The One of the Stars and Universes

He was on sword-point—he recognised Lloyd's blade flustering as it promised to dig deeper in his throat if Malcolm dared move. He was being dragged along a tiled hall, half-hoping that nothing too damaging and permanent may be brought upon him.

But with Aphorei's smile tainted with a kind of unforgiving evil, he knew death was a mercy.

"You should've listened," whispered Lloyd for only the son of Athena to hear once the goddess was way ahead of them, out of earshot. Malcolm stumbled, his breath catching in his throat once he realised where they were going—it was. where the Ouranos, the true Dark, was slowly awakening.

It was where Nico—and so many others—had taken their Mark. Either proudly or unwillingly.

"You're a coward," breathed Malcolm, not knowing what made him say it so recklessly, but the strong ire settling in Lloyd's eyes knew he hit a spot. The sword at his throat sliced deeper, making his lips form a silent cry as something warm dripped onto his collarbones.

Lloyd glowered at him. "Nothing will stop me from killing you right here, Pace. I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind, either."

The enthralling chamber they were striding to seemed to get closer and closer by the second. Malcolm wasn't given a chance to fire back an insult when Aphorei turned her head with an unearthly kind of aura, her grin feral and dangerous. The threshold burst open, the blinding light coming to greet him with welcoming arms.

Malcolm hoped they couldn't hear his thumping blood in his veins as his eyes fell upon an enormous throne encased inside a glass box. There was a billowing smoke as dark as night fluttering in it, forming a human-like figure now and then before falling apart.

He knew it was no smoke. It was a soul—the unreformed soul of Ouranos slowly inching closer and closer to life. Cruel slits of golden stared back at Malcolm; he vaguely wondered if that's where Kronos had inherited his very own eyes and signature glare.

Lloyd shoved him forward harshly, earning a disgruntled sharp cry from the son of Athena.

"What are you doing?" whispered Malcolm breathlessly, not breaking eye contact with those dark lucid eyes within the upright coffin. Wasn't he supposed to be bleeding to death by now? Did they think he could still be somewhat useful to them alive rather than dead?

Aphorei tittered at him. "I thought that'd be obvious. What a shame that your friend won't be able to watch you." Malcolm fought back a tremble. "You see, I got other plans for him." Nico. He'd been caught trying to get Elijah out of here too—

Malcolm stopped breathing entirely. The chamber he was in, the soul lingering inside that glass coffin, the goddess's dark smile of promise—

He was going to be Marked.

Malcolm prayed to the gods, hoping that Death came first before it was too late.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

Percy didn't know if he should be irritated or anxious when everybody's panicked stares focused on him, and him alone.

"What was the whole prophecy, anyway?" asked Thalia quietly, breaking the whey-faced silence like a knife through fog. "Your quest prophecy, I mean. If you can still remember."

Both he and Faith dropped their mouths open to speak, but Percy waved her off resignedly. The healer set her lips in a tight line for a second in concentration, then began reciting; "Memory and souls together as one, the prince's hunt has just begun. Daughter of the Marked, beware—"

"For seconds of moments be ensnared," added Percy, vaguely recalling the lines that Rachel had spoken with an airy voice. "Seek the ones they enslave to breed, and the wielder shall wake at a time of need."

The rest appeared hesitant for a moment, as if they were expecting more of the quest prophecy. Percy pulled a wry face before mumbling coarsely, "That's it. That's the whole thing, I mean."

Chiron puffed out a cough, waning their attention on him. "M'boy, did you possibly consider deciphering what each line stood for? Pro—"

"Obviously," said Faith in an impossibly fed up tone, ignoring the nudge that dug itself sharply on her side. She challenged the centaur down with a stare. "We know what each line means."

Well, most of the lines, he pointed out in his head meekly. But at the moment, Percy figured he should just shut up and go along with the healer's antics. Did her cheeks always flush with the faintest of pinks when she was irritated, or was it just him?

Chiron held up a hand, looking calmer than he's ever had since the beginning of the meeting. "You did not let me finish," he said calmly. "Prophecies always have double meanings. Some lines take might longer than most to figure out—like the one mentioning a prince, dare say."

Percy screwed his face up, glancing at Faith hopefully for an answer. She appeared just as stumped as he was, and it would've been hilarious if it weren't for their keen audience waiting for an answer from them.

Realising that the healer wasn't planning to reply anytime soon, Percy sighed and looked at Chiron sheepishly. "Sorry. Did you mean the line about the prince's hunt has just begun thing?" Yeah—we don't have a single clue what that means.

Judging by Chiron's face, the centaur understood. Faith stayed stubborn, scrunching her face up as her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

"Prince, prince," said Piper in wonder, biting her inner cheek thoughtfully. "What did the prophecy mean by prince? There aren't really many princes we know in the Greek world, but—"

"Don't you think it means heir?" interrupted Reyna, fumbling with the golden stitches on her cloak tautly. "Maybe whoever was the so-called Prince in the prophecy wasn't exactly referred to as a prince. He could've just been the son of a . . . well, a powerful authority. Possibly a god."

Percy frowns. Prince. "Annabeth said that, when we were on our quest," he said, adding in a steadier tone, "she thought the Prince might be another name for the Wielder, but we dismissed the idea."

If the Prince did refer to Percy himself . . . well, he was awfully sure he wasn't on the hunt for something. And even if it was him, what would he be trying to find, anyway? Some bits and pieces of self-esteem?

He didn't know a prince that was on the hunt for something, but a faint voice in his head told him that Annabeth could possibly have the right answer, regarding the long time she'd spent under the Dark's grasp. She might have information.

Faith suddenly uttered a soft gasp, looking triumphant. "Actually, you may have a point there," she said, offering a nod to Reyna stoutly with a small smile. "We're talking about one prince here. If, daresay, he was the son of a god, that would mean the Prince would most likely be an only child, but—"

The mahogany door slammed open, startling them so wildly that even the few of them that were sitting down had fallen on the floor with a bone-cracking thud. Just like the others, Percy instinctively brought out his sword, and—

"Fu—oh, gods! I am so sorry!" A golden-haired boy panicked, his eyes wide enough for all of them to know something was terribly wrong. "I—there's something wrong inside, it was glowing, just there! They—they said the cabin was cursed, and—"

Piper was the first to react, hurrying over to try and calm the camper with her soothing voice. "Slow down, slow down. Tell us again, what happened?"

The boy blinked, taking a slow ragged breath before saying in a rush, "We're not sure, but the older campers are saying there's a—a Fyrmarc in the Athena cabin, and we don't know how it got there, we swear—"

"A what?" Everybody had retaliated almost instantly. Percy wasn't given time to protest once they whirled their heads towards him, either with their mouths ajar or looks of disbelief flashing in their eyes. Was that betrayal?

Percy couldn't help it. "You think this is my fault—"

"Can—I'm sorry, but can we go now?" blurted the boy, looking pleadingly at him. Percy sharply jutted his chin out to the others, knowing it was enough of a signal for them to start moving.

They scurried out, the boy leading most of them out of the Big House quickly. If Percy listened close enough, he could hear muffled yells from the campers outside echoing in his ears. He watched as the room slowly emptied, and—

"Aren't you going?" Faith leaned back on the doorway, crossing her arms at him as she fixed him with her calculating stare. He would've been intimidated like any other normal person would be, but the tiny uplift in the corner of her lips meant something else completely.

Percy took a deep breath, not knowing he was holding it for so long. The anger that had built up in him dissipated altogether. "No. I'm not coming. I have . . . something else to do."

Her head tipped to the side, peering up above. "You're going to try and find the Book, then?"

"Er, no. But now that you mentioned it . . ." Percy shook his head at her. "Never mind. That's not why I'm staying."

Faith looked thoughtful for a moment, then her eyes flicked to something behind him. "You're just as sane as I am, Jackson." His mouth dropped open, clueless as to what she was talking about, but— "I saw the man too, but did you see the red mark on his forehead? Exactly like yours, when you were healing Chase? You know, it looked like a Fyrmarc at the time."

"I—wait, what?" Percy struggled to form a proper sentence, trying to get over his shock as he revelled in the healer's words. "The others keep saying that too, but when did—how can you be sure—"

"He'll tell you everything," said Faith softly, looking as if she were attempting not to laugh at the dumbfounded look sprawled on his face. "I also realised he could be very impatient, so best I leave you two be."

Percy, like any other human being, would have laughed out loud and asked if she was thinking straight. Or if she'd been drinking heavy loads of alcohol, because Faith definitely didn't look convincing with her twinkling eyes and beguiled smirk.

Instead, mustering all of what's left of his sanity, he tried weakly, "What in—who is he?"

Faith turned her back to him, taking one step out and on to the front porch. "Him. Chaos. The man." Deciding that it was a very good time to leave Percy more nonplussed than ever, she left and shut the door without so much as another glance.

He stood there, staring at where the healer had been before. At least he knew that the man he had seen was totally not just a trick of the light, but—

"She's right," quipped a voice behind him, filled with mirth and an unsettling feeling that crawled up his back. He'd heard that voice before. "I am immensely impatient, even if I have all the time in the world to find myself some of those delightful Twizzlers."

Percy whirled around, panic seizing him so dangerously he could've fallen back if it weren't for his quick reflexes. What stood before him was the same man he had seen a while back; with his ebbing and flowing cloak, eyes as brilliant as the night sky, and a spine-chilling aura that dug beneath bone.

"Twizzlers!" repeated the man pleasantly. "Mortals are quite creative, aren't they?" Even though he had a hard-steeled face, he still wore a lopsided smile that went against his whole frightening image.

Percy blinked at him, contemplating whether he should rub his eyes or not to really make sure he wasn't imagining things again. The hand on his sword went slack before he decided to let go, seeing as the stranger looked unarmed.

"Who are you, and what in the River Styx's name do you want?" croaked Percy, scrutinizing the man warily. It was as precisely as Faith had told him; a Fyrmarc just right above the man's right eyebrow, blooming the brightest ruby he'd ever laid eyes on.

It looked . . . familiar. He'd seen it before.

The man seemed to find the uncertainty behind Percy's words. "Hasn't your friend told you, Wielder?" he said nonchalantly as the son of Poseidon's face went aghast. "Alas, you don't happen to have some Twizzlers with you, do you? Maybe even Skittles?"

This man is a god, a voice in the back of his mind shrieked. But surely this couldn't be—

"No?" The man appeared disappointed. "You don't know who I am? Your lovely . . . friend said my name loud and clear earlier, I'm afraid."

Percy snapped out of his stupor. "You seriously can't be Chaos?" he uttered, realising just how disrespectful he might've sounded if he really were conversing with . . . well, a particular god of the universe that could turn him to dust at any given moment.

Yes, he is absolutely not panicked. Or terrified out of his mind. Nope.

The iridescent-eyed god didn't look any affected. "Believe what you must, but time is running. The Eldest of the Skies is waking, and young lives will be lost."

Ice shot through his veins, ringing in his ears. Ouranos, Gaea's unfortunate husband, happened to be on Percy's list top ten list of annoying godly beings to get rid of. Surely he could handle Ouranos, after winning the war against Gaea? What cost must be paid this time in exchange for a triumphant victory?

"I know," said Percy quietly, releasing a jarring breath before his eyes fluttered shut. "I know there is always some sort of cost in a war. I speak from experience."

Percy chuckled bitterly, continuing further when the god did nothing but stare at him forlornly. "Whose life will be lost, then? No need to sugar-coat it—I've gotten used to all the terms and conditions about fighting in a war."

There was something dark in the way he had said it so casually—as if a child fighting a war was normal. As if everything he'd been going through was normal.

"Too many lives will be lost, even the one you care for most." The bright-eyed god bowed his head woefully, but Percy caught the last bit with a sick feeling of anguish flipping his stomach over. "I may be powerful, but even I don't dare challenge the Fates."

"Oh. Great." The son of Poseidon gritted his teeth shut, trying not to think about what the other had just mentioned. Even the one you care for most. He wanted to punch something—he wanted to vent, but all that washed over him was an upsetting panic.

"Why does it have to be me all the time?"

Chaos's face broke into a sad smile. "Because I knew you wouldn't want someone else to carry the burden."

Percy was indignant, shutting his mouth the moment he was about to argue. He hated it; he hated how the god was right. But could Percy really take it all? Could he win another war for them, watch as those he cared for get hurt, keep all the bubbling feelings he'd been bottling up every day, and still live?

The god's hand rose, brushing over the aglow Fyrmarc above his brow. "I've chosen you a very long time ago, before you even existed. When Zeus and Athena had come to take the Book of Fyrmarcs away from me, I chose you."

Percy remembered, then. Artemis had told him and the Hunters about the Fyrmarcs' history, but not this. You're not alone, he could imagine the moon-eyed goddess signing it with her hands, we're with you.

"Doesn't this Fyrmarc seem familiar to you?" Percy's gaze slipped up to where Chaos was pointing as the god continued softly, "I've been here this whole time, but as another being. A wolf from legend, per se. The people were rather fond of calling me the Star-Eyed."

Percy stood still, his eyes going impossibly wide when he slowly made out the god's words. "You are Aegeus?"

He blindly recalled all those moments with the white wolf he grew fond of over the weeks—when he'd first found it, bloody and filthy; when they profoundly gained its trust; and—

The gleam in Chaos's eye spoke true enough. "You've seen the very same Fyrmarc on my creature form, I believe. It is the only proof of who I really am that I cannot hide. Your Great Prophecy has made rather subtle hints of this that went unnoticed."

"Subtle . . ." Percy tried wrapping his head around the fact that he'd been petting a god this whole time. But, the Great Prophecy . . . "Find the crowned creature," he recited one of the lines slowly, "for it will know the fate of the destined Wielder."

Chaos gave him a warming nod, wearing a secretive smile.

Much to his embarrassment, Percy blinked and shifted with unease. He, admittedly, wanted to ask many things—mostly irrelevant ones. Like, how did Chaos cope with eating . . . well, whatever wolves ate? How long had Chaos been in the form of the Star-Eyed?

Gods, did Chaos have to resort to munching on raw meat?

Percy visibly gagged at the disturbing thought—being a human inside an animal's body clearly had its disadvantages.

The smirking god saw this, his eyes twinkling. "To answer your last question, Wielder, it's a no. I'm afraid I prefer cooked meat than raw, even as a rabid feral beast."

The son of Poseidon grew impossibly red, but Chaos paid no mind as he continued, "I have searched the world far too long in hopes of finding you. The Star-Eyed has gained quite the bad reputation, and I suppose you could blame my frustration at that."

"You had other . . . owners before me." It wasn't a question. On the other hand, Percy didn't feel like using the word 'masters' instead to the god of the universe. "You chose those other people before me, because you thought they'd be the prophesied Wielder?"

"I must say; I am rather excellent at creating even the most destructive of rackets that are enough to irritate my owners," mused Chaos, whose smile suddenly fell. Percy kept in mind that the mighty god definitely looked less frightening when he's giving off a cheerful vibe.

When Percy didn't dare speak, which he supposed was a smart move, Chaos gravely spoke up in an even tone, "Again, I wish I have found you sooner, when time was limitless. But now, our days are numbered"—Yeah, thanks for reminding me, thought Percy—"and so are mine. I will help as much as I can of what I know about the Fyrmarcs."

"You're going to . . . to teach me?"

"In a way, yes." The gallant god turned to the side, elegantly waving a hand. A kindled gold-lacquer bloomed from his fingertips and flowed through the air, drawing a Fyrmarc that appeared to be born of fire. "Think of Fyrmarcs as creatures, perhaps. Trying to control it would be wrong, but learning to be one with it would be right."

Percy wanted to argue on what the god could possibly be on about. Instead, with a kind of feigned politeness in his tone, he asked, "Could you . . . um, sorry if I'm being rude while you're having your inspirational godly moment here, but how do you wield the Fyrmarcs? Like, literally? How do you make it appear out of your hands, just like that?"

Chaos—thank the gods—didn't retaliate at his crude impatience. "Will," said the god simply, as if that solved every single question that's been circling the son of Poseidon's head.

Percy had to fight off the urge to sigh frustratingly. "Er . . . will?" he tried, pretending that he absolutely understood the elder. He contemplated whether he should ask if the god meant Will Solace, but thick tension made him hesitate.

Chaos seemed to be struggling to contain his amusement. "All it takes is will. It is what saved your friend's life." Annabeth. "I only needed to step in so I could guide you."

Percy knew what the god meant this time. It had been Chaos who had spoken in his head, and he vaguely remembered freaking out at the time. Shouldn't he be used to random godly beings invading his mind or something?

"What if . . ." Percy felt squeamish and awkward. "What if I'm not really the Wielder? What if I just made the Fyrmarc appear by accident, a—and—"

The iridescent-eyed god cast him a tiny reassuring smile. "Fyrmarcs cannot be cast by the most ordinary of half-bloods like you. But I must admit that a few powerful entities can and would most likely use it to their advantage."

Percy felt too cowardly to ask of who those 'powerful entities' might be. He quickly passed the thought of Ouranos taking control of the Fyrmarcs; he wasn't surprised if that really did happen.

But what made his blood run cold was the thought of Aphorei possessing the Fyrmarcs. Her cold voice taunting and provoking him, her dark laugh that rippled to the very soul—

Yes, he decided he'd rather face Ouranos rather than the she-devil.

Percy didn't realise that the lucent Fyrmarc the god had summoned was still there, afloat in midair. He recognised the line structure, forming an abstract-like form of a human being. It was the very same Fyrmarc the son of Poseidon had first cast on Annabeth.

"Why the blood?" said Percy quietly, unaware of how silent they had both been for quite some time now. "You told me to use my blood to cast the Fyrmarc. Why?"

Chaos subconsciously touched the fiery mark above his eyebrow as if it bothered him more than it should have. "When I made my first Fyrmarc, I used my own blood. It signified how I created something so powerful yet destructive—and it was when this appeared." If ever, the Fyrmarc on the god's forehead looked more sweltering hot than before.

"I thought you should draw your first mark my blood, too," Chaos carried on, offering him a twinkling eye. "My Fyrmarc means Creator. It is the very same Fyrmarc that appeared on you."

Percy knew his blabbering voice sometimes made the gods despise him. But he needed to ask, just this once— "Why bother creating the Fyrmarcs? You knew it was going to cause trouble in the first place."

When Chaos remained a painfully impassive face, Percy had to give the god some credit for taking his time on him.

"Everyone makes mistakes." The god hung his head low ever-so-slightly, averting his woeful gaze. "It is not only I who has acted before thinking. Your goddess of wisdom has had her fair share of mistakes, too. Though she hides it well, her mark of what she's so foolishly done will never fade."

Percy felt stupid again, slowly deciphering the god's words with a barely malfunctioning brain. He's had too many surprises for one day. "Goddess of—wait, Athena has a mark? Do you mean Fyrmarc? What did she do wrong?"

Chaos didn't meet his intent gaze. Percy could've protested stubbornly right then and there when the god had turned around, his back facing the son of Poseidon. The agleam Fyrmarc burning in the air flickered out, like a candle being blown away.

"Where are you going?" demanded Percy, internally flinching at how loud his voice sounded in his ears. When the god tilted his head at him, he ashamedly said, "I—I still have questions. A lot of them."

Chaos fixed a blank stare at him, enough to make the son of Poseidon uneasy and vulnerable. Percy wondered for a second if the god was going to chew him out or something, but instead—

"I'm sure your friend, the daughter of Athena, could answer your questions," said Chaos with an almost gentle-like tone, but there was something else tinted among his promising words.

Percy looked at the god pleadingly. "But—"

"I'll let you ask one last question, then," offered Chaos, seemingly aware of how the son of Poseidon noticeably released a breath in relief.

"The Fyrmarcs . . ." Percy threw his hands about, helplessly trying to voice out his query. "It'll be there, if I mean it?"

"Always."

With those final words, the god smiled. Percy thought he was going to leave, but all Chaos did was slowly let the shadows envelope him until a white wolf was staring back.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

His hands were shaking, and Percy had no idea why. The conversation with the god had left some sort of imprint on him, some sort of marking. Like a remembrance; and it certainly didn't feel as warm as he thought.

Annabeth. She could answer his questions, Chaos had said—but could she really? With the amnesiac state she was in, he wouldn't be able to seek answers from her without using the Fyrmarcs.

But, oh. How he hated it. He hated the Fyrmarcs, he hated the burden Chaos had just put on his shoulders, he hated—

"Perce!" shouted Thalia from the threshold of the Athena cabin, catching almost any other demigod's attention on him. Percy winced at the massive crowd gathering near the said cabin, gasping and whispering amongst one another. Even Chiron was there, but nothing on his face were of astonishment or fright.

Hastily, Percy strode towards the Athena cabin with Aegeus in tow behind him. Every look thrown his way made his over-leering confidence disappear in an instant. Was that accusation in their eyes? They dare accuse him—

"They think you made it appear there," whispered Faith unsteadily once he got close enough and the crowd made way for him. "Thalia and I had to tell on them twice that it wasn't you. There was no way you could've summoned that here, without actually being here."

Percy was more than glad that the healer was there, and he wished he had time to thank her. What caught his vivid attention was the luminous blue glow that showered upon all of them, and—

"That's a Fyrmarc, isn't it?" quipped a voice behind him, cold and sneering. Percy saw Faith immediately raise a hand to lay on his shoulder, but she dropped it almost as fast. He was could've been disappointed, if it weren't for the ire flaring in the pits of his stomach.

"Yes," Percy agreed quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Campers whipped their heads to him with horror drawn on their faces, and it made him think if he'd made a mistake of telling them. Percy felt Aegeus's soft-whirred fur curl around his ankle. "That's a Fyrmarc. You're right. But you should know I didn't summon it myself."

This time, another son of Athena spoke up with his familiar grey eyes narrowed to slits. "Who else would've possibly made that appear here, in our cabin, other than you? You've got no proof as far as we could all tell!"

Percy took a sharp inhale of breath, his blood thrumming in his ears. Faith looked determined to talk back, but he had already spoken in a monotone, "I know. I've got no proof, but I need your trust if we're going to win this war against Ouranos."

That was a very bad, miscalculated move.

Percy forgot that they had yet to know who their enemy was.

Several campers burst in hideous outrage; questions were shoved at his face mercilessly. Others had decided to shout protests, their words like "LIAR!" drowning in the sea of noise. The only visible sign of shock from Faith was a blink of an eye and by the looks of it, Thalia didn't look pleased from the healer's lack of reaction.

"You knew, didn't you?" accused Thalia, catching the bemusement written on Faith's face.

The healer sprung up instantly to her defense. "I didn't! My visions were just hinting at me, and I kind of figured out who we were fighting a few days back."

Visions. That was most likely how Faith had known Chaos was going to meet up with Percy; she probably got a message from the god himself, but even that was uncommon. Brief flashes of the future were normal routine for demigods, yes, but complete direct messages from gods? It was rare.

"SILENCE!" bellowed Chiron, his thick voice cutting through all the chattering noise. Everyone abruptly fell silent, but that didn't stop them from casting dirty looks at Percy.

Reyna focused on him blankly, her gaze void of emotion. Percy secretly wished he could do that—he wished he could mask up his feelings that easily without much effort.

The female Praetor was the one who spoke up first above the bed of silence. "Percy, we trust you," said Reyna quietly, and Percy knew there was a 'but' coming. "But how can you be sure we are fighting the Eldest of the Skies?"

"Eldest of the Skies?" asked a camper, just as baffled and curious as the others.

Reyna smiled plaintively—it could've looked like a soured grimace. "It's what we call Ouranos. The name might be taboo in the future, so might as well you know. And"—Percy felt uncomfortable under her fixed stare—"you haven't answered my question."

This time, Percy winged it. "I got a vision."

"Visions can be inaccurate sometimes, Perce," said Thalia, heads turning to her. "Sometimes they make up fake scenarios in your head to make you believe things that aren't real."

Trust me, I'd give anything to wish all of this was just a fake scenario in my head, thought Percy bitterly.

"Thalia's got a point," said Jason, looking as though he intended for his words to go unnoticed the moment he spoke. Percy, with all his will, stared back at the son of Zeus without flinching. "But I think Percy's right."

The son of Poseidon would've grinned, but he recalled how they weren't exactly on good terms yet. Percy admittedly ached for his friends—he'd do anything to have them back. However . . . some dark side of him told him they should be the ones to apologise first.

But what if they didn't?

Percy let a sinking feeling nestle to the very core. Jason was still speaking, "—from the Great Prophecy, it mentioned Protect the world from time's Father or something. Kronos—" Many shied away; some of them shuddered at the old Titan's name. "—is obviously time, and his father is Ouranos. It all makes sense."

Percy caught Jason's abashed look for a split second; they were filled with regret, but Percy wasn't so sure if it was genuine because it was quickly replaced with something else entirely.

But he'd seen it. The way those people he once called friends nodded at the son of Jupiter's words—it encoded a message: We're sorry. The apology wasn't for now; it was for all the things they've done. For not trusting him in the very beginning.

Something warm-like spread in Percy's body, sending tingles of fire on his flushed skin. The apology was good enough for him, even if it wasn't directly given.

He just wanted his friends back before the upcoming war came upon them all.