Warning: Contains abuse, self-harm, swearing, monsters(duh), secret societies, death, memory loss, Hecate, twins, and a whole lot of stuff that PJO forgot to mention.

This is how it always begins; a kind of normal life spiraling into something only heard of in books.

I found it hard to believe that this could happen to me. I was too normal, too dead inside. What reason did I have to fight back?

"I died again last night." This is what I told my therapist. He was the fifth. I had nearly murdered the first, the second couldn't get me to say anything besides "chicken!", and the third was a douche bag. I actually kind of liked the fourth, but with me, good luck doesn't exist. As I was warming up to him (he was cute, too) he disappeared.

Everyone thought I was crazy, but I swear he was real.

I went to therapy two months ago for another weekly appointment and there he was; the fifth one. Mr. Petros, with his annoyingly neat gray beard, balding head still covered in wisps of silver that were combed over to one side, and his smell. God, he always smelled like fried plaintanes. I can't explain how much I hate plaintanes.

"Where's Mr. Carlisle?" My stare was accusing.

The new therapist gave me a mildly concerned look and told me he didn't know who I was talking about. I saw him glance quickly at his phone, as if wondering why his secretary let me in while simultaneously reminding himself that he could easily dial 9-1-1 if I attacked.

Before he could even begin to say anything, I said, "He's my therapist, he was just here last week."

"Well," said the new guy, folding his hands on the desk, "I've worked here for many years. This is my office and it has been for much more than a week. Are you sure this is the right address, dear?"

And then, I got a little angry. Normally, I was a shy girl but doctors really knew how to fire me up.

"I'm not stupid, Mr-" I glanced at his nameplate,"'-Petros, he definitely worked here in this exact office."

An expression of realization dawned upon Petros's face. He said, "Ohh, you must be Samantha!" From the patronizing look he gave me, I assumed my file had already been read. I had no choice but to sit down and let myself be counseled as scheduled. I was stranded there, anyway; my mom had left ten minutes beforehand.

After that appointment is when the nightmares began. Following that night, I had the same dream, over and over again, beginning with a tingly feeling, ending with a bright blast fading into darkness, always resulting in my death.

Sixty horrifyingly vivid death dreams later, I was in Mr. Petros's office for the ninth time, attempting to explain my nightmares to him.

"What was it about, Samantha?" He asked this even though we both already knew I wasn't going to go into anymore detail than I had the previous week.

Petros was so annoying. I hated him and every session, I willed him to implode into nonexistence so I could stop attending therapy. It was pointless, anyway. I could never tell him how much I missed Mr. Carlisle, because every time I brought him up, he gave me a look as if to say I know you miss your little imaginary friend, -pats hand-.

It was so degrading, especial since, as my therapist, he was supposed to be the only one who accepted me for who I was. That was hard to do because I was considered unusual, to say the least; visible yet unseen and troubled, but not worth the trouble.

For example, sometimes I'd follow teachers to the faculty room (often because they were actually meant to lead me to the principal's office) and when they finally noticed me behind them, they would say, "Sam?! What are you doing here?" Apparently they got a kick out of pretending I didn't exist. That, or ignoring me was some kind of unconventional punishment for the issues I caused in class.

It was the worst when I followed my guidance counselor to the broom closet - I don't remember why I was, I just do these things sometimes. A little voice in the back of my head tells me, go, go. This'll be worth it, trust me - and she slipped in, giggling, licking her lips, and saying something like, "Hello, again," while slipping off the first strap of her office dress. I swear I heard a growl from within the closet. I must've made a retching noise because suddenly, she turned to me with frightened brown eyes, realizing I was there for the first time and frantically making herself look presentable.

"I.. I won't tell," I told her and I meant it. Who would believe me, anyway?

From then on, she defended me a fraction more than anyone else would.

But back to my dreams, right?

"-am. Sam? Saaaaam. Sam? Sam!" This was Mr. Petros , again.

"I'm awake, God!" I said, irritated beyond belief from the day's stress. There was a pause before Mr. Petros spoke again, choosing his words carefully, and with sincerity.

"Be careful what you say, Sam.." He warned me. Even though that level of creepiness was unnecessary, that was one of the moments I kind of appreciated Mr. Petros. He had a certain spooky, madness to him that I really liked. I appreciated any darkness, real and metaphorical. It was beautiful and concealing, but it didn't hide the fact that it hid things, if you know what I mean. It was the opposite of a person who pretends they don't try. Darkness never lies.

"Anyway.." I continued, not bothering to apologize for shouting, but he didn't seem to mind. He was always too patient. I hated that. Just yell at me, please? Tell me what a horrible kid I am. You can't save me. I'm twelve and I'll be dead by twenty.

"So, the nightmare," I muttered,"It was the same."

I closed my eyes, envisioning it perfectly; too perfectly. It was almost real…. Oh, no, no, no, no, NO! I was losing control. I could tell because I started hearing his name. Not the kind of hearing that's in your mind but the kind that makes you think someone is yelling right into your ear. Only once before had the dream encompassed me in the daytime, and it had happened like this.

Luke! Luke!

I tried to shove it down, oh, God. The voices crawled up my throat like vomit, worming their way into my brain as my vision rapidly dimmed. I could feel my eyes rolling back into my head, the pressure in my brow increasing. Petros did nothing as he observed my violent twitches and gurgling noises. Nothing.

He watched me, a pleasant smile on his lips, hands folded over his desk, but it was what was in his eyes that scared me. They seemed darker and as I collapsed, I swear he had a look of insane triumph on his face, like we just reached a breakthrough in my mental health (haha, as if). Then, I went under and I was no longer me.

My thoughts are divided by two people. The one named Annabeth and the one named Luke. First one, then the other.

I know how this ends. It is always the same.

I see myself looking at Luke, and he is maybe a foot away. My mind is fusing with Annabeth's slowly. I feel tingly as I am suddenly able to feel her fingers, and her arms are achy weak. This has been a hard two days, and I don't know how I know this, but I do know that it's the same, always the same.

He charges at me with a frighteningly long blade, and on instinct -hers... can't be mine- I catch it on the hilt of my dagger, but Gods, it's difficult. I step in closer, because I can hear faint mumbles in my mind, whispering directions.

Press. Press harder. Look into his eyes. You know what to say, And I do. Not because I remember the dream but because I have a memory.. of something that I have never actually experienced.

"Luke," I say and as I am pleading with him, his eyes flicker; gold to blue to gold again. I like the blue and I want the blue to stay, but he is returning the pressure, and he's obviously stronger, too. I grit my teeth and I continue, I have to, "I understand now. You have to trust me… please."

And then his eyes flash to blue again, only longer this time. The angry creases and the long scar on his face become something less frightening for a moment.

Unfortunately, he shifts again; his face scrunches in pure fury. Luke's eyes blaze golden, the color of light cast on the world by a setting sun.

"Luke Castellan is dead! His body will burn away as I assume my true form!"

Oh, gods. He presses even harder and I start trembling from exhaustion. Every muscle hurts but Annabeth tells me, harder, now. You have to do this - for everyone. All the dead and Percy… Percy.

"Your mother," I push on, my words like lighter fluid, making Luke flare up inside his invaded soul. "She saw your fate."

"Service to Kronos!" His rough voice is agitated, like I don't understand. I, of all people, understand. I mean she; Annabeth. "This is my fate!"

"No!" The pain is like nothing I've ever experienced, yet somehow familiar all the same; so tired... So tired.. "That's... not the end, Luke! The prophecy, she- she saw what you would do. It applies to you!"

The hero, the hero, the hero.

I try not to think about the fact that the prophecy mentioned a hero's demise. Who am I to think I can help cheat death? I have to try, though, I have to.

"I will crush you, child!" He roars, eyes aurous. This is Kronos, but Luke is in there somewhere.

"You won't." I say defiantly, pushing a little harder, even though it doubles the pain. I can feel the friction between our blades. "You promised. You're holding Kronos back even now."

It is a dangerous move, but a risk is what he needs to pull him out of-

"LIES!"

I am stumbling as Kronos pushes back, harder still, and I struggle to regain balance. When I can see clearly again, there is a large hand hurtling... hurtling...

and it hits me. Hard. I can feel my consciousness trickling away like the blood falling from my mouth to the floor. For a second, I am flying and then I slide away from him, my head nudging the base of my own mother's throne.

Suddenly, something inside me flickers. I am switching again. I hear something like white noise and lose the next few seconds as I transition, the tingles returning, only they hurt, now.

"-amily, Luke...You promised," says Annabeth's voice.

I am seeing the world from six feet above the ground.

My hair is blonde, like before, but I am a man. I am a broken man who can't and won't hurt Annabeth. I almost completely lose myself to Luke; most thoughts I have are his.

Family, Luke, she reminds me. My heart cracks. I stumble a few steps before regaining balance.

"Promise."

I can't breathe, but at least I feel myself in almost total control again. I feel like I just stepped back into my skin after the longest vacation and it didn't seem to fit right, anymore.

"Annabeth.." I gasp, "You're bleeding.." No. No. Did I do this to her? No. Please, no.

"My knife." Annabeth mutters, and her arm comes up a little bit, clutching the dagger that I know so well. After all, I had given it to her with a promise.

Something in me tells me I should look around. I glance up real quick. A flash of blonde catches my eye. I swear I see someone, but whatever I witnessed disappeared behind the throne.

Before I can think about this more, the knife clatters from Annabeth's hand and she looks to her left; with desperation she says, "Percy, please..."

This is when I realize we were never alone. There is a satyr by Hera's throne. He may be unconscious, but I can't tell, since I am looking mostly at the boy with black hair. I remember him, more than I remember the satyr.

Percy.

Percy Jackson.

In a quick motion, he bends and snatches up her fallen weapon. Fire in his eyes, blood caked seemingly everywhere on him, he knocks my sword out of my hand and sends it spinning into the glowing hearth.

"Don't touch her." He breathes with finality, eyes trained on my twitching fingers.

How dare he talk to me that way! Has he the audacity - the foolishness, to speak out against a mighty titan!

I lose control momentarily. He comes back and growls, "Jackson..."

I slip in with a gasp and find the reins once again. My body was hot and... glowing?

Oh, no. No, no, no.

"He's changing. Help. He's... he's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please-"

There is a bright flash and I am no longer speaking.

I can't see, I am deep inside my - or rather Luke's - mind, but I can hear his voice shout.

"NO!"

Slithering, I go, the form I am in slippery and untouchable. I see through my eyes as Kronos stumbles towards the hearth where his sword is. Percy comes into view but is easily deflected. Where is he? Is he okay? Oh god. My fault, all my fault.

Kronos bends my body to pick up his weapon but soon yells. I feel the searing pain in my hands, but only faintly because I am not in control. Stupid, stupid, don't you know fire burns?

My hands are reddening, bubbling, and slightly smoking.

"The knife, percy.." Annabeth says in a weak voice. "Hero..cursed blade..."

This is my chance. I manage to shove Krono's essence away, I just need a little more time-

I am entering a world of excruciating pain-

I immediately collapse, clutching my hands. I swear, no injury in life is worse than burns. It is a pain that doesn't lose fuel.

"Please, Percy.." I beg. I almost say, 'put me out of my misery', but I can't. I can't muster up the energy.

He pushes himself off the ground, his eyes suspiciously glazed. Stumbling, staggering in my direction. He is not strong enough.

I know what he is thinking, but if he tries... If he tries, I'll lose control for the last time. I can't fight anymore. This is my last stand.

I lick my lips, even though my mouth is too dry to be of any use to them.

"You can't.." I cough, the taste of metal splattering against my throat. "You can't... can't do it yourself. He'll break my.. control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can...can keep him controlled."

I cough again. This time the blood comes up far enough to splash onto my lips and the marble floor below.

My skin feels feverish, and when I glance down at myself, I see smoke rising.

The satyr is holding Annabeth against him, protecting her... Protecting her. Grover.

His name is Grover...

...but I don't have time to reminisce.

Percy raises the knife.

'Please, no,' I say with my mind, I know he can't hear me, but I just... so weak... I thought I was the best.

"Please," I croak, "No time, please."

After a few moments, a look of understanding flashes across Percy's face and he slowly steps towards me, but not to stab. He hands me the knife as Grover yelps and says something... something… I can't hold on much longer.

"Percy?.." he says, "Are you... um… ?"

No, I think,He did the right thing, as he always does. Now, it's my turn.

I grip the hilt with determination. This ends now - whether my life ends with it or not.

I deftly unstrap my armor. The skin under my left arm remains exposed.

Now, I have to-

It's hard, it really is.

He's pushing back, I can feel it, but I win. This time, I win.

The knife makes contact with skin, barely sinking in an inch before the waves of pain arrive. I hear someone's strangled screams. I think it's me.

My vision is gone, replaced with blinding whiteness. My skin grows hotter than before; burning, burning, burning, and suddenly the monster inside me bubbles under my skin and tears through, rushing out of me and mercilessly dragging my body in a million different directions at once. The pain worse than anything - anything - I have ever experienced. It feels like I'm being torn apart like a piece of paper.

The blinding light speeds away with the last of my energy, and I fall. Besides the pain, it is almost peaceful to be lying on the cool marble floor.

I'm nearly blind. I'm barely able to form complete thoughts, let alone coherent words. Everything is blurry and dim, but I can make out the three figures looming above me.

Annabeth.

Grover.

Percy.

"Good... blade" I hear myself say hoarsely.

A tear falls from Annabeth's eyes and lands on my still warm, violently red skin. I may have imagined it, but I swear I hear a hiss as the tear makes contact with me.

"You knew.." I tell her, "You knew... I almost killed you, but you knew.."

"Shhh.." she tells me, her voice trembling. "You were a hero at the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium."

I shake my head, knowing what I need to do; redeem myself.

"Think... rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest."

Annabeth smiles a little, but it's a sad smile, and she says, "You always pushed yourself too hard."

She doesn't mention that by pushing myself too hard, I pushed myself to this; the brink of death. Too late not to fall.

I am so grateful.

I lift my charred hand slowly, wincing. Gods, it hurts, but when she touches my fingertips, I feel like I've swallowed some ambrosia.

I need to know, suddenly.

"Did you.." I open my mouth to continue talking, but out of nowhere, I cough, and warm blood tasting like liquid steel and imperial gold sprays against my tongue and lips. I am getting tired of all this blood. "Did you love me?"

My voice cracks when I say 'love'. I love her.

Annabeth wipes her tears away sloppily with the back of her hand as she says, "There was a time I thought... Well, I thought..."

She turns to Percy and I understand. She loves him, not me, and he loves her back. It almost hurts more than the burns.

I nod when Annabeth turns back to me, because in a way, I knew this would happen. He had been by her side for years, and I just... abandoned her.

The pain in my arm spikes and I twitch.

Grover cuts in, wonderful Grover. "We can get ambrosia! We can-"

I stop him before he can continue stressing. He has grown. Wow, have I been gone that long?

"Grover," I stop short and swallow some vomit before it douses the throne room. "You're the bravest satyr I ever knew. But.. no. There's no healing.. No healing this..."

I cough again, this time there is some puke mixed in with the blood.

I turn to Percy, his youthful face, twisted with horror and grief. I grip his arm, even when the pain shoots up my arm and spreads throughout my body, aching.

I tell him, because I know he can and will make things change.

"Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it... Don't let it happen again."

I can feel myself fading, but I need him to understand... to see... my anger.. my despair.

He opens his mouth. I'm surprised to see a broken heart in place of the normal twinkle in his eyes.

"I won't" he whispers, "I promise."

I promise.

I promise.

Promise.

Promise

Promise.

I barely manage a nod.

I am flying, everything is getting darker, but I can feel the wind, yes. Now... it's cold and still. So still.

And then everything falls into the darkness, once again.

The world disappears.

There is one thing left.

A promise.

I woke up with a start and was surprised to find myself alone in Mr. Petros's office. The lights were off but moonlight poured in through the window, illuminating nearly everything in the room. How did it get so late? Where's Mr. Petros? I thought lazily as I cautiously pushed myself up and looked down, relieved to see a twelve-year-old girl's body rather than a twenty-something-year-old in armor speckled with blood and ash.

I was trembling and achy. My stomach burned. My mind replayed the most horrifying parts of my nightmare.

I was crying. I brought a hand up tentatively and felt warm tears while wondering why my mother wasn't here to pick me up. I couldn't stop remembering one detail of my dream in particular, the thing I would never tell Mr. Petros. That girl, Annabeth; whenever I looked in the mirror, I did a double-take because I look just like her. Just like her, only a few years younger.

"Mr. Petros?" I called but the room was silent. This whole dream thing was getting annoying, even though I knew it was only my imagination. I wanted to get rid of it, and I was willing to consult Petros so I could finally feel rested after I woke up each day.

I heard a creak by the door, and quickly turned my head to see who was coming in, but all I could make out was the silhouette of a willowy girl with wildly curly hair.

Before I could say 'hello?' like a fool, a damp cloth smelling rotten was clamped over my nose and mouth from behind. I struggled, kicking and elbowing but nothing seemed to work. I couldn't feel myself coming into contact with flesh. I pleaded to the girl in the doorway with my eyes, but she did nothing, only leaned against the door frame and folded her arms as if annoyed that I was being so difficult. Whoever was suffocating me with the strange cloth pushed me into a standing position, causing me to feel even more light-headed and panicky. I started to thrash harder. I felt myself lose consciousness as the cloth was being pulled away. I fell to the floor as the suffocator bent down and leaned over me. I managed to breathe in the scent of sharp, sweet cologne before everything went dark.