hiya! here's the next part of "nauma-whatta?", i hope you enjoy!

PERCY:

Caesar knew how to treat his guests, I'd give him that.

He might've been the most hospitable ancient I'd ever met. Ancient. . .immortal ghost senator. . .man? The logistics were confusing, but he was nice, even though he kept bringing up his stab wounds to much. Jason, Hazel, and Frank collectively had begun to look like they were sharing a migraine. The stadium had rooms at its floor levels, giant spaces filled with areas to lounge around and drink and eat and whatever else the ancient Romans did. Caesar gave us food, access to showers, more food—it was everything an exiled demigod could ask for.

I was lounging on a couch, clean and full and tired and it occurred to me he was the first person who took our word for truth. Or maybe he didn't care. Either way it rocked. The rooms led outside through big, open archways, revealing gardens filled to the brim with shrubbery and decorative waterways. I watched it all from my spot on the couch, letting the gentle bend of the palms bring me to a lull.

"Percy, are you awake," Annabeth said leaning over the back side of the couch so her face hovered over mine. "Caesar wants to show me his battle plans for upcoming shows, he wants my 'Athenian expertise' as he puts it."

"Yeah," I said. "I'll be here when you get back, have fun." She smiled, pecked me on the cheek, and then disappeared. I settled into the couch, ready to konk out.

"Aww, cuties," Nico teased from the couch across from me.

"Aww, cooties," I heard Katie call from farther away.

"Looosers," I teased back.

.

The world was tilted. I was walking down a tunnel, the floor firmly underneath my feet and yet, it was tilted. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end; I knew I was dreaming, but it was a strange type of dream. An eerie ringing echoed through the tunnel, a loneliness. It was my dream, but nothing felt like it belonged to me.

I kept walking until the tunnel opened up to a building, pillars large and sparse, revealing a stark, night sky. Across the floor, on the other side of the building, there was an altar and kneeling in front of it, was a mist of green. It solidified from a mist to a woman. Her body twisted around and the moment her eyes landed on me, the world righted itself. She stood still for a moment, then bolted towards me, too quick for me to react; she grabbed me by my shirt.

"Help her," The woman cried. "They'll kill her! I need her."

"What are you talking about?" I said, trying to pry her hands away. "Who?"

Tears streaked her cheeks, "I don't want to be stuck in a dead body again and she is so good, you can't let them kill her." Her words froze me. Dead body.

"Wait. . .Rachel?" I said and the woman smiled.

"Her name," She laughed. "You can remember her name."

"You. . .can't? Are you the Oracle?" I asked. Her hands fell from my shirt and she looked me up and down.

"Yes, but I don't—" She pressed a hand to her chest. "Everything has gone fuzzy."

"Fuzzy? You're the Oracle, things aren't fuzzy to you. They're fuzzy to me." I took a step back and glanced around. Around the building were meadows, large and empty and silent in the night. If this was night. The Oracle fell back into her panic.

"It feels as if the world is falling to pieces. Whatever future I see seems wrong, like it's being tampered with. Please! You have to help Rachel, they have her now."

"Who?"

"The traitors."

"Traitors. . ." Adrenaline spiked in my throat but I swallowed it down and spoke slowly. "You mean. . . older demigods, maybe a sibling of mine?" The Oracle slapped a hand over my mouth.

"Don't speak of them in detail they're always listening they might hea—" Thunder echoed around us, not nearly here, not nearly gone, but it seemed to be enough for her. "Oh no. Get out of here, go." She shoved me back. I looked around to find something that would scare her, and there turned out to be many. Several figures cloaked in shadow coming from one direction or another.

"What the—"

"Leave! Go find her, leave!" The Oracle shoved me again and this time I fell back, straight through the floor, and kept falling.

I woke with a start.

The world was dark, still nighttime. I flung myself forward and another body rose with me. Annabeth placed a hand on my shoulder, worry in her eyes. "I'm fine, I'm totally fine."

"Did you. . ."

"Have a dream? Yeah."

"And?"

I angled myself towards her, "There was a woman there, I think she was the Oracle."

Annabeth's brows furrowed, "Rachel?"

"No, the Oracle, she looked like green smoke."

Annabeth wanted to say something, but she stopped short and her mouth hung wide, so she looked kind of like a fish. Then, she pointed to herself, "I. . .I had a dream just like that."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. I had one of the Oracle and she was made of green smoke and she was crying that we needed to—"

"Help her," I finished.

"And we're helping. . ."

"Rachel," I said. "That's what I said. I said 'Rachel' and the Oracle said yes." Annabeth closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

"This is too much. In my dream the Oracle said they were going to take her, who's they?"

"They are those older siblings and they have her now. The Oracle said they might kill her. They want to kill our parents and now they have Rachel and she might die and it's going to be because of us and—"

"Percy!" Annabeth hushed. She held my face in her hands. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't let him get inside your head," Her eyes, highlighted by the moonlight that filtered in from the archways, were grounding. "Stop blaming yourself. He wants you to do that, he wants you on the fritz. Once we're done with the library, we'll find Rachel. I'd leave to find her right now but you know we can't. She has trained with us, she's a good fighter, she'll be okay," She mustered a smile. "Don't tear yourself down for him."

"I feel a thousand years old, Annabeth. And I'm not even twenty, it's not fair."

"No, it's not," Her hands slipped away. There was a pause. Can I see it again?

I smiled, Why do you like it so much?

That's not the answer to the question I asked.

I rolled my eyes, but shrugged my feet off the couch and slipped my shirt over my head. Her legs slipped to either side of me and her fingers started to trace over my right shoulder blade. Down, up and over, tracing every line, every inch. Over the swirling waves that surrounded the trident that made up my mark; I didn't need to look at it anymore, I had every part of it memorized. It was big, bigger than most of the marks and it had taken forever; I pushed that thought away. Her fingertips were down towards the base of the waves when I felt another touch, lighter and joined with the slightest air.

"Did you just kiss my mark?" I whispered.

"Yes," She said and did it again.

"Why?"

"Because it's gorgeous," She wrapped her arms around me. "It reminds me of you."

"I sure hope it does seeing as it's inked on my body."

"It's not just gorgeous though. It's strong, impressive," She pulled me backward to rest against her, head leaning back against her shoulder. "Regal, powerful." I turned my head to look up at her.

"Don't flatter me," I pressed a kiss to her jawline.

"I'm not," She looked down at me, curls falling over her shoulder. A pressure had built up in my chest, heavy and warm; I took her arm in my hand and ran my fingers over her mark.

"Look at this. Elegant, intricate, stunning, absolutely one of a kind," I pulled her arm up to my lips so I could return her kiss. "Intelligent, a godde—"

"I wouldn't risk calling me that," She was smiling into my hair. I adjusted myself so I was facing her.

"I thought I was describing the mark."

She laughed, then fell silent and we lapsed into a staring contest, our eyes searched one another again and again. Her hand pressed against my sternum, "Do you feel that too?" I nodded. "What is it?"

"I don't know," My voice came out gruff, barely there and I groaned inwardly. "I know I don't mind it."

"Neither do I." She yawned then and leaned her head on her shoulder, still looking at me. I grabbed her hand from my chest and held it in mine. "Let's go back to sleep."

.

The second time that I was ripped from sleep that night was not as pleasant.

The world was a blur, the air damp on my skin or rather, it was my skin that was damp. Soaked, drenched in my own sweat, shirt clinging to my back. I stumbled to the bathroom, no clue how I made it there. The dream was coming back to me already. Hot, burning hot, acid burning flesh, putrid stench, a cruel laugh. No one was coming to save me. I was choking on the fumes, I was stuck there forever.

The cold ceramic of the toilet bowl underneath my hands was a welcome feeling as I leaned over the edge and heaved up all the food Caesar had given us.

Luke was there by the time I was done. He found me clinging to the bowl.

"Jackson," He started, fully alert and analyzing. As always. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," The smell of sulfur snaked its way into my nostrils again. "Oh, fuck."

He took a few steps closer, "Let me help you."

"Don't," I croaked. "Just. . .get Nico or, or—" I heaved again; part of me was curious as to what could possibly be left. Luke didn't have to get anyone. Someone walked in.

"Percy," Nico said, softly at first and then, "Percy!"

"What's going on?" Luke asked. Nico was already closer to me, so he spun on him.

"Not the time, Luke. If you want to act like a saint, wake up Sam." Luke glanced between us and then disappeared. "Here get up."

"I'd like to sit here and wallow if you don't mind," I said. Nico's hands were snaking underneath my arms regardless. "Did I wake her?"

"No, she's still sleeping."

With his help, I made it to the sink. "I need water."

"Sure thing," He caught my eyes in the mirror before he left. "Percy, breathe." Then he said offhandedly, "Remember, first it's you then it's Thalia then it's Katie."

"Real nice," I washed my mouth out. Thoroughly. Sam was there, when I surfaced, standing in the doorway like some holy savior.

"Oh you're so sweet," She hummed and walked over. Her hand pressed between my shoulder blades and comfort washed over me, seeping into my nerve-endings. The soreness in my throat vanished, the uneasiness in my stomach gone. An image came to mind: it was months ago, we were on the run, it was morning and we were eating breakfast. Just a bunch of teenagers sitting on sleeping bags amidst the morning chill, eating cereal; I smiled. She exhaled, "You have to talk about this."

"Leave it alone, Sam."

"I won't," She crossed her arms. "This isn't good. We talk to one another, why can't you?"

"Thalia doesn't."

"She doesn't to you," She said. "But unlike you, if I press her enough she'll spill. You won't say anything to anyone."

"I don't like thinking about it."

Sam laughed, "And like I do?"

"You're still just as fucked up as I am about it," I turned on her. "Why can't you let it go?" Slowly, Sam's eyes began to glisten and she pursed her lips in a smile.

"Yeah, I am, but if I don't talk to you guys eventually it just feels like I'm drowning. And demigods that are drowning can't save anyone." She wiped at her eyes. "Let me go get Nico." I huffed and rested against the sink, then a moment later, slid down to the floor. Sam didn't leave; she slid down next to me. We sat in silence for awhile, then Nico came back, with a water pitcher and a glass.

"You're kidding?" I asked, but took both from him. He shrugged and sat down on my other side.

"Caesar does everything in excess."

After the pitcher was half empty, Sam spoke up.

"You think it still affects them?" She looked at us. "Why they're so angry? Why they fight all the time?"

"Our parents?" Nico asked. Sam nodded. "I don't know. If it is, then they need counseling."

"I'm going to go back to sleep," Sam stood, but I grabbed her hand.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm an ass."

"No, you're not," She ruffled my hair, then left. Nico took the pitcher and drank from it.

"She's too nice," He said. "So, you want to talk about it?"

I groaned, "If Sam, with her mother's power, can't get me to talk, what makes you think you can?"

"I don't, but I like to ask," He yawned. I closed my eyes. The buzz of night—bugs, fountains—could still be heard from the bathroom.

"I had a dream, about the Oracle. She said there are older siblings and they have Rachel."

Nico was silent for a very long time. "Shit."

.

SOMEPLACE, SOMEWHERE:

Rachel blinked once, then twice, then realized she was waking up.

Then she bolted upright. Her breathing quickened, her mouth was dry like she'd drank a glass of cotton balls before she'd went to bed; the urge to cough washed over her but she swallowed it all back down. She took in her surroundings, a furnished bedroom, white walls, marble floors, sleek decor; unnerving. For a moment, her hands glided over the sheets beneath her, then she scrambled off the bed and patted herself down, hurrying over to a mirror in the corner in a panicked frenzy. No cuts, no bruises, just her—in jeans, boots, and a white blouse. She grimaced at the thought of them switching her clothes, but it could have been worse, much worse. At the thought she gasped, hands flying to her head, no need to retrieve her memories. They were still crystal clear.

The cave, the gods, the vision. A battle to end all feuds, a battle to end an era, that voice in her head had whispered, spinning out images before her like a spool of thread. It felt as if a thousand vases would shatter around her, create a never-ending stream of ceramic screaming, and if it ever ended, there'd be nothing left to do but lie amongst the pieces, the dust. Rachel steadied herself and rushed to the door, she had to escape and find Percy. No, escape and tell the gods; she was their Oracle and she had proof, they'd have to listen to her.

Rachel listened for a moment, listened to absolutely nothing. Not a whisper or a shuffle, not even the white noise of pipes or the hum of a fridge. A pin could have dropped and she would have heard it.

It didn't reassure her, but she tried to open the door anyway. The handle bent underneath her palm with ease and she slipped into the hall, closing the door behind her. The hall was much the same as the room, white marble and white walls, with silver decorations placed here and there. If the color scheme had been different, the high-end style would've reminded her of her own home. She shuddered and moved down the hall onto an overhang, which flowed into a large, open room filled with window walls and furniture and more marble. Rachel looked down on it, eyeing the winding staircase to her side; there was no one around.

There had to be no one there at all.

And the big glass door—her exit—across the room, was practically taunting her.

Rachel moved swiftly, descending the stairs on the balls of her feet, practically sliding across the floor so the heels of her boots would not click, and when she was there, with both hands on the large, twisted handles, a voice came from behind her, "What the hell are you doing?"

Rachel ignored whoever was there and pulled on the doors, but they only shook as she jangled them back and forth. She tried again, making the metal of the locks clang against each other. When it was obvious they weren't going to budge, she spun around to face her captor. It wasn't Phobos there, sitting at the island—oh look, it was fucking marble—with a magazine in hand, nor was it Melinoe, Eros, or Heracles. She had golden curls cascading down her back, with bright blue eyes like a summer's sky. Her clothes, which were of the Fabletics variety, didn't seem to match her beauty, but they did match her expression: bored, humored, calculating, all at the same time. The magazine in her hands had big, swirling script on the cover, which read Medea Monthly.

Rachel did not like the woman.

"I'm leaving," Rachel replied, hoping her voice sounded strong enough. The woman snorted and went back to flipping through her magazine. "I mean it, I'm leaving right now."

The woman sighed and waved her hand, "Alright, open the doors."

"You know that won't work," Rachel said.

She shrugged, "Pity." Silence fell between them as the woman resumed her reading and a nervousness spread through Rachel. This woman wasn't like any of the gods she'd interacted with before, she didn't seem to care for games or taunting or jokes. Maybe there was a reason for that.

Rachel took a deep breath, "Who are you?" The woman paused and glanced up at her.

"You know me, you've just never met me."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I don't have to answer your question."

"You kidnapped me."

The woman threw her magazine down on the counter and stood up, "My husband kidnapped you, there's a difference." An alarm went off in Rachel's head.

"Your husband is Heracles?" She asked. "So, you're Megara? Or are you Deianira?"

The woman held up a finger, "Don't mention that half-baked, self-conscious human ever again. I didn't even know him back them but gods, who let's themselves be fooled by a river spirit? Pathetic."

Rachel held up her hands, "So. . .Megara?"

The woman groaned as if she didn't want to be bothered. "Helen, you stupid oracle. Helen." Time passed unnaturally slowly in those next few seconds, as Rachel pieced things together. She knew who Helen was and she knew what the Oracle knew, she could hear the screaming, the crying, the pleas.

"Wow, Melinoe was right, you do know what's going to happen," Helen was eyeing her now, gaze focused on every inch of her. A chill ran down Rachel's spine.

"I don't know anything," Rachel said and then, against her better judgment, "But why are you involved?"

Helen laughed and started to make her way across the room, walking slowly around the furniture, "Oh sweetheart, I'm saving my motives for a bigger, much more troubled group of youngsters." Rachel's hands fisted at her side. "You just have to help us find them."

"I'm not doing anything for any of you," Rachel spat. "I hope you all rot in Tartarus for eternity." The air shifted, like it would before a storm, growing denser. A man appeared in a shimmer, his body falling back against the couch, and the air snapped back, like a rubber band. The man, Rachel thought, seemed to be plucked straight from Ancient Greece, with close cut, dark curls and tan skin. He looked much like Heracles, but something was wrong with his eyes. They weren't exactly eyes, except they were, but also weren't. It was as if someone had painted two glass orbs white and had left the iris clear, because the white was translucent and the iris glowed golden. Not like the liquid gold of Kronos that was ingrained into her mind, this gold was like the sun. She shook her head, "How many of you are there?"

"Enough," Helen sighed. "Not all, but enough."

"Don't just give away information like that," The man said and when he saw Rachel staring, he smiled. "My name is Orion, sweet girl." Rachel cursed quietly, mostly to herself.

"I'm going," She said. "I'm the Oracle and I'd like to leave."

"Do you think that makes you invulnerable?" Orion asked. "Is that what Apollo told you? These gods are not as trustworthy as you'd think."

"Fuck off with that whiny, Castellan-baby bullshit. I've already heard it once before."

"But Lukas was right," Helen sauntered ever closer. "He just had the wrong allies."

"The love of my life," Orion sighed. His eyes seemed a million miles away. "Killed me because of her own brother, why? I'll tell you, because he wanted to. No other reason."

"And what? You're all going to be mighty and just rulers?" Rachel said.

"No," Orion said, almost laughed. "We're going to be the same I suppose, we'll just do it better. Besides," He pulled his shirt sleeve back and revealed a gleaming, silver arrow. "I have no intention of killing the love of my life. I know she'd gladly stay with me."

Rachel let out a cry, it sounded humored. Manic. "Artemis would rather die than be with you again. You're insane." Helen was at her side now and shoved her back. Rachel caught herself before she fell.

"Like you're not," She said. "You've got images and prophecies and a brittle, old woman in your head. But don't worry, we don't care about all that," Helen was laughing. "We just want to know what's going on in there, won't you tell us?"

"You'll have to kill me and find another host," Rachel spat and took that moment to punch Helen straight in the nose. Rachel felt the repercussions immediately and jerked back, holding her fist close to her chest. Helen, though, wasn't even phased. She blinked, pressed gently on the bridge of her nose and then glanced back at Orion, laughing still. Then, with unnatural ferocity, she took Rachel by the jaw, hand slipping underneath her chin, and slammed her back against the glass door. Rachel could hear it break, she could feel Helen's nails dig into her skin, and she could see Helen bearing down over her, a vicious smile on her face.

"Wrong answer, sweetheart."

From the corner of her eye, Rachel could see Orion flipping through another magazine. The blow had started to take its toll, she felt light on her feet; for a moment, she wondered if she was even standing at all, maybe Helen had just lifted her. "We were supposed to wait," Orion said.

"Piss off," Helen muttered.

"Don't rough her up to bad."

.

Sometime later, Rachel gained enough awareness to understand the voices around her, although the world was now dark and she was sprawled out on the floor and she couldn't even move.

"What did you do to her," Melinoe hissed.

"I did what you wanted," Helen replied.

"You roughed her up is what you did," Eros said.

"It was much more mental than physical, dumbass."

"It's roughing up all the same," He muttered.

Rachel stared out the window walls and took in the city lights as they spoke behind her. She hurt, stung, ached, but the worst of it was what she'd seen, what she'd revealed. Again and again, until she'd refused to look, until she'd wanted to go blind. She still wanted to, she could still see it all, her eyes were still a bright glowing green, it tinted her vision. She tried to focus on the lights.

"It doesn't matter. We have what we want and now we know everything," Helen said. "Let's go kill those little brats."

"We can't kill them just yet," Triton said. "We need to come up with a plan."

Helen scoffed, "Then get it together and start thinking. I want to drain the life out of them."

Rachel swallowed, steady sobs unable to escape her throat. A stray tear or two slipped free, blurring her vision momentarily. The city was so bright, too bright for the future. Percy, she thought. Percy, save yourself.

thank you so much for reading! 3

i'm currently working on the next chapter, but in the meantime, what did you think? i have to say, i'm so glad i got to percy's tattoo. i know i didn't mention the colors, but the trident is dark green, and iron-like in appearance and the waves are varying hues of blue. i had to tell to, i can't help myself.

see you soon! comments are highly appreciated xxx