First real PJO fic I've written, as opposed to my multiple Frozen fics which probably won't be posted here, so... yep. AU, as noted in the description. There will be many surprises and many heart-crushing scenes to come (not literally, of course; this isn't an OUAT fic ;3).

Shorter chapter than most due to it being the prologue. Word count: 1,974

He pushed hard, but she pushed back, not letting him disengage, even as he slowly, slowly forced his blade down toward her neck.

"Your mother," she grunted, breath coming short. "She saw your fate."

"Service to Kronos!" he roared, golden eyes glinting. "This is my fate!"

"No," she insisted, shoulder burning like Greek fire, eyes stinging with tears, but not from the pain. "That's not the end, Luke. The prophecy: she saw what you would do. It applies to you!"

"I will crush you, child!" Kronos' voice bellowed, but she knew better.

"You won't," she said, gasping for breath as his blade crept toward her neck, ever closer. She could feel the Celestial bronze and mortal steel fighting each other, burning toward her, hungry for blood. "You promised. You're holding Kronos back even now."

"LIES!" He pushed again, and this time her feet slipped. She lost her balance, and his free hand swung toward her, connecting with her face with a solid smack, searing pain lancing through her skull. She slid backward, unable to stand.

He loomed over her, golden eyes glowing, sword raised.

And she still couldn't make herself believe he would do it.

"Family, Luke," she croaked, blood trickling from her lip. "You promised."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Percy and Grover struggling to stand, to move, but she couldn't take her eyes off of him. He stood motionless for a split second, emotions warring across his face, and then his face crumpled and he staggered, staring at the knife in her hand, the blood on her face. "Promise..."

Then he gasped, and her heart stopped as she saw the change, saw her oldest friend take control of his own body again. "Annabeth..." And yes – it was his voice, not the Titan's.

He stumbled toward her as though unacquainted with his own body. "You're bleeding..."

"My knife," she said, and tried to raise it, but pain screamed through her arm and she heard the metal clatter to the floor. She glanced at her hand for a moment before looking away, stomach turning from the angle the limb was bent at. "Percy, please..."

There was a clash of metal. He stepped toward her, but then Percy was there, between them, blocking his way to her. "Don't touch her," the son of the sea god's voice growled, dangerous, feral, dark.

She wanted to tell him to stop, but couldn't find the strength to voice another word. "Jackson..." Kronos' voice snarled, and tears stung her throat again as he gasped. "He's changing. Help. He's... he's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please -"

"NO!" shouted Kronos, cutting his host off, and Annabeth must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing she knew, Percy was slumped against the base of her mother's throne beside her.

"The knife, Percy..." she rasped, finding her voice again, fighting for breath. "Hero... cursed blade..." It all made so much sense, suddenly, but she could not find the words to explain. He had to figure it out himself.

Kronos' voice bellowed, and a few seconds later, her vision blinked back into existence, seeing him crumpled, clutching ruined, smoking, burned hands. "Please, Percy..."

Percy moved toward him, and the next few moments burned a thousand times clearer and brighter in her memory. "You can't... can't do it yourself," he gasped. "He'll break my control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can... can keep him controlled."

Percy looked back toward her, at Grover taking her into his arms, trying to protect her, to shield her from the chaos that was about to erupt.

"Please," he groaned. "No time."

Please, Percy,she thought desperately. Understand. Figure it out, Seaweed Brain. Please.

He started to give the knife to the Titan's host.

Hesitated.

And the world exploded, screams shattering in her ears, the throne room of Olympus dissolving into golden light, a ripping laugh, the agonized screams of those she loved most tearing through her. Golden light, the sense of an impact, too shocked for pain, and darkness.

Luke...

She jolted upright, silencing the scream that had escaped her lips as quickly as she could manage. The dreams were not getting better... she suspected they might never get better. The day she had lost everything she cared about, everything she loved. Percy was gone, dead, killed in the blast. Luke had been dissolved when Kronos took full form. Athena had been imprisoned by the Titans, weakened almost to a mortal level by the destruction of her throne on Olympus. Not to mention the destruction of Western Civilization at large.

She touched the leaves of the plant beside her, an edelweiss, and felt tears sting her throat, even as she scrubbed the tear tracks from her nightmares off her cheeks with her other hand. "Oh, Grover," she whispered to the tough mountain plant, all that was left of her protector and friend. "I wish you could still talk to me. Then again... maybe it's better this way." Better that you don't have to see what's become of this world. What I've become to survive it.

She rolled out of bed, pushing the blankets away, and stood, moving to her closet and changing into a fitted black T-shirt and black slacks. She would have preferred jeans, but she didn't get that choice. Grabbing up her hairbrush from the shelf beside the closet, she brushed her blonde hair back, smoothing it into waves, as she paced to the mirror, looking at her own reflection. It was amazing how little she had changed on the outside, when so much had changed on the inside. Her hair was still its bright blonde, with a single streak of gray – gray that tortured her every day, reminded her of him, of Percy. Her reflection stared back at her with the same gray eyes, reminding her she was all that was left of her mother. All that was different were the bruises under her eyes and the mark on the inside of her forearm – she twisted her left arm away from the mirror by habit, a futile attempt to forget, to ignore, to escape the scars burned there forever.

Annabeth stared into the mirror, the only mirror in the entire palace made of regular glass, not obsidian, and ran the brush through her hair again, another three times, despite the fact that it was already smooth, before pulling it back into a tight ponytail, well out of her face, and pulling the bangs that slipped free back behind her ears. In motions her conscious mind didn't have to pay attention to anymore, she drew eyeliner across her eyelids in two swift, flawless motions, all drilled into her muscles by habit. Ritual. Everything was a ritual; rituals were the only way that she could keep her sanity. Eyeliner, faintly darker eyeshadow, foundation to cover up the dark circles under her eyes, the mascara no one ever noticed. Of course, she probably wouldn't notice either, if there were blood running into her eyes. None of it was her wish, none of it was something she had chosen. All at their will and whim. Always. She shook off the thought, pulling on a formal crimson jacket as she slipped out the door, shutting it firmly behind her. She took a breath and walked briskly down the hall, ignoring the monsters she passed as if they were not there, as if she were wearing her invisibility cap again – not that her cap worked anymore. She heard a soft growl from one side as she passed and turned her head a few degrees, just enough to lock eyes with the telkhine. Within moments, it shied away from her cold, flat gray stare, hurrying on its way, and she continued on hers.

She stepped into the throne room, flats clicking on the obsidian floor as she made her way to her place at the left side of the largest throne. She flinched at the bellow of his voice. "What do you MEAN, you still haven't gotten into Hades' realm?" he roared, voice booming through the room. For a moment, Annabeth regretted building such good acoustics into the hall, half deafened by his outrage.

She almost felt bad for the harpy messenger. The bird woman cringed, cowering away from her master's rage. "I-I apologize, Lord," she stammered.

"You have failed me," he thundered, golden eyes glowing.

"Please! Mercy!" the harpy begged, but it was too late – there was a flash of metal, and the harpy exploded with a shriek, raining dust on the floor. He snapped his fingers, and immediately a cowering young dracaena slithered out to clean up the pile of sulfurous yellow dust.

Annabeth caught herself making a faint expression of distaste. She hurriedly slid it under a mask of indifference, but not before a deep chuckle rang through the hall. "Don't like what you see, Chase?"

She didn't look at him. Didn't have to, to picture the chaotic image that was his face, constantly changing, but always having the same eyes. Golden eyes, glowing eyes. "If I may say so," she said carefully, voice neutral and flat, "if you keep killing your messengers, you'll eventually run out of them."

She heard him shift in his throne, leaning down toward her. "You'll watch your tongue in my presence," he warned, words hissing between his teeth.

Annabeth flinched away at the sensation of his breath brushing her face, a tiny, almost imperceptible motion, but one she could not prevent, and one she knew he noticed. "You chose me for my mind," she pointed out. "If I cannot speak it, it is of no use to you."

He chuckled at her flinch, and she knew he could sense the fear that coursed through her at his nearness, how badly she wanted to move away, how much effort it took to steel herself and remain still. "Watch yourself, Chase," he purred, trailing one finger delicately down her jaw, the tiny contact worse than if he had slapped her. He was teasing her, the slightest touch making her skin burn from his presence, her body wanting nothing more than to recoil from him. "You're too smart for your own good some days. Surely you haven't forgotten your place?"

She fixed her stare on a point on the far wall, refusing to buckle under the psychological tools he was using against her. Your place. Words that had always come with pain, since the fall of Olympus. "No," she whispered, then cleared her throat and said out loud, "Of course not, Lord Kronos."

She could feel the cruel smile he gave her as his finger left her jaw; it made her skin tingle and the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "Good girl," he murmured. "That's my good little serving girl."

Should I be worried about the Author Hunters coming for me?

Probably. Hehe... someone protect me

Fortunately or unfortunately... it only gets worse from here. (Or better, depending on how you look at it.) There will be a lot more detail and a lot more explanation on how this all happened in later chapters, I promise on the River Styx! Reviews please!