever beautiful, forever eternal.

(The Tree of Adonis. Excerpt: World Legends and Mythos.)

The entrance to Apollo’s palace in Delos flew with a loud screech

Loyalty strode with quick purposeful stride but paused at the halfway destroyed halls in front of her 

“APOLLON!” 

Some of the nymphs cleaning some of the broken shards peeked at the raging Goddess. This is the first time they have seen their Lord’s beloved and she is very, very mad.

“YOU PATHETIC BASTARD GET OUT HERE! HE WAS MY FUCKING FRIEND YOU GODDAMNED MURDERER!”

Perseia screams and the nymphs scurry about while covering their ears as every liquid form in the Delos heated to an intensifying degree.

“Oh Lord Apollo, that is no way to court a maiden!” is what they all despaired.

Apollo on the other hand was in his room. Serenely painting another image of Perseia, draped in gold as every image scatters about in the room, covering entire walls and standing just in spaces available. 

He could hear her rage and the thickness in the air had him anticipating in both delight and dread. 

Smiling dimly as he finished his last stroke, the door in his room equally shattered.

Perseia was seething and her teeth bared and fist clenched as she strode and held the Sun God in the front of his peplos dragging his face down to meet her face equally.

“YOU!–” sea-green eyes turning azure purple as the very air attempts to choke Apollo “BETTER EXPLAIN YOURSELF–”

Golden eyes only blink innocently “I was very thorough then” he spoke, a smile carving it’s into his lips 

A sneer painted into the Goddess’s face as she dropped him in both surprise and disgust, but Apollo brought the hand that grabbed him back “It was very painful to see you know. You– hold that mortal like he was someone important to you, I was very, very envious you see.” He started gathering her in his arms as she thrashed 

“Why did you do that, Kara?” His voice sounded so mournful. Percy’s hand seized out and slapped the God, nails living trails of ichor as Apollo clutched his bleeding face, leaving Percy free.

“You're sick.” Spat Percy, body reeling and hair a mess of curls and her garments were dirty and muddy. He could see dust and mortal blood in her palms and she smelt of death and rage so strong it twisted her features similar to those man-eating nereids in her father’s kingdom.

Apollo looked and could only see resplendence.

Apollo feels he could never look at her with anything else.

Percy then turns away as if the sight of him burns her eyes, eyeing the destroyed exit.

“I don’t want to see you ever again.” 

Shock, disbelief, anger, longing. It surged through him that the impact made Apollo pause because– No she couldn’t this, she can’t–

“NO! Kara I’m sorry I didn’t mean to I– don’t leave–” Apollo throws himself forward knocking the walking goddess battling to free herself.

He could lock her here, he knows. Hide her away and knock her down with his divinity but that would hurt her, and Apollo never could imagine laying harm on his beloved Goddess.

“Oh no–don’t!” she hissed at him, hitting and scratching her way out of his arms “You’re only sorry when he’s already dead you sick fucker!– let go!”

Apollo kept her still murmuring apologies, face desperate “I didn’t mean to–I just did that– I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking alright? He was so near you–so close– I thought if he–he was gone, I thought he was taking you away from me! We were so happy after all–right? We were happy. Dion was always here and someday– someday you will too. I just–just did it because, because I love you–”

Percy stops thrashing. Hope blooms inside Apollo’s chest 

Maybe she’ll forgive him? Apollo will do anything– can do everything just so–

“You love me?” Percy repeated.

 “Yes–Yes! I do. How could I not?” his eyes while golden was pleading. 

Roses, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, bloomed and bloomed like a wish as his eyes faded into lukewarm blue, bright and so, so hopeful.

“You love me.” Apollo frantically nods before he notices her tone. She started to laugh, hysterical and rough, like she just heard something juvenile, she sounded so mocking and–

Waters slides from all sides of the room making a hurricane but Apollo doesn’t let go, his grip only tightened and yet–

He can hear his horses from the Sun chariot in his mind’s eye. While never formally, Apollo was deemed the most powerful of his generation of gods, but for her– he’s vulnerable, willing to be powerless.

Percy kicks him away retching herself free as he drowns and the water pulls him downwards and away from her. 

His Kara only looked at him with cold, very cold eyes.

It’s more painful than seeing her so happy with that mortal man.

Chapter Text

Heads and Tails

She was a fool. Oh, how could she have forgotten? Adonis, Adonis, Adonis, lover of Aphrodite. He was meant to die with or without her presence. But not like this, not like how Apollo ended him; that bright boy with so much potential could have ended more kindly.

“I love you.”

Percy scoffs, making Dion, who was playing chess with her, look up at her in surprise.

Percy sighs. “Not you, darling.”

Little Dion pursed his lips, looking down and giving a hesitant gaze. “Mother…”

Percy finally shook off all her thoughts to focus on her son, who was nibbling meekly on his lips as his gaze darted to her and to his hands.

“What is it, love? Are you tired? We can finish this later if you want,” she told him, giving him an indulgent smile as the little god squirmed a little, much to Percy’s worry.

“Ah– It’s Lord Apollon. I just– when will he come back, mother?” Percy stilled for a moment, a frown, then forced a smile to remain on her lips.

Percy stood from her chair to go to her son’s own chair, bending down to accommodate her child’s small form. “Oh, Dion. I’m afraid Lord Apollon is… quite occupied and won’t see you for a while.”

Dion withered at this, slumping with a pout. “But why? He was always here before, and he said he would always make time!”

Percy soothed him, taking the child into her embrace as she occupied his seat with him in her lap, humming under her breath, but she didn’t respond to him.

“Pater!” Percy calls out, running to the entrance and leaping into her father’s arms as he spins her and embraces her with all the warmth she remembered.

“How are you, my pearl?” Poseidon asked as he brought her down gently, and they started walking around the garden.

Percy bit the inside of her cheek, face looking down and troubled. Sensing his youngest daughter’s distress, Poseidon’s gaze narrows.

“What ails you, daughter? Is it about Apollon?” Poseidon carefully prods.

Percy flushed golden, curls flying away as she huffs. “I don’t want to talk about him!” she snaps and then looks away. “I’m sorry, Pater–I just…”

Poseidon gives a gentle smile that tugs his face. “You can tell me anything, child,” he urged, taking both small hands into his palm.

“I…” Percy hesitates before looking straight into her reflection in his similar sea-green eyes. “I want to stay with you for a while, Pater… if it’s alright– Of course, I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

Percy choked on her words when her father spun her a few times with a grin splitting his face and a thunderous laugh. She knows he would rub it in her mother’s face the wrong way again, and she can already see the screaming match that will happen soon, certain with the smugness oozing off the Sea God as he began a tirade of places in Atlantis he would show her and Dion.

“–Your brother Triton will escort you, you haven’t met him– but you’ll get along, I know.”

He tells her. Percy dreads meeting her brother at this time; perhaps she’ll have a better first impression this time. Though she doubts it.

They sat comfortably in the chaise that Percy always can be found in, overlooking the Gardens. An owl passed them by, signalling her mother’s return at the most inopportune time, grimacing slightly in her cup.

Athena strode in with confident strides as she didn’t acknowledge Poseidon, going straight to Percy and pressing a kiss to her head before angling her body towards what she deemed an intruder of her palace.

“Poseidon,” she coolly greets.

Percy looks away as she imagines her father’s hackles rising at the blatant disrespect.

“Niece,” Poseidon seethes before something flashes in his eyes that makes Athena eye him warily.

“I have joyful news to share,” he starts, pushing away his empty cup as he lands an assessing gaze on the Goddess of Wisdom.

“Perseia… has deemed it the proper time to finally stay in Atlantis, where, of course, was her proper home–”

Athena’s grey eyes blazed with anger. “No.” she bared her sharpening canines. “You. Will. Not… take my daughter away from me.”

Poseidon had also started to stand from his seat. “We’ll see about that, you selfish, impertinent woman!”

Before they could leap and go to rip each other’s throats, Percy hurriedly ran between them to diffuse the situation.

“No, no! So just let’s all calm down. Like grown adults,” she hurriedly speaks, batting her father’s trident away and deflecting Athena’s claws. “Mother! I will come back again very soon!– I will! I just want to get to know my siblings, yes? I have older sisters I’ve heard!”

Athena snarls, and Poseidon gets dropped on by something from one of Athena’s owls, which Percy can guess is feces.

They finally stood apart without attacking each other, and Percy heaved a sigh.

“Perseia should have established her own Palace on the Sea,” Poseidon declares.

Athena looked like she would have the Sea God skinned alive then and there. “Her place is here with me, not in that drab wet place you call your Kingdom… Uncle,” Athena sneers.

“Well, that drab wet place was where you also grew, if you must have kindly forgotten… Niece.”

Something like pain flashed in her mother’s face that was quickly snuffed out, replaced by a domineering and haughty visage.

The two stare down at each other before Athena straightens. “Fine,” she forcefully grits out.

Percy blinks in surprise before hugging her mother, who takes her physical affection easily. “But– I will have a condition.”

Poseidon looked at her irritably and huffed. “Out with it, Niece.”

Athena smirks. “My daughter must take a handmaiden from my Palace. I wouldn’t expect any of your… servants will be sufficient enough to attend to Perseia’s needs.”

Poseidon sneers before contemplating, crossing his arms as he glares poisonously at the Goddess; her full smug look is returned.

“Alright,” he concedes.

Perseia only looked inquiringly at her mother. “Which handmaiden, mother?”

Grey eyes flicked to the entrance as an owl was flying in their direction; following it was a Nymph Perseia didn’t recognize.

“Greetings, my Lady Loyalty. I am Daphne, daughter of Peneus. I will be yours to command.”

When Athena had demanded the gods swear never to force her daughter into marriage or cause her harm, little had escaped. But it didn’t mean that no one tried and succeeded.

Zephyrus was by no means a threat, and when Wisdom had scoured for oaths, he was too busy attending to his duties to pay much attention to the chaos in Olympus. By the time he returned, every matter seemed to be settled, and the last he heard, the now Goddess of Loyalty had a godling of her own.

The God of the West Wind wasn’t particularly interested, but as most deities in the Greek pantheon were, he was also… curious.

He heard whispers and quiet murmurs of the fight between Apollo and the goddess after the god, in a fit of jealousy, had apparently killed her mortal lover. Zephyrus snorted at the news as he craned his hearing toward another piece of gossip—Aphrodite also crying over the same mortal’s death.

Curious indeed.

Although he was more interested in the rumors of the beauty of the Prince of Sparta and wanted to take a look, he dismissed his previous plan.

Gods were horrible gossip, and every piece of information was passed down to even the most minor of gods. When he heard of Loyalty returning to the Palace of Wisdom after a trip to her father’s kingdom, Zephyrus hastily took the chance and sneaked in to finally see what everyone had described as the most beautiful goddess of the pantheon.

A very dangerous and messy insult to Aphrodite if she heard—but she seemed too occupied to pay attention for now.

Zephyrus had seen and had his fair share of mortals and nymphs with arresting beauty, but Perseia was… simply enthralling.

Her clothes clung to every curve of her body, and Zephyrus drank in the sight with naked abandon as she bid farewell to her brother Triton, her son waving at the Sea God.

Her sea-green eyes were perfectly polished and gleaming, set upon a face that could start wars and destroy empires. He was very familiar with her kind—how utterly unfortunate, or fortunate, it was that she was no vulnerable mortal, but a goddess.

They say mortals were just the exact reflection of their creators.

Love. Lust. Greed. Sin.

Mortals were as greedy, but were no match for the hunger of gods—and the God of the West Wind looked at the sight of Loyalty and he knew, acknowledged, and welcomed the dark embrace of want that sprouted inside him.

No other thoughts occupied his mind. Not the wife whom he often left, and not the sad and mournful eyes she would cast at him before looking away to pay more attention to blessing mortal gardens.

No.

Zephyrus looked at her and knew that he would have her.

He had his chance when Hera conducted her annual feast. Amassing the courage to approach the goddess who was left alone in the corner, but before he could go near her, his sight was blocked by other gods who wanted to talk to him.

Gritting his teeth in irritation, Zephyrus politely replied to every single one of them.

It was then that Zeus addressed the crowd with his usual welcomings before those deep blue eyes turned to Zephyrus.

“It seems the chaos with the northern pantheon has ceased, then.” Zephyrus bowed and nodded when his king addressed his mission—and the reason he hadn’t been harassed by Athena for an oath before. But it would be no moment longer now.

“Indeed, my King. The rebellion died off after a few scuffles.”

With a pleased nod, Zeus raised a careless wave. “You may have your reward, then. I’ll grant you a single request.”

Hera at his side raised a brow at her husband’s generosity, also sensing his good mood—her face scrunching after concluding that another mistress must have particularly pleased him. She didn’t dwell on Zeus having walked an hour earlier just to look at Perseia’s little fragile son.

Zephyrus also blinked in shock before composing himself, but then resolve overtook him.

“Then if my King could grant me the hand of Perseia in marriage, I would want nothing else.”

He boldly stated.

There was a choking sound. And the room suddenly became too warm.

He didn’t notice the gleam in Zeus’s eyes as he regarded him. Athena wore an already furious expression.

“My daughter is no prize, Father!”

Poseidon also had a miffed look on his face. “You dare lower my daughter, a princess of Atlanta, as a second wife?” he spat. There was an impending warning in his tone.

Zephyrus stubbornly refused to look at either parent of his future bride. They may be her parents, but Zeus was the king—and his words were law—

“No.”

Zephyrus blinked in surprise. Zeus had said it calmly. Too calmly—like a storm in descent. This wasn’t what Zeus was normally like, and it was dangerous.

“But—” he protested, but Zeus’ flinty stare silenced him.

“You won’t have the Goddess of Loyalty as a mere second wife—a position beneath her station. And marriage, as tradition, is reserved for the father’s permission,” Zeus excused.

“Permission I will never grant!” Poseidon roared.

Athena hissed in a corner before dragging both her daughter and grandson out.

“You may request something else,” Zeus commanded, his voice laced with power.

Zephyrus nearly spat in anger, but he held on. With gritted teeth and a cunning that reflected in his grey eyes,

“Then I request that my marriage be forfeited.”

It was Hera’s turn to gasp in outrage, her hand gripping the arm of her throne as she glared venomously at the god—looking at him as if she wanted nothing more than to squash him beneath her heel.

“You utter despicable rat—” Hera cursed.

Zeus waved her away. “Then you shall have your request.”

Zephyrus smiled triumphantly. From what he had observed, Poseidon had merely forsaken him as a husband for Perseia because she would have been a second wife—but it’s different now, isn’t it? She’ll be his first and the love of his life for eternity.

The God of the West Wind was too caught up in his single success. He quickly thanked Zeus before fleeing to prepare his courtship gifts—it would be a lot of work, after all.

Artemis glanced nervously at her brother, who was calmly swirling his goblet of ambrosia.

Apollo put the goblet down with a thud—one that Artemis was glad didn’t destroy their table—as the Sun God watched Zephyrus hurrying back, his gaze tracking the feathered wings until they disappeared into a corner.

Golden orbs bled into the hue of a burnt sun, and Artemis hoped for a quick death for the god who had made the mistake of looking at someone he shouldn’t have.

Chapter Text

Reverse Crown

Daphne does not have ill impressions of her goddess. She supposed it helped that the goddess was too much of a kindly disposition to even cause a negative stir in her direction. But as the Athenide’s primary handmaiden, she comes with information that the Muses could have drowned a god to know they could gossip on.

Her duties were not even particularly anything laborious, except perhaps her Mistress’s habit of collecting rare jewels and craft, as well as masking their divinity to go in throes with the mortals and listen to their mortal lives, which Daphne thinks isn’t a bad thing at all. Although perhaps Lady Athena would make a fuss that her daughter had again become too close to mortals than what was necessary.

That mortal’s death from Apollo came fresh to her mind.

She remembers the colourful words Daphne—in time—learned to tune out when her Mistress would hear of another gift the Sun God had given—continually seeking her forgiveness and approval. Even then, Daphne knows that her Lady’s eerie wasn’t one to subdue with time, and it will perhaps take a millennium or a very convincing act to have the Lady Perseia talk without wanting to carve out the Sun God’s neck.

Daphne doesn’t have much opinion for mortals, although she could admit that some of them have a good eye for crafts.

They are in Sparta, and Lady Loyalty, dressed in her mortal garb, perused through some merchant wares with Daphne, who kept hold of their coins.

In front of them were necklaces and rings, from an array of silvers to golds as well as pearls. Her Mistress seemed to glare at the glinting golds before huffing and caressing a pearl as big as her thumb. Perseia had also decided on her purchases of headpieces with emeralds and sapphires.

“I think this would suit you.” Daphne blinked in awareness as her Mistress said contemplatively. In her hand was a brow chain decorated with drop pearls and moonstones that shimmered in the pale sunlight.

Lady Perseia was frowning, inspecting Daphne’s garb and the curtain of veil on her head and crowning her hair, which every priestess and follower of hers wore with pride in association with the Goddess of Loyalty.

Daphne also knows that her Mistress is prone to changing styles of fashion on whims and had also taken fancy in sharp hairpins, which she had asked Hephaestus to create for her, fastened with feathers and flowers that would only look good on her goddess and garish in somebody else’s head.

Even Loyalty’s followers were sceptical of everybody else, with her priestesses dressed in clothes more commonly seen on expensive whores—but more grandly—though Daphne supposed it’s not the clothes but the showing of skin that the other mortals were discomfited with.

Perseia waved at the merchant mortal, who eagerly took the other purchase to wrap into the growing pile.

They were in Sparta more particularly because of the celebration held for Prince Hyacinthus—the Muse Clio’s son, Daphne remembered. They’re not here for the Prince though; her Lady only came here because a celebration meant that merchants and artisans would populate the place to sell their wares, and Perseia is very fond of crafters, being one herself, even if it isn’t her domain.

A flash of pity swells inside Daphne at the image of Apollo’s burning gifts.

“Daphne.” At her goddess’s call, Daphne took a step forward as she was handed the wrapped jewellery.

“Please take these to the temple first. I’d peruse for a while, and tell Mother I’ll come back later,” Perseia stated, gaze fluttering to other carts and into bolts of silks.

Daphne obediently inclined a small bow.

“Yes… my lady. I'll return shortly.”

Perseia squinted before shaking her head. “No need. Enjoy your free time, Daphne. I won’t have you working when there is so much excitement today! So go on—you may come back, but to enjoy the festivities, you hear me?” Her Mistress mischievously winked at her before disappearing within the crowds.

Daphne blinked dazedly, then softly smiled.

Her goddess never seems to change.

Daphne did indeed come back to the flurry of people who were enjoying festivities for themselves. She awkwardly shuffles through the mass while chewing her lip.

The streets are still armed to the teeth with noisy mortals—an uncanny scene compared to the usual militaristic discipline of the state, unlike when Daphne last visited—perhaps a millennium ago.

The crowd shifted suddenly when the sound of hooves and carriages filled the already noisy atmosphere.

She momentarily swerved away when an arm shot out in her direction, slapping the insidious thing as her beautiful face twisted.

“Oh.”

Daphne scowls as she puts a considerable distance from the mortal, who seems to pause. Her lips curled in disgust before, with a sniff of disdain, she turned away, ready to leave for her goddess’s temple.

“My lady, wait—” a surprisingly soft voice called to her. Daphne for a second faced the owner of the voice—something divine, but not. Biting her lower lip, thinking it must be one of the demigods under her Mistress’s protection.

Violet eyes. The colour of Lord Dionysus’s precious grapes when fully matured, but pale on the edges like—Daphne blinks away her thoughts.

“Do you need something?” she questioned.

There was a distinctive flush on the edges of his cheeks that was hidden by the riotous dark curls he sported. Daphne raised a prim brow at his silence.

“If there is none, if you’ll excuse me.” Daphne paused to look at his face a bit more, marking a familiarity with the Muses.

Must be one of them is his mother.

“Th-There is something!” he hurriedly said after her listlessly. Daphne closed her eyes in irritation.

Sensing her impending ire, the youth hurried to put in, “I had noticed you had been circling the same place for some time. Ah—I just w-want—” his voice trembled as the corner of Daphne’s eye twitched and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“If—If you’d want for an escort, I-I…” His voice was losing its volume, and cheeks aflame for some reason that Daphne didn’t know.

She only narrowed a piercing stare at the youth, who seemed to make himself smaller under her gaze—a feat when he was quite a bit like the warriors Sparta boasts, even if covered head to toe with a cloak.

“Do I seem lost to you?” Daphne sardonically asked.

A merchant shouted something behind them.

His violet eyes flickered in hesitance, and he seemed jittery like the nymphs in her goddess’s temple. Daphne’s lips curled a little at the image.

“No,” he mumbled, which Daphne could barely catch.

“B-But the offer stands, if—if y-you’d like, my lady.” He ducked his gaze downwards as if waiting for her judgment.

Daphne privately feels like going back to rest in her chambers and awaiting her goddess’s arrival. But—

"Enjoy the festivities, you hear me?"

Her Lady Loyalty’s voice echoes at the back of her mind.

Daphne frowned deeper. The youth in front of her only ducked lower than before—not that she noticed.

Deciding to follow her Mistress’s wishes, Daphne sighed in her resolve before nodding at the youth, who seemed to light up like the lanterns that were beginning to fill the streets.

“I’ll take your offer, then.”

Perseia had no particular place in mind after the pearls and satins failed to keep her attention.

Her museless wanderings brought her to the river, as she heard melodic giggles brought upon by the river nymphs nearby.

The sun was nearly leaving the sky, and breathtaking hues darted and painted the great eclipsing canvas.

A nymph seemed to eye her curiously. “What brought the Loyalty upon this simple abode?”

The others looked at Perseia in bewilderment, seeming to be her sisters. Perseia had been known to any creature that lives and breathes in water as the daughter of Poseidon, but she was never particularly often seen in freshwater dwellings.

Perseia smiled softly at the crowd of nymphs her presence brought. “Nothing in particular. Just where the wind had brought me, I followed.”

The nymphs tittered and whispered among themselves.

“You should be careful then, Princess,” one of them spoke, her blue hair shimmering and long.

Perseia blinked slowly. “Why is that so?”

The nymph seemed to hesitate before swimming near her to a large stone. Curious, Perseia leaned down as the nymph indicated to get closer.

“A wind god sought to covet where he thinks the sun erred,” she conspiratorially whispered before dunking down into the river and swimming back to her sisters.

Perseia’s eyes widened, lips thinning. She stood straighter—calming herself. Perseia’s domains might be powerful, but she is but a young godling in a time when the gods thrived.

A wind god.

Which one?

Shaking her head, she noticed the nymphs who were giggling and singing suddenly halted. Warning bells rang behind her ears as, in one second, every nymph and creature scurrying about dunked into the waters.

Her only warning was a fierce flutter of wind as a hand grabbed her by the waist. Perseia didn’t have time to scream, as her mouth was also covered. 

Tears filled her vision as she struggled. Her claws sharpened as she dug into the arms that held her painfully.

“Mo—!” Perseia cried out.

She only felt her thoughts fade as she felt the sting in her cheeks carving its way into her mouth.

He fucking smacked her!

Perseia snarled as she struggled even more. She could feel herself being lifted and the sound of wings. Panic settled into her gut as she summoned the river waters to her will, forming a hurricane as she had it attack her penetrator. Her leash mildly lessened—a pained scream tore from her kidnapper's throat—and with all her might, Perseia tore away from him.

Her fall on the river’s shore was agonizing. The sharp stones were spilled with her golden ichor. Perseia bit back a scream, mustering her strength to stand, mouth opening to call her mother’s name—

“I don’t think so, my love.” A deep voice whispered darkly behind her ear as her mouth was covered again and she was dragged deeper into the forest, away from the waters.

The stones cut into her clothing, and she could feel hands threatening to break the threads as if unwrapping a gift.

Her hand, that had made it out to break away, scratched through the ground and gripped a random stone, and without hesitation smashed it into the god’s face, whom she could not recognize. His larger wings shoved her away, making her smack right into a boulder.

Her vision was clouding when she heard him whispering again, “You're a right trouble, Princess. Your father won’t be pleased. But… he couldn’t do anything if he wanted to preserve his daughter’s honour, isn’t that right?”

It was the hands again—before they suddenly halted. She couldn’t hear anything; the air seemed to pause. The only thing she could think of was that no honour would stop her from carving this god’s face after all of this was done—if she could get a chance.

The hands that were ripping through her clothes stopped, and Perseia waited with bated breath. Something golden flickered in her peripheral. Then a howling scream as the breaking sounds—of what could only be bone—echoed throughout the woods.

A sob tore out her throat. Her neck felt painful.

“Kara,” she heard.

“Forgive me—I haven’t seen this sooner.”

It was Apollo, of all things, and she could feel herself laughing at the irony. The pain seemed to abate as she rested in the familiar arms, and the scent of pine entered her senses.

He’s healing her.

When her strength had come back to her, she didn’t waste a second putting distance between her and Apollo. She could see the flash of pain on his face as his expression fell before it eased.

“I have already informed Athena, and she’s on her way,” he told her. “I assure you that he will face no mercy at Father’s council.”

She didn’t even turn to properly look at him, thinking of hastening her mother so she would not need to be near him for more than necessary.

Still, he saved her, didn’t he?

Perseia frowned deeply, turning away and slumping, curling into herself, whispering—

“Thank you.”

A soft smile graced his features. “You’re always welcome.” A troubled look then approached the soft edges.

“Kara… I would not offer you my regret, but I would always be remorseful for causing you pain,” he told her.

Adonis was still a fresh wound. Perseia did not dare to forget.

Perseia suddenly snapped her burning gaze toward him. “Stop—” she bit out. “If you have nothing more to say other than that, I would appreciate it if you would say nothing at all.”

Apollo’s countenance crumbled. “I was—”

She groaned out loud. “No, you are not.” Her expression was vile toward him before turning away at the sight of him.

Perseia suddenly stood, wanting to get away. Apollo hurriedly followed.

“Where are you going? You're in a delicate situation!” he fussed.

“Away from things that cause me harm,” Perseia said coldly, as pain shot through her foot.

Apollo grabbed her delicately by the waist as she stumbled. “There is no more harm, as long as I am here, and Athena along with Poseidon is coming.”

Perseia stubbornly wrenched herself away from him, glaring at her feet as they betrayed her, before glancing up at him. “What—no more harm? You're still here, aren’t you? What makes you think you're finer than that wretch of a god? You are no better than him.” she spat

Her lovely face contorted into a sneer so similar to Poseidon’s, but with a finer blade that dug into Apollo’s whole being.

The Sun God stubbornly hefted her up and carried her, even as she cursed him and shouted her mother’s name.

Athena and Poseidon arrived a second later, fussing over the tattered form of their child, as the river nearby seemed to chill at the Sea God’s wrath. But vengeance would be served later, and they both had more important matters to take care of.

Both Olympians had beholden him with a grateful look before dispersing and leaving Apollo alone.

Well—not alone.

You are no better than him.

You are no better than him.

You are no better than him.

Apollo slowly walked toward Zephyrus’s twitching form. His golden eyes glowed at the darkening forest with no creature in sight.

He unfastened a gleaming blade, as pale as the moonlight that bathed his golden form. His lips curled in what could be a beautiful smile—even as his stare shone with cruelty.

Apollo took his time to map the wind god with his gaze, looking at the pair of feathered wings the god sported, and into his silver hair, and the pale skin covered with bruises—courtesy of Apollo—and finally, he smiled.

It wasn’t a pleasant one.

“You have lovely wings, don’t you, Zephyrus?” Apollo said conversationally. Tilting his head slightly to the side, he added

“Mind if I borrow them?”

The wind god quivered as fear smeared his face.

He didn’t even realise that he was already screaming.

The river nymphs and creatures in the forest then bore first-hand witness as Apollo methodically plucked each feather from the God of West Wind’s prized wings.

He then slowly had the god skinned alive while humming an unfamiliar tune. Zephyrus had stopped screaming by then, but his mouth remained wide open in torture.

In one last moment, after Apollo had done away with feathers and skin, he tore out the wings still attached to the disgraced god’s back—splashing golden ichor at every corner, even onto Apollo’s robes.

Chapter Text

Morningstar
.

The air smells of lilacs and azaleas.

The carved white golds that painted the walls of her Goddess’s Temple were bathed in the rising sun.

Daphne breathes in the morning air … taking the breeze tinged with pained devotion.

Sweet 

The kind that rots and lasts until it kills – silently. 

Daphne loyally knelt cushioned beneath the towering altar. The bronze table gleamed with finely crafted gifts to the best of spring's produce and papers detailing a creation yet to be made by man.

Loyalty favours those who create something new.

Knowledge, Craft, Artistry branched off tradition, whatever is unique or even queer as long as made out of a deep search for something more.

Daphne murmurs her prayers singing her hymns. Lilacs and Azaleas shifted into the smell of sea breeze, of smoke in reefs and the sound of crashing waves.

And something whispers “The ignorance of men in my mother’s city annoys me.” Loyalty murmurs in a droll manner. 

She isn’t angry – Yet.

Daphne bows slowly.

“Find a woman named Agnodice. Her head and blood will decorate the floors with the same stone I blessed – soon.” Her lilting notes turned sharper. 

“What I loathe the most, are men who think themselves better while they kiss mine and my mother’s feet for mercy.” The air bends to the pressure, whirling and suffocating.

Daphne breathes.

“Now go. And make use of the tower beside my temple as intended.”

Perseia leaves certainly to visit another temple of hers to ascertain that no man dares to taint it again.

“As you command.”

Agnodice of Athens kneels – chained and bloody, her mouth removed of tongue remains muffled. The slashes that were beaten into her sun-dried skin were repeatedly wetted with salt water.

It is not Athena nor the Athenide that will judge her sins. For she had neither transgressed against the Goddess.

Her wrongs lay solely for she breached a societal rule that deprived her of being simply born a woman. 

The court of men encircled her like crows would look at their prey. They look at her like one would a dead body.

A herald clutching a scroll no doubt to announce her crimes. 

He stood beside her, she thinks she’d die of bleeding instead of being quartered by horses at this state. 

Surprisingly she doesn’t mind.

The air strangely smelled like the sea.
“Agnodice of Athens has sinned,” the herald intones, his voice ringing with disdain. “For the crimes of taking a man’s identity and tainting the purity of Athens’s women…”

The first charge was the only one she listened to—even in her near-dying state, rolling her eyes inwardly, ignoring the rest.

“By the honorable court’s decree, she shall be quartered by seven horses.”

Agnodice accepted her fate. In silent prayer to her Patron Goddess. Perseia is not the Goddess of knowledge nor healers, but was the Patron known to any rule breakers. 

Thine Goddess of Courage and War.                  Hear my lament.

Rules that even the God of thieves sometimes does not dare to scheme around with.

Smirking, “It was a life well-lived, My Lady Loyalty,” she thought, her gratitude unwavering. “From protecting me in Alexandria to this day, I thank you.”

She remembers the grateful look of women she helped in childbirth. Her lips curled in a pained smile “My foolishness finally caught up to me, it seems."

Her consciousness slips slowly, her body feels numb from pain or her soul is getting dragged to the Underworld. 

She was thankful it was painless.

“You are awake,” a soft voice observes.

Soft.

Agnodice wasn’t lining up to be ferried in the waters of the Underworld.

She opens her eyes to the stars. She realized groggily it was a bed’s ceiling, a richly decorated tapestry of constellations like rivers of gleaming diamonds, winking at her blurred eyesight.

She recognizes the High Priestess of Perseia waiting patiently at the bedside.

Derenea, if memory serves—adorned in an exquisite pale blue robe, the kind only Priestesses of Loyalty may wear without scorn as degraded women or prostitutes.

Athenian women are covered head to toe, rarely permitted beyond their homes. Yet Priestesses of Perseia wore garments baring shoulders—a thick embroidered layer covered the chest, with sheer fabric outlining the bodice, cinched by a belt at the waist. The long layered skirt blended thick fabric with airy, uncut sheer beneath, shifting elegantly with movement.

A thin coronet adorned their heads, securing veils that flowed like poured starlight, glimmering in the light, with pearls woven into their long hair.

They were the envy of Athens’s women, many joining for the freedom and protection the temple offered.

“Rest a while longer if your wounds still pain you,” Derenea says, her voice gentle yet commanding.

“Greetings, Your Holiness,” Agnodice replies, her voice faltering as etiquette returns too late. She pauses, stunned—she can speak!

Her surprise must have been evident.

Derenea’s green eyes gleam with amusement. “No need for formality now. Our Goddess summons you to the hall tomorrow. For now, rest.”

The High Priestess departs after soft prayers, leaving Agnodice to linger in the unfamiliar feather bed.

No pain lingered in her body. A strange vitality coursed through her, surpassing even the elixirs of Alexandria sold to kings for prolonged life.

She stood, her bare feet touching the warm marble floor, drawn to double wooden doors flanked by statues of Priestesses holding tilted vases, with water suspended in air.

Peering outside the door is a vast hallway with plants and their vines painting the walls whilst blooming with peculiar glowing flowers with seven-tipped petals sharp edged but forming a delicate burst in the inner surface looking quite stunning they softly swayed, safely tucked in curling jade green vines.

Curious, Agnodice poked the sharp-looking tip then hissed as the pain registered — still undeterred the tips of her fingers gingerly caressed the soft inside and she leaned her nose to smell the sweet incense-like scent.

“Careful, they’re delicate,” a voice warns behind her. Causing Agnodice to turn swiftly in surprise.

Intense blue eyes the same color as lightning strike blinked curiously at her. Agnodice leaned away from the flower, chastised.

“Forgive me,” she says. “Their beauty drew me in.”

The blue-eyed Priestess nods. “You’re new, aren’t you? Her Holiness spoke of you, though she said you were still recovering.”

Her gaze assesses Agnodice, then meets her eyes. Agnodice feels lost.

“Indeed, she bade me to rest,” Agnodice murmurs, missing the security of her male garb.

The Priestess turns toward a corridor, glancing back. “Come, then. If you are to join us, you must meet our sisters.”

She strides ahead, Agnodice struggling to keep up with her pace.

The corridor blooms with the same flowers, lighting up the marble walls, their presence oddly comforting.

“Pardon my curiosity, my lady,” Agnodice ventures, “but these flowers—are they known beyond the temple? I’ve not read them before or seen them.”

They passed by tapestries depicting Perseia’s birth in Athens, and Priestesses underneath it working on a loom. They greeted Agnodice and her accompanying Priestess as they passed by. 

“They grow only here,” the Priestess replies. 
“Our Goddess cultivated them in her youth, decreeing they thrive solely in her temples.”

“Their name?” Agnodice asks.

“Some call them Aegis, outsiders mostly. Within these walls, we name them… Annabeth.”

A strange name, Agnodice thought, yet fitting for Lady Loyalty’s temple.

Their walk was soon halted as the Priestess opened similarly large double doors. Inside is an expansive chamber with dripping crystallised chandeliers, beaten white and gleaming like the sun and beneath it is an intricately designed fountain spewing a reddish–purple liquid, surrounded by Priestesses with instruments, embroidery, and lively chatter. A dark purple carpet, a hue in which nobles kill each other for, cushions the floor.

And here were Agnodice’s stained feet treading on fabric that could buy a castle.

“Merakia!” a Priestess calls, waving. “Join us, and bring your companion!”

Eyes turn to Agnodice, who shifts uncomfortably under their curious gazes.

“She’s the new sister Her Holiness spoke of,” a red-haired Priestess announces.

“No sandals? Poor thing,” another murmurs.

“She could aid me in the orchard,” a third suggested.

Merakia massages her temple at the murmurs. An older Priestess, Aresteia, raises her cup, tapping it with a spoon to silence the room.

“My thanks, Aresteia,” Merakia says, clearing her throat.

“Sisters, this is Agnodice. Henceforth, she is one of us, her duties will be guided by Her Holiness. In the meantime, we are to welcome her and teach her our ways.”

Her gaze sweeps the crowd. “Questions?”

A dark-haired Priestess, veil askew, raises a hand from her haphazard seat on the floor. 

“May we give her a proper welcome?” Her grey eyes gleam with excitement.

Merakia’s composed expression twists slightly. Agnodice glances at her.

“Ensure all is restored by sunset,” Merakia replies, her tone sharp yet indulgent.

“A yes!” the Priestess shouts, pumping her fist.

The crowd erupts in excitement, fabrics tossed skyward. Agnodice is pulled to the chamber’s center as lyres and drums strike a wild symphony. Golden cups appear, dipped in the fountain’s reddish-purple wine.

A Priestess tugs Agnodice to a silk blanket strewn with fruits, cheese, and bread.

“Tell us everything,” she urges. “You’re the one the council sought to kill, yes? Fear not—you’re under our Goddess’s protection now. And the women you rallied to halt your execution? Historic!”

Agnodice flinches, then relaxes, accepting a cup of wine.

“I fainted,” she admits sheepishly. “I know nothing of what followed.”

The following disappointed groans draw her laughter.

Daphne moves swiftly through the Palace of Wisdom, seeking the garden where Perseia often lingers.

The Athenide holds a knife and flute, her gaze dark as if contemplating their ruin. Daphne hesitates before the goddess’s murderous air.
Perseia sets both down, and Daphne exhales, bowing low and removing her hood.

“Daphne,” Perseia greets, her voice warm yet imperious, gesturing to a seat.

Daphne gladly made her way on the cushioned seat.

Perseia shooed a fae away from her nails. 

“Your will is fulfilled, My Lady,” Daphne reports, fingers tracing a conjured chalice’s rim. “Agnodice will teach our Priestesses medicine, and the temple shall offer aid to ailing women.”

It was a plan Perseia had whispered in fleeting moments, a vision of fully educated women in Athens. Daphne noted she never spoke of equality with its men.

Why seek equality, when ambition aims higher?

Perseia tucks a curl behind her ear, tapping the flute. “Well done.” Her sea-green eyes darken with unreadable thoughts. “Continue hearing prayers on my behalf from girls seeking refuge in the temple.”

Daphne tastes a sweet-sour tang. Perseia’s nail scratches the flute.

“Should the council protest our Priestesses learning to heal,” she says, lips curling like blooming roses, “sever their voices and uproot their influence.”

The flute snaps like a discarded trinket in her grasp.

“As you command, My Lady,” Daphne replies, unwavering.

Perseia had always had thoughts stretched so far away that Daphne couldn’t grasp even a thread of them. Only women are allowed to protect the temple in Athens, while only boys sought protection and offered Priesthood, in her temple in Sparta. 

Young women who entered as Priestesses are allowed to marry and leave as they did not vow to serve for a lifetime. Only women of four decades are given higher stations inside the temple and are made to give their oaths of service to the Goddess of loyalty — binding them to her for eternity.

The Hierarchy in Sparta is different, as young boys, mostly those who couldn’t survive the brutal society they were born in are taken to the Temple of Perseia. They are nursed, trained and properly educated. They are also allowed to marry and leave but those who stayed would be judged personally by Perseia before taking their oath-binding vows.

Most Kings built rapport with the Goddess of Loyalty, and Sparta with its vast army and society centered on war — Loyalty is critical. But with its gleaming reputation, it has a cruel reputation for abandoning boys who did not meet these expectations. And a crueller fate awaited them if their faces were cursed enough to attract unwanted attention. 

“Monsters wear many faces.” Perseia once mused “Most of them are men, and many of them are fathers, while some of them are queens and kings. My Aunt only protects maidens, and the gods of youth offer more spectacle than safety. Daphne, should I tread their path, remind me.”

Her other temples had different customs depending on the regions and Daphne has not been ordered to oversee any of them yet. 

Daphne quietly left to follow her orders, taking a breath as the halls of the Temple welcomed her. 

Ygeara, a senior Priestess, bows lightly. “Your Holiness, a visitor seeks you,” she says softly. “He has returned daily, insisting on an audience.”

Daphne’s brow furrows. “Has he named his purpose?”

Ygeara shakes her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Only that he must speak with you—each day, without fail.”

Daphne pauses, then nods. “Summon him.”

Better to resolve this swiftly.

Ygeara’s smile deepens. “At once, Your Holiness.”

What entered wasn’t what Daphne expected. She had her scrolls vanish, as the steps echoed beyond the doors. The whispers of the golden flowers her mistress so loved glowed dimly in the excess afternoon light.

Then those damning purple eyes meet hers. 

His dark curly hair seemed to have grown longer. He was clean-shaven and youthful as the first light of dawn. 

Daphne blinked owlishly at the sight of him as he smiled — relieved like he was seeing something he had been searching for so long.

“Greetings, Your Holiness,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble of distant pages as her nose is invaded with the scent of rain and parchment.

“You are far from home, my lord,” Daphne replies, her tone cool.

So far, incredibly far from home that his visit couldn’t be a coincidence.

Hyacinthus of Sparta does not belong in Athens. 

Green eyes penetrated his lean hulking form. Purple eyes seemingly trying to catch her gaze once more directly, but Daphne evaded him.

He stands, not as Sparta’s heir, but as a man faltering with nerves. “I came to see you,” he says, hesitating. “Forgive my abruptness, but… since that day, I have not seen you.”

Daphne sighs. “If your purpose lacks weight, my lord, I have duties to attend to. Enjoy Athens’s hospitality.”

She turns, a clear dismissal

It was an obvious signal for him to leave but Hyacinthus seemed to find some steel in him to stay

“I know it is bold, even profane, to seek your hand in courtship,” he says,

Daphne’s hand stills on the fresh scrolls she was intent on opening, her head whipping toward him.

Hyacinthus of Sparta stood there a husk of the finely bred warrior his country boasted. A state that arranged physically fit individuals to produce strong children. 

And here he was, asking for your hand in courtship. Her mind mocked.

“Do you grasp the weight of your words?” she snaps, eyes blazing. “In these sacred halls?”

She looked at him in a mixture of astonishment and bewilderment. 

Hyacinthus momentarily looked frightened, remembering the tales of Priestesses punished for being accused of tainting their Patron’s halls. “Forgive me,” he stammers, bowing. “I spoke rashly.”

Daphne gazes upward, nursing a headache. “If that is all, return to Sparta. Do not come here again.”

Hyacinthus looked at her with a pained expression. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes are looking lost. He looked like a tragedy reborn and crushed beneath Daphne’s heels.

Mortals’ souls shine brightest in love

Daphne ignores that strange sensation in her chest. She remembers that Demigods, even as strongly blessed as Hyacinthus, carry a weight that Daphne wanted to be far away from. 

It cannot be.

Not this time.

Daphne is no maiden swayed by love’s promises, she is not an unwritten myth yet to be told, even if there exists one. She belongs at her Mistress’s side, not to gods or men.

“Silly girl. Don’t you know …” Perseia's voice whispers

“How envying it is, to be etched in eternity for how much you are loved?”

A single tear rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped it away just as fast.

I won’t be the tale you told me before, my lady.

“Not this time,” Daphne vows, stubborn