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Notes and Etymology

Fire-Beater – A kenning used to refer to blacksmiths.

War-needles – A kenning used to refer to arrows.

Thor's Laughter – A kenning used to refer to thunder.

Njorun – Norse goddess of dreams.

Valkyrie(s) – Maiden warriors sent by Odin to retrieve worthy warriors from the battlefield. The warriors would then be brought to Valhalla where they were destined to remain until Ragnarök. The term could also be used to refer to formidable woman warriors. (Historical Sidenote for those interested: The Poetic Eddas state that Valkyries could only take warriors from the battlefield after the goddess Freya had taken her pick. As part of the agreement to split fallen warriors between Valhalla and Fólkvangr, Odin agreed to let Freya get first dibs as a sign of good faith between the Aesir and Vanir.)

Pot-Snakes – A kenning used to refer to sausages.

Challenger Deep – The deepest known point in the ocean. It is nearly 36,000 feet deep, which is just under 11,000 meters for those of you who don't use freedom units ;)

Glamour – For those that haven't read Magnus Chase, Glamour is the term that Norse demigods use to refer to the mist.

Perseus Thrall-Born – ?, ? CE

The night was dark, wet, and loud. Wave after crashing wave rose skyward, each threatening to pummel the longships into the briny depths. Sheets of rain drilled against the sailors' helms like a fire-beater hammering his soul into heated metal. Cross winds carried sea spray and the cries of men who'd been thrown from their vessels. The world was nothing but the storm and a distant shoreline. The crew rowed on.

His throat had long since run raw from shouting orders over the roaring gales. His shield arm ached after warding off the thirteenth arrow volley. By his side, he could feel his axe pining for battle. His own breath clouded before him. Beneath his feet, the churning of the sea threatened to capsize the lot of them. Still the crew rowed on.

Lightning crackled overhead, and with it came a rolling wave of thunder. The searing light of Thor's ire lit up the sea, and in turn, their target. A fortress of cracking mortar and heavy stone loomed above the shoreline, lurking behind a wall of raindrops that cut through the air like sharpened blades.

The silhouettes of countless soldiers manned the battlements, each looking more terrified than the last. Trembling hands nocked arrows and horrified faces ducked hid sturdy shields. They feared the ocean-borne raiders. They feared the men who laughed in the face of a volley of war-needles. They feared the men with axes of steel and hearts of stone. They feared the Bjornar.

Amidst all the panic-stricken souls, a lone man stood devoid of fear. The man wore a crown of gold and rubies, and his hair was as golden as the midday sun. He stood atop the wall, looking down at the approaching Norsemen with the gravitas and arrogance of a man leading giants. Even from such a distance, Perseus could feel the man's cutting gaze piercing his own. A strike of lightning reflected in sinister eyes. There was more to this raid than sea storms and Saxon walls, of that Perseus was sure.

"Be wary, men!" he shouted in a voice much too deep to be his own. "The Saxon dogs may be weak, but they are wily. Tricks worthy of Loki himself may be abound."

"Rest easy, Percy." A stranger called from the prow of the ship. Perseus frowned at the unfamiliar nickname from the lips of an unfamiliar man. "We'll drive these cowards right back to their mothers' teats!"

The man's decree was followed by a round of hearty laughter and gruff agreements from his fellow crewmen. Percy blinked in the face of their confidence. When his eyes opened, it was as if he'd been thrust forward in time. The longship had run aground. The Saxon walls were close now, visible even through the night. Towering buttresses and thick walls stood over the Bjornar like defiant sentinels. The grey stone was slick with rain and mud, and the sounds of shouting men melded with Thor's laughter overhead.

"This is our moment, men!" Perseus cried. "It is time we showed the Saxons what true warriors look like!"

Guttural cheers tore from battle-ready throats as men leapt from the boat. All along the beach, more and more longships struck land. Raiders poured from the sea-steeds like a plague of steel. Perseus grinned. This was everything he'd been hoping for and more. A raid to end the Saxons once and for all. He brandished his axe and leapt onto the muddy shoreline. It was time to go to war.

The assault didn't begin as smoothly as Perseus had hoped. The muddy shoreline offered poor footing, and the volleys of arrows, vats of scalding oil, and swarms of Saxon soldiers guarding the base of the walls didn't help matters. Still, Perseus and his men were hardened soldiers. Vikingr raiders bloodied by countless skirmishes. They were not the type to accept defeat. Slowly but surely, they managed to fight their way to the sea-facing wall of the Saxon fortress.

"Ladders!" Perseus barked. "Raise the ladders!"

His men were quick to comply. Two-man crews slammed ladders of stick and twine against the Saxon walls. All along the battlements, Saxon men knocked ladders down, doused climbers in oil, and fired arrow after arrow, but it mattered not. There were too many Vikingrs for Perseus' forces to be denied. Eventually, someone would manage to scale the wall. Naturally, that someone ended up being Perseus himself.

Once he was atop the wall, Perseus set about wreaking the devastation only his axe could deliver. He carved a path through the throng of terrified Saxons, defending the ladders as his men clambered up behind him. By the time his entire crew had scaled the walls, his axe was already stained a deep crimson and battle-lust had soaked him to the bone. He let out a mighty roar, challenging someone, anyone to face him, but the few Saxons that remained in reach turned tail and ran.

"English cowards." Perseus spat after their retreating forms. "Not even man enough to defend their own walls."

That's when disaster struck. It was unlike anything Perseus had ever experienced before. The cobbles below erupted in a ball of fire and ash and grounded thunder. Stone and debris flew in every direction, carving through metal and fur armor indiscriminately. The force of the blast – whatever its source – was strong enough to send Perseus flying from the wall. He landed on the muddy shore with a gooey splat. Unmoving, he slowly sank deeper into the sludge, buried by pain and filth alike. Rain pattered against his dented helm and shrapnel dug deeper into his tender flesh.

Explosions continued to rock the world as Perseus struggled to regain his bearings. The destruction was too precise to be ordinary lightning. The shockwaves too frequent. It was as if Thor had grown tired of waiting for the Saxons to fall and decided to take to the field himself. But as Perseus raised his head from the mud and looked ahead, he realized he was wrong. Mind-numbingly, horrifyingly wrong.

The Saxons were rolling barrels of something along their walls. He wasn't sure what was in them, but it didn't matter. He knew their purpose. Death incarnate. He could do nothing but watch as English archers dunked oil-laden arrows into pits of flame. He could do nothing but cry out in horror as the arrows struck home, and then…

More explosions. More destruction. More death. Vikingrs and Saxons alike screamed as rocks and fire tore them to pieces. Rain followed the blasts. Rain not of water, fire, or shrapnel, but of something more. Something sinister. It was invisible in the darkness of the night, but he could feel the presence of the black death mingling with the pouring rain somehow. Whatever was in the barrels, be it ash or the salt of Hel, slowly descended on the battlefield.

The effect of the mysterious powder was immediate. Screams of agony unlike anything he'd heard before tainted his soul. Ear shattering howls filled the battlefield as lungs began to sear and flesh melted from bones. There was no fire. No battle. No trauma. Men were just… Dying. Set upon by a powder that seemed to carry with it the ceaseless torment meant for only the worst of souls. By all the gods, what sort of evil had the Saxons unleashed upon the world?

Perseus rose from the muck. Injuries be damned, he had to stop the Saxons. Had to stop this madness. He raised his axe, made peace with his gods, and marched. Uneven steps carried him to the distant walls. A shaky hand touched a slippery ladder rung. A barrel landed in the mud by his feet. Laughter filled his mind. A laughter born of lavish crowns and terrifying madness. A laughter that was not his own.

Perseus braced himself for the inevitable. An arrow with a halo of flames struck the barrel just as he started to climb. He drew in a breath and then nothing…

Perseus Thrall-Born – Odin's Rest, 882 CE

Perseus bolted upright in his bed, nearly throwing himself onto the floor from the sheer force of his terror-stricken waking. A white-knuckle grip on the bed furs was the only thing that kept him in place. Heavy beads of sweat clung to his brow like a veil of spider's silk, and his chest heaved beneath the burden of his labored breaths. He wiped the sweat away with a shaking hand, cursing Njorun for her cruelty. Gods, he hated nightmares.

Perseus rubbed the sleep from his eyes. After what he'd just seen, he doubted there was much rest in his near future. With the night at his fingertips, he decided a walk was in order. Most people would've scoffed at such an idea, especially given the frigid snows of winter that lined every path, but Perseus was not most people. For him, midnight walks – even through ice and snow – were a reminder that he had the freedom to come and go as he pleased. As a former thrall there was little he found more comforting than reveling in that fact.

The stone floor was cool beneath his feet, but he relished the chill. It sent waves of calm shooting from his toes to his chest, banishing the fiery terrors that still gripped him from the fading shadows of his nightmare. With footsteps as light as a fox's, he padded his way through the corridors of the longhouse. The journey to the outside world was short, but it still provided him with plenty of time to reflect on the things he'd seen in his sleep.

With a sense of dread, he briefly considered the possibility that the things he'd seen had been more than just a dream. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that the raid had been a vision of the future. A glimpse into an unavoidable fate. The thought alone was enough that he found himself wishing never to sleep again. There were no good omens to be found in the realm of sleeping prophecies, and he did not want to struggle with the burden of uncovering reality by way of horrific nightmares.

When he stepped out into the cold, he was finally saved from his own mind. The biting chill demanded his attention, and with it his mind began to clear. Gone were the intense images of fiery explosions and overpowering rains, banished by a chatter in his teeth and the nip of frost at his bare feet.

Once the jarring outside freed him from himself, he was able to focus on the world at large. He could once again take in the invigorating beauty of sparkling snow and a starry sky. It was quiet too. Quiet enough that he could hear the world stop. The snow muffed everything, and the streets in the town below were barren. There was nothing but him, the gods, and… Were those sobs?

Intrigued, he followed the sound. He walked as far as the hushed cries could take him. They led him first down a path toward the town proper before veering off towards a small knoll. Eventually, he rounded a bend in the unbeaten path, and it was there he found what he was looking for. A familiar young girl, far from home and even further from the confidence she'd displayed only hours ago, sat before him. She was leaning against a heap of snow with her head in her hands, oblivious to the witness of her troubled state. She was alone among a world of silence and ice.

"Liv?" he dared to ask; voice cautious.

Brown hair fluttered and vivid green eyes bore into his soul.

"Percy." She greeted.

He frowned at the odd nickname. How did she know what the Vikingr had called him in his dream? She stared back at him expectantly. He forced himself to swallow his paranoia.

"What are you doing out here in the cold?

"Nothing." She answered. His eyes drifted to the tears on her face. "I wasn't crying." She insisted.

To further prove just how 'not crying' she was, she raised a small hand to wipe away her 'not tears'. He did his best to pretend he didn't notice, but when she was done there was a single tear left. It froze against her rosy cheeks in the cold, shining back at him like a sunbeam bouncing off a stilled ocean. He found himself fixating on the sparkling remnant of her despair. It was easier to look at than the intensity in her eyes.

"Of course you weren't crying." Percy lied. "I would never suggest such a thing."

Liv smiled through her red-rimmed eyes, if only faintly.

"I'm glad." She murmured. "It'd be a shame if I had to fight a prince on my first night here."

"I'm no prince, Frodadóttir."

Liv shrugged.

"Halvard adopted you, no? Many would say that makes you a prince."

"Then many would be mistaken. There is a reason Trygve is a Halvardsson and I am still just Perseus Thrall-Born."

Liv frowned.

"I much prefer Percy." She told him. "My father warned me about you, you know. He said that Halvard had taken on a slave. That you would be half-feral."

Despite his best efforts, the comment made 'Percy' flinch. His upbringing was still a sensitive topic for him. He suspected that it always would be.

"I'm no more feral than any person, I suppose." He kept his tone even. Respectful. But inside he was seething at her father's words.

"You don't have to pretend that it doesn't sting. I know I would hate it if people judged me because of how I was born."

"It's not about them 'judging' me." Percy snapped, because who was she to speak on things she didn't understand? "To them, to people like your father, it isn't a judgement. There is no thought. Only the truth. And their truth is that I am only half-human. I was born a thrall and I will die a thrall. Whatever happens between now and then, there is no changing who I am. What I am. To them, I will always be feral."

"I don't believe that. My father said a great many things about King Halvard, most of them negative, but he never once called the man a fool. There's no way he would pull you from the fields if he believed their perceptions couldn't change."

"Perceptions aren't Halvard's concern. He took me on as a ward so that Trygve would have a friend. More specifically, a friend whose freedom depends on being Trygve's rock. Trygve and I are closer to brothers than I ever would've imagined possible, but the truth remains. I am here not because Halvard believes I can change minds, but because I can serve a greater purpose for him. I may not be in the fields anymore, but I am still a thrall. Still more tool than person."

"You're wrong." She told him. "I saw the way you and Trygve are. And you said yourself that you are something close to brothers. Maybe nobody else sees you how you truly are, but Trygve does. You're human to him, I'm certain of it. Things changed. They will change. They have to."

And just like that, it all made sense. This was just as much about her as it was about him. She was trying to comfort him – a fact he appreciated more than he cared to admit – but she was also trying to comfort herself. She was a girl stranded far from home, and her only lifelines were a prince and a former slave, both of whom she'd met only minutes after her father left her. She was looking to him for hope. Waiting for him to tell her that she wouldn't feel like an outcast forever. That she wouldn't feel abandoned. That things would change.

He supposed it was fitting. She was blind to his struggles, and he blind to hers, and yet they had a shared pain. He was a slave in all but name. Sub-human in the eyes of all he met. She was an embittered jarl's hostage daughter. A human reduced to a pawn in a political game. Their lives were not the same, but there was one thing they shared. They were isolated among the masses. Reduced to nothing. They were alone.

"Perhaps there is some truth to what you say." Perseus conceded, though he didn't truly believe it. "Maybe things will change one day. Maybe the world will know me as Perseus Halvardsson instead of Perseus Thrall-Born."

Liv visibly brightened at that. If there was hope for him, then it seemed there could be hope for her too.

"Would you like that?" She asked. "To not be 'Thrall-Born' anymore?"

Perseus pondered the question, and when he found himself torn, he sighed.

"I'm not sure." He admitted. "A large part of me loathes the name. It tells everyone I meet that they were more in birth than I will ever be in life. It taints their perception of me. It taints my perception of me. No matter what I accomplish, the name will tarnish who I am. It will tell people, 'there goes Perseus Thrall-Born, the boy who was born a slave'. I don't know if I can live with that stain forever."

"And the other part of you? The part of you that doesn't loathe the name?"

"That part of me thinks that I'd rather die than let others forget how far I've come. I want people to hear my name. To see where I've come from, what I've accomplished, and what I still have left to do. I want them to wonder how they ended up having less than a boy who was born with less than nothing. I want them to hear my name and know that for all that they see me as scum, I am the one who is looking down on them."

"I think I like that part of you more." Liv said. "Wanting to defy what's expected of you and spit in the face of the people who expect it is… It's a wonderful idea. I envy the sort of courage it takes to live so defiantly."

Percy allowed a tiny smile to grace his lips. Maybe she understood more than he'd given her credit for.

"Perhaps you can live defiantly too. What in your life needs courage, Liv?"

"Everything." She answered with surprising candor. "I have no illusions about why I'm here. Halvard expects me to keep my father in check. My father expects me to win him favor. Both of them expect me to… There are things that people want of me that I'm not sure I can give… I'm not sure I even want to give them."

"Then give them all you please and nothing more. Your father is not here to order you around, and Halvard is as reasonable as he is large. Whatever deal he has struck with your father, he will overlook it if you ask. He will make sure that what you want of yourself is the only set of expectations you're forced to fill."

"You know, that's a rather optimistic view for a boy born into slavery." She teased.

"And you hold a great many fears for a daughter of a jarl."

"Well, technically my father was a king until this past morning." She pointed out. "I used to be a princess, and now I'm so much less. You used to be a thrall, and whether people see it or not, you're now so much more. It's no wonder that I'm plagued by doubts and you dare to live defiantly. Halvard saved you from drowning and now you fight for pristine shores. I'm from those pristine shores and now I'm lost at sea."

It was only then, as her green eyes burned his frigid skin with their passion, that Percy realized how close they had stepped to one another. Her warmth was his warmth, and their breaths melded together in the freezing air like lovestruck clouds. In his belly, his stomach began to feel like a churning quern.

"We're all lost at sea, princess." He murmured. "Trygve and I, we're as out of our depth as you are. He's a boy learning to be king and I'm a thrall learning to be human. Trygve and I were lost before we even knew it and… You're lost, sure, but you don't have to be alone. The three of us, we can be stranded together."

At that, Liv Frodadóttir smiled the widest, truest smile Perseus had seen from her all day.

"To castaways?" she asked, extending a tentative hand toward him.

He clasped her hand and shook it with a grin as wide as her own.

"To castaways." He agreed.

Trygve Halvardsson – Odin's Rest, 883 CE

Trygve swung low with his sword, striking at Percy's ankles. Percy jumped over the blade but landed awkwardly. Trygve noticed his small stumble, and instantly went on the offensive. He attacked with a string of blows that would've carved through any lesser foe's defenses in seconds. Irritatingly, Percy was much too skilled to be done in by one small slip up. Even off balance as he was, he still managed to ward off all of Trygve's attacks with just a few precise swings of his shield arm.

By the gods did Trygve hate that shield more and more each day. It wasn't just an annoyance; it was the bane of his entire existence. Every day, he spent hours hacking away at the damn thing, and nothing ever came of it. Percy always had it in position to block the next attack. If Trygve were to make one request of the All-father himself, he would ask for every shield in Odin's Rest to be turned into firewood. With it, he would create a celebratory bonfire so large that the flames would lick at the underside of Valhalla itself.

"Quit turtling." Trygve demanded, as he slammed away at Percy's shield.

"Quit hitting my shield," Percy snarked back. "You're going to dull your sword."

Trygve knew it was bait. Percy thrived off angering his opponents – a bit ironic given his own tendencies – and his smart mouth made drawing out frustrations rather simple. Still, knowing what Percy was doing was only half the battle. Not letting it work was the more difficult half. Trygve still struggled with that half. A lot.

"I'm going to gut you like a fish." Trygve hissed.

His sword bit into Percy's shield… Again.

"I certainly hope not." Percy teased. "I quite like my guts."

Trygve grunted in annoyance as he raised his sword high overhead. He brought it down with as much force as he could muster, hoping to cleave the stupid shield in two. It was then, with Trygve reared back to deliver what would've been a devastating strike, that Percy made his move.

Trygve should've seen it coming. After all, he'd been there when his father had taught Percy the move, and yet he missed it all the same. Percy stepped in close, inside the reach of Trygve's downswing. He dropped low, bringing his shield in tight to his own body, and slammed it into Trygve's gut. With Trygve's weight already thrown forward behind his massive overhead swing, it only took a small lift from Percy to send Trygve toppling over his back. Trygve landed in the dirt with a heavy thud and a poof of dust, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Yield?" Percy asked in an all too familiar mocking tone.

Trygve blinked the dust from his eyes. When his vision cleared, he found himself staring down the impossibly sharp edge of Percy's axe. It loomed dangerously close to his nose, threatening to smoothen his face for good. Trygve turned his head and spat in annoyance before turning back to Percy. Amused eyes stared back at him, and Trygve's grimace only deepened.

"Fine. I yield." He grumbled.

Percy grinned.

"Excellent," he chirped. He grabbed Trygve's forearm and hoisted him to his feet. "What does that make the score today? Fifteen to six?"

"Seven." Trygve corrected bitterly. Gods, he hated losing.

"Right. Sorry. Fifteen to seven… Well, care to go again? I think spar twenty-three will be our best one yet."

"I'll have to pass," Trygve replied, sheathing his sword. "I think I've had enough embarrassment for one day."

The cheerful smile on Percy's face quickly morphed into a concerned frown.

"Embarrassment? What is there to be embarrassed about? You fought well, Trygve."

"And you fought better. You won twice as many matches as me. Or have you already forgotten?"

"Oh, I remember." Percy insisted. "But I also remember that I've trained twice as much as you have in the past year. While you sit through Halvard's lessons about how to rule, I'm out here practicing."

"He makes a good point you know." A familiar voice cut in.

It was Liv. She looked elegant as ever, even dressed in a boy's clothes. Trygve had been so wrapped up in the sparring session that he'd almost forgotten Liv was watching them. Almost. It was hard to forget when someone like her was watching you. There was a certain weight to the presence of a beautiful girl, Trygve had come to realize. It was a phenomenon that became increasingly evident the longer Liv stayed in Odin's Rest.

"Does he now?" Trygve asked, suddenly nervous.

Liv nodded emphatically.

"Absolutely. You should see Percy when you're busy. All he does is train. I think he's obsessed with it."

"Says you," Percy countered. "You spend all your free time watching me."

Liv's cheeks flushed a bright crimson.

"I- The longhouse gets boring when you two are busy. There's nothing for me to do but watch."

"Well…" Trygve mused aloud. "You could always train, yourself."

"I don't fight." Liv said with finality.

"But you could," Percy offered, jumping on board with Trygve's idea. "If you want to, I mean. Trygve and I can teach you to fight."

"Father does always say the best way to learn is to teach," Trygve tacked on. "It would help us improve too."

"I don't know. Are you sure Halvard will approve? I know my father wouldn't want me fighting. Would the Jarl's be upset? Would their sons?"

Percy waved her off, already halfway to the weapon racks. He perused for a moment, before finally plucking a spear and shield from the wall of armaments. He returned to Trygve's side and shoved the weaponry into Liv's reluctant arms.

"Most Raven-Feeders spend half their lives dreaming of the day a Valkyrie scoops them from the battlefield. They can hardly complain about fighting beside one until that day arrives."

Percy picked up his own equipment as he spoke. While Liv stared at the spear and shield held gingerly in her grasp, he backed away a few paces. He shrugged his shield back on and gave his axe a few twirls. Liv glanced first at him, then to her full hands, before finally landing on Trygve.

"Do you guys really think I can do this?"

"I don't see why not," Trygve said with a shrug. "Anyone can learn, and you'd hardly be the first shield-maiden the Bjornar clan has seen. Besides, you said it yourself. The longhouse is boring."

That seemed to be the last push Liv needed. With her doubts reigned in, Liv donned her shield and brandished her spear. Her grip was a bit too high and tight and her stance a bit wide, but for a beginner she didn't look half bad. They would make a warrior out of her, Trygve decided. He would make certain of it.

"So… How do we start? With drills or-"

Percy banged his axe against his shield. An annoying habit that he used to get himself psyched up for battle.

"You start with me," Percy instructed. "Just come at me with all that you've got. It'll help us judge where you're at right now."

"I'm nowhere. I haven't done this before. Are you sure that-"

"Relax," Trygve said, raising a placating hand. "This is how Percy learned too. My father had him spar me without a lick of training. It's like when birds toss their chicks from the nest so they're forced to fly. The pressure helps."

"Fire forges steel, as Halvard is so fond of saying," Percy supplied. "You'll be fine. I promise not to do any lasting damage."

"Right. Fire forges steel," Liv breathed out. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Her grip slid down the spear a bit. Her jittering hands stilled. Her eyes flew open. "Okay, let's do this."

"Ready," Trygve called out, deciding to play referee. Immediately the tone in the air changed as the pair readied themselves. Liv took up a new stance, sloppy but impressive for a beginner. Percy's form, as always, was painfully perfect. "And…"

"What's this?" A new voice interrupted.

Trygve let out a sigh. He didn't even have to look to know who it was. Geir Jørnsson. Asshole incarnate. Geir was the ringleader of a group of jarl's sons and popular boys. A group that Trygve himself had been a part of until his fight with Percy three years ago. As usual the 'teat-sucking pot-snakes' as Percy liked to call them, had strolled up en masse. They were much the same as when Trygve had been friends with them, only now they were taller, thicker, and wore even meaner grimaces.

"What do you want, Geir?" Trygve demanded.

Geir smirked. His piglike eyes trailed from Trygve to Liv, where they lingered for an obnoxiously long time, before finally settling on Percy. Trygve's stomach dropped. He recognized the look in Geir's eyes. It was a look he'd worn himself many times in his past. The look of a bully. And while Geir would never dare to insult a prince, former slaves presented no such issue. And if Geir dared to mock Percy while he had his axe in hand… Well, Trygve sincerely hoped that Geir could adjust to life without any arms or legs.

"What I want," Geir sneered, "Is to know why this slave thinks it's alright to beat up on girls."

Trygve didn't even have to look to see the way Percy's nostrils flared in annoyance.

"She wanted us to train her." Percy answered.

His tone was level. Practiced. Overly monotonous in a way that did nothing to hide the anger lurking just beneath the surface.

"Did she? And what could she hope to learn from you, thrall-born? How to plow a field? How to take a whip?" A different boy, Edvin, asked.

That was enough to ignite Percy's infamously short temper. With a grunt of irritation, Percy threw his axe and shield to the ground. He cracked his knuckles and then, with predatory grace, stalked toward the group of boys. Trygve hastily darted past Percy, putting himself between the two sides in a last-ditch effort to keep the peace.

"Now I'm thinking that I'll teach her the same lesson you should've learned three years ago," Percy spat, fighting against Trygve's restrictive hands on his chest. "I'll show her just how easily a 'thrall-born' can beat a noble boy's ass."

Trygve tried not to let that one sting. There were more important things to worry about. Namely the look on Geir's face that told him whatever was coming next, it was going to be ugly.

"Doubtful," Geir said with a shake of his head. "I bet there's something you'd be better at teaching. For example, how to weep while your mother sits dead in a ditch like the good-for-nothing slave she is."

Somewhere, Trygve thought he heard Liv gasp in horror, but he wasn't sure. It was hard to hear anything over Percy's shouts. That, plus suddenly Trygve's own ears were roaring with rage.

"Geir," Trygve grunted, barely holding Percy back now despite his best efforts. "I really wish you hadn't said that."

"Why? Because you forgot to keep your slave boy on a chain?"

"No." Trygve replied. "Because your dad's going to be really pissed off when he finds out you fight like a Saxon."

And with that, Trygve finally let Percy go. Just like three years ago, Percy launched himself at a bully who dared to insult his mother. This time though, he wasn't alone. Instead, Trygve was at his side, fighting his former friends in defense of his adopted brother.

The whole brawl ended up being a quick and brutal ordeal. One that ended in a handful of savagely beaten bullies, and an obscene amount of punishment from Halvard. Still, days later, when Trygve looked at his bruised hands, and when he felt the pain of Halvard's punishment all throughout his body, he didn't feel any regret for what he'd done. Only pride.

Alex Jackson – Pacific Ocean, 2017 CE

The bottom of the Mariana Trench reminded Alex far too much of Tartarus. The challenger deep, much like the abyssal plains of the pit, was permeated by an overpowering primeval energy. Traversing the frigid waters filled Alex with an overwhelming sense of dread. Every molecule of the place oozed with the dominating presence of a primordial deity – a feeling which Alex knew all too well by now. Whatever the gods claimed, one thing was certain. Poseidon may rule over every inch of the seas in name, but in practice the deepest recesses of the ocean still belonged to Pontus' slumbering psyche.

The thought alone was enough to send chills up his spine. He was deeper in his element than he'd ever been before, and yet Alex had never felt more unwelcomed by the ocean. The water still obeyed his commands, true, and his body was still supercharged with oceanic energy, but there was a noticeable difference to things. Normally, he felt like the supreme lord of the water, in command of every drop. Now, he felt more like a usurper. An imposter only able to maintain control by the good grace of a being far greater than him. The thought of being a single sleeping thought away from normal was terrifying. Especially in a place where normal would mean his death.

He found himself looking to his companion, searching for any signs of the same uneasiness. He saw none. Perseus – or rather, Percy, as Alex had been told – was stone-faced, scanning their surroundings with vigilance. If the dominating presence of a barely-there being was bothering him, he certainly wasn't letting it show. In fact, he looked even more imposing and in control now than he had back at the tavern. At heart, Alex had always felt that he was a young boy who was forced to be a soldier. Percy on the other hand looked the part of a soldier who, for the first time in a millennium, wasn't being forced to be human. He supposed that was the distinction between them.

Percy's weaponry seemed almost as enthusiastic to be knocking the dust off as Percy did. The bear on his shield, which earlier seemed to be snarling in anger, now looked to be grinning with wicked glee. His axe, while less expressive, was even more attention grabbing. It was intricately designed, so much so that if Alex hadn't seen it in action, he would've assumed it to be entirely ornamental. Complex runes and images were inlayed in the metal, and the haft seemed less like a carved handle and more like the still living branch of a mighty ash tree. Most notable of all though, was the sterling shine of the metal, sparkling like the glint in the eye of a bloodthirsty berserker.

"Your axe," Alex began, attracting Percy's attention for the first time in hours. "It's a beautiful piece."

Percy brandished the weapon, looking at it with the same fondness that a parent would their child.

"Thank you. I crafted it myself a long, long time ago."

Alex frowned.

"The gods didn't mention you were a smith."

Percy laughed a humorless laugh.

"And that surprises you? Have gods ever struck you as particularly transparent?"

"No, but-"

"But nothing. They were manipulating you from the very start. If they had told you everything they actually know about me, you wouldn't have come within four-hundred miles of Cordova. You see, to gods you're only useful until you're not, and once they can't get you to fight their battles, you're just a threat. And once that happens… Well, let's just say that the godly existence is one of self-preservation. You'd do well to remember that, lest you end up in a brick of ice yourself."

Alex swallowed a lump of something. Percy was decidedly lousy at raising spirits.

"Is… Is that what actually happened to you? The gods used you until they couldn't?"

Percy sighed.

"What happened to me is a story for another time. We've lingered long enough. It's time we got back to searching."

Alex's shoulders sagged in annoyance. He almost pointed out that they'd only been resting for five minutes, which was five minutes shorter than their last break, which had been five minutes shorter than the break before that, but he decided against it. Percy was pretty serious about this whole Blackstone situation, and arguing with him about it didn't seem like the wisest course, even if Alex was starting to feel the fatigue from their hours searching the deep.

"Alright, fine. Let's get back to it then."

Percy grinned a feral grin.

"Wonderful."

With an accord reached, the two began to summon their power. Working together, they were able to form a precise and powerful current that they could hitch a ride on. With their combined strength, they were able to 'ride the wave' so to speak and cover an immense distance in only a blink. They blazed by mile after mile of inky nothingness in minutes, covering more than double the ground either of them could've hoped to search alone. Finally, after what felt like hours, they stumbled upon exactly what they'd been searching for. Or rather, what remained of it.

It looked less like the mining operation it was clearly intended to be, and more like a scene taken straight from some Atlantean horror movie. Golden monster dust, severed flippers, and bloated carcasses floated around in blood tainted waters. It was like someone had sucked up all the water and replaced it with telekhine soup. Worse, the carnage easily extended far beyond the reach of Riptide's light. Whatever had been going on before, it was now the sight of a gruesome massacre that even monsters didn't deserve.

"Di immortales," Alex murmured. "What the hell happened here?"

Percy shrugged.

"Someone got to them before we could. Did your gods send any others down here?"

Alex shook his head.

"A sea monster then?"

"A massive sea monster," Alex corrected. "It had to have eaten at least a hundred telekhines."

"So, is this coincidence? Or do you think whatever this thing was, it was guarding the blackstone?" Percy questioned, nodding towards the outcrops of pitch-black ore lining the seafloor.

"I'm hoping coincidence," Alex replied, scanning the water as best he could through the darkness. "Because if not-"

He was cut off by the sound of a tremor echoing from the distance. Hair stood up on the back of Alex's neck. Another tremor came, louder this time. The sand on the seafloor started to drift and shake. Another tremor. Plumes of sand sprouted up, clouding the already murky water. A third tremor shook the world. And a fourth. They were footsteps. Footsteps from something massive. Something sinister. Something ancient. He couldn't sense it in the water, even though he knew it was coming. Why couldn't he sense it? Where was-?

A leg slammed into the sand at the edge of Riptide's light. A massive, crabby leg. It extended up and up, reaching higher and higher until it disappeared into the darkness overhead. Sea foam and froth fell from a face shrouded in darkness. Alex was reminded of the crab he fought on the Princess Andromeda so long ago, only this thing made Mr. Crabby look like krill in comparison.

"He one of yours?" Percy asked, staring up at the behemoth towering over them.

"I don't think so," Alex answered. "I was hoping he was one of yours."

Percy opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was going to say, Alex never got the chance to hear it. Before the Viking could get a word in, an enormous pincer swung in from the darkness. The attack was so fast it nearly crushed them both, as if they were in some weird, reversed version of crustacean whack-a-mole. Though he'd avoided being flattened, the impact of the claw against the seafloor was so powerful it emitted a concussive shockwave nearly strong enough to knock Alex into the next millennium.

"Keep it distracted!" Alex shouted over the ringing in his ears. "I have a plan."

"Be quick about it! I'm punching a bit above my weight here!" Percy hollered back. Or at least Alex assumed it was a shout. To his damaged ears it sounded like more of a whisper.

Not wanting to waste any more time worrying about his poor ears, Alex maneuvered himself beneath the crab's carapace as quickly as his powers could take him. He headed straight for the center of the shell, hoping that building sized crabs had the same weakness as fountain sized ones. Sure enough, there was a chink in the crab's armor right where he expected it to be, just waiting to be stabbed. Alex grinned triumphantly to himself. Then, with an air of finality he raised Riptide and slammed it into the opening and then… Nothing. Not even a single groan of pain from the distracted crab.

Feeling a bit discouraged, Alex ripped Riptide from the crab's flesh, showering himself in a fountain of crab blood and bits of carved up shell. Riptide must've been like a toothpick to a crab of this size. If he wanted to do any damage, he would have to strike deeper. Determined, Alex brought back Riptide, let out a yell, and plunged his sword hilt deep into the crab's belly. This time, the crab did respond. The gargantuan beast hissed in pain, so loud it sounded like a banshee's wail times a million.

"One claw down!" Percy shouted from somewhere in the darkness.

Alex whipped his head from Riptide to the direction of Percy's voice. Sure enough, one enormous pincer was gently falling to the seafloor, leaving behind so much blood it could've filled a super tanker to the brim. Alex glanced at the fallen claw, to Riptide, and then back again.

"You know what, that makes more sense," He muttered to himself. "Alright, we need a new plan!"

"I was thinking the same thing." Percy replied.

The Norse demigod suddenly emerged from the darkness, swimming up to Alex's side with a grimace and a nasty looking bruise on his face. Alex ripped Riptide from the hole in the crab's underbelly and nodded toward it.

"We need something bigger."

Percy grinned a wicked grin. Obviously, his thoughts were along the line of Alex's own.

"You can handle it alone?" Percy asked.

Alex nodded.

"I just need time. Go cut off some more limbs before it realizes it can just sit on me."

"On it." Percy replied.

He gave a mock salute before disappearing in a burst of bubbles. A few seconds later, and the entire trench was once again echoing with the hisses of one pissed off crab. Distraction taken care of, Alex closed his eyes and focused. In his mind he pictured a giant watery version of Riptide. It lurked right beneath the crab's underbelly, waiting to strike. He felt a familiar tug in his gut, followed by the feeling of water reluctantly bending to his will.

Slowly, the water started to form into the watery blade he'd imagined. The water seemed to be resistant to his touch, but he focused harder and forced it to comply. He was concentrating so hard that he barely heard the crab let loose another cry of agony. His entire being was centered on his water replica of Riptide. Finally, after what seemed like eons, he finally battered the water into submission. The blade formed fully and with one last nudge from his powers, froze solid. Alex tugged it back using his mind, and then shot it up and into the belly of the beast.

The screech that followed was unlike anything Alex had ever heard before. If his eardrums hadn't been blown out before, they certainly were now. Despite the pain rebounding in his skull, he forced himself to swim out from underneath the colossal crustacean before he got crushed. It was a good thing to, because not a second after he cleared the outer rim of the carapace, the behemoth crumpled under its own agony. The beast gave one last shake, and then it stilled.

"You killed it! Oh, thank you, demigod, thank you!" An unfamiliar voice barked from the darkness.

Alex turned on the voice, bringing Anaklusmos around in a defensive posture. The outline of a figure began to emerge from the sea of black. It was large, way too large to be human, and lined with corded muscles beneath smooth, seal like skin. A snout – apparently permanently stuck in a vicious snarl – protruded from the face of a Doberman. It was a telekhine. One larger and more dangerous looking than any Alex had ever seen before.

"Uhm… You're welcome?"

He let his sword fall to his side. As threatening as the telekhine looked, he sounded much too grateful to be an enemy.

"I helped." Percy cut in, appearing from nowhere just as the telekhine had only moments before.

The telekhine turned to him with the closest thing to a smile it could manage.

"Well then I thank you as well." The telekhine said. "That monster killed all my workers! It probably set our operation back weeks! If the alchemist hadn't sent you two, it might've eaten me too!"

Alex and Percy shared a look before turning back to the telekhine.

"Right. The alchemist." They chorused.

"Well, I assume you have to report back to him now?"

They nodded, and the telekhine shook his head.

"I don't envy you." He tutted. "New York is much too cold this time of year, even for us telekhines. While you're up there, you should see about getting a new crew sent down here. Our patron will want us to get back on track ASAP."

"Don't worry." Alex said, clapping a comforting hand on a seal-skin shoulder. "We'll have you sent a new crew by the end of the week. You can count on it."

The telekhine thanked them again, they said their goodbyes, and then the telekhine said thank you again. All in all, it was an altogether pleasant encounter with the monster. Or at least it was, right up until Percy lopped the thing's head off with about as much forewarning as an empty calendar.

"What the hell was that for?" Alex hissed, watching his newfound monster friend dissolve into dust. "He was helpful!"

"Was." Percy stressed. "If we let him live, he goes back to this "alchemist" and mentions the two operatives he sent to kill the crab. Suddenly, whoever we're up against knows we're on to him. This way, it looks like he died in the attack just like the rest of them. He was an enemy. He gets no sympathy from me."

Alex grimaced.

"That's a bit of a cold way of looking at it, don't you think?"

Percy shook his head.

"Only if you're naïve. Now c'mon. We've got some information for your gods. Best not to keep them waiting."

And then he was gone, shooting up to the surface where their boat was waiting. Alex watched him go, wondering once again if pulling the Viking out of his retirement really had been the right call. The way it stood now; he had a sickening feeling that there were far more brutal things to come so long as Percy was involved… Still, what was done was done. For better or worse, Perseus Thrall-Born had been loosed upon the earth once again.

Perseus Thrall-Born – Empire State Building, 2017 CE

Percy wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been standing there, back against the lobby wall. All he knew was that the clerk had managed to eat his way through almost a quarter of a book that was as thick as his skull. Even for someone who'd spent over a thousand years encased in a block of ice, the standing around was starting to get a tad bit boring. After all, there was only so much people-watching you could do before the sight of a janitor slipping on the puddle he'd just mopped into existence lost its humorous charm.

Idly, he wondered if the Olympians were always this inefficient. Alex had mentioned they liked to argue – something Percy had experienced firsthand a lifetime ago – but he'd never thought deliberations could take so many hours. How complex could a report for a simple mission be? Whatever complications had arisen, there wasn't much Percy could do but wait. His only other option was to hitch a ride to the 600th floor himself, and that was about as likely as a penguin learning to dance.

The elevator dinged as it stopped on the ground floor once more. About a hundred stops ago, Percy might've perked up. Back then, there had been hope of escaping the purgatory that was the lobby of the Empire State Building. Now, all he did was lean further into the wall as he watched another throng of tourists pour from the sealed doors. Distracted as he was by the boring sight, he didn't notice the footsteps approaching from his right until there was a tap on his shoulder.

Before he could even process that he'd been touched, his body instinctively whirled on the feeling, grabbed cloth and flesh, and slammed the perpetrator up against the wall. Just before he could go full psycho and draw a blade in front of a crowd of mortals, his mind finally caught up to his body and registered who it was that had creeped up on him.

"Alex? I didn't see you get off the elevator."

"That's because I didn't." Alex explained, rubbing at his soon to be bruised neck in annoyance. "After the meeting, Hestia mentioned my 'plus one' was getting bored. She offered to save me some time by flashing me down here and let me tell you… Teleportation? Worst nanosecond of my life…"

"Right, well, that's just because you haven't tried being turned into a popsicle yet… Anyways, how'd the meeting go?"

"As well as can be expected knowing the gods." Alex answered, leading him out onto the densely packed streets of Manhattan. "I told them everything we learned. They argued about what to do. I offered my input. They argued some more. They came to a decision. I argued with it. They shot me down and went through with it anyways. You know, the usual."

"And this decision they reached? What are they going to do about the blackstone mining? About this 'Alchemist'?"

Alex glared at the ground. One booted foot toed against a loose stone. Revulsion bubbled in Percy's gut.

"They said they were going to look into it." Alex said. His voice sounded defeated.

"That's it? They're going to 'look into it'? They had no answers? No plan? Why didn't you-"

"I wasn't in a position to argue." Alex hissed. "I've been running errands for the gods for over a decade. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that they're painfully adamant about sitting on their divine asses. It didn't matter what I said, they were never going to give us anything."

Thunder boomed overhead. Percy did the respectful thing and flipped them the middle finger.

"Your gods locked me in ice for over a millennium. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that immortals are more than willing to get their hands dirty. You should've pushed them harder."

"Pushed them harder?" Alex echoed with disbelief. "Do you even hear yourself? They're the fucking Olympians. The only time they listen to mortals is when one of us saves the entire damn planet, and even then, you only get one wish. I pushed as hard as I could without being turned to ash. If you wanted more, you should've been up there arguing by my side!"

By now, their argument had grown so loud that even some of the 'mind-your-business' New York crowd was starting to take notice. Parents with children were skirting their little ones away, giving the shouting pair a wide berth. Young teens watched on with fascination, recording the scene with their phones. Snooty businessmen upturned their noses and scoffed. A circle of concrete formed in the sea of people.

Alex, noticing the growing audience, raised two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill taxi-cab whistle. Not even a second later, and a yellow car pulled up to the curb. Alex grabbed him by the arm and tugged him through the wall of people. The pair ducked into the cab, Alex rattled off an address that Percy didn't recognize, and the car started to move. Overly curious eyes peered at them through the rearview. Alex snapped his fingers once – the sound was unnaturally loud; a clear sign of glamour being manipulated – and the cab driver's eyes glazed over before returning to the road.

"I couldn't go." Percy said, now that they had privacy once more.

"Why not? Because they might've killed you?"

Percy rolled his eyes.

"If I thought they would kill me, I would've been to the 600th floor decades ago."

Alex seemed genuinely taken aback by that.

"Then why?"

"For the same reason I've stayed in Alaska all these years. So long as I was there, they couldn't put me back in the ice. It seems they're content to let me roam while I'm on their side, but I doubt they'd be so forgiving if I showed my face on Olympus proper."

"You're more scared of the ice than you are of death?" Alex asked in disbelief.

"Trust me, if you knew what it was like, you would be too. If the Olympians decide to kill me, I will die fighting and receive my just reward. But the ice… I would sooner face a million demons in ten million hells than be put back there."

Alex's eyes widened.

"You're saying you… You want to die?"

"Does that truly surprise you? I'm a thousand years removed from everything and everyone I've ever known. Each night, my loved ones wait for me in the afterlife, and each night, I wish that there were someone strong enough to send me to them. Without falling in battle, I am doomed to walk Midgard forever. My gods are unwilling to do the deed, and your gods are too full of spite."

"So, you helped me because you thought we would die?"

"That's not what I said." Percy snapped. "I helped you because there is more to this blackstone than you know. I helped you because I will see to it that this 'alchemist' faces the blood eagle. I helped you because I knew that it would put you in my debt. Now you're obligated to help me."

"Help you with…?" Alex let the question hang.

"I have knowledge and strength. You have manpower. You will take me to your fellow demigods, and together we will do what your gods are unwilling to. We will find the ones mining the blackstone and stop them before they can use it to destroy your people. And afterwards…"

"Afterwards, what?"

Percy grinned.

"And afterwards, we will fight. And you will lose. And then we will fight again. And you will lose again. And we will keep fighting and you will keep losing until one day you don't. And on that day, my friend, you will send me to my family."

AN:

And there you have it. Chapter 3 in its entirety. Yes, I did dare to put a happy feet reference in the last scene. Sue me. Yes, a lot of questions have undoubtedly been raised, particularly by the modern scenes. No, I will not be answering any of them (yet). Sue me2. Regardless, I really hope you've been enjoying how things are developing. Anyways, love y'all, and until next time,

Peace