The Wielder Has Come

Faith supposed Charon was terribly handsome for a ferryman. He was tall and elegant as he was wearing a silk Italian suit that matched his beach blond hair and thick chocolate skin. His eyes were disturbingly dark and daunting.

Classic music played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were a daring steel grey. Almost every ornate item that decorated the DOA lobby was black. There were people sitting on genteel couches, people roaming about, people staring out the windows, people waiting for the elevator-nobody moved, talked, or did much of anything.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see those people as clear as day, but if she focused on any one of them in particular, they start looking . . . transparent. Faith could see right through their bodies. Ghostly beings.

When Charon spotted them, he flashed them a sweet smile that reminded her of a python's. "I know you," he declared with narrowed eyes at Percy. He had a strange accent-British, maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language.

"Charon! How are you?" said Percy in a conversational tone, as if he was talking to his best friend. "You look old. Are you wearing the same shirt I saw you in six years ago?"

Faith restrained a laugh at the comical expression of disbelief that spread out on Charon's face. He appeared to have his attention on the wyvern behind them before warily averting his gaze back on the son of Poseidon.

"Last time I saw you, Percy Jackson, you were twelve years old with your little blond friend and satyr." There was a hidden amusement under Charon's words. "As I recall, you lied to me about you three drowning in a very big bathtub to get to the Underworld. What lie do you wish to feed me this time?"

Faith snickered at the audacity, imagining a twelve year-old Percy Jackson wandering about. She knew he'd been in the Underworld before, but she had no courage to ask him how he had ended up there in the first place. It might bring back memories he didn't want to think about.

Percy cleared his throat. "Er, well, if I said our microwave exploded in our faces, would you let us in?"

Charon held out a hand with his palm facing up. There was a mischievous twinkle in his gruesome eyes. "No tip, no service." Faith nudged Percy, who began plopping golden drachma after golden drachma on the dappled counter with soft plunks.

A wide smile spread on the man's face as his stubbly hand hovered over the coins. "Hm, you gave me less than last time, lad," said Charon disdainfully before a canny smile crept up his lips. "How 'bout you, hunter? Have you got any drachmas to offer?"

Faith was stunned that Charon had figured out her identity so quickly without so much as a blink of an eye. "Don't talk to me," she said flatly, having no time to think of a better response than that.

Percy took out a fistful of drachmas and let the golden coins slip from his slender fingers. He peered up at the ferryman, who was looking more than pleased as he stashed it all in a plain white drawer with a flick of his wrist.

"I guess that's more than enough. Follow me," instructed Charon, ignoring the waiting spirits that wailed and cried out incoherent words that she couldn't comprehend fast enough. The ferryman stepped out of the podium, giving Lucius an appreciative eye. "Keep your little pet civilized, eh? You wouldn't want to trouble the Lady."

Faith traded baffled looks with Percy. "Lady who?" she asked, even though the answer was already there, waiting to be said.

Charon's nasty grin spoke enough. "Lady Aphorei herself, of course." She turned a pasty white. "I take it you don't know her. Hades has lost control over his own realm ever since he fled to Olympus, and that makes Lady Aphorei my master. She doesn't like those who defy her, so you'll need all the luck you could get."

Faith felt a firm squeeze against her own hand. She didn't know if she'd been holding Percy's hand all this time, but it did feel nice to know that she wouldn't be facing this alone.

Charon escorted them into an enormous elevator that was crowded with blurs of greys and pale whites-the souls of the dead. Faith felt herself grow light as she stepped in the elevator, trying not to get too close to the spirits that ogled at them suspiciously.

Luckily for the both of them, Lucius didn't look as if he planned to rampage the lobby. Instead, his head was held high with his stout wings neatly hanging by his sides. Loud yelps and panicked whispers arose from the ghostly spirits when the wyvern released a growl-a deep, blood-chilling sound that sent them scuffling away.

The elevator doors let out the ringing sound of scraping metal as it shut close. Slowly, they started to descend with a ghoulish kind of calm. It was only when Lucius neared Faith a little bit too close from the back, she jumped so violently that even the ghosts had retaliated.

She cursed under her breath. They weren't going down anymore—bit by bit, Faith realised they were moving forwards. The light air brushed her skin, turning misty. The spirits' modern attire flickered into drab robes that fused with the rest of the gloomy things that surrounded them.

Faith could hear Percy's long sigh, as if he'd been holding his breath for some quite time. Charon's creamy Italian suit had been replaced with a refined coal robe that draped over his body, from his shoulders to the glazed floors. His bluish-grey eyes were replaced with empty sockets-they were dark and horrifying, to say the least.

Not so handsome anymore, she thought drily.

When she blinked again, the steel walls of the elevator were gone. They were standing on a spacious wooden barge atop a dark, oily river that was swirling with sallow bones, dead fish, and other, other stranger things—plastic dolls, soggy diplomas, and clattered silverware that glistened under the weak light that came from their raft.

"The River Styx," she murmured to herself. It was so filthy.

Lucius snarled upon seeing the river, unfurling its wings with a wild flap. This time, the spirits really shrieked. Percy stumbled back, clearly abashed as the wyvern let out a guttural kind of whine.

"What's wrong with him?" stammered Faith shrilly, her voice an octave higher than usual.

If the beast somehow managed to flip the damn raft over . . . well, the River Styx didn't look particularly appealing to swim in.

Charon shot them a dirty look, seething, "Control your animal right this instant!" Faith swore aloud, watching in horror as Lucius roared at them with a dangerous warning beneath his growls.

She didn't know what Percy was doing. He obviously wasn't thinking straight. Despite the all the snarling and hissing, he stood by the wyvern's side in a foolish attempt to calm the beast down. Faith's breath quickened as her gaze flicked from Lucius and to the river. Was it scared of the water?

"If it wants to fly, we fly," she barely uttered out, ignoring the shout of protest from Charon. Faith didn't wait for any permission from Lucius-if she waited a second longer, she might've changed her mind then and there. Her rough-palmed hands grazed over the creature's harsh flesh as she hoisted herself up.

"Come on, you buzzard!" Faith demanded. Percy swallowed visibly before taking his place right behind her, just as they'd done yesterday. This time, she knew what to expect as she leaned forwards, the beating of mighty wings giving off thick rolls of fog.

Screw the low profile they had planned. They were going to catch the attention of all the souls in the Underworld.

The ghosts scram, screeching and yelling vulgar curses that grew fainter and fainter the higher they rose. There seemed to be an endless canyon of pure darkness above, marking it as the lifeless sky of the dead. Faith looked back, and—

"You—your bag!" she shouted, spotting a sports blue blot that lay on the wooden barge from below. Percy's bag, with all their belongings, was held by Charon, who began furiously swearing at them to come back down.

Percy's breath tickled her neck. "We'll survive without it," he rasped, shutting his eyes tight. "Come on, Lucius!"

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes darting from the raft to where they were seconds ago to the growing crowds of ghosts that watched the scene unfold with pounding horror.

Lucius soared, and it gave her a funny feeling that the wyvern knew exactly what they would be facing ahead.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

Malcolm's lisped breath quavered, his eyes focused on the Mark that bled on Nico's shaking arm. The drips of blood bloomed across the pale boy's skin around an inked eye that looked as if it were haunted with a dark, dark evil.

He wanted to apologise. Badly. Malcolm didn't think that Nico would be Marked so early-they had assumed that if the son of Hades delivered the Book to Aphorei, she wouldn't invoke a Mark upon him. They had thought that they could easily take the Book of Fyrmarcs back by playing a game of trust with the merciless goddess.

They were wrong.

Malcolm stared, pity stirring at the bottom of his stomach as the son of Hades roughly wiped away the rest of the crimson blood-only blotches of dry pink were left circling the eye that shut close.

It was only then when he realised that the Nico's hand had gone slack. There was a ring on it. "He won't forgive me," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Will won't forgive me. This is all my fault."

"We can still try. I don't know how, but we can."

They shared a silent moment—it wasn't calming in any way. A cold tuft of wind fluttered through the light wintry air, and for a mere second, Malcolm swore he saw the eye on that red gaping skin twitch—

Nico staggered, choking back a sob as the eye bled a starless black. The son of Hades's head reeled, his breaths now coming in hoarse puffs of breaths. Malcolm didn't move, taking in the sight with limpid horror.

"Don't fight it," said Malcolm quietly, a swell of regret burning as Nico's haunted eyes snapped to him in raging disbelief. "It's going to hurt more if you do."

Nico let out a quivery breath, harshly lifting his jacket sleeve to his tear-tracked face in hopes of leaving no traces of evidence that he'd just been crying. "She's try—Aphorei, she's trying to summon me, and I—I can't just give in! It hurts, it hurts so much."

Malcolm knew, with every pound of his heart that said otherwise, that a soft-spoken 'sorry' wasn't going to cut it. The Mark . . . soon, he'd be Marked too, and he won't be able to do anything about it. He hadn't thought of the consequences of their actions—Hades, he hadn't thought it would come to this—

Malcolm said nothing, and somehow he knew that was enough comfort he could offer for the son of Hades. "We'll find a way, all right? Just keep it together for now. I'll find a way. We'll fight."

Malcolm peered at the somber shadows that longed for him. He remembered his first time to be under the mercy of Aphorei. He remembered his first time shadow-travelling, feeling as though he himself had become thin air.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm stepped a foot closer to the dark, looming dusk. Nico schooled his features into neutrality-his wobbling lips turned into a thin line and his down-turned eyes became that familiar Di Angelo trademark glare. So quick and subtle-Malcolm had never been able to control his emotions like how Nico did.

Together, with a prayer to the gods on the tips of their tongues, they shadow-traveled to be met with an enraged goddess of memory.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

Percy was surprised to see that the Hades's cosy little home hadn't changed one bit despite the presence of a particular goddess living in it.

He took in the statuesque fortress that towered over them darkly as if it were giving them a warning to step back. Above, high in the gloom, were three old ladies that had lustrous silver hair and ink-like leathery wings that curled around their frail bodies. A perilous simper were on their lips.

Faith stared, looking taken aback at the Fates that glowered at them without a word. "Ignore them," he told her, realising just how much experience he had, unlike the hunter. Percy might be underestimating her, really-the way she held her own head high sparked a surge of confidence inside him.

Faith bit her lip, shooting Lucius a look as they trudged towards two colossal bronze gates that hid a moonlit garden through an eroded fence. Percy hastily offered to push it open with a sharp nudge, and-

He could feel Faith's gasp at the astonishing view. The garden of Persephone was truly an enthralling sight with its tiny vibrant mushrooms and shimmering flowers that ranged from the brightest yellows to the most scarlet reds. Precious jewels were tucked in clefts of dirt, glimmering brilliantly under a thin sap of light.

In the upmost centre of the luminous garden was an orchard of pomegranate trees, their tangerine blooms neon bright in the dark. "Don't touch anything," Percy informed the stunned hunter, dragging her away. "You too, Lucy. Come on now. I promise you, that shrub doesn't taste as good as it looks."

A bloated puff came out of the wyvern heatedly as it waded through the paths of vine and blossoms after them.

They halted, eyeing the black marble portico that gleamed beneath their feet. In front of them, tall unwavering gates stood proudly with clouds of mist drawing up above.

Faith found herself mumbling airily, "If it happens . . . when it happens, tell my brother for me, will you?" Even if those three simple words were unspoken, he could hear it loud and clear.

Percy felt as though he'd been struck. "Tell him yourself. I'm not letting anything happen to you." She can't run away from the prophecy. It's her fate.

But it was enough. The little curve on the corner of her mouth was enough.

All of a sudden, her smile dropped quicker than the blink of an eye. "Do you hear that?"

Percy furrowed his eyebrows, nonplussed. When Lucius began hissing at the burnished gates, he swore he heard the sound of faint scraping, as if it were a fork against a plate.

Readable panic crossed his face as it grew louder-nearer and nearer to what was beyond the swarthy doors that led to the House of Hades. Percy did the first thing that came to mind; he shoved Faith away as the ear-splitting predatory snarl from the wyvern echoed in his head.

Everything happened too quickly. The gates that had been standing right in front of them burst, its shafts of delicate coppers and iron hitting the streaked floors with a roaring crash.

He found himself blinking away the ache that built in his head, agape as three intimidating figures robed in heavy leather-dragon leather, he realised-loured at them. A pale-faced woman stood among them, her glittering somber eyes matching the rose sleeveless dress she wore.

Aphorei looked more livid than the other three men behind her. Their faces were blurred from the thick fog that had arisen from the chaos.

Percy gathered up every ounce of courage he could, saying steadily with his hand grasping Riptide as if it were his lifeline, "We know what you've done. We don't have to play the hard way here." He was glad his voice didn't waver.

A wide, smarmy smile was plastered on the goddess's face. Her gaze darted from him to Faith, whose glare was hard and unnerving with Lucius on her side. Aphorei mused, "You speak as if you know everything, half-blood. Who knew your friends at that little camp of yours could be traitors against your side? I know things you do not."

Percy couldn't speak back. The ashen smoke was clearing a bit now, but he still couldn't see who the other three were. He blanched when Faith hissed scathingly, "You took him, didn't you? You thought you could use my brother like a weapon."

He threw glances between the two as he listened to his own pounding heart. He and Faith were too far away from one another; if Aphorei were to become all violent with them, now would be the perfect time. Percy didn't think Lucius could protect them both from the goddess and the other three demigods behind her.

"Ah, Elijah? Poor boy. He doesn't understand the potential he has." Aphorei shook her head, eyeing the wyvern with a gleam on her eye. "Lloyd, dear, isn't that your wyvern?"

Percy stopped breathing altogether. He could see their faces now, where Lloyd Draco was blankly staring back at them, and—

"Nico? Malcolm?" he sputtered out, his mouth hung slightly ajar. "What are—how did you—"

Aphorei leered at them, her faced stretched out with a coy sneer. "You and your blond friend had quite the same reaction," she drawled in a cool, sardonic tone. "Learn to never trust what you see, Percy Jackson."

A look of alarm was written all over his face. Annabeth. Annabeth was here, locked up somewhere. It was a risky thought; if they couldn't get in good terms with Aphorei, then maybe at least they'd be able to rescue Annabeth out of this hellhole. Otherwise, they came here for absolutely nothing.

"How do you know they aren't spying against you?" Percy was stalling, and the hunter way across the chamber knew it. He saw no more but a second of Malcolm nudging Nico, who nodded his head shrewdly.

Aphorei was grinning now. Percy noticed how the son of Hades, shifted from time to time, looking sick. While Malcolm . . . "We don't play by trust," said the goddess softly, angling her head to the side as she prowled closer and closer. "Our side has ways older than the gods. Older than the titans."

. . . Malcolm was counting. It wasn't obvious, but he was-as if it were a signal.

Lucius uttered out a wild bellowing sound when Aphorei dared to fix her cold-blooded stare on Faith without blinking. The goddess sneered in a biting tone, "Wyverns—beautiful creatures they are, really. Aside from that, I think getting rid of your little hunter here would be nice."

Percy lunged towards Faith, knowing he was too far away to help. He yelled something, something that was drowned by the ringing noise around him that even he hadn't heard himself. There was a blast of a bestial red that lit the whole cavern with hazy dark shapes floating in his vision—

Percy swung Riptide at the shadowy figures that whizzed past. There was another scream, one that undoubtedly belonged to the Hunter of Artemis. He only had a second to panic when a hand made a grab for his sword arm, disarming him before he had time to realise what had happened. He threw a fist to his side, and-

Malcolm Pace hardly glanced back at him before dragging him to the lurking shadows. There was a whip of ash brown hair-one that he knew belonged to Faith-that was on his other side as well. Suddenly, the darkness engulfed him like a thick blanket, and—

They were shadow-travelling away. Malcolm Pace was the one leading them as Aphorei's shriek became softer and softer until it was lulled into a deafening silence.

Unfortunately, the son of Athena didn't give Percy a second to breathe as he was sucked in a pitch-dark tunnel of shadows, and he could hear Faith trying to pull back—

"Let go of me!" hissed Faith, landing a steeled blow against Malcolm. Percy's breath ragged, realising they were in a different place now; but it still looked as eerie as the how the House of Hades had been.

This time, Malcolm caught the bejeweled dagger that would have dug itself in his throat if it were not for his swift reflexes. "You will listen to me if you don't want to die," he demanded, his dark grey eyes flicking to something behind them.

Faith was fuming, but Percy brought out a hand to separate himself between the two. He shot a tempered look at the son of Athena-a threat. "Do what you want," said Percy, earning a look of incredulity from the hunter. "But if you hurt her, Malcolm, I'll make sure you regret it."

They were all too busy to notice another presence in the room. A feeble voice whispered behind them, "Perce? Faith?"

Percy knew whose voice it was the moment his name was called. He wheeled around, not believing that Annabeth really was in front of him. He watched as Faith seemed rooted to the floor for five seconds before hurrying over to the daughter of Athena, helping her up from the small space she was ruggedly settled in.

Percy turned to Malcolm, saying in an almost accusing tone despite he had just saved their lives, "Is this a funny trap you set up?"

The son of Athena didn't answer, and the raven really considered plunging his blade right across his throat. Percy instinctively reached for his pocket, a wave of disbelief washing over him when he realised Riptide wasn't there.

It was on Malcolm's firm grasp in its pen form, and it didn't look like it would reappear in Percy's pocket any time soon.

"Give me my sword," he said quietly, the edge in his voice far too unnerving, even for his own ears.

Malcolm's lips parted to reply, but his cool facade shattered in less than a millisecond. Pure, undignified terror was on his face as Percy was sharply shoved back against the rough domed wall.

Faith cried out a curse, mouth gaping in horror as the familiar silk-red color of a certain goddess's chiton unfolded from the shadows. Aphorei was cackling. Cackling at them, and Percy wanted to scream at Malcolm to do something-

"I knew there was still some of that good in you, Pace," snarled the goddess, baring her teeth horridly. "You should have been Marked first than poor Nico. You're afraid of that, aren't you? Thought you could get away from me?"

Percy's subtle touch in Malcolm's arm told him enough. The son of Athena's greys filled with a hatred-no, it was dread. Dread for what was to come, and for a split second, there was hopelessness in Faith's colorless face. Even Annabeth looked resigned, as if she knew what was to come.

They had thought they got away.

I'm not letting anything happen to you, he remembered saying. He wasn't planning to break that oath very soon.

Percy pushed himself away from the son of Athena, wild and strangled. He was desperate, and he knew Aphorei was going to kill him when he so as much as provoked her-

"NO!" Faith appeared struck with overwhelming flashes of light that sped towards her all at once. Annabeth shoved her away roughly on the floor, and Malcolm took this as a sign to pull an infuriated Percy with him unto the looming shadows with no much gentleness.

Faith released a groan as she got up with dizzying speed, her knees scraped and scratched as Aphorei sent another red peaked glint racing at them. The shadows-Percy could feel it swallowing his body as Faith hurried over towards them, barely just avoiding the beams of light.

"ANNABETH!" Percy shouted with increasing alarm as he ducked down when another strike of blazing red came at him. Annabeth was across the tavern; she was trying her best to avoid getting hit. Aphorei was practically dancing on the tips of her toes, the ghost of a smirk splayed on her lips. Evil. This woman was evil-

Percy couldn't do anything as Annabeth gashed her leg from twisting too far; a dripping, blood-rose slash went along her knee. If it had been painful, the daughter of Athena didn't grimace under the delighted goddess's stare.

"Fuck. You," hissed Annabeth, dangerously tipping her silvered dagger as her eyes narrowed. Percy was mumbling prayers in his head, because they needed to go now, but they couldn't just leave Annabeth here—

"Oh!" Aphorei put a finger on her lips, feigning hurt. "Little Annie knows how to play! Why don't you show me what you can do?"

Percy had seen it late. He hadn't seen Faith raise her own blade, and neither had Malcolm been paying attention. The son of Athena was too focused on trying to keep the shadows still, their only chance of escaping. Faith tilted her dagger, and-

"RUN!"

And gods, Annabeth did. She ran like hell, grateful for that one distraction from Faith as the hunter's dagger sliced the goddess's ivory skin, but it wasn't enough. Percy held out a hand for her to take, urging Malcolm to go, go, go—

Aphorei wasn't smiling anymore. Percy only saw a flash of brilliant crimson rushing after them before his world was painted black.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

He ignored the soaring ache in his arm as the eye started crying red. His own blood, trickling down his arm. But he withstood it-with all his willpower, he tried and tried to pretend it was fine; that it didn't hurt.

Nico remembered what Malcolm had mouthed to him before they struck. Elijah, the blond had said. Get to Elijah.

It was all he needed to know before he had shadow-travelled away, the horrid stench of the dungeons that had been built under the House of Hades reeking in his nostrils. Nico remembered seeing the retching place for the first time, looking impassively at Elijah Kataramenos curled up on the floor.

The poor boy had been captured a few weeks before Nico joined the Dark unwillingly. He'd seen the lost look in Elijah's eyes-he barely appeared to be more than twelve years old.

Nico didn't have a single inch of regret plastered on his face as he found himself in the heart of the Underworld, the cavern stretching far and wide like an icy ravine in from the sky. Nico hadn't known about this part of his own realm-it would've served as a rather alluring place for his own private use if it were not for the putrid dungeons that each had a prisoner cowering in it.

Will would've liked this place, only if the Dark wasn't diminishing its beauty by using it as a dungeon for prisoners. Slaves.

Nico shut his thoughts out completely, knowing that now wasn't the time to cry his eyes out. No. He could do that later.

He didn't realise he was standing right in front of Elijah's personalised dungeon, where the worn out boy was hugging his frail knees closer to his chest. "What do you want?" rasped Elijah, looking defeated. "Here to try to make me join your side?"

Nico felt pity rush through him. "We're getting out of here," he said in a cold, steady tone despite the prickling agony in his Mark that made him want to rip it out with his bare hands.

Elijah stared up, disbelieving for a moment. His eyes travelled from his face to Nico's bloodied arm. "We can't. You got the tattoo thing-the others have it too. I saw it bleed last time when a guy couldn't torture one of the . . ." he paused for a moment, trying and failing to think of a better word, "prisoners."

Nico felt a sick feeling churn in the pits of his stomach. He'd seen it happen before, right before his eyes. And he'd done nothing about it.

Abruptly, the son of Hades took Elijah's arm that was awfully too thin. The boy was startled, watching in shock as Nico's Mark began to cut his milk-white skin. "Your . . . your arm-"

Nico gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as a tormenting abyss of pain made him see stars-it stung so bad to the point he couldn't feel his arm anymore. He needed to get Elijah out of here, even as his Mark was tearing him apart.

But he couldn't. The magic-the bond that flowed from his soul to the Dark was like a leash; a tight leash he couldn't escape from. Malcolm had told him Nico should try, try just for their sake-

"Elijah's right, you know," a biting voice spoke behind him. Nico felt Elijah tug his arm away, cowering further in the dark at the mention of his name. "The Mark makes it harder to escape. If only that Malcolm friend of yours was Marked too, then none of this would've happened."

Nico wasn't sure if he was breathing. He dared look up, where the face of a leering Lloyd Draco glowered at him triumphantly. Nico couldn't talk back, he was afraid his voice would betray him and a scream would come out instead.

Lloyd cast him an innocent smile. "You tried anyway. I think mum's gonna have a fun time getting her sweet revenge on you."

Nico wasn't so sure when his world began tilting, but he could only imagine what Malcolm would think after he found out that he had failed. The Mark makes it harder to escape.

No. That was wrong. The Mark made every chance of escape impossible-it reminded Nico that he just might never see Will again.

I'm sorry.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

Percy let out a breathy wheeze as he found himself thrown against the whetted blades of grass. No matter how many times he shadow-travelled, he would never get used to the feeling of it. When he blinked, the familiar colour of rich green and vivid blue skies came to greet him. There were black spots dancing in his vision, each one sending a rush of pain through his body.

"Wait!" Faith tried to get on her two feet, but failed to do so. She sent an accusatory glare at Malcolm, who tried to get away. "Where are—we forgot Lucius! Our wyvern!"

Percy couldn't care enough about where Lucius was. He veered around once he heard a slight choke for breath—Annabeth. "Oh my gods," he breathed, his eyes travelling from her greyish skin to the hollow crimson wound on her leg.

"Wyverns are trained to shadow-travel to whoever they consider a worthy master. Your friend, Lucius, might arrive here at any moment," said Malcolm, his voice cracking as if all the shadow-travelling had truly drained him.

Faith opened her mouth to cuss the son of Athena out once more but a deep, low purr interrupted her. She looked stunned, eyes wide in awe as Lucius emerged from the shadows near the trees.

Letting his temper run short as Annabeth's blood seeped in the ground, Percy hissed, "Faith! Annabeth, her leg-we need to stop the bleeding."

It was only then when a pattern of shock, worry, and panic was drawn on the hunter's features. With trembling hands, Faith unravelled her turquoise scarf that was specked with bits of dust and blood on her neck.

Percy let Faith do the work-she had more experience with healing, unlike him. Faith began murmuring an incantation that sounded more like a song with the way she spoke so gently. Golden thread wove through her slender fingers that were carefully tending to the bleeding slash.

Annabeth was still out cold, and Faith . . . she still remembered him. Had something gone wrong? Have they defied the prophecy after all?

"Where are we?" Percy snapped his gaze to Malcolm. The son of Athena seemed dazed, as if he were expecting someone else to arrive.

"Camp is up that hill," said Malcolm weakly, pointing to a hill to their right that held the familiar maple threshold with the words Camp Half-Blood engraved on it. It looked way too far away to walk from where they were, especially with Annabeth's injured leg.

Percy flicked his eyes from the camp to Lucius. Malcolm swallowed, whispering, "Nico is supposed to be here. With Elijah, Faith's brother. I don't think . . . I shouldn't have told him to, he was Marked. I'm sorry."

A pang of pity clouded his head. Percy didn't know if he should consider them as allies to the Light, but . . . "Give me Riptide," he said quietly.

Malcolm didn't hesitate to hold out the blade in its pen form that glimmered under the burning sunlight. Percy took it, glancing one more time at the son of Athena. "Make sure you know what you're doing," he murmured. "Do tell Nico to take care of himself."

"I will." Malcolm spun around, his back to the son of Poseidon as he was buried by the approaching shadows. It was no less than a second that the boy had disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

Percy dipped his head, glancing behind him to find that Annabeth was still unconscious. Faith stopped her mantra, peering up at him hopelessly as she breathed, "I need supplies. I might make the bleeding worse without it."

"Take Lucius," he said, gesturing to the wyvern. "Fly there, up the hill. Call for help. Annabeth can't walk, and I'm not leaving her here."

Faith's nod was all he took as an answer. This time, she wasn't speculative to ride the wyvern as she threw her leg over Lucius's other side with a stifled huff.

Percy didn't waste time to watch them rocket up in the air as a gust of wind stormed from their flight. "Faith's getting help, we'll be fine," he tried reassuring her, wincing as Annabeth tried to shift her leg. "Don't move. It'll hurt more if you do."

She stopped moving, fluttering her eyes shut as Faith's soaked scarf did nothing to stop the swelling wound from dribbling scarlet blood.

Come on, Faith, he silently pleaded, stealing glances at the hill in hopes of seeing her but was disappointed with a silent twitter from the trees. It was broad daylight; if there were any monsters around, he would have spotted them already.

We're coming, spoke a low voice that startled him so badly that he even accidentally fell back, whipping his head around like a lunatic. No one, no one was there-Percy must be going insane from the blood-loss-

Use your strength, Wielder. No. No, it was someone else, in his head. He's heard of that voice before, someone in his dreams, ancient and powerful. Draw the Fyrmarc with your own blood.

If Percy could argue with whoever was manifesting his head, then he would. He was too dumbfounded to focus on anything else as an angular circle that had lines and curves making its way through the symbol glowed a faint azure-right there, in front of his eyes, carved in the grass like a guideline.

Percy closed his eyes, hoping he wasn't imagining things as he dipped his fingers into the gaping cuts in his forearm. Breathing hard and trusting his instincts, he made the first few lines of what made up the Fyrmarc, turning his battered body into an inkwell as he drew line after line on the lush ground next to Annabeth's limp body.

He didn't notice the rushing footsteps that were getting nearer and nearer. He didn't notice the sound of powerful, beating wings somewhere by the distance. He didn't notice the hushed whispers and gasps that arose. He was too focused on the bewitching light that his own blood swallowed on the grass, shining and fading on to the earth.

Impressive, whispered that very same voice. I don't think you'll be needing my Book of Fyrmarcs to teach yourself, after all.

Percy eyed the wound, cautiously untangling the tainted fabric wrapped around Annabeth's leg. He watched in astonishment as the Fyrmarc glowed brighter, seeping sapphire mists to the gash. The bruised skin began closing as the magic began filling in the wound, then-

It was healed, and so were the other slashes on the rest of her body. Annabeth's blood was still there, splattered on her clothes and all, but nonetheless, she looked perfectly fine.

"The Wielder," someone whispered behind him, as more and more murmurs erupted. Percy lifted his head up, speechless to find nearly every demigod in camp staring right back at him with dilated eyes and a gaping mouth.

And there, in the midst of the campers and hunters alike, was Faith offering him a sad smile. The people around her stayed far back, away from Lucius that showed off his fangs in a reckless manner.

Percy didn't know it, but there was a ruby mark that was slowly fading, just above his eyebrow. Only Thalia Grace had seen it flicker from a distance. And she knew.

It had been the same fiery red mark she'd seen on Aegeus's forehead. She knew it was no coincidence, as nothing in the Greek world ever was.