A Call and an Answer

The grave was shallow.

Clawed and dug into the black earth by bony hands, it was barely more than a small hole in the ground; not even large enough for a child. Here in the hard soil of the underworld, it was the best he could do.

Even though his every being rebelled against it, Nico di Angelo didn't have the time to do it properly. As soon as his skeletal servants were done, he had them step away and threw his offerings into the pit: a couple of pomegranate seeds and an amphora of Lemnian wine. It was by no means a proper meal, even for the dead, but he hadn't managed to scrape up any better from his father's palace. It would have to do. He stepped up to the edge. "Bianca di Angelo!" he called out. "Show yourself!" His voice only cracked slightly.

The ghosts of Asphodel all around him shifted restlessly. A few moved to try and reach for the food, but none of them was who he'd called for and his Spartan skeletons blocked them from entering the pit. Most others remained in apathy – or in waiting whether someone would answer the call.

The minutes stretched out torturously. Time passed differently down here, but Nico knew exactly how long it had been by the fast rhythm of his heartbeat as he stared into the void. He was beginning to grow desperate with waiting. He had searched and called for his sister throughout the underworld, but his voice had faded, unheard, every time. Bianca didn't answer.

In some distant part of his heart that he yet refused to accept, Nico already knew what that meant. Bianca wasn't here anymore. She had moved on. And he should have been happy for her, but instead all he felt were the cold tears falling down his face. Down here, where only the ghosts of the dead could see him, he allowed himself to cry, finally.

He'd needed her. He knew it was selfish, but he needed somebody to talk to. With Bianca gone, he was now truly alone – with his loss, and with his stupid, stupid feelings, which should have long faded by now, but hadn't.

"You can always come back to Camp. You have a home here." Annabeth Chase had told him after the Battle of Manhattan. Standing there, smiling at him encouragingly. With Percy by her side.

Sure. A home. As if that would ever work.

But he had a home now, Nico thought defiantly. In the world of the living, there was no place for him, so he'd be with the dead. He was good at dealing with them; they were so much easier to talk to than the people above. He didn't need anyone else. The Ghost King was himself enough.

He was abruptly taken out of his thoughts when, in the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure move towards the grave. This ghost was different than the others. It was brighter and more formed than those around it, and it seemed to be moving with purpose. In the twisting grey mist, Nico thought he saw the outline of a girl.

His skeletal minions moved to stop her, keeping her away from the offerings. "Wait!" Nico called them back. His heart was beating faster with a tiny sliver of hope. He hastily wiped away the traces of tears from his cheeks. "Let her pass!"

The ghost seemed to be looking at him. She knelt down in the pit and reached for the pomegranates.

When she stood up again, she was a girl with long, auburn hair, golden eyes and a sad smile. She was about Nico's age. Her loose, dirty clothes looked like they didn't belong in the 21st century.

"Bianca?" Nico asked hoarsely.

He reached out, trembling, but his hand passed right through her. Of course it did.

The girl shook her head sadly. She didn't look at all like Bianca di Angelo. "I'm sorry; I'm not the one you are looking for. She is gone; she chose rebirth. I'm Hazel."

Nico's hand fell limply back to his side. His heart sank from its momentary elation. It was quickly replaced by anger. "Then why did you take my offering?!" he demanded to know. The fury in his tone made the ghost around them shrink back a pace.

The girl – Hazel – lowered her eyes. "I thought you needed to hear it. I've heard your call for so long." Her eyes flicked back up to him. "I'm sorry."

How could he have ever mistaken her for Bianca? Her face was all wrong; there was nothing of that intelligence his sister had possessed, or of her annoying confidence. "You don't know anything about my sister." Nico said harshly. "Don't claim to know what happened to her!"

"I – I felt her leave. I was a daughter of Pluto. When a child of the underworld comes or goes, I know." Her eyes held a deep sadness – like Bianca, the last time she spoke to him. She seemed to be looking through him with those eyes, almost like she understood what was going on inside him. "Like you. I'm sorry for your sister."

"We're nothing alike." Nico turned his back to the grave, blinking back more tears. He was furious at himself for even listening to this. "Go away. I don't need your pity. I don't need anyone."

Her voice still reached him. It was quiet, uncertain, but still stronger than any ghost's had a right to be. "Whoever, you are; I don't believe that's true. We children of Pluto always need – someone. I – I didn't have anyone, by the end. Me and my mother, we died alone." There was a moment's silence. Then; "Please, don't be alone."

Nico spun around. "Leave!"

At his cry, the nearest ghosts vaporized into mist and the skeletons fell apart where they stood, feeling themselves included in their master's command. Nico let himself fall to the ground, suddenly robbed of all energy. When he looked up again, the grave was empty. The girl was gone.

How could he have ever mistaken her for Bianca? His sister was unique, beautiful, and forever twelve. And now she was gone. Deep in his heart, he knew that was the truth.

She had left him again.

After a long time, Nico struggled to his feet and started to move. The ghosts soundlessly made way for him as he passed. Perhaps they sensed the anger bubbling just beneath his surface. Good for them.

Nico forced his thoughts away from his sister, blocked out the entire conversation with that stupid half-blood girl who claimed to be related to him. He just focused on setting one foot in front of the other.

He'd go to Hades' palace. He'd been away a long time; the god had to be wondering what his son was doing. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps he didn't care. Either way; he'd have something for Nico to do. He always did.

At least he could be useful, Nico thought as he left the Fields of Asphodel. He had no intention of ever coming back here.

So, this is basically the prologue. I wanted to expand a little on this relationship that we don't see too much of in the books. And it should also be a good practice for writing Nico (haven't done it before).