Annabeth was dangerously close to vomiting.

Being faced with Octavian, having to leave Perseus with him, seeing Luke again, arguing with him, realizing that the enemy they were facing was not just a disembodied voice, but the remains of an evil Titan lord who had been slowly reassembling himself for over a decade and now needed either Annabeth's allegiance (or possibly her death) to rise completely and burn civilization as they knew it to the ground— it was all just a little too much to deal with in the span of a few hours.

She'd felt sick to her stomach for a while, but now as she was walking towards what she was fairly sure was her death, her nausea was starting to culminate in a deeply uncomfortable way.

They didn't even bother tying her hands again. Maybe they knew she was too dazed to try and make a break for it. Maybe they knew she would follow them wherever they took her, because they needed both her and Perseus to drag the titan lord out of hell, and if she was going to die, she wanted to at least see him one last time. Maybe they realized she'd practically given up.

It was all so overwhelming, she almost didn't notice that the strange pressure she'd felt earlier in the day had returned. Above ground it had led her to her mother's temple. Below, Annabeth wasn't entirely sure— though she had something of an idea, and if she was right…

No. Even if she was right, she didn't entirely know what to make of that, and thinking too hard about it might actually make her crack. It didn't really matter. The quest had all but failed. Maybe it had always been doomed from the start.

She had no idea what time it was, but the day was surely almost over. Her plan had failed too. The others hadn't come. Or, maybe they had and were already dead. That was also a distinct possibility. Probably a more probable possibility, if she was honest. More probable than them getting lost, or just deciding to give up and sail away while they still could.

Annabeth really, truly hoped that they had decided to give up and sail away. Maybe in the middle of the ocean, away from the society that was about to crumble, they had a chance of surviving this mess. Unfortunately, she sincerely doubted that that was the case.

She should have never suggested that she and Perseus give themselves over. She'd handed them exactly what they had needed, right on a silver platter. Maybe it was true that the others would never have gotten this close, probably never would have even found this place without Annabeth. But what she— and the rest of them— hadn't realized was that the consequence for letting the goddess stay trapped was nothing compared to that of letting Perseus and Annabeth fall into Kronos's hands.

She glanced backwards at Luke. He was very specifically not looking at her, just staring straight at the path ahead.

She'd been a fool to think she could change him. The Luke she'd seen in her dream had been over a decade younger, still a bit hesitant to the brainwashing he was going to go through. Of course now it was impossible to break through to him. He was in too deep.

Only now was Annabeth realizing just how naive she'd been going into all of this, but especially in her thinking with Luke. The version of Luke that resided in Annabeth's head, built from hazy childhood memories and general good feelings, was not at all the person standing beside her now. And he'd done the same to her— the little girl he'd loved and protected hadn't been Annabeth for a long, long time.

Maybe if they weren't so diametrically opposed now, they could have overcome that. Maybe there was at least a glimmer of who he'd been before still there. But when push came to shove, as Annabeth suspected it was about to, what part of his nature would take over?

The path they were following twisted, and they came up to a door. It was larger than the one that had led into Luke's study. Guarded too, flanked on either side by two soldiers, though once they saw the group approach, they immediately went to open the doors.

Too late, Annabeth realized that she hadn't been paying any attention at all to the way they'd been going. She didn't exactly anticipate being able to escape, but if that somehow became a possibility it would have been nice to know the general direction to go in. As it was, she would be just as trapped in the underground maze of tunnels as she would be surrounded by guards.

Annabeth faltered, her fear response finally overtaking the passive shock that had been ruling her body ever since they left Luke's room. Whatever was behind those doors was giving her a confusing mix of signals— something very primal in her was telling her to run, to get out of there while she had the chance. But at the same time, that pressure in her chest had built to an almost insurmountable point. This room was where that feeling had been leading her all along. She was sure of it.

If the decision to enter or not enter the room had been up to her, she wasn't sure which of these conflicting desires would have won out. Unfortunately, it wasn't in her hands at all. She'd barely stopped in front of the door for a few seconds before she was being pushed unceremoniously inside.

As soon as she passed the threshold of the door, the darkness shimmered away, revealing the contents of the room to her.

There were probably a lot of things to observe, a lot of elements she should have paid attention to. But the second her gaze caught Perseus, everything else seemed to vanish. He was surrounded by guards, his hands still bound behind his back. A bruise was starting to develop on his cheek, just below his right eye, a small cut in the middle of it that was just barely bleeding. He turned his head towards her, green eyes locking with hers.

Her feet carried her on their own, her mind having absolutely no say in what she was doing. She broke free of the guards surrounding her, closing the short distance between her and Perseus in a run, throwing her arms around him.

His hands were still tied, and he couldn't return her embrace. But he leaned into her anyways, pressing his forehead to hers.

"I'm sorry," she said, choking back a sob, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Shouldn't have what? Left him? Brought them here? Wanted to talk to Luke in the first place? She didn't even know what she was sorry for exactly, except that she felt it straight down to her bones.

"Annabeth—" he said urgently, his voice shaking. She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but fear.

Before he could finish, before Annabeth could even begin to process what any of it meant, angry unfamiliar hands gripped her shoulders, tearing her away from Perseus.

Annabeth wanted to scream, or cry, or throw a fit. She wanted to fight tooth and nail to get back to him. But he was already hurt— if she resisted, they might just hurt him more. Annabeth couldn't bear to do that to him, even if they were both about to die.

"How touching."

Annabeth's heart plummeted like a stone.

Her head whipped around wildly on instinct, even though she knew the voice that had just spoken had no body. Shockingly, she found the source of it anyway.

She hadn't processed the room as she'd come in, but she took it all in now. It was cavelike; the floors and walls a rough stone, the ceiling so far above Annabeth couldn't even see it. Large enough to fit a hundred people at least, though now it had merely twenty— a mishmash of guards, men in ceremonial wear, herself and Perseus.

Those were the simple details, the ones her brain managed to process first. The others came less easily. The room was cold, freezing, actually, freezing to the point where she didn't know how she hadn't noticed before. The source of the cold was fairly obvious, once Annabeth actually looked: about ten feet to the right of her, the floor dropped off completely, leaving nothing but an empty, sickening darkness.

Worst of all was the golden coffin, situated just on the edge of the cliff, elevated on a great slab of stone. It was long, too long for any human body, and had carvings and impressions all around the side, just barely too far away for Annabeth to make out. Looking at it sent another wave of nausea rolling over her.

Everyone's attention was turned to it, had been since the voice spoke. Annabeth noted that Octavian was here, standing next to the coffin in ceremonial robes. The sword strapped to his belt looked familiar— and then Annabeth realized that it was familiar, because it was Anaklusmos. A surge of anger flooded over her, that Octavian would be arrogant enough to take Perseus's blade from him, act as if it was his own, as if he were worthy of it. She could see his smug smile from all the way across the room, and she wanted nothing more than to tear it off his face.

But Octavian was not the thing to focus on right now. That honor belonged to Luke, who was kneeling in front of the golden coffin in a practiced motion, like it was something he'd done a thousand times before. Maybe he had.

"My lord."

Mist as dark as smoke swirled around his legs and arms, though whether it was coming from the coffin itself, the pit behind it, or just forming from the stale underground air, Annabeth couldn't tell. Or was it coming from somewhere else entirely?

Something caught the corner of her eye, something so obvious and large she should have seen it right away. Without context, it was nothing special, just a jar. A pithos that would have been comically large, if Annabeth hadn't known what it contained— or rather, who it contained. It was the same one she'd seen in her dream days and days ago, the dream she'd brushed aside as being an ordinary nightmare.

Maybe it had been a nightmare, but it was no ordinary one. And now Annabeth was living it, seeing the jar with her own two eyes, being drawn towards it like a moth to flame.

She could feel it growing weaker as surely as she could feel her own heartbeat.

In a bitter, ironic way, her plan had worked. She'd gotten them to lead her right to the stolen goddess. The goal of their quest was just a few meters away, and she had absolutely no way of setting her free. Annabeth could practically feel the power radiating from it, could feel it getting sucked away by the cold, gleaming sarcophagus.

"Bring them to me," the voice, Kronos, said, his voice a thousand times more chilling and dangerous in person as it had been in her dream. It was enough to sever her connection to the jar, for her head to whip back around to the front of the room. To Luke, who was rising, turning towards her, gesturing for the guards to bring her forward.

"As you wish, my lord," he said. He wouldn't meet Annabeth's eye.

She and Perseus were shoved forward, led to the space right in front of the coffin and forced to their knees. Her knife pressed insistently against her leg, reminding her of its presence. Her hands were still unbound, but what use was a knife and free hands against twenty enemies and a half-reformed Titan?

Luke was standing off to her right, just barely in her line of sight. She couldn't make out his expression from this angle, but his body was positioned towards the coffin, not towards her.

"I suppose I should introduce myself."

"We know who you are," Perseus said. His voice was somehow still strong, still true. Whatever terror had been in it seconds before when he'd spoken just one word to Annabeth had vanished. It was an impressive feat of bravery, but Annabeth didn't see how it was going to help them now, beside dying with a little bit of dignity.

"The last two Greek demigods," Kronos mused, "A son of the eldest gods, and daughter of the most Greek. Turn your loyalties to me, swear a blood oath as the sun sets on the solstice, and you will sever the connection between the gods and their most ancient roots. I will rise from Tartarus, take my rightful place as lord of the sky, and start a new golden age."

Annabeth glanced over at Perseus, comforted to find that he was already looking at her. His jaw was clenched in forced determination.

"We won't join you," Annabeth said, her voice shockingly strong despite the terror crawling up her throat.

Kronos just laughed, low and cold.

"So I see Luke failed to convince you. And he was so confident too."

Annabeth saw Luke grimace, just barely.

"I admit, I have no desire to kill either of you," Kronos continued, unperturbed, "You both would be valuable assets."

"I'm nobody's asset," Perseus said, a scowl painted on his face.

"But you haven't heard all I can offer you," Kronos said, his voice softer, less cutting, "You both could benefit greatly from me."

"We don't want anything from you," Annabeth said.

"Is that so, daughter of Athena?"

Suddenly Annabeth could feel all his attention on her, black smoke starting to trail down the coffin, curl around her just as it had around Luke.

"If you do not join me, you both will die. But if you do…"

Smoke snaked around her arms and legs, crawling up her back

"You would be rewarded beyond measure. You could be the architect of my new world."

"I don't want a new world," Annabeth said. Her hands were shaking, she could feel them trembling by her side and yet she could not stop them from revealing her fear.

"Why shouldn't you?" Kronos said. Suddenly his voice took on a sympathetic tilt, soft and honeyed in a sickening way. "You know this empire, these gods, they don't deserve their power. Rome killed your family. They burned your home to the ground. And what did the gods do, to prevent this injustice? Nothing. They stood by, let Rome gorge itself on conquest, just to build their own power."

That's not true, Annabeth thought, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. The gods had helped her, after the fact. But she'd never considered that they had the power to prevent it all in the first place. Had they? Had they really all stood by and watched it happen? Had they watched her mother crumble as the last true connection to her past was destroyed, leaving her an angry, raving mess?

"Annabeth," Perseus said, his voice vaguely urgent, but tinny and far away, "Don't listen to him."

"And that isn't all they're responsible for. They destroyed your mother, made her a shell of the goddess she once was. You could finally have her revenge."

Annabeth wasn't sure whether he was talking about Rome or the gods, but at this point it didn't matter.

"This world was not built for you. But you could change it, fix it to your liking. Join me, and I could give you incredible power. You could tear down Rome, brick by brick, and build something new, something greater. A golden age of your own design."

"No," Annabeth said, but even she could hear her voice wavering.

She could practically feel her mother's fingers digging into her shoulders, see her wild eyes in front of her. Avenge me. Those had been her instructions, all those years ago. She had known about Perseus, so was it possible she knew about this? That she had seen this choice in Annabeth's future, and had told her exactly which path to take? Was she angry enough to burn her brethren down with her, if it meant having her revenge?

But the better question was whether Annabeth was angry enough to do it.

She knew that Kronos was manipulating her, trying to make her upset. But that didn't mean that what he was saying was untrue. Rome had caused her misery and suffering, had been the source of every distressing aspect of her life. It wasn't just her, either. How many other conquered people's lives had it ruined? How many other cultures had it destroyed? It didn't deserve to exist. And she could be the one to raze it to the ground.

She could save her and Perseus's lives. Kronos would rise either way, what did it matter if they went down nobly? She looked over at Perseus, still bruised and bloody. She could fix that.

He was scared. It was written all over his face, plain as day. She could fix that too.

"Annabeth," Perseus said, "You're better than this. You know what this would mean, you don't want this."

"I…" her words caught in her throat. He just looked at her, pleading in his eyes.

It took her a second to realize he wasn't scared of the coffin, or Kronos or the looming threat of death. He was scared of her, or more accurately, the choice he could tell she wanted to make.

Reality came crashing back down. Maybe Rome did deserve to be torn to the ground, but who was she to make that choice? More people would suffer than she would save. And for what? Revenge for a mother she barely even knew, who was half-mad to begin with? Revenge for herself? Causing more chaos wouldn't give her back all she'd lost. It would only take the same things from other people, people who had nothing to do with her anger and pain, people who were just as innocent as she had been when everything had been torn away from her.

She saw the barest glimmer of hope in Perseus's eyes, and that was enough to solidify her choice. If the world was going to burn, she would not be the one to light the match.

"No," she said, her voice finally working, loud and strong, "I won't join you."

She saw Luke wince out of the corner of her eye. The black smoke around her seemed to burn, to crush her breath before it even made it to her lungs.

"Very well," Kronos said, curt now, "If you insist upon dying, then there is not much I can do to stop you."

The smoke around her dissolved, and Annabeth gasped in air, her eyes watering.

"What about you, Perseus? What will it take for you to join me?"

"There's nothing that I want from you."

"I would give you your father's domain. You would have control over everything, rule the seas however you pleased."

"I don't want that," Perseus said, voice pained. He meant it though, every word. He was better than her, not so blinded by hubris as to be tempted by something as simple as power.

"Why not? I will rise either way. Would you rather watch your love die in front of you?"

"No," Perseus said, voice barely audible. Annabeth couldn't tell if he was talking to himself or to the Titan, if he was rejecting Kronos's offer or if it was just a blind reaction to his words.

"She would die first," Kronos said, casual as anything, despite the threat he was delivering, "It would be slow, painful. And who knows? Maybe her blood sacrificed in my name would be enough to sever the old gods from the new."

Perseus stiffened, his eyes widening just slightly. He was one step ahead of Annabeth, understanding something implicit in the Titan's words that didn't quite make sense to her.

"You're counting on seeing her in Elysium again, aren't you?" Kronos said, taunting now, and everything started to fall into place for Annabeth, just as the Titan said it out loud.

"That's why you find it so easy to die. But I am rearranging the world, Perseus. I would keep her soul in the darkest pits of hell, somewhere you could never reach. I would keep you alive forever, never able to reach her again."

Annabeth understood in a strangely detached way that Kronos was talking about her. But the punishment was clearly designed for Perseus.

"But if you joined me… perhaps she could still be spared."

Perseus looked at her, and for a full, terrifying second, she was convinced he would break. He didn't care about Kronos's promises, about the power he could get if he signed his loyalty away. He didn't even care about the inevitable apocalypse. All he cared about was her, keeping her alive, keeping them together.

He would burn the world down, just to save her.

"No," she whispered, and she wasn't even sure if it came out as an audible sound or just a movement of lips, but she had to tell him, had to beg him not to do it.

It was cruel of her. She knew the consequences would be dire, for both of them. But she wouldn't let him abandon his morality and his goodness and his kindness and everything else that made him the person he was just to save her— she couldn't be responsible for that. There were things worse than death, and losing his soul to the darkness had to be one of them.

His expression wavered, just a second longer. And then it fell. Suddenly Annabeth felt like they were the only two people in the room.

"I love you," he said. His voice was so quiet, so soft, that Annabeth was positive that she was the only person who heard.

There was something different in his words, something smooth and beautiful and heartbreaking. Then Annabeth realized— he'd said it in Greek.

Had he even known she would understand? Had it just slipped out that way, in this moment of desperation and fear, his mind reverting back into his native language on instinct? Or had it been intentional, a message just for her, a secret the two of them alone could understand. A desire to tell her in the purest way he knew how, in words unmangled by a foriegn tongue.

"I love you."

Her words fell over themselves easily, just the same as his. She saw his eyes sparkle with recognition, one last broken smile gracing his features. Then he turned back to the coffin, to Kronos, more determined than ever.

"Go to hell," Perseus spat.

Immediately, something shifted. Annabeth realized that whatever cold, dark energy had been leaking out of the coffin was only one small portion of its true power. Now that Kronos had failed to convince them to join him, he no longer had to hide the worst of his essence.

The temperature dropped even lower. With each growing second, the anger, the fury radiating from the coffin grew, hitting her with a wave so overwhelming she almost blacked out.

"Seize the girl," Kronos said, his voice so sharp Annabeth could have sworn it cut her across the face.

They ended up having to seize Perseus too, because even though it was a lost cause, even though there was no way they were getting out of this, he fought to save her anyways.

"My lord," Octavian said, his voice absolutely dripping with barely disguised glee, "I'm ready to do the honors."

And now Annabeth realized why exactly Octavian was here. Perseus had taunted him by saying it was a demotion, but that wasn't it at all. He was getting exactly what he'd wanted all along— the opportunity to kill Annabeth.

"Proceed," Kronos said.

Hands dragged her forward, until she was right up on the edge of the coffin. And then Octavian was approaching her, Perseus's sword still in hand.

One last flair of defiance and anger rose in her chest. To die by Octavian's hand was miserable and humiliating, but with Perseus's own stolen sword— the symbol of his father's power, of his power, the sword that had been wielded time and time again in her defense— that was another insult entirely. She tried to struggle away, but the hands holding her down were unyielding. Annabeth's heart was pounding, as Octavian approached. He was grinning from ear to ear.

She couldn't look at him, couldn't have his face be the last thing she saw. Annabeth moved her eyes, searching for Perseus, but he was out of her line of sight. She caught a pair of blue eyes instead, just as familiar, nowhere near as comforting. Luke was looking at her with a mixture of horror and fear.

"Luke, please," she begged, voice raw with tears, "Please."

Luke looked away.

Octavian raised Anaklusmos.

Then the ceiling exploded.