You Are Not Alone, We're With You
Everything hurt, from his temples to his burning fingers, which looked as if they have been dipped in white-hot magma. Percy ignored the throbbing in his head as he stood still, not having the energy to move from his spot.
No one would talk to him, not after they saw what he did to Thalia. He hadn't known what he was doing; he could sill vividly remember the daughter of Zeus shouting at him, flicks of her cropped black hair rising as it wove between thin crackles of lightning, and he . . . he struck her.
He remembered unconsciously summoning a Fyrmarc at his wake; it was scorching and flaring shards of dark crimson that wrapped around Thalia's body. He hadn't realise just how far he'd gone, not until he stared and took in the slashes of red from her neck to her waist, almost shaped like a rogue blast of lightning.
Percy recalled Faith being the one who moved first, urging the others to help her set Thalia down on a stretcher. She ignored him, as did everyone else. They wouldn't even so much as look at him.
And now here he was, all alone, up in the abolished Room Number Three and helplessly praying to the gods that Thalia was all right. His mind was nothing but a mantra he's been repeating in his head for a long while: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—
"How long are you going to hide in here?"
Percy stilled, looking up. When he saw it was Phoebe, he turned his head to the side, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."
Her face went grim, and no doubt that she visited Thalia in the Infirmary to see just how bad Percy screwed up. He could see how she moved carefully, as if every step she took was planned.
Afraid, a voice murmured, somewhere in the back of his mind. She's afraid of you. Everyone is.
"Thalia's okay," said the hunter, her gaze stuck down. He realised she was staring at the charred Fyrmarcs on the floor, the walls, everywhere. His breath caught in his throat when Phoebe met his eyes. "The other hunters are furious. I don't think you should . . . well, you aren't really in good terms with them right now."
"Can you blame them?" he barely managed to croak out, biting his inner bottom lip hard enough for him to taste the coppery slip of blood. "I shouldn't have provoked her. Thalia, I mean. I just—"
Horror crept up his spine when he recognised something wet run down his cheeks. "I couldn't control it. The Fyrmarcs. All this . . . power. Hell, none of you would even look at me."
Who could blame them, really? He almost murdered someone—a friend. If Thalia had died, right then and there . . . he wouldn't be able to live through the guilt and shame on his shoulders.
Phoebe grew silent, only speaking in a small whisper when he looked her in the eye. Dark. Terrifying. "I think Thalia would forgive you. She's . . . a great friend, you know? Stubborn and easy-tempered as she is, she still considers you as . . . as her brother."
"Well, she shouldn't," snapped Percy bitterly, harshly running his hands through his hair and wiping the shameless tears on his face. "I don't want to be forgiven. I deserve this. She shouldn't think of me as a brother, not when I nearly ended her life just because I lost control."
What would his mother think of this? Was Poseidon watching over him now too, with fear in his eyes? What will Artemis say, when she hears what he did to one of her hunters? Would Estelle ever trust him again, when he could just as easily lose control once more and hurt her?
He couldn't even bring himself to walk outside without being gawked at, half-croaked whispers echoing behind his back.
Percy let his chest rise and fall in an uneven pattern. "Why did you come here? To watch me cry like an idiot?"
He could've sworn a flash of what seemed like wallowing pity flared in the hunter's eyes. "Artemis has come. We didn't expect her to be here so suddenly and . . . she wants to talk with you."
This is it, he thought sourly, she'll be angry with me, and will most likely turn me to dust.
Slowly willing himself to clear his senses and breathe right, he stiffly nodded. Percy knew she could see past his calm and collected mask. "Where? When?"
Phoebe considered him for a wordless moment. "Now. Just by the Canoe lake."
"What do you think she'd do?" It was a daring, bold move—one that Percy risked taking.
The hunter turned her back on him, and he just barely heard what she said. "Talk."
*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*
Coming out of his abandoned corner in the utterly demolished white manor was harder than he thought.
Not only was Percy met with unbearable stares and whispers, but some even dared to throw him steel-eyed glares. Few of them made sure to put distance between him and themselves as well, conspicuously steering away whenever he happened to stray on their path.
He kept his head low, noticing how the once storm-emblazoned sky was now filled with the palest blues and the fairest of clouds. It was unfair, how the world appeared to be well and alive, even as to what had happened the very same day was enough to haunt him with nightmares.
Percy passed by the Infirmary, where Phoebe bid him a quiet goodbye as she delved in and became one with the many other hunters scuffling about inside, no doubt worrying over Thalia.
He wanted to go inside, see if she was okay, but something told him it wasn't the time to do so.
The other hunters are furious, Phoebe had told him. I don't think you should . . . well, you aren't really in good terms with them right now.
Percy continued walking, his head down low. He hoped no hunter saw him pass by as he strode through the trees, the scent of salty waters and crisp earthly air coming to greet him. But there was something else, something else that seemed like an aura, just behind the—
He halted to a stop.
He'd seen the sheen of her sterling white chiton first, billowing through the cold wind that licked their skin wintrily. The goddess, Percy recognised, was in her older form—one that made her look more ancient and intimidating.
Just by the first step he took, he crushed a twig under his boot with a wince at how loud it filled the silence. Artemis didn't move, her back facing him.
"My lady," he said steadily, cautious as to every move he made. Would she kick him out of the Hunt? Perhaps shout at him for being so inanely foolish?
"Come," said Artemis, gesturing to her side with a strained sort of smile. He did as she said, wondering if she could hear the endless thudding in his head. "I'm lucky my father let me out here at all, you know. He's taking extra precautions, having not learned from his mistakes in the past."
Taking a raucous breath, Percy spoke in a guttural, rough whisper, "You don't need to . . ." he put out his palms to the space between them. ". . . to make small talk. Just tell me straight away. I can handle the truth."
At that, Artemis froze. He let his mind race for a second, panicking if what he said was wrong and disrespectful, but the goddess only sighed.
"Don't be frightened," she said clemently, soft and gentle. "I care for you and the hunters. You can talk to me, and I promise I won't uphold any negative reactions on your behalf."
"I'm—" For a second, Percy tried to say 'fine,' but he couldn't do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he'd talked in days—about what happened in their quest to seek Aphorei, how they met Lucius along the way, how Annabeth lost her memory but he managed to regain it back—and about Thalia, Thalia not believing him, Thalia's accusations . . .
". . . and I really did try, I tried to stop, but I couldn't have, and now all of the hunters hate me, the campers and Romans avoid me, and gods, Thalia would never forgive me for what I did," he finished miserably.
Artemis looked at him, silvered eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that carrying the weight of the sky on her shoulders had given her—that hopeless, haunted look.
She had let Percy talk himself into silence without interruption, but now she said, "Nico and Malcolm . . . they are playing quite a dangerous game with the Dark, and I wish them all the luck they need. On the other hand, I want to focus on another concern I have."
"I know," said Percy forlornly, his lips set in a hard line as he knew to where this conversation was going. "I'm sorry, all right? It was all my fault for—" he choked. "—for starting the fight with Thalia in the first place, a—and it's acceptable if you want to—"
"Want to what?" asked Artemis briskly.
His insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke. "Don't you want—aren't you going to . . . to kick me out? Of the Hunt?"
Percy could live with that, he figured. He could live with staying at camp instead, finally abandoning his post as the guardian of the Hunt. It was only temporary anyway—he was bound to be kicked out at some point.
"Percy, Percy, Percy," the goddess shook her head, and it was only then when he saw the tiny whimsical smile on her face. "Why in my father's name would I do that? Though, if you wish so, then I will allow it."
"I—what? You're . . . thank you." He felt warmth ripple through his body giddily, and it took all his effort and will not to smile. Before Percy could stop himself, he was already speaking once more. "I was just wondering why Faith . . ."
"Hm?" prompted the other, who was smoothing over an invisible crease on her sleeve.
Percy swallowed. "Never mind. It's nothing." He couldn't bring himself to talk about Faith for now, not when she treated him as if he were nonexistent—not when he felt like they were in bad terms at the moment.
Something told him that Artemis knew what he was about to ask, especially with that smug twinkle in her eye. "Some answers are in plain sight way more often than you think." She clapped her hands together, her whole forefront now facing his. "Now, let's get on to what you've been planning."
"I—wait, what?" In his entire life, he'd never felt more lost. And stupid. "I—I have plans? What plans?"
The goddess's eyes were glazed with amusement, betraying the serious act she was trying to maintain. "I believe you were meaning to bring back the campers' and Romans' memories concerning Lloyd Draco."
"Oh. Yes. Right." No, no; it was not all right. As much as he'd rather wallow in shame than admit it, Percy couldn't control the Fyrmarcs no matter how much he tried. It was as if the symbols had a life of their own, one that he knew was too much for him to handle.
He remembered what it felt like wielding the Fyrmarcs—white-hot fire dancing on his skin, the magic thrumming in his veins, and the exhaustion seeping through his body every time he felt a symbol be summoned whenever he wished.
Percy was lucky at all that he didn't collapse.
Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head down. "I don't think I can do it."
Artemis looked at him, really looked at him. "Why not?"
"What if—what if something goes wrong, and I end up hurting someone again?"
She offered him a veiled smile. "That won't happen if you let me help you."
Percy felt his gaze drift off to the distance, watching in ravishment as the salt-scented waters rippled by his command. It was so much easier, he realised, to control water to his will unlike the too much exerted effort he needed to give just so he could cast a Fyrmarc.
Then, he saw it. How the goddess's hands rose and fell, her hands weaving across one another as if she were drawing a detailed picture on an invisible piece of paper floating in the air.
You're not alone. We're with you.
He smiled, pretending that all that's gone wrong for the past few months didn't exist. "When should we start, then?"
Artemis stared at him; daring like steel. "Now."
*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*
Annabeth felt bile rise up her throat at the gruesome sight of her friend, laying just a few feet away from her. She couldn't believe anything they were saying, and Faith didn't look so keen in sharing any information on what happened either.
Sitting up, she buried her face deep in the purifier-scented pillow she embraced before lifting her chin once more. No matter how many times she went to the Infirmary, the smell would always come to bother her in more ways than one.
Annabeth watched demigods bustle about, only half-mouthed whispers escaping their lips. No one wanted to tell her what happened to Thalia—whenever she asked somebody, they'd either try to find an excuse to escape her clutches or they'd say to her face that they had no clue as to what happened.
"Is Thalia going to be all right?" Annabeth tried for small talk, determined to seek her answer.
Faith stayed silent—that was expected. She hadn't been speaking at all from the start, really; even as the hunters pestered her with questions, she only gave them a stern look that meant 'not now.'
It was Will who approached them, quietly asking Faith to move the tiniest bit over away from Thalia's bed. She did as instructed, letting the son of Apollo do his work silently without any disturbance.
Will's hands were shaking, and it was painfully obvious that he was trying his best to hide it.
Annabeth knew it wasn't because of the blood pooling around Thalia's body. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head, knowing too well that he was thinking of one person—and one person alone.
"Will!" Kayla came, looking more disheveled than ever as her eyes fell upon Thalia's wounded state. "What are you doing here? I thought you said you'd be taking a break for a while and let someone else substitute for you."
"I'm fine now," said Will, brushing off the clear flash of concern from the other healer's eyes as he muttered an incantation under his breath, letting threads of golden slip from his palms to Thalia's cuts on her arm.
Even healing magic wasn't enough to get rid of the dark red slashes across the daughter of Zeus's body.
Annabeth stared at her unconscious best friend, watching as Will and Kayla swapped a tirade of annoyed mutters and exasperated eye-rolls.
"It'll scar," she blurted before she could stop herself.
Kayla turned to her, a sad smile on her face. "Yes. It will."
"It won't." It took Annabeth a few seconds to realise that it was Faith that had spoken up. The hunter's voice was soft, edged with a vow as her eyes glowed with defiance. "Jackson can heal Thalia like he healed Chase."
Annabeth looked down, taking a deep breath before her confidence could waver. "What happened to Thalia?" she asked again, this time a bit of a demanding edge slipping to her tone.
Got you, she thought, knowing that Faith wouldn't be able to back down from her intent stare.
Just when Annabeth felt like the hunter was about to break and tell her everything for once and for all, Kayla cut in sharply, "I'll take it from here, Will. Get some sleep, all right? Those eye bags don't look appealing."
The son of Apollo puffed out a loud sigh of breath, resignation clear on his face as he handed Kayla the crystal phials of ambrosia. Will quietly excused himself, nodding to them as he made his way to the door. It closed with a weak creak before it ended with a firm shun of metal.
"If you two don't mind . . ." Kayla started popping out each button on Thalia's jacket, where a blood-soaked shirt lay beneath. ". . . I'll have to close the binds so I can work in private."
Faith stiffly nodded, standing up from the stool next to Thalia's bed. She worked her way around Kayla, not-so-subtly hesitating to go anywhere near Annabeth and answer her queries.
The sound of whooshing curtains sounded to her left, where Thalia was out of their sight instantly.
Before Annabeth could even open her mouth to speak, Faith had already beaten her to it with a stern glare. "I'm not going to answer your questions, Chase. Ask Jackson yourself—he'll tell you."
Annabeth froze; from the way the hunter spoke, this accident with Thalia had something to do with Percy. She dipped her head down, staring at her unmarred leg. She remembered scraping it on a sharp-tipped rock in the Underworld, and now . . . it was as good as new.
She looked up. Faith hadn't left yet.
"He said sorry," Faith murmured so softly that Annabeth could barely make out what she said next. "Jackson said he didn't mean to. I believe him."
Percy. Annabeth swallowed, her words ringing in her ears like a hollowed cave. It was Percy who did this. She figured she had known for a while, but . . . she didn't want to believe that the son of Poseidon could do such a thing.
Yet, he can bend blood, a voice supplied for her, if anything, everyone should be terrified of him.
"Shut up," Annabeth muttered to herself.
Faith frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," the daughter of the Athena said quickly. "What did . . . why did he do it?"
"I—I don't know, all right?" Faith grew even more frustrated, running a hand hotly through her thick hair that developed a wavy sort of style whenever it was let down; Annabeth assumed that it was her habit of braiding that made it so. "He said he lost control, and—and I believe him. I just want someone to take the blame, for . . . for Thalia. She could've died, and I—I need—"
"I know. I understand." Annabeth felt a sickly feeling drop down to her stomach, falling through a bottomless pit. She looked Faith in the eye, occasionally catching her gaze flicking to Thalia's bed. "Are you scared of him?"
To say Annabeth was surprised was an understatement as the hunter chuckled ruefully. "Jackson? No. The Fyrmarcs? Yes."
The daughter of Athena closed her eyes, letting an edge of determination interlace with her voice. "What were he and Thalia fighting about?"
When Faith didn't reply once more, Annabeth sighed loudly. She knew she shouldn't pressure the hunter with questions so early, but she wanted answers that—
Faith mumbled something.
Annabeth's head perked up, her eyebrows furrowing. "Come again?"
This time, the brunette focused her infamous wolf stare on her. Golden ice-like. "It was about Nico and Malcolm."
At first, the daughter of Athena didn't find this a serious topic to fight over—but then it dawned on her as if cold water had been splashed on her face. "You—no one knows about Nico and Malcolm? Where they are, or—or what they're risking right now?"
Her horrors were confirmed when Faith shook her head in agreement. "We didn't want to tell anyone because they might think of them as . . ." the hunter helplessly put her palms out. ". . . as traitors."
And there, Faith told her the story of all that happened, her voice cracking every once in a while. Annabeth noticed how the hunter had quickly skimmed over the parts where Percy and Thalia fought, thinning it to no more than 'they had an argument, he hit her, and then, here we are.'
Annabeth faltered straightaway right after the hunter had finished her story. "I don't think it was wise to keep information like that from everyone. You should've told them about Nico and Malcolm."
"Well, we could not just cause panic and tell them that the Book was missing, either!" Faith scowled, her face suddenly morphing to one of panic as she realised what she's done.
Annabeth waved her off. "Don't worry. I knew about it way before you did. When I was in the Underworld, Malcolm had the Book."
"I—wait, what? And you didn't bother to say anything earlier?" Faith looked appalled. "You could've said something like 'oh, just to remind you, the one thing that could actually help us win this war was stolen by—"
"Keep your voice down!" demanded Annabeth, noting how the hunter's voice rose and rose at an alarming rate. She whipped her head about, glad to know that no one seemed to be listening in on their conversation that involved mostly whispers and aggressive hissing.
Faith didn't seem all intimidated, but she did have the decency to lower her voice. "I cannot even believe you right now. What else have you learned in the Underworld?"
Annabeth felt all fidgety, now that the hunter glowered at her. "Er . . . they can shadow-travel. All of them. Well, all the bad people, e—except for Nico and Malcolm since they're, er, good people, but that doesn't mean they didn't learn—"
"You're rambling, Chase," said Faith, raising an elegant eyebrow at her. "I already know that the Dark learned how to shadow-travel."
"Oh." Annabeth mentally willed herself to clear her mind, focusing on the poorly-stitched seams of her blanket instead. "Well, there was this thing . . . the Mark, they called it. From the way I hear it, it sounds like some sort of magical binding contract. I'm not entirely sure, though."
"The Mark." Faith looked thoughtful for a moment, but then her shoulders slumped forwards and her face drooped. "All right. Anything else?"
Annabeth felt awkward. "Er, I have two other things to tell you that might . . . um, shock you." Oh, you know, it's nothing special. Just my mother with a Fyrmarc and Lloyd happening to be Aphorei's bloody son!
Faith grimaced visibly. "Bad and good, I suppose? I'd appreciate it if you gave me the bad news first then—"
"Actually . . . I wouldn't consider them good news, but I wouldn't say they're bad news either. It's more like . . . well, it's more like news that'll definitely make you wonder if I somehow suffered brain damage in the Underworld."
Faith sent her a look, as if scanning her face for any sign of tomfoolery that was going on.
The daughter of Athena raised her hands by either side of her head in surrender. "I'm serious!"
If anything, Faith's are-you-shitting-me look made things worse. Without saying anything, the hunter bobbed her head once, signaling her to spit the news out.
"Okay. So, I'm going straight to the point with this." Annabeth crossed her arms, forcing her chin up and looking at the hunter dead in the eye. "My mother has a Fyrmarc. On her neck. It's what made me the Daughter of the Marked in our quest prophecy, hence the reason why I lost my memory."
For a few seconds, Annabeth thought time had stopped when Faith didn't move nor speak. Gods, she didn't even blink.
"Your—" the hunter choked on air. "—Athena has a Fyrmarc? What in Hades are you talking about? Can you, like, be more specific here?"
Annabeth had enough audacity to roll her eyes. "Carved, Faith. The Fyrmarc's carved on her—"
"Okay, okay!" said Faith loudly, cupping her ears by her hands. "No details! As much as I think you've gone insane right now, I believe you!"
"Trust me, you won't believe this next one."
Faith snorted at her, picking out imaginary dirt from her nails. "What is it, then? Aphorei has a devil little child out for our blood?"
Annabeth had to clamp her teeth down on her bottom lip to keep from chortling. She desperately put on the straightest face she could muster. "Technically, you're not wrong."
"What now?"
"Lloyd is Aphorei's son."
Faith considered her for just a split second before bursting out laughing, drawing out almost everyone's attention on them. Annabeth discreetly hit her in the shoulder before smiling innocently at the other healers, ushering them to get back to their work.
Faith, thank the gods, quieted down—but that didn't stop the small case of chuckles escaping the hunter of Artemis.
Annabeth grew exasperated. "Faith, I'm serious."
"You got me there, I have to admit," said Faith, her grin still firmly plastered on her lips. "Okay, so what's the real news this time?"
The daughter of Athena gave the hunter her best daunting look that had always done its job in intimidating even the toughest of beings—people and monsters alike.
Time achingly slowed, and Annabeth could only watch Faith's face shift from pure shock and panic to evident horror. It made her wonder if that's what she looked like when she figured out in the Underworld that Lloyd-bloody-Draco was Aphorei's son.
"You've got to be kidding me." Faith scrunched up her nose, nervously chuckling. "Swear it, then."
"I swear to the River Styx that I'm telling the truth."
A rumble of thunder boomed faintly in the background, startling even the fewest of healers and demigods in the Infirmary. Nothing happened—which, most likely, was the complete opposite of what Faith was hoping for.
Annabeth shut her eyes, waiting for that burst to come any second now, ripping her eardrums—
"APHOREI IS THAT BASTARD'S MOTHER?"