Any of the text below this section was written probably a year ago. It's been a long time since I've submitted anything to FanFiction- 9 years or so. Way back when, I was scared off by a review with a curse word in it (I was pretty young). Now, I've returned, and while I can take a few rounds of blatant cursing to my email account, for old times sake, I'll put in a note that it would be nice if you didn't spam my inbox with profanity.

Edit as of December 27, 2013- Now, I know that I don't have a large following, but if there is one person out there who liked my story and wanted more, I am sorry, but today I'm gonna deliver some bad news: I'm probably not gonna write a sequel, or at least not anytime soon. A few months ago my expectations were that I would have the same work load as I had last year at school, but like so many before me, I was wrong. That's not to say I can't handle writing at all- I just can't handle this story, because I want to write something of my own creation. Besides, much as I'd like to chronicle my version of Percy's interactions with the gods and how it affected Olympus, I think, though my writing has definitely improved immensely since I wrote this, it would never be as good as my own original story. I did write a bit of the sequel, but I'd rather not post it- one of the things about this story is it generally stands on it's own, something I wanted to make sure of so that if I couldn't finish a sequel, it wouldn't be too much of a downer to anyone. There are a few loose ends, but it shouldn't be hard to figure them out. If by the small chance anyone is just extremely curious, you can always shoot me a message- this account will always be linked to my email, so I can actually confirm something. As a final note, one thing I would ask, and I know this is a little bit of a bad move adding this right after this paragraph, but I would appreciate a review or two just to see what everyone thinks. I did spend a significant amount of time on this- it wouldn't take as long to write now, but at the time it was, and I did post this mainly for criticism in the first place. So… criticize it. It's got plenty of bad points, I can tell you that much. Anyways, the next paragraph is obviously a little heads-up and was written before this, but it still stands. I do sincerely hope you enjoy this story if you're reading it.

In this version of the story, the events are changed to fit the storyline, which was pre-rendered in my mind before the release of the Last Olympian. Hopefully you'll be able to pick up on the changes, some being subtle and other being profound, but if you aren't, a brief summary of important events will be continuously updated. Please enjoy.

Prologue

The Clock Begins to Tick

Kronos was wiped out cold. He had been thrown a couple thousand feet after being brutally defeated by Percy Jackson. He was lying in Central Park, completely out of energy.

He lay there for days, without anybody really noticing. Occasionally someone stopped to check his heartbeat, but it was fine. They must've assumed he was taking an afternoon nap or something. Really, people didn't have time to stay in Central Park long. They had jobs.

So it was not until the 7th day after his defeat, August 25th, that Kronos awoke.

As he did so, multiple thoughts flooded his head. But he calmed down, forcing himself to breathe, and took out the small, rusty symbol that he had been using to communicate with Silena and held down the grimy button.

Static flooded his ears. He could hear muffled sounds. He was sure that the symbol was still in Silena's pocket. Percy Jackson had completely and utterly defeated him, and the gods were probably jovial and playful at the moment. They most likely wouldn't think he'd be doing any listening anytime soon.

"…committed suicide," said a powerful voice. "I can assure you that all of us serving on the Olympian Council are mourning his death. He was a brave and valuable addition to Olympus, and we will not forget him."

This, Kronos was sure, was Zeus speaking. He was not sure whom he was talking about, though. Perhaps Beckendorf? He didn't think so. He listened more closely.

"PERCY JACKSON!" chanted the crowd loudly. Some were weeping, others clapping, and still more almost praying. Kronos could hear it all broadcast through the miniature scythe. He could not believe his ears. Percy Jackson had apparently committed suicide.

He couldn't believe this because he knew there was one problem with that statement- Percy couldn't commit suicide. Or, he could, but he wouldn't end up dying. He was immortal, and Kronos was beginning to wonder if perhaps he had discovered that already. What Oranos taught Percy was advanced magic and much philosophy, but Kronos severely doubted the fact that he had told Percy that he was immortal. But Kronos realized that he had surely given that away in his battle with Percy.

Kronos stopped listening. He wasn't sure whether to feel bad for or to be happy for Percy. He assumed that he was content in Olympus. What event could have caused him to commit suicide?

Kronos pushed himself off of the grassy ground. The sun was just beginning to rise, and the city of New York was dimly lit. Kronos knew it was time to get to work; he knew it was time to find a job.

Despite the fact that he was now homeless, he didn't believe that a job would be hard to find. When he had escaped Tartarus centuries ago, he had settled in Rome, believing it safe from the reach of the gods. When the gods came, though, he was unable to be found, and he chuckled while they watched Saturnalia playing out every year, curios as to why the Romans would pray to a god with no power. But he knew and the Romans knew he was not locked away, and he flourished in civilization.

Kronos had become one of the most brilliant, talented, and traveled of any of his Greek family. Even Oranos had not seen the world to his extent. Kronos had learned hundreds of languages, ranging from the beautiful tongues of the romance languages to the exotic eastern accents of the Japanese. He preferred Europe, particularly France (he fell for the cooking), and enjoyed the art of the Renaissance first-hand.

With this knowledge, Kronos believed he could easily score a job as a language or history teacher. It would just take some convincing of the principal. He walked happily, glad to finally be rid of the war. After all, it wasn't he who had raised the army.

Kronos stopped in his tracks, and pondered his stupidity and blindness in his anger. Who had raised his army? When he received the email message 3 years ago, he had always assumed that things were just working out for him. But now he pondered whether someone had had a hand on his life, and was using him as a dispensable tool. And, if so, was Olympus at stake?

Just as he was beginning to delve into the details, he spied a teenage boy dressed in ragged clothes over on the side of the street. He looked depressed, but was fit, and did not look like a normal orphaned child. Kronos looked closer.

He stopped. It was the boy.

Charles Beckendorf was the boy leaning against the wall. Kronos had forgotten up until now that he had had him in a force bubble while he was battling Percy, and that Beckendorf had been locked to him. Kronos figured that the spell must have broken when he was thrown against the ground. Beckendorf, it seemed, was homeless.

Kronos quickly changed into a more unrecognizable form, one of his two human appearances. In this form, he looked more like a thin, well-studied man, wearing thin glasses and casual clothing. It fit in much better than his large, magma speckled form that he usually embodied, and Beckendorf wouldn't be able to recognize it.

He casually walked over next to the boy. Beckendorf looked up at him, no doubt suspicious because of his training.

"Who are you?" asked Beckendorf cautiously. His hand lay by his pocket.

"It's me," began Kronos, "Kronos."

His hand shot out like lightning and grabbed Beckendorf's. Beckendorf struggled, but Kronos was too strong. Beckendorf looked at him angrily.

"Listen," began Kronos, "I'm not going to hurt you, but I can't let you go back to Olympus."

"Oh really?" asked Beckendorf. "You're incredibly convincing. Why is that?"

"They can't know I'm alive," said Kronos. "I can't risk you telling them. And, why, may I ask, are you not there now?"

"None of your business," said Beckendorf angrily.

Kronos looked down. Beckendorf was badly injured. His leg was bloody and broken, with a makeshift cast the only thing keeping it together. Kronos figured he must have acquired it after the fall.

"I'll make a deal with you," said Kronos, sighing. "I will get us both a home and find a job. I'll pay for your medical treatment. You'll stay with me for a year, and by the end of the year, you'll trust me enough to go back and not tell the Olympians. Does that sound like a good deal to you?"

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice, do I?" asked Beckendorf.

"I suppose you don't," said Kronos, and with that he picked up his mutilated newfound roommate on his back, searching for the nearest school.