This fic, at its starting point, contains all canon ships as of The Dark Prophecy. It will be canon compatible up till that book, and since I've no idea what could happen at the end of Trials of Apollo, for now EVERYONE is OKAY (Even though they probably won't be). So PLEASE remember that.

But for now, enjoy! Please Like and Review if you want to see more :)

It was late. Much later than usual, even for him.

Something, which caused an aching feeling in his chest kept him awake, an obstacle to the sleep he desperately craved. A feeling he couldn't put a name to.

So, he continued to stand, hunched over the desk in the cabin of the first-class plane, re-reading the scroll laid out before him for the umpteenth time. He admired the craftsmanship of the symbols; how delicately, meticulously they'd been inked onto the page. He'd never been good at doing anything as delicate or meticulous.

Thankfully it didn't matter when it came to his plan. He'd practiced the pronunciation of every syllable in the text enough times to be able to recite it as if he'd been speaking the language his entire life, even though he'd been learning it for only a few years.

"Nervous?" A familiar female voice asked from behind him.

He sighed, not bothering to hide the anxiety in his voice. "A bit." And turned. She'd just gotten out of the shower, black hair wrapped in a soft towel and wearing what looks like-

"I thought you said you didn't like the color."

She grinned, dark eyes twinkling like diamonds from the light of the desk lamp.

"It's still really comfortable," she replies with a smile. "The color doesn't bother me so much since I know you like the way I look in it."

"True." His eyes traced the outline of her shapely body, admiring her creamy legs, eventually resting on her rather poorly covered cleavage. He wondered if he should ask if it was intentional or not. "Though I love the way you look without it too."

She smirked, then slowly removed it, letting it fall to the floor. "Come to bed with me," she beckoned. "We've studied it enough. It works."

He sighed again, still not feeling relaxed enough to rest, but relented. He removed his boxers, the only article of clothing in the way, and immediately joined her.

Half an hour later, after doing some studying of a different, more intense kind, he let out a sigh of a different sort of exhaustion and turned to stare out the tiny circular windows of the plane, allowing himself to get lost in the splendor of the starry skies before him.

A finger poked into his back. "What are you thinking now?"

He turned behind him to face the dark, intelligent eyes staring intuitively into his own.

"All of that-" he pointed outside the window at the sea of glitter swimming in black, "-will be in my hands someday. I wonder if it'll all still be as beautiful when I put it back together.

"It will be even more beautiful," she assured him. "I'm sure of it. I may not be an Oracle, but I don't need to be to have faith in you."

With those words, the ache in his chest dissipated.

"I wish I had your confidence," he said with a smile.

She returned it, and it was all he needed. He closed the space between their lips, letting himself get lost in her all over again.

-ψ-ψ-ψ-

For the first time, Rachel was disappointed with her Oracle powers.

Being one of the few beings in the world that had the ability to see into the future, it was a pity it turned out to be more of an on and off thing that only got into specifics whenever she was asked to do so (if one could call multiple stanza poems specific). Otherwise, she would no longer have to live off her parents and make a fortune off investing in stocks, or hell, she could become the Biff Tannen of New York and go into gambling. That was what real fortune tellers would do if most of them weren't fakes. She could move out of the penthouse in the city she's called home for her whole life, given she had no real job, despite the face she was already in her 2nd year at NYU.

Instead, she was in the first floor of said penthouse, with her hair done, wearing a dress, stuck at a Dare Incorporated event hosted by her father, its CEO. She'd been working away at the Sibylline books with Ella back in New Rome when she'd gotten the text from him, informing her that she absolutely had to be back home.

"Can't I just leave now?" she gave her mother the best puppy-eyed look she could.

Margarette Dare just shook her head. "You know it's rude for a host to abandon their guests, isn't it?"

"It's not my party," Rachel complained.

She knew the unspoken truth her parents were hiding. They wanted her to meet other boys, aka late twenty-something to early forty-something business scions that so happened to be single. Obviously because she was too weird and/or socially incompetent to be able to snag a boyfriend, even though she'd told them about Percy years ago.

Positively primitive behavior, she thought to herself as she took another sip of lemonade.

But it wasn't like she could tell them the truth, could she? She can't imagine how much lower they'd think of her if she told them that she'd sworn an oath to a Greek god to be an eternal virgin. They definitely wouldn't just call another psychiatrist.

So, she'd decided to oblige her father, if only to attempt to ease some of the tension that had built up between them since she'd started art school. William Dare and his wife had never understood nor appreciated her love and passion for the arts. But that wasn't a surprise: no upper-class land development scion would ever want their kid anywhere near the poor starving artist stereotype they'd probably conjured in their heads at the mention of art degree. It would make him the laughingstock of his friends, and of course, his reputation amongst them was far more important than the happiness and joy of his own daughter.

Rachel took out her phone and opens the photo album app. She scrolled past some nude references (NOT PORN, she'd reminded her mortified mother when she accidentally peeked) until she found the photo she was looking for: the Seven, with their friends. It had been taken at a Christmas party at Percy's apartment a few winters ago. Seated on the couch was Percy, stupid adorable Percy, kissing a blushing Annabeth on the cheek. Both were on the far right of the couch, Jason, Frank, Piper and Hazel and Hazel on their left. Leo, alive and well, happily holding hands with his (then) girlfriend, Calypso on the floor. The only people standing behind the couch were Percy's mother, with his half-sister in her arms, his stepfather, Ella and Tyson. The photo would've been complete had Nico not left early on a movie date with Will. Rachel wonders how many dishes Percy must've had to wash that night after they'd finished dinner.

Often whenever she felt particularly lonely or melancholic, she brought up this photo and counted the days she would see them again. She'd made a few friends during her first semester, but she would probably never be as close as she is with her family at Camps Half-Blood and Jupiter. It was a pity they'd been able to see each other less and less over the years. The Argo II reunion parties had stopped as the Seven started taking up more responsibilities in their respective camps, as well as catch up on other important things; school, family, and well-earned rest.

Sometimes she caught herself wondering what it must be like: to be the child of a God, to have a life filled with excitement and adventure like they had. But that longing would soon morph into shame for doing so. She knew only an inkling of the sacrifices, the blood they'd shed, and the many other horrors they'd endured.

And although they never said so to her face, she knew that deep down, all of them were thankful that she hasn't given them another Great Prophecy to worry about. In fact, since the end of the Giant and Triumvirate Wars, the Oracle had strangely gone silent in spite of the fact the threat to it had been silenced. Silent enough to the point that Chiron had decided she was no longer needed at Camp Half-Blood full time. Even though she missed the comfy, seclusive cave she called home there, she was still grateful. She and Ella needed as much time as possible together to get to reconstruct the Sibylline books.

Rachel liked Ella a lot, unlike some. She found her manner of speech quite endearing the way random facts from her mouth as if it was all her brain could produce. She tended to appreciate things that aren't considered "normal". Some would disagree, but she figured it was just a unique perspective that made her a better artist.

If only Mom and Dad could feel the same way about me.

"You know the phrase, 'time flies by when you're having a good time?'" Margarette asked her. "Just try to."

How on earth are you a social worker? Rachel thought as she rolls her eyes.

"Oh look," her mother said. "You remember Mr. Gensai, right? Why don't you talk with his girl over there? I'm sure you'll find it a lot less boring than talking to me."

Rachel turned. Mark Gensai, the CEO of Natural Enterprises (which was ironic considering what they did), stood a few feet away from with some of his friends, laughing at something funny one of them had just said.

She considered her options. She could either force a conversation with a stranger she didn't care to know, or she could continue to torture herself for another four hours until she waved all the attendees goodbye.

"Fine," she decided.

"Thank you dear," Margarette replied. "I knew you'd see things my way."

Yeah, and it'll be the only time that happens for a while.

"Let's go introduce ourselves." Margarette motioned toward the crowd as they navigated their way through the sea of velvet and silk that made up the guests. When they're only a few feet away from them, she unashamaedly barged into Mr. Gensai's conversation, clearing her throat.

"Excuse me, Mr. Gensai," she interupted. "Do you happen to remember my daughter, Rachel? And I don't think I've met your daughter, haven't I?"

Mark Gensai, a tall and sturdy looking Asian man of about fifty, smiled at Rachel. His brown eyes twinkled in a way that reminded her of an Olympian. Next to him, quietly sipping something that was clearly not juice was a dark-haired girl of around Rachel's age. She and her father have the same shining eyes, but she was at least a foot taller and was built like a basketball player, judging from the skin she showed in a black, sleeveless V-neck dress.

"Ah, Rachel!" Mark exclaimed. "It's good to see you again. And my, don't you look lovely this evening?"

"Thank you, Mr. Gensai," Rachel replied with a practiced grace. "You look very handsome yourself."

Mark laughed heartily. "A girl after my own heart! But I'm afraid I can't chat with you now. You see, I'm in the middle of what could potentially be the deal of my decade! I was just about to send Joel away, so why don't you two get to know each other? That way you won't have to bore yourselves with all our grown-up talk?"

"That would be a splendid idea," Margarette agreed. "Rachel, I need to go find your father to let him know he has ten minutes till he needs to make the announcement. Have fun!"

With that, she walked off to find her husband. Mark returned to his conversation, leaving the two girls alone.

Rachel didn't like being forced into conversation, but she despised the awkwardness of silence even more. "So…hi. I'm Rachel, Will Dare's daughter, if you don't know already."

"I do," Joel greeted. "And I'm Joel. Short for Joelle, by the way."

"I know. Christian name, isn't it?" Rachel blurted out the fact without much thought. Ella must've finally been rubbing off on her.

"Really?" Joel said. "I wouldn't know. I was raised atheist." She took one final sip of her goblet of expensive wine. After a moment, she remarked, "You really don't want to be anywhere near here now, don't you?"

"Not really," Rachel admitted. She figured that if it was that obvious, there was no point in hiding it.

"Lemme guess," Joel paused in thought. "Your snooty, uncaring mother realized that and decided to entertain you by forcing us to talk, even though you'd never speak to me in a thousand years."

"Well, you're right about everything but the last part, I guess."

"You guess?" Joel inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I've got nothing against you," Rachel began. She tried to choose her next words carefully, to not seem rude. "You seem nice enough. It's just…I hate being around them. Sleazy middle-aged guys like my Dad with nice ties and cologne sipping their wines while they conspire to destroy the only earth they have while their employees spend their lives slaving under them."

"Eh, I don't really think that's true." Joel gestured to the sea of wealthy people around them. "Do you really think that they're all here because they enjoy being in the company of their competitors? No, all of this is just an opportunity to have a bragging contest. You don't make friends in this business; everyone is an enemy to some extent. All you need to worry about is how badly they want your head. Outside of this room, they're at each other's throats like starving monkeys scrambling for the ripest fruit in the tree."

"So you don't like your father's work," Rachel said.

"Hell no," Joel exclaimed. "Do you?"

Rachel couldn't help but smile. "What do having period cramps, breaking a bone and getting a hangover all have in common?"

"Tell me."

"They're all less painful than being at this party."

Joel laughed. "Oh thank god. Finally, someone civilized I can actually tolerate talking to for once."

Rachel couldn't keep herself from chuckling too. Maybe the evening wouldn't be so bad after all.

A few moments later she would be proven wrong.

"-Yes, kids of this generation these all are, aren't they? Always marching about for social justice this and racism that. Someone should tell them to shut up and stop complaining and remind them how much worse it was back in the old days."

It turned out that her mother didn't have to walk very far: her father was only about 8 feet away.

"Useless. That'll be what your daughter turns up to be once she's finished going through all of your money," his secretary remarked.

"Well, I'll be sure to see that doesn't happen," William said. "She'll come onto us, just you wait."

"Oh will I?" Rachel called out loudly to her father. Everyone in her vicinity suddenly turn their heads towards her. She didn't care. "I'll just sit nicely and play the good, obedient daughter because that's being a good father, isn't it?"

"Darling," William said calmly, "-you are being very rude. I was having a very important conversation about important business matte-"

"Bullshit." Rachel snarled. How dare he. How stupid does he think I am?

She inhales deeply. "You know, have you ever bothered to actually look into career fields for artists these days? Instead of just looking at all that bullcrap about the top twenty worst degrees or whatever shit the College Board is putting out these days? There are good paying jobs if you look and work hard enough."

"Honey," her father began in a gentler tone, as if it would work now that steam was probably coming out of her ears. "You know you have much better options, especially with what my position is-"

"I don't care about what you want anymore," she snarled. "You've never bothered to consider what I do. You and Mom never bothered to even have the time to sit down and talk about it. And now, as soon as you tell me to, do you really think I'll sit down and obey like a pet?"

William's face hardened into an angry expression. "Rachel," he began in a tone she'd never heard him use. "That's enough."

"Yeah. Yeah it is," Rachel replied coolly. "I've had enough of you and all of this. And you know what?"

She'd been thinking about this moment for years. In fact, she'd considered doing it as soon as she'd graduated from the Academy. But part of her told her not to; to be patient and to give her parents the benefit of the doubt that they would treat her differently now that she was a legal adult.

There wasn't a lick of doubt anymore.

"I'm taking my things and leaving. For good."

"Get back here, Rachel!" William yelled in the angriest tone Rachel has ever heard him use. She doesn't care. The crowd parted ways for her. No one tried to stop her or scold her for embarrassing her father. When she was only a few feet away from the elevator, her mothers screamed after her.

"Young lady, this is unacceptable!" Margarette cried in half desperation. "Get back here or you're grounded for the rest of the summer!"

Gods, Really? Can you get any more clichéd?

She ignored her parents' continuing cries, the elevator doors opening only seconds after she punches the button. Her mind went full autopilot, with one goal in mind: OUT.

As soon as the doors shut, the feelings boiling inside her found release in the form of a yell of fury as the elevator mad its way up, finally on the road towards freedom.

-ψ-ψ-ψ-

Much to her surprise, no one tried to bring her down.

She took it as a definitive sign that her parents had simply stopped caring. They'd probably talked about her in that way for a long time. But hearing it for herself for the very first time was the final straw.

After a few minutes getting the zipper to close on her suitcase, she decided to call Chiron on her cell, before realizing she'd forgotten to charge it. No matter. She would just get a cab.

When she stuffed the last of her clothes into her suitcase, it hit her that it could probably be the last time she would ever be in this room. There were still dozens of other sketchbooks lying around in her mess of a room that she would be saying goodbye to, probably, forever.

Her heart throbbed madly in her chest. Her body shook as what exactly what it meant finally reached her. For nearly three years, Camp had been her refuge from the chaos of her family life. Now, if things went as planned, it was going to be her home.

No. Camp Half-Blood has always been my home. It's about time I make it official.

After tearing off her dress and changing into more inconspicuous clothing, she rolls her suitcase to the door. But as soon as she stepped out the door, the wail of many sirens broke out, the howling growing louder and louder until she realized that they've stopped right outside of the penthouse.

She looks out the window and saw that not one, not two, but ten police cars were parked outside the premises. She'd been away from the party for at least half an hour. What on earth could've happened during the time she was away packing?

Then, when she tried to call it, the elevator stopped working.

Rachel waited at least 5 minutes before coming to the conclusion that something was seriously wrong.

"Everyone remain calm," a distant, loudspeaker-distorted voice cut through the air from outside. "Everyone step away from the perimeter. I repeat, please step away from the perimeter of the penthouse."

She ran to another window. A CBS van had arrived, parked behind at least a dozen police cars, sirens flashing in the darkness. She dashed back into her room and turns on her flatscreen, flipping the channels until she finds CBS.

DARE INCOROPRATED DINNER HELD HOSTAGE IN CEO'S HOME read the headline on a banner displayed over a live stream of her home surrounded by police cars.

Hostage?

Panic flooded her mind. Whatever was happening, she couldn't risk the possibility that someone else could force their way up to capture her too. She needed to get out. Fast.

She didn't bother going back for her suitcase as she slowly pushed the door to the stairway. She heard nothing. Safe for now.

But not for long. She only made it down two flights of stairs when a door slammed open from one of the floors below. Footsteps echoed throughout the stairwell, followed by a loud hissing. The hissing of something alive.

She bolted towards the nearest door. The penthouse also serves as one of the many offices of her father's company, so she's relieved to emerge onto one of the office floors. Her eyes wandered, scanning around her before finally discovering the nearest restroom and locking herself in one of the stalls.

Keep quiet, she thought to herself over and over. Don't make a noise. Don't move.

As she crouched on the top of her toilet seat, she heard the pattering of footsteps once more. Voices spoke in hushed tones from the hallway, and she was only able to make out a few phrases.

"-Sure she went in here?"

"-case had the name Rachel…Positive. She's either here or somewhere upstairs."

Shit.

"-got some kind of scent here."

"-ladies room. I'll do it."

A chill ran up her spine. Breathe, Rachel. This is just like back in the Smithsonian. Keep calm, Keep calm…

The door to the restroom burst open with a bang. From the opening under the stall door, she saw two feet enter, accompanied by something long, black and scaly…

"There's no use in hiding anymore," a young male voice called out.

There was a flash of light, and all the bathroom stall doors flew open with a BANG. Rachel froze in place. Outside her stall stood stern-looking teenage boy wearing a long, black robe, wielding a crooked cane in his hand.

Besides him, a black snake the size of a German Shepard slithered on the tiled floor menacingly, something straight out of an eighties horror movie, though much scarier.

"Are you Rachel Dare?"

Rachel body was now completely paralyzed with fear.

"Don't worry." He addressed her as if he were addressing a child, as if he believed he could truly convince her not to. "If you tell us the truth, we won't hurt you, I swear."

"I…I-" Rachel couldn't find the power in her to speak. All she could do stare and shiver with fear in the darkness as the snake rasps at her, baring its pin sharp fangs.

"She hasn't eaten anything in a while, you know." The boy no longer seemed so calm. "Don't make us wait-"

The blade that suddenly burst from his chest cut his warning short. He gasped, then crumpled as it was pulled from his back. But before his snake companion could even turn to strike, it too is struck down, the blade cutting through its body like a hot knife through butter.

A Stygian Iron blade she recognized, along with its owner.

"Gods, what a mess," Nico di Angelo grimaced as he wiped his bloody blade onto the dead boy's shirt. "You alright Dare?"