catching stars to keep
shotguns


The boy reminds her of her father. She hates him for it.

He's all pale skin and tyrant and deceiving, and she can sense it, even from her position far away from him. She knows that, yes, he can sense the future — all the claims of him being an imposter are false. She can almost feel an aura of mist around him that clings to his skin and tells him what is to be. She recognizes it. She sees it every time she looks into the mirror.

But aside from the mythological factor he could be her father reborn. His eyes reflect the same personality. She idly wonders if he'd rather use a whip or his fists. Maybe both.

When she leaves the room his eyes follow her, the cyan color appraising her back. She shivers and she thinks he can sense it, like she can still sense him and his features, like how just being in his presence has bonded them together mentally. Of all people in this bloody universe, why him? Why not someone sane, someone good?

Rachel's only ever wanted someone not like her father, a hero instead of a villain. She wanted Percy because he was just good, all good. But she wasn't destined for him. Even she can feel that. No, she's destined to be with the villain of this story for the rest of her life. The chill of him sits in her bones, slides down her spine, sets into her lungs. She's walking away from him but he's already a part of her. She will have the same fate as her mother. A man that Fate curses her with that strives to be an antagonist. All I ever wanted was a hero. Why can I never get the hero?

Even Apollo visits her later and rests a strong hand against her cheek. Reminding her that she cannot love but she can be Fated. I foresee the future. I cannot change it. Augustus is your future and you can't change it. Stand like Livia. The future will fall but you will stand. You're strong, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. Don't let him break you. My grandson won't break you.

He won't break me. I won't let him break me.

She can hear the violence sitting in the back of her brain, pushing against her skull. He's silent until his forces come and try to occupy Camp Half-Blood. Then, just miles away from her, he starts to send her a message. Her mind throbs with the will in his words. I will win. She might now but I will.

So that's how it goes — Gaea loses and Octavian wins, in the background. Percy and Annabeth fight the wrong battle this time around. And she tries to tell them but she can't get across. She does sense their deaths in her mind, though, like a black hole is forming out in the galaxy somewhere. She doesn't want to walk outside and see the carnage but she does, machete clutched in her hand. Her fists clench around the weapon when she sees the blood all over the ground.

Maybe worse than my father. At least he didn't kill people. Rachel wishes she had darts in her hand. She had thrown them at Percy once when it was Octavian who truly deserved her fury. But no, she doesn't. So the machete in her hands has to do.

She doesn't kill anyone with it. All the demigods she can see are already dead, Greek and Roman. She passes Drew and Clovis, and then sees Reyna's overturned figure on the grass and starts to sob. She hiccups when she sees Annabeth right besides her. He did this. He is your future.

And he finds her. He's looking for her. He grabs her with his barely-substantial arms and pulls her up to her full height, looking over her freckled face. In a moment of defiance, she tries to thrusts the machete into his gut. He pushes it away easily, his grip noticeably tightening on the spear in his hand. A small warning. Like her father. A whip or his fists. Maybe both.

In that moment, Rachel gives up.