Never wound a snake; kill it.

-Harriet Tubman

Thunder cracks against a black sky, rain pelts down a grassy alcove. Rocks shield them from both precipitation and any potential onlookers.

She had timed it so perfectly with Gaia none the wiser.

Nymphs crowd around Rhea, some collecting fresh rainwater, others murmuring words of encouragement while working to lay down more sheets over her ichor-ridden ones. An older nymph crouches between her thighs and awaits for signs of the crowning prince. But Rhea cares little for their efforts, howling like the wind battering the sanctuary.

When Gaia enters the cave, Rhea's glare is already upon her. "Where have you been?" she snaps.

"With your husband," the goddess answers simply, ringing the water from her hair before coming to kneel by her daughter's side. "I did my best to come as quickly as I could." Gaia rests a hand on Rhea's clothed belly, no longer round and smooth as it had been not too long ago, but contorted and misshapen.

Her fists clench and unclench. "Did you tell him I was here?"

"He already knows. Not the exact location, no. But I am the only being who would dare defy his orders so it is only a matter of time before he finds you."

Rhea's laugh ascends into a scream.

"The head, my lady," the elder nymph calls. "I see it."

"Breathe, love," says the Earth Mother, her hand threading through Rhea's hair. "You never troubled in childbirth before."

"I thought Poseidon was a feat. My little warrior, I called him, for he would even fight his own mother. This babe will be a king."

Gaia shushes her sharply. Both the rocks and the wind have ears and any talk of Kronos and usurpation would have him tuned to their location sooner rather than later. Then the farce will be over before it's even begun.

"I labored with you for days," the goddess continues, providing some sort of means of distraction. "The crooked one, an eternity yet. In my experience, the youngest always seem so full of life, troublesome."

Rhea hardly listens so the jibe is lost on her. She feels her body splitting apart, making way—

She doesn't scream, but he does when the air first hits his lungs. In almost a daze she watches him slip from between her thighs – leaving the embrace of her womb – into one of the waiting nymphs.

Then Rhea remembers. How one had run off with her little Demeter. She struggles against her mother, "Give him here."

"Stay down, restless girl," her mother chides, before eyeing the nymph. One intimidating look and he passes quickly into Gaia's embrace before Rhea can gather her full strength. "There little one," she murmurs before retaking her place at Rhea's side.

The Titaness wipes the tears from her face and takes the boy from a still Gaia. She quickly latches him onto her breast, his fussy cries soon replaced with greedy suckles.

A son of Kronos indeed.

Gaia's had no time to look at his face before Rhea all but snatched him away, but she can see the sticky raven hair atop his head, feel the tendrils of magic emanating from him, wrapping and squeezing her…

Discerning my allegiance, little babe, she muses. I have none but my own.

Gaia clenches her fists and the tendrils fall back. He has learned his first lesson: do not tread on Mother Earth. He is a new god still. She vaguely wonders how Kronos could be frighten of an immortal still so young.

The thought becomes lost once the nymphs look to her, eyes glossed over with worry. What to do now that Rhea has her baby and her treason? Gaia sends them away before they can pester her with further questions of what's to become of them. She's never had the patience to deal with lesser beings.

When she turns her attention back to her silent daughter, Gaia notices the ferocity with which Rhea stares at her newborn, even as she strokes his rosy cheeks. The little one is fast asleep now but it's clear his mother has no intention of letting him leave her sight nor her grasp.

"A cloud hangs over you," Gaia sighs, wincing as she attempts to cut through the silence. Even the storm outside seems to have quieted for the time being.

Rhea glowers. "He will not take this child from me."

"So you presume to keep him here," Gaia snorts. "A lovely act of treason you have planned without consulting me. Am I to lie the next time your husband requests my presence?"

"It shall not come to that."

"Will it not?" the goddess mocks, her anger rising – vines along the wall rising with it.

Rhea looks at her with eyes the color of pitch. "I cried when this one was conceived, did you know that, mother? Kr—…He entered my bed a drunken fool and I knew he would leave me that night with another child in my belly. Why wait? Why not mourn the babe's fate now?" she spits. "I've never hidden my grief from him, thinking he would realize— he would understand... He pretends not to hear me but he is not so ignorant. Tactless, cruel being that he is. But not ignorant."

Familiar talk. Gaia had said the same when was young and fresh out of innocence, when she'd seen Cyclops after Hekatonkheires thrown into Tartarus with no end in sight.

For a brief moment, the Titaness shuts her eyes. "What he does is wrong. I will stand by no longer."

"I never claimed he was just," she says with utter calm. Kronos has committed many wrongs – keeping his homely brothers imprisoned in Tartarus still, one of them, and a slight Gaia herself isn't soon to forget. Her love for him has waned as well. "He is your king all the same."

Her face hardens to an impossible degree and Gaia realizes just how much defiance makes Rhea look like her father – cold, unyielding Ouranos, who could bring worlds into existence and wipe them out the very next day should they displease him.

Gaia sees the words before Rhea swallows them – not anymore – in place of softer ones not likely to be overheard. "I care not."

"You will." She grimaces. "With this babe at your breast, fire and blood is destined to rain down from the cosmos. And your husband will look you in the eye and ask you why you betrayed him. Why, when he gave you what thousands wanted: a universe to rule and a crown to wear." Gaia dares a stroke along her grandson's cheek, watching her daughter recoil like a cornered animal but with no signs of fleeing quite yet. "What will be your answer, Rhea?"

She jerks away from her mother's pressing gaze, lips pulled tight into a firm line as she once again looks her new son. As if he were the answer to all her problems. But this old immortal knows better – once, an eon ago, she had thought the same of Kronos.

"It is alright to admit you do not know," Gaia sighs eventually. "Neither did I when fashioning the sickle that tore your father to pieces." A numbing calm settles over her, as if mariticide and deicide are just par for the course in times like these.

"For so long, I wanted to leave you," Rhea muses. "I wanted to try my hand at playing this game of gods and prophecies. I thought I could win; that we could win. I lost instead." Five children, to be exact. While Kronos received a bastard of his own, horse legs and all, she remarks with bitterness.

"I all but gave you to him," her mother admits. "I knew it was the only way to get him to do what I wanted."

"My words still stand." What was done was done; following Ouranos's death, Rhea was not duty-bound to uphold her mother's promises. She was a free agent, free to choose her path despite Kronos's persistence and intimidation. His silver tongue singing promises of power, honor, and, yes, even love had convinced her otherwise.

"As do mine. The game isn't over yet."

The smile that graces Rhea's face is a hollow one. "Don't make me laugh. We both know how this ends."

Gaia looks back at her, green eyes darkening. "How does it end then, Rhea?"

The Titaness pauses, lips parted as if to say something, anything. But her words are lost to the wind, silence descending upon the cavern a second time save for the raging storm outside, though more distant now. Once it clears… Gaia herself, Mother Earth and bearer of prophecies, cannot say what will happen.

"His name is Zeus," says Rhea, when it seems as though their conversation will bear no further fruit.

Her mother only nods.

"Thalia?"

She twitches and the Master Bolt erupts into sparks beneath her. She doesn't recall shielding the weapon with her own body (as if it were the one in need of protection).

Her eyes flutter open and Artemis's face hovers overhead. Stars dance in her peripheral vision, a flash of ow shooting across her temple. "Thalia, we need to leave."

"No, no," she moans. Even moving a finger causes her whole body to be inflamed. "The Trident. Where's the Trident?"

"Iapetus has it." Artemis grabs her by the arm, smearing blood on Thalia's skin. But the girl makes no move to get up, let alone ask whose blood is on Artemis's hands. "It's too late, Thalia. They have the weapons. We can't win. We need to go."

"They don't have all of them," Thalia blurts out in a rush of adrenaline. Slowly, she pulls the Master Bolt from beneath her body, thrusting it into Artemis's hand. The goddess gapes. "Take it. Leave."

Thalia can see the questions that spring up on her face, none of which can be answered at the moment. Her jaw clenches. "I won't leave you here to die."

But before Thalia can argue with her, a voice stops them cold. Kronos's voice. "CLOSE THE DOORS!"

Thalia had last seen him face down on the table but there's no telling how much time has passed and what's transpired since then. Her nails sink into the goddess's arm and Thalia stares her down with whatever strength she can muster. "Please, we worked so hard for this. I'll only slow you down. You need to get out. You know you do and it has to be now."

"You wouldn't leave me behind when you had the chance. Even though you knew I would have told you to escape without a second thought."

Thalia knows what she's referring to, can still taste her disappointment, watching Zoe and Phoebe descend Orpheus's winding makeshift staircase behind the freed Zeus. The air had seemed so sweet then, so free of oppression. She had been the catalyst to saving the Olympians, saving her friends, and yet she hadn't been able to save herself. Refused to save herself, for fear of leaving her goddess at Kronos's mercy.

"Artemis that isn't—" It isn't the same. "You're our last hope. Please."

Thalia isn't sure what finally makes Artemis's resolve crack. Whether it's the tears in Thalia's eyes, the voice in which she pleads, or the content of her last wish: to end this dreadful war once and for all no matter the cost.

Gingerly, she takes the Master Bolt from Thalia's grasp. Loathing, regret flashing in those silver eyes. "I love you," Artemis tells her, throat as raw as the pain Thalia feels blooming up and down her spine.

"I love you too," Thalia whispers, Artemis being both the mother and father she'd longed for all her life. The only one who truly knew her – who never doubted where her loyalties lied.

Artemis grabs her discarded spear.

She breaks into a jog. A Titan soldier sees her. She gains speed. With a shout of alarm, he draws his own sword and charges. Artemis practically beheads him in one stroke. Other palace guards rush her but she dodges them with gazelle-like grace and focuses on the one set of doors still open.

Though they won't remain open long, despite Percy and Grover's best efforts. At the same time a fist bashes his jaw, Percy's eyes make contact with Artemis's. "Grover!" he warns.

But Grover can't help him. A revived Alabaster has the satyr by one of his horns and sends him crashing into an overturned table that splinters in half on impact. Exhaustion keeps Grover from bouncing back immediately.

At Percy's outburst, Alabaster turns to Artemis. Runes in the palm of his hand glow a sickly green. She doesn't hesitate. The spear flies from her hands, nicking his face and catching another guard in the throat.

In shock, he screams, "Don't let her escape!" But it's too late. Artemis barrels through the remaining Titan forces like an NFL linebacker, slipping past their defenses. Two or three nature spirits, in a frenzy, follow after her.

With a roar, blood trickling down from his temple, Alabaster's outstretched arm snaps forward and the last doors leading out slam shut. Nature spirits throw themselves at the sealed exit but to no avail.

But what comes next, no one anticipates.

Just as Thalia manages to stand, she hears, "STOP!"

Everyone freezes – some in mid-sprint, others inches away from death at the edge of a blade. Percy himself is caught reaching for the nearest sword. With gritted teeth, he tries to fight against the magical bonds keeping him in place but not a single finger twitches.

Grover is half-kneeling in the ruins of the splintered table, jaw slacked, streams of blood across his face suddenly stopped in their tracks. He isn't alone of course; for this brief moment all the bloodshed has simply been put on pause, fresh wounds no longer pouring out endlessly as they had seconds ago.

Even Thalia – fragile like a freshly birthed doe – finds herself unable to collapse to her feet. Despite her deeply rooted exhaustion, despite every fiber in her being begging her to sprawl out on the floor and desiccate.

Kronos is the only one who moves, clumsily skirting around the horrified combatants. He struggles to reach the forgotten chalice Artemis had handed him only hours ago. Now he picks it up hesitantly – albeit with a hint of irritation – as if were a bomb ready to go off any minute now.

Angrily, he scans the room before noticing her: a weak Thalia, off to the side and somewhat insignificant now in the grand scheme of this celebration-gone-wrong. Yet Kronos looks to her as if she has all the answers.

I might as well. I'm the one that plotted to poison him.

Kronos says nothing at first, his eyes drifting between Thalia and the cup. She can see the gears in his head turning. Piecing it all together.

"The wine," he says flatly, his eyes burning through her – like torches, magnified by his skin, which is so pale it's nearly translucent.

This is it, is all she can think, this is how it ends.

Kronos whips around to face the rest. "Grover Underwood."

Ice water rushes through her veins. No.

She's miscalculated.

Kronos chuckles to himself, drawing in frightened glances. "You planned all of this, didn't you?" He crushes the goblet in his hand. The gnarled piece of metal flies across the room, slamming against a brazier with a bang.

In silence, the Titan Lord crosses the room. From the concoction's effects, he stumbles twice – cursing each time to the terror of the frozen guests – before coming to stand an inch away from Grover's form. "You, a puny satyr, getting the better of me? I think not."

His hands clamp down on either side of Grover Underwood's face.

Time resumes.

With as much difficulty as shattering an amphora, Kronos crushes Grover's skull between his hands.

In her horror, Thalia can't even blink. Hysteria flares and the room descends into chaos.

Kronos flicks the blood from his fingers. "Kill them all," he orders, just as Percy bolts towards him. Not that the hero gets very far; Alabaster cracks a chair against the back of Percy's head and he collapses.

The Titan Lord turns away as guards rush at Percy, slamming his face into the ground as they pin his arms behind his back. Throughout it all, his eyes remain on Thalia and Percy struggles to tell her something. Anything.

But she's already sunk to her knees, hands pressed into the bloody floor as if attempting to memorize every rivulet. Despite his carcass on the other side of the room, she swears it belongs to Grover.

Her husband passes right by her, stealing a plate of ambrosia while the slaughter continues. In the next second, Thalia finds Kronos kneeling by her side.

"Take it," he orders simply.

"N—!" But he takes her face in his hands regardless, forcing her mouth open. The square of ambrosia melts on her tongue and she wants to cry again as her stomach lurches. She wants to cry when she sees huddled nature spirits having their throats slit, Percy struggling to reach her.

"Swallow," Kronos snaps. "Don't look at them. Look at me."

Her vision blurs and for a second Thalia thinks she's going to pass out again. But then her haze clears, her sight sharper than before, and she suddenly doesn't feel so frail anymore. Not physically, anyway.

"Better?" he murmurs.

She almost doesn't hear him. She assumes, through the sound of screams and smell of charred flesh, that Hyperion has resorted to burning traitors alive.

No, Thalia says to herself as she's forced to stand, his grip tight around her forearm. Everything is far from better.

A dreadful silence envelopes the room as most of their prisoners are put to the sword, save the moans from injured Titan Army soldiers. When the doors open again, there's no one left to flee the dining hall. Instead, a sole warrior enters, his blood-red armor and chin-length black hair splotched with fresh ichor.

"Pallas," Kronos grumbles once he spots him. "I do hope you are the bearer of good news."

Titan of the military. A figure Thalia should never see, particularly if all is going well.

"My Lord." As if on cue, his mouth sets into a firm line. "Olympus has been lost. The gods will arrive soon. I had hoped—"

"That we had this siege taken care of? Yesterday I would have said yes."

The other Titan kneels before Kronos, his wild face tempered by shame? Disappointment? "They're strong, my lord. We—"

"—are as well," Atlas snaps, coming to loom over Pallas still kneeling figure, who seems far from being reassured. Tucked under his arm is Hades' Helm of Darkness. Atlas turns his head to Kronos. "They cannot defeat you. Your sons are without their weapons."

"I beg to differ," Iapetus interrupts. He approaches them with spear in one hand, Trident in the other. Both drip with the blood of nature spirits. "I count only two of the three."

The Titan Lord's jaw clenches. "The Master Bolt—"

"—is missing. As is one of your pets."

Kronos turns his steely eyes on Thalia. The arm clenched in his grasp goes numb. "Where's Artemis?"

She might have laughed if a fuming Alabaster didn't answer for her. Normally, his manners might have kept him from intruding on a conversation amongst his overlords. But with a hand pressed against his aching back and the frustration clear as day on his face, she knows all semblance of civility has been thrown out the window. "Not here, that much is obvious."

Despite the interjection, Kronos's eyes don't leave her face. "Listen very clearly, Thalia Grace. I want you to grab every arrow you can muster and slaughter every nature spirit rebelling beneath my roof. Then, with that done, you will find Artemis. I want her dragged in chains before me and I want you to do it."

Artemis.

Her throat tightens. "I can't. Don't make me—" She bursts into tears, shaking her head fervently, especially as they drag a struggling Percy and throw him down at her feet. "Please."

He takes a step closer to her and his breath on her cheek is far from warm. It's as frigid and constricting as the north wind. "I want the Master Bolt and I want Artemis," Kronos growls. "Am I understood?"

She spares a glance at Percy, finding a wild look in his eyes. "Thalia, don't—" Alabaster rips a piece of bloody tablecloth, shoving it in the demigod's mouth.

Thalia struggles, but even at Kronos's weakest it's no use. He simply looks at her, mildly disappointed. "Think of our daughter, love."

Her head snaps back to him. She wilts a little in his grasp, her gaze like that of a hungry, desperate animal. Is that all I am now? Thalia has the urge to ask him.

"Think long and hard, because now it is time to decide who is more important to you."

In her silence, Percy's eyes seem to scream at her.

"I'll find her." Her voice is hoarse. "I'll find the Master Bolt."

She sees a golden eagle flying around Othrys, screaming. Good news, bad news. Lightning lights up the sky behind him. Time to go, go, go.

Is it? Rachel wonders. She walks up the rocky path towards the castle gates, barefoot and dressed in a light shift. A mistake, considering she can see her breath on the wind and her cracked feet begin to bleed.

She sees no one manning the walls, a far cry from yesterday afternoon. There'd been so many crawling around the forts, as vicious as a pack of fire ants. But now, in the distance, she can see the gates and wonders how it could be so simple. Alone and defenseless, a red-headed mortal girl approaching Othrys unharmed? Practically unheard of.

Not alone, dear, says a familiar hiss. Never alone.

Rachel stops in her tracks.

The rocks shift around her. She closes her eyes.

No, no, no, the hissing continues. Look at me.

A scaly tail touches her cheek. Her eyes snap open, the scream trapped in her throat. Red eyes, white fangs—

"Rachel!"

Oxygen snaps back into her lungs and she collapses to her knees. Where am I?

"Rachel?" she hears again, softer, and someone crouches down beside her. Calypso.

The former Titaness seems like a vision of tragedy with that frown on her face, her dark eyes – as solid and expressionless as Zoe's, as if it were some kind of family trait – are unusually vulnerable, tilted with… worry? For Rachel?

She finds it unnerving to say the least. To the point she looks just behind Calypso, finally recognizing exactly where she is, just why she's so cold.

The foothills of Mount Othrys.

I was at the top not too long ago…No, I was asleep in my tent— "I did it again," Rachel says in dreadful realization. "Didn't I?"

When the Python calls, those with the Sight must follow.

"Come," Calypso says in finality, squinting up at the Titan stronghold. "It's dark." And dangerous. Any wandering monsters testing the rebel barricades could easily make Rachel a midnight snack.

Their walk back to the camp is done in silence. No one seems in the mood to talk at this time of night, though it seems odd that Calypso has absolutely nothing to say.

When they enter Rachel's tiny tent, she expects for them to part their separate ways, keep this late-night expedition between them. Resume normal activity, that being sleep. Those hopes come to a short, violent end when she spots a familiar sun god looming over her makeshift desk, papers scattered on its surface, others grouped together on the floor.

Not reports, no. Images.

"Apollo?" She hardly notices Calypso bowing.

"A shame you became a teacher, Miss Dare," he murmurs, still hunched over the sketches strewn about her room. Rachel didn't just sleepwalk out her tent; she had taken the time to draw, fling it all off her desk, and flee. "By the look of this, you could've been one hell of an artist."

She approaches with trepidation, though her worries don't lie with Apollo; it's with the sketch he's staring at. By the shading, she figures only two places in the world could be so dark: the Underworld or Mount Othrys. But it's the tall arches that make her assume the setting is within the latter. The rest is too hastily drawn for her to make out entirely, especially when she has no recollection of creating this image in the first place.

What she does see is a person emerging from the darkness. Truthfully, she shouldn't recognize him at all. But she does. Even barely lucid, Rachel had taken such care with his lips. Lips that reminded her of a time in a used Toyota Prius at the dead of summer. Lips that fit his green eyes perfectly – even though where his eyes should be she had taken the liberty of marking with X's. Lips that had given Rachel her first kiss, and that she had sworn not to ever forget, even as her crush on him faded over the years.

Percy, what have they done to you?

"What does it mean?"

Apollo only shrugs.

Rachel snatches the next sketch that catches her eye: white fangs appearing out of another gloomy background, Rachel's own red-headed figure – where Rachel got the red, she doesn't want to know, absolutely refuses to look at the palms of her hands – caught inside a reptilian coil.

Her stomach rolls. She crumples it up and sets the sketch aside before Apollo can get a look. "Why is this happening to me?" Rachel, honest to God, doesn't want to sound like she's on the verge of tears. Yet she rarely has control over these things.

"Because you are meant for a greater purpose, Rachel," the god says softly. When Apollo fails to lighten the mood, she knows things must be serious.

Calypso snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. The time for courtesies seems to have passed. "Is that how you win them over now?"

That doesn't sound promising. "What's she talking about?"

Apollo doesn't falter too much, a smile still gracing his face despite his blue eyes growing in intensity. "It doesn't matter what Calypso's talking about, not yet anyway. It won't matter if we don't win this war." He presses both hands into the stack of papers, as if he just might summon her sketches to life. "As for what these pictures mean, gruesome as they are, I see it as a window of opportunity."

"How?"

He doesn't get a chance to answer. Zoe Nightshade takes this opportunity to burst into Rachel's tent. She adjusts the silver tiara on her head, looking as if she'd just slapped it on minutes ago "Come look!"

"Sister?" says Calypso, the first one to react. "What is—" She stops mid-sentence, mid-stride next to Zoe, her eyes honed in on the sky outside.

Curiosity gets the better of Rachel and Apollo, as they jump in behind Zoe and Calypso to get a good view.

Rachel's jaw drops.

Other watchtowers alight and she can barely see the silhouettes of panicked soldiers scurrying atop the walls. Whether they're running away from or to the flames – in hopes of putting it out – she can't say.

They simply stand there, watching in stunned silence as the battlements burn.

A gold bird – an eagle – circles the mountain, giving the walls a wide berth. He lets out a shriek and, though free of spoken words, it's the same from Rachel's dream.

Her mouth goes dry. "What does it mean?"

"The siege is over." Zoe's voice rumbles with what Rachel can only discern is excitement. "Time for battle."

"The last battle," Calypso looks to her sister, her cold mask firmly in place. Though Rachel would never consider them friends, this mortal knows enough about her by now to say that the prospect of the end is more than frightening. "The one that decides everything."

Apollo holds the drawing in his hand up towards the sky. "Excellent work, Miss Dare." To her horror, it's exactly the same. The burning battlements, the bird in the sky. Like she had predicted what would happen. "Calypso, tell Annabeth and Jason to organize their troops and alert Leo that the ballistae will need to be prepared. I need them all standing at the ready."

He clasps his hands behind his back, walking back inside Rachel's tent. Much to her irritation, he continues rummaging through her stockpile of sketches, as if searching for the answer to all their problems.

Naturally, like a lost puppy, Rachel follows him.

Calypso stands her ground, eyes narrowing. "And what do you plan to do, my lord?"

"Isn't it obvious?" His hand hovers over the sketch Rachel had crumpled up. Red hair, white fangs. "Miss Dare and I are going to kill Python. Even with the gates opened, we'll never get through to Kronos's forces with that thing guarding the entrance."

Rachel turns to him slowly, not fully comprehending at first. She'd seen Python only in her dreams, curling around the castle as if it was his greatest treasure (or squeezing the life out of her, if that was any better). The idea of her fighting that? Laughable. "I'm not part of the Rebellion. I'm not a fighter."

"Why, of course you are," he murmurs like it's an afterthought as he continues to stare at her drawing. Finally, Apollo shakes his head and it snaps him out of his trance. "Afraid we won't be able to do it alone. Someone needs to wake up Will. I suggest you start getting your Hunters together, Zoe. Including…" he makes a face "…Orion."

They don't even wait to be dismissed; Calypso and Zoe disappear, leaving a slack-jawed Rachel to find her bearings.

"Apollo—"

"This is what you were born to do, Rachel. Don't give up on me now." He cranes his head to the side and flashes her a perfect smile, reminiscent of a heartthrob straight from every teenage girl's fantasy. On cue, her heart leaps. "I did swear to protect you, didn't I?"

Not trusting herself, Rachel holds her tongue but nods all the same.

For the second time in her life, Rachel has never felt as lonely as she does now.

The first time had been at the conclusion of the Battle of Manhattan – after the Fall of Olympus. It's a scene she's never had the courage to put to paper—

She walks through paved cobblestone streets inlaid with gold. Her eyes are on her feet, weaving around large potholes, ichor splatter, and discarded armor from fallen gods. Though it's the middle of summer, Rachel shivers and it's not from any sort of chill.

"God, I need to get out of here," she manages through chattering teeth.

Her frayed nerves only subside when she spots the elevator. Hope fades, however, when she sees a spire of rock cut through the middle of the road, a demigod with a bronze sword lounging atop it like a cat.

"You're missing the climax," he croons, using the same tone Rachel's father would use when referring to her as such a great disappointment. "Kronos did say he would take it down. Brick-by-brick. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Rachel scowls. "Let me pass."

"Why should I?" His green eyes darken and the bags under them deepen. "You're a friend of the Olympians, are you not?"

If he were a monster, she might have started running there and then. People, at least, she can reason with. "I chose the wrong side."

"Your eyes betray you, mortal." He twirls the sword in his hand. "You have no intention of switching allegiances."

Rachel tries not to let him unnerve her. "I just want to disappear," she says. "Like you said, I'm just a mortal; I'm not a threat to you. I just want to go home."

With those words, he seems to consider her proposition. His eyes search her up and down, over and over again as if in pursuit of something deeper. But then he stops, as if remembering that she's just a mortal. "He would find you eventually."

She doesn't give any thought to the prospect of Kronos hunting her down. He's a Titan with bigger fish to fry and Rachel can be awfully resourceful. If that bridge ever comes along someday, she'll cross it. "What do you expect me to do? I'll die here anyway."

"You didn't let me finish," he chides. Rachel quickly shuts her mouth. "Kronos will find you eventually. Unless I help you."

Her eyebrows furrow. "How can you help me?"

"All it takes is a little magic."

Time to rephrase the question. "Why would you even want to help me?"

He opens his mouth, as if ready to tell her but she can see the moment when he changes his mind. He jumps off the spire of rock – which quickly sinks back into the destroyed road – landing with continued cat-like grace that has Rachel questioning whether he is a monster after all. He dusts his hand on his jeans before holding it out to her. "Last chance, no more questions. Do you want my help or not?"

Rachel grits her teeth. She nods.

Silently, the demigod hails the elevator. "I'm Alabaster. We're friends now."

Her face snaps towards him. "I don't even know you." Never mind he's on the opposite side. Then again, Rachel has no side. This isn't her fight.

The elevator dings and he walks in without looking at her. A little angry, a little tired, and a little embarrassed, Rachel climbs into the elevator to make her escape, though is careful to give Alabaster a wide berth.

His eyes crinkle with amusement. The elevator doors shut and they descend. "Don't worry, I'm hoping I never meet you again." He pauses and they stare at the flashing numbers. "Nevertheless, it pays to have friends, Rachel."

"How do you know my n—?"

The doors open and he pushes her out into the lobby. Rachel's ready to deck him but he pushes her again, pointing at an eerie black car waiting out in front of the Empire State Building. The silence from outside makes the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.

"I'm assuming you know how to drive?" Alabaster climbs back in the elevator, once again punching the top floor. "Be sure not to forget me. I'll recall the favor in due course."

She puts her hand on the doors to keep them from shutting. "Favor? I never asked for your help!"

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm letting you live against my master's wishes. I'm making it so that you will never be found by this world again unless you choose to seek it out." Alabaster pauses for a moment, holding her gaze. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Rachel says nothing. She refuses to give him the satisfaction.

"That's what I thought." He leans against the back of the elevator, crossing his legs at the ankles. The smug look in his eyes doesn't budge. "Go on. Flee."

She stumbles back. "I'm not a coward." The elevator screams at them, its anger at being held open for too long more than apparent. Slowly now, the doors begin to slide shut once more.

The last time thing she sees of Alabaster is that small, knowing smile. "I never called you one."

Rachel threw herself into her studies after that. She had graduated high school early, going straight into college as the world fell apart around her. Throughout her four years – and an additional year earning her Masters in Education – she tried to convince herself that she couldn't have done anything. Kronos taking over the world – that was inevitable. She would have died for a stupid cause, alone and unloved.

Living alone and unloved, that was surely better?

It wasn't.

Not in a job she hated, her friends in hiding, regret eating at her insides every moment of every day. Running into Nico had been the best thing to happen to her, even if all she did at first was share her dreams and sketches with him. She may have been tempted to call it Fate. Suddenly, being roped in this mess of Biblical proportions didn't seem like such a curse. She was mortal and she had an expiration date – better to die with good company.

I'm not alone, Rachel's forced to remind herself as she walks the rocky path to Othrys's main gates. Her friends are behind her. Even if she can't trust Apollo fully, she can gladly trust Will Solace, more than sure he'd never sacrifice her life to a monstrous snake. Not after all the times spent in the infirmary, staying up until the wee hours of dawn patching up bleeding wounds, helping battered soldiers to their feet, and holding onto the hands of the gravely injured until they breathed their last.

"I'm not alone," she allows herself to say aloud, tasting the words on her tongue. And, until she spots the hulking, engraved door barring entrance into the Titan stronghold, she almost believes it.

Too easy.

Right on cue, there's a tumble of rocks on her right side. An enormous shadow creeps into her periphery. She refuses to look but her hands tremble at her sides.

"Show yourself!" Rachel snaps.

"Hmmm."

More rocks plummeting downhill. The shadow approaches her from the side, growing larger and leaving her unable to focus on anything else. It's presence – numbing, suffocating.

Quite literally suffocating. She blinks to find the monster's dark-scaled body curling around her. Rachel almost becomes mesmerized by the muscles moving under his horned reptilian skin, amazed at how easily it could liquefy her bones without a second thought, just as he was about to do in her most recent dream.

No matter how large she thought Python was, in the flesh he's somehow even more enormous. Rachel finally spots the head of the beast. He whips around to look at her and she's frozen in place by glowing red eyes with dark slit pupils. It finally dawns on her: every nightmare she's ever had, not only in the time spent in the Rebellion but for years now, have featured those eyes in some way, shape, or form. She just knows.

He bears his shiny white fangs. In them, Rachel can see herself, see the horror painted on her face.

"As I said," Python hisses, "when the bane of Delphi calls, mortals with Sight must follow."

Mortal. After all these months hanging out with gods and demigods, she should have grown used to the word by now. It has the opposite effect.

Her right eye twitches. "My name is Rachel," she grumbles.

The monster pauses for a moment, taking her in. A series of short hisses slip from his throat, and his body shakes. "It matters not what they call you."

Laughter. He's laughing at me.

Something in her snaps. "I said my name is Rachel. Elizabeth. Dare." Where the steel in her voice comes from, she can't at all be sure. "And you, Python, a glorified guard dog for a failed Titan lord, can't frighten me."

Python reels back, as if he's been struck. Nevertheless, his grip around her tightens. "Puny, insolent, prey." The monster snaps back closer, his face inches away from hers. Slowly, his mouth opens, unleashing a hail of sulfurous fumes. "What do you know of fear? Ignorant mortal, I will give you something to be afraid of."

"I'm already quite familiar." Fear, she's become acquainted with quite well over the past decade. The Labyrinth. The Battle of Manhattan. Going into hiding. Joining the Rebellion. Rachel almost laughs. For crying out loud, she hit a resurrected Kronos with a fucking brush and it wasn't out of bravery. "The only thing I've ever feared, Python, is myself. Want to know where that leaves you?"

"I know where it leaves you!" He bears his fangs, nearly the same height as two Rachel's stacked on top of one another. "As an appetizer, as I prepare to dine on the carcasses of your little heroes!"

From behind them, an unexpected voice says, "I beg to differ."

Python's entire body jerks. The coils around Rachel disappear and, without that initial rush of adrenaline, she finally realizes just how constricted her breathing really was.

The monster screeches and writhes, on the back of his head she spots Apollo in shining armor, his sword deep in Python's neck.

"Hello, hello." An urgent Will appears from virtually nowhere, linking his arm with hers and hauling her away at a heightened pace. "Time to move out of the way, thank you."

Right on cue, waves of arrows – bronze and silver – fly out from the gloom, ricocheting off of Python's underbelly. He teeters backwards and Apollo struggles to hold his balance.

At the edge of Rachel's vision, she finally gets a complete view of the creature that had haunted her for decades. An oversized snake as long and thick as a subway train had curled around her tiny body only moments ago. Reflective black scales the width of her palms had rubbed up against her very skin.

A mortal and Rachel survived that.

She scrambles over broken rocks. "Oh God, Will." The first line of archers come into view. "You scared the living fuck out of me."

"Hey, we're here aren't we?" He draws his own bow from his back. "I'm surprised you didn't shit yourself."

"One more second and I might have."

Two silver-clad Hunters – Zoe and Orion – rush forward, long knives clasped. Behind them, the transformed Callisto and Atalanta follow.

Will notches an arrow and lets it fly.

"I want to help."

"You already have!" he shouts back with a grin. He hits his intended target: one of Python's blood red eyes. The monster wails.

Python's barbed tail flicks out, catching Callisto's side. Atalanta ducks in time. The lioness jumps and, while her claws don't sink all the way into snake's hide as intended, her weight causes them to overturn.

Apollo rips his sword out, plunging it in Python's good eye.

Will Solace lowers his bow. "It's over." One by one, the Apollo children breathe a collective sigh of relief.

The monster's skin melts, green blood spewing that wretched sulfurous gas. Apollo doesn't seem at all bothered. "You always do put up a good fight in the end," he sighs, pulling his sword out of from Python's skull. The enormous snake vaporizes, leaving behind only his skeleton. Good luck explaining all this to whatever paleontologist comes across these bones.

In a way, it almost seemed so easy to Rachel, defeating Python. Then she remembers the castle full of Titans and monsters they'll have to fight through.

This is only the beginning.

"Thank you, Rachel."

She jumps at the sound of Apollo's voice. He approaches her from behind, a grim Orion trailing him by a measured five feet.

"I didn't do anything," she responds in a meek voice.

"The only way to dispatch Python without fighting him for days on end is to catch him distracted." He winks at her. "So again, thank you."

He hands one of his children the sword covered in Python's blood and guts. In return, they hand Apollo his golden bow. The god's skin seems to glow a little brighter on contact.

"Where are you going?" Rachel blurts out.

His eyes sharpen, as if seeing her truly for this first time. Rachel can't help but blush, even as he says, "To find my sister before the fall."

"Not without me," Orion interjects.

"And wherever Artemis is," Luke pushes his way through the archers, "Thalia will be close behind."

"You'll wait for the rest of troops."

Orion crosses his arms over his chest. "We won't."

Apollo gives them both a withering glare, but it lingers on Orion. "You'll slow me down."

Luke comes to the Hunter's defense. "Try us." Though it sounds more like Stop us. I dare you.

"We haven't won anything yet," Will Solace protests, expectedly or unexpectedly Rachel can't really say, diffusing tension. "We need you."

"Othrys will fall." He levels his stare at his son. "I'll return when the moment is right but, as of now, there are too many pieces in motion. Too many events that must happen before this battle is over."

"How do you know?"

"A hunch," Rachel answers for him, because she can feel it too – not that she has the words to explain it. Not that she can explain any of what's happened so far.

Apollo remains quiet for a moment.

It's her turn to glare. If you're going to debate what to do with me, best do it out loud where everyone can hear.

He doesn't take her up on that offer. "We'll talk again when the war is won."

"Define won," Rachel snorts. "Half of us won't make it out alive."

Us. She catches herself when the words have already left her mouth. Not them. She's more than sure Apollo notices.

He breaks into a smile and says, "Welcome to our world, Miss Dare."

Friendsgiving gift to y'all.

All that remains: 4 more chapters + epilogue