Annabeth's dreams were disjointed and confusing. During her last sleep, they had been pointed and intentional, like a message delivered from some invisible force. Now it seemed like whoever was delivering that message could not quite decide what they wanted to tell her. Memories swirled past like raindrops in a storm.
She was eight years old again, and Luke was handing her her knife.
"This is a hero's blade," he'd said, smile marred by the scar that ran down his cheek, past the corner of his lip, "We can be a family of heroes, you and I."
She was on grass, a little older. The night was pitch black except for the moon waxing above them, and the constellations scattered throughout the sky. He told her stories of the heroes painted in the stars.
They were on a path, and it was near the end. Even then she could feel it, maybe twelve years of age. A man stood at the fork in the road, though he had not been there a second before. His skin glowed golden in the sunlight; his shoes had little wings. Luke went to meet him alone, and he was never the same when he got back.
There was more to that story, much more, but the dream did not seem interested in the ending. Instead it swept her away, settling on another familiar scene— only this time it stayed there, replaying the memory in full like it had the night before.
As soon as she recognized where she was, she felt a surge of dread. But with her secret so close to the surface, it was really no surprise that her mind was revisiting this particular memory.
She'd been young witnessing this, young enough that she didn't entirely piece together what was happening until later. It had been before she'd even met Luke, just a few weeks after she'd escaped the siege on her home.
Annabeth didn't remember exactly how she'd gotten to the city. She didn't remember much about the city at all, if she were honest, except for this very moment.
She remembered it being autumn, the air finally cooling down from the summer heat, turning drier and less muggy with each passing day. It had almost been chilly that morning.
She'd barely woken up after having spent the night in the street, hidden away in an alley somewhere. The first thing that had caught her attention was the shrill scream piercing through the chilled air, the second a large gathering of people in the square. Annabeth remembered approaching curiously, watching the faces of taller adults turn towards the commotion with a sick kind of interest.
Being small, it was easy for Annabeth to slip through the legs of the crowd, to get closer to the incident. The screaming continued, crying too— higher and shriller than the original voice. Just a few seconds later, when Annabeth had reached the front of the crowd, she realized why: it was a baby.
Well, a baby, and a young woman, who was being held back by two soldiers.
The veil that marked her as a priestess was falling away, her white dress that indicated her supposed virginal status already smeared with mud and dirt. At the time she had looked old to Annabeth, but now she recognized her as young, maybe in the later half of her teenage years. Younger than Annabeth was now, anyways. Too young for what was about to happen to her.
The girl was sobbing, screaming, doing everything in her power to get back to the child, which was being held by someone Annabeth now knew to be a priest, though back then she hadn't quite recognized his status. All she'd seen was a man with elaborate robes, and cruelty in his eyes.
The baby was screeching. It was tiny, near newborn.
"Please!" the girl begged, still struggling, "Please leave him alone, he did nothing wrong—"
"You have broken your sacred oath. The… result is an abomination," the priest said, voice loud enough to be heard over the baby's screams and the girl's pleading.
"Please—" the girl wept, not denying it at all, "Please, no—"
"Your actions have angered the gods. They demand recompense."
"No!" the girl screamed, but it was too late. The priest made a rough gesture with his hands, one Annabeth didn't quite see. A collective wince traveled through the crowd of onlookers, but nobody dared to speak.
The baby stopped crying.
The girl had died. All Annabeth had seen was her being dragged away, screaming and crying, but even then Annabeth had known that her fate was going to be the same as her child's. Now that Annabeth was older, well versed in Rome's laws and traditions, she knew that the girl had likely been buried alive, left alone in a pit below the city without food or water for days on end. The father of the baby would have been whipped publicly, maybe stoned if he was particularly unlucky. If they ever found him, that was. Men had an easier time getting away with these sorts of things, having a lot of plausible deniability. The women, not so much.
It was rare that a child of such a match would ever make it to birth, given that their mothers were usually killed as soon as pregnancy was discovered. But when they were, they were put to death all the same, just as she'd seen that day.
The incident was so rare, in fact, that Annabeth was convinced it had not been a coincidence that she'd seen it. Some divine force had driven her to that place at that time. Given her a warning that had been permanently burned into her mind.
Annabeth was no better than that girl, no more protected than her child. In the eyes of Rome she was just as much an atrocity, a bad omen, a mark of something sacred breaking down. Even more so, really, because it hadn't been a mere local priestess who'd committed the transgression; it had been a goddess. Minerva had sworn an oath of chastity, and Annabeth was proof that she had broken it.
If anyone were to find out about Annabeth's mother, she would be put to death just as fast as the girl and her baby.
What little was left of the scene faded away, leaving Annabeth in total darkness. When she surfaced to some sort of light, she was without body, in a place she did not know.
It was a poorly lit space, underground, by the smell of it, and almost empty. There was just one thing in the room: a large, ceramic jar. It was sealed at the top. Annabeth's consciousness moved closer, as if the dream could sense her curiosity. She was close enough to touch it.
There was a sound coming from the jar; a steady thump-thump-thump. Quiet at first, but growing louder with each beat, until it was thundering throughout the room. Its pace quickened and the sound kept growing, growing, growing, until—
Annabeth's eyes shot open. At first the racing of her own heart had her half-convinced she was still in her dream, but those unruly beats were her own, and nothing more. She lay there for a few seconds, breathing in the cool air, reminding herself she was awake.
She was shaken by her dreams, but the memories were nothing she hadn't seen before. The one about the young priestess and her child had been a recurring nightmare for years, though she hadn't experienced it quite that vividly in a long time. She took another long breath in, pushing the memory out of her mind, focusing her senses on the scenery around her.
It was dusk, the sun nearly set across the Western horizon. Already a chill was settling over the air. Perseus was still asleep, a few feet away from her. He was not so intimidating unconscious. Annabeth noted, with only the slightest twinge of satisfaction, a little drool was escaping the corner of his mouth. Maybe he was more human than he seemed.
Annabeth sat up, her back aching from lying on the hard ground. Her heart was starting to beat at a regular pace again.
"Welcome back," Piper said, drawing Annabeth out of her thoughts. She smiled at Annabeth, sitting cross-legged on the bank of the stream. Annabeth noticed Jason was asleep on the ground next to her.
"How much charmspeak did that take?" Annabeth asked, amused; nodding towards Jason's sleeping form. Piper laughed.
"Less than you would think. It seemed silly to keep him awake when he still needs to heal."
Annabeth noted the edge of worry in the second half of Piper's statement. This wasn't the first time Jason had tired himself with his powers, but usually it took a few hours, a day at most, for him to seem normal again. Jason being incapacitated so early in the quest felt like a bad omen.
"That was wise," Annabeth said, decidedly ignoring the bad feeling it gave her. Jason would be fine. Even now his color seemed to be much improved.
"I was just about to wake you. We should start moving soon," Piper said, using her hand to shield her eyes from the last rays of the sun as she looked out over the horizon. Annabeth looked over at Perseus again. In the golden light of the sunset his tan skin seemed to glow, almost like Mercury's had in her dream.
"What is he like?" Piper asked, noticing Annabeth's eyes wandering. She might've blushed, except now Piper was examining him too, a little wrinkle forming between her dark eyebrows.
"I don't know," Annabeth admitted. Even after two conversations with him, she still felt confused when she interacted with him. Like there was a crucial piece of information missing. "Strange. I think he is as curious about us as we are about him."
"There's something odd about him," Piper said, her frown deepening, "I thought maybe, his insistence on the Greek form was just dramatic. But I have met many demigods, and I have never felt an aura like his."
Piper said this as if it were a bad thing, but Annabeth wasn't so sure. He was different, Annabeth could feel it too, but it didn't feel wrong. Being around Jason made Annabeth's arms itch, like electricity was radiating off of him in small bursts. Even Piper's energy wasn't entirely pleasant when she concentrated; a sort of soft heat over your head and behind your eyes.
But Perseus— his aura felt like a cool sea breeze, wiping away morning fog. It seemed to sharpen her senses, leaving them raw and exposed, but brighter, clearer. She remembered how his eyes on her earlier had left her skin tingling.
At first she had taken this as the normal discomfort she had always experienced around powerful demigods, but Piper was right. This was not the same. Piper seemed to think it felt worse, but Annabeth was realizing now that it was actually better, more comfortable.
She had a feeling that was something she should keep to herself.
"I think he was telling the truth. His father is Poseidon, not Neptune," Annabeth said, finally.
"And that makes the difference?" Piper asked.
"He seemed to think so," Annabeth said. But she thought so too. She wasn't sure how it worked, how Perseus had come to exist from this older form of the sea god, the Greek form. But she was positive he had, and that it mattered.
The memory of Annabeth's mother surfaced. She had been Minerva, but Annabet knew that her old name, her Greek name, had been Athena. The very city they were travelling to was her namesake.
Minerva was the goddess of crafts and poetry, patron of artisans. She would never have a city named for her, unless it was composed solely of weavers. But nobody spoke much of Athena, of who she had been before.
"Annabeth."
Annabeth snapped out of her thoughts as Piper waved a hand in front of her face.
"You disappeared for a second," Piper said, apologetic, probably because of the startled look Annabeth knew she had on her face, "But we need to go."
Piper was right. The sun was just past the horizon now, and with their newly established deadline Annabeth suddenly felt jittery and anxious to leave. They woke Jason and Perseus, gathering their supplies and strapping them back to the horses while the boys gathered their senses. Jason was a slow riser on a good day, and Perseus did not seem much different.
"We have two options," Perseus said, once they were all roused, and each had had a small portion of the food they had stored. They had agreed to save most of it, though in eating it Annabeth had realized just how hungry she was.
"We can either ride by the river, or ride on the road," Perseus continued, "The stream will give us fresh water, and less people pass by here."
"The road is faster. And more direct," Piper countered.
"That's true." Perseus conceded. Annabeth thought he wanted to stay by the stream, but didn't want to say so outright.
"We have to hurry. If we hope to make the deadline, we should take the road," Jason said. He looked much better after his second sleep, nearly back to normal. He was able to stand and walk on his own, anyway.
"But if we're recognized, it'll slow us down," Annabeth pointed out.
She wasn't sure why she said it. It was true, there would surely be checkpoints by now, and it would be harder to hide from soldiers who had worked under Jason's command. But the words had slipped out of her mouth before she'd fully thought them through.
She felt Perseus's eyes on her again, but she decidedly did not meet them. She looked at Piper instead, who was biting her lip.
"I think I may have a solution. If it works, we can take the road, and be there sooner."
"Your charmspeak?" Perseus asked, but Piper shook her head.
"No. Many already know of my gift, and it is less effective on those who know they are being tricked. Something else."
Annabeth watched curiously as Piper walked up to the bank of the stream, drawing her knife. Before Annabeth could even wonder what she was about to do, Piper drew her long dark brown hair over one shoulder, and with one quick motion from Katroptis cut it just below her shoulder.
Annabeth could not help the gasp that escaped her. She had always been secretly a bit jealous of Piper's hair— long, dark, gorgeous, and never unruly. It was her defining feature, the first thing you noticed about her, before your eyes wandered to her slender face and warm eyes. But now the majority of it now sat in Piper's fist as she knelt by the riverside.
"You've given me many gifts, mother, and now I ask for just one more. Accept my sacrifice, and help me protect those I love."
She dropped her hair into the stream. As it was carried away the stands turned gold, dissolving into the water.
Piper sighed in relief.
"Thank you, mother."
She stood, and as she did her clothing shimmered. By the time she was fully standing she was in completely different wear. It was nothing flashy; just a long traveler's cloak and a simple dress, but it was a huge improvement from the singed sleepwear she had been wearing before.
Annabeth felt a new weight on her shoulders. When she looked down, her clothes had changed as well, to an outfit similar to Piper's. She looked up, amazed. Jason was examining his new clothes. Perseus seemed to be the only one who had not received Venus's blessing, perhaps because of Piper's wording. But he had needed it the least, having been the only one properly dressed.
"Look," Piper said, putting her hands on Jason's shoulders and turning him towards the rest of the group. Now that he was looking up, Annabeth realized there was something different about his face. She couldn't quite place what it was, but she also found herself wanting to look away. She moved her eyes towards Piper instead, but the same effect took place. She found herself looking at Perseus, whose face was the only one she could make out. He was looking back at her, carefully, with concentration. Then his eyes slipped away in defeat.
"A trick of the mist. Nobody will look long enough to recognize you," he said, impressed.
Annabeth looked at Piper again, forcing her eyes to focus on her friend's face. If she focused hard enough, Piper's features started to clarify. It was a simple mirage if you were looking for it, but Annabeth felt certain it would be effective.
"How did you know that would work?" Annabeth asked. Piper ran a hand through her new hair, which was now choppy and a bit uneven. On anyone else it might make them look unhinged, but predictably, Piper managed to carry off the look well.
"I didn't," Piper admitted, "That is what made it a sacrifice. We should go, before it wears off."
Nobody needed to be told twice. They climbed on their horses, and made for the road.