Chapter 2: A Promise

"Not bad, not bad. But you move about as fast as a training dummy. Try that against an empousai and you're in for a bad time. Here. Watch this."

I gave my partner a nod and he fell into stance. He lunged, his practice sword a blur as it snaked towards my chest. I forced myself not to parry and instead take the hit square on my own weapon, absorbing the brunt of the impact and using it to quicken a backstep. Before he could recover, I followed up immediately with a return strike that sent him teetering off balance without even touching him with the wooden blade.

He stumbled back and would have tripped if he hadn't dug into the sand.

"See how I did that? Gerald here would've been breathing with a punctured lung if this wasn't practice. Now, who can tell me what I did differently?"

"You just moved three times faster," one of my students said. Sandy lived up to her name and then some, between her hair and her freckles.

"I guess that's true. Let me rephrase: how did I do that?"

A longer silence. "I'm sure it had something to do with footwork."

The other students snickered, though they looked at me with wondering eyes. It was hard to suppress a laugh as I nodded.

"That's right, Andrew. When Gerald came at me with a lunge, I took the hit on my sword and used the force to put my non-dominant foot back. The instant it touched the ground, I launched off it with a counterstrike."

"That's what you said the first time," Andrew said. "And we all did it. So why did it fail?"

"Because you hesitated. The move itself is simple, but the mental block you put on yourself to always keep your feet in the 'proper' stance slows you down. You also have to swing from your dominant side to your non-dominant side, which is a habit that's surprisingly difficult to break. There's no trick or shortcut. You just have to practice until you realize that your weaknesses can be taken advantaged of not only by your enemy but by yourself."

"But it's hard to do it on sand," Sandy said. "Besides, why do we have to do all this? Shouldn't we be training in formation? My parents said that's how real Romans fight, and that what the legion is teaching us right now is wrong."

An upsetting number of students nodded along.

"That's all true. At least it was in their time. Nowadays, the enemy won't face us in pitched battle, and there aren't any cities or towns that we can lay siege to. It's all about skirmishes and guerilla warfare. You'll be fighting in dark alleys and abandoned buildings on almost every mission. You need to learn how to protect yourself even when you're alone. And yes, I realize that the sand makes it difficult. That's why I chose to do it here. You all knew what you signed up for when you requested to study with me: I know better than almost anyone else that practice makes perfect. You think I can do all the things I do right off the bat?"

"I mean, yeah."

"Okay, some of it is just talent. But also practice," I added over a chorus of whines. "Lots and lots of practice until I can be better than good. And that's what I expect from you and what the legion needs from you. That's why we're practicing on sand. If you can generate enough speed and force with unstable footing, imagine what you can do when you're fighting on solid ground."

I let them live out their personal fantasies for a moment. Never hurts to let kids dream. I didn't also mention that this was also a test, that for students who couldn't be ambidextrous to some degree would break their ankles if they wanted to keep up with me. Like I said. Let them dream for now. The time for breaking them was later, when I wasn't in such a good mood.

"Alright, go back to your partners and keep practicing. Begin!"

When Reyna asked me to become sword instructor, I jumped at the opportunity, not only to spend more time with other human beings and swords, but also to impress her in any way. I was still working on that, of course. But sword fighting was something that always put me at ease, and while teaching didn't scratch the same itch as a sparring session, it was still incredibly to rebuild my fundamentals while sharing the students' eagerness. It chipped away at my heart.

"Percy!"

I looked up. Vanessa stood across the sand pits with her arms crossed, forming a scarred, leathery canvas. What little grace and softness had been there when I first met her was gone, burned away by a forge. My class was coming to a close anyway, and though I wanted to give some closing remarks, I never say no to a friend. Especially not one who could beat me up.

"That's all for today, guys," I called out. "You can stop when you land a counter on your opponent. Anyone who gets hit, find another partner, and keep going until you're down to two. I'll see you all in a couple of days."

"Ave!" the students called out, redoubling their efforts.

I managed a sparse smile until I looked at Vanessa. She turned on her heel.

"What's up?"

"Reyna wanted to talk to you," she said. "It's important."

"I would hope so. If that's what it takes to get me away from those gremlins, I guess even Reyna's wrath is preferable."

"Percy."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

I tried not to be angry, so all I felt was hurt.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes."

"And can you tell me what it is? Was it something I said?"

"No."

"Then why – "

She whirled around, and for the first time, I saw something other than careful restraint in her eyes. It was the same hurt I felt, magnified and reflected.

"It's everything you didn't do. How could you? When you came back home with the Spear and the news, why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to find out at the end of the day? I missed his funeral. Did you know that? My friend died, and I missed his funeral."

"I would've told you if I could," I said. "But I didn't… I wasn't in the right mind, I was – "

"You were what?"

I didn't want to say it. But if I couldn't say it to Vanessa, then what kind of person was I?

"I was alone. In our room. Crying. I didn't want anyone to see me. I didn't… didn't want to feel hurt anymore. I didn't want to be reminded."

"It's always about you, isn't it? Never once did you think about others. Save the world, save all your friends. But so long as they're alive, that means they're okay, right? Just because they're not dead, that means you've done all you can, right? Just because you never saw me crying alone, that means you don't have anything more to do, right?"

"Vanessa," I managed to say, appalled. "Where is all this coming from? I would've come to you if you'd asked. I would've – "

"But you didn't. Why do you expect me to come to you when you yourself were unwilling to come to me?"

I had no answer.

"That's what I thought," Vanessa let out. "Because deep down we aren't equals, are we? We might be friends, but I'm just someone you protect. Someone you care about. Not someone you can rely on. You have Reyna for that, and Octavian, and Felix, and Alex. But I'm stuck in the forges all day and all of a sudden I'm not as good as you or anyone else."

"I never said that."

"No. You just proved it. Reyna's waiting for you in there. Ellie and Jun are already there."

She turned and walked away. I didn't even notice that we'd arrived at the praetorium.

A wiser person would have taken a moment to calm himself, maybe some deep breaths. But after that conversation, overeager to solve any more problems, and convinced that nothing could be worse than that, I entered the building.

The praetorium was a different place than the one I had first entered so long ago. Where once it was like a bank, now it had a distinctly downcast atmosphere more suited for a mausoleum. The few people who had dared enter and expose themselves to the wrath of the tomb's sole guardian and permanent resident had their eyes down and shoulders hunched.

I faced the door to her office and paused by the handle. The cold metal felt like clammy flesh, hardened with rigor mortis, and daring me to step further. And I did.

"…and I expected better from both of you."

There they were. Jun was standing at attention in a pose reminiscent of parade rest. Even Ellie stood up straight and trained her eyes forward. The woman they were dealing with, after all, is not one either of them could trifle with.

Reyna looked prematurely older, like a masterwork blade mistreated and abused but somehow still holding its edge and developing one on the other side. On top of her praetor duties, the war was at a point where she had to participate in missions and oversee them personally. And she was the type to take the hardest battles for herself. She would never order anybody to do anything she wouldn't do, and often go beyond what other legionaries would. Proving her mettle time and again in countless battles and skirmishes, the legion finally gave her the respect she deserved. But it had taken a toll.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, filling the void. Our eyes met, and though they stayed locked on each other, the personages behind them changed. We were different people right now. We might be different people permanently.

"Of course. Stand."

I did as she bid and clasped my hands behind my back. Jun and Ellie glanced at me but didn't offer any welcome.

"Report."

"Praetor. The mission was going smoothly until we encountered a hitch at the end. We were on time, waiting for an opportunity to infiltrate the building and execute the mission, but – "

"I'm not interested in what went right. That's expected. I want to know how things went wrong. Two casualties? Any team I send with any of you is guaranteed to be safe. The three of you together could fight a Titan and win. So explain to me how the hell you managed to fail at the one thing you're good at."

"We were taken by surprise. After neutralizing every threat in the building, Jun ordered the recruits to sweep the area – a formality, really, one that neither Ellie nor I refuted. But out of nowhere, reinforcements arrived from three different directions at the same time. They fell on the overreached recruits immediately and we had little time to react. When we disposed of the new threat, several had fallen and a few injured."

"And your tantrum?"

I took a breath. "I was… I made a mistake. I was frustrated and desperate to protect the recruits, so I did what I saw fit to do."

"That's not what I heard. Not from Jun or from the recruits. They said you lost control."

"That's not exactly true. I was angry, yes, and I wasn't thinking of the consequences – but I knew what I was doing. And how I did it."

Jun and Ellie turned to me. Reyna was staring too hard to notice.

"Both of you, out."

They nodded and left. I felt their eyes linger on me before the door closed.

If anything, the tension multiplied. Reyna looked at me now with pain in her eyes, confusion and frustration slipping from her grasp and replaced with exhaustion.

"So."

"Yes?"

"What really happened."

The question, said in that way, was more of a demand.

"Like I said. Enemies popped out of nowhere and the recruits were downed. I rushed, but I didn't think I'd save them in time, and then – "

"Percy."

"Yeah?"

She leaned forward. I could see her hair sticking out of her normally immaculate braid, the sheen of sweat on her brow she didn't bother to wipe away. Reyna fixed dead black eyes into mine and I struggled not to flinch.

"What happened."

It was that simple. But then again, it usually was between us.

"I panicked. I was fighting this rogue demigod, and she was good, but not too much trouble. But when I saw the recruits fighting for their lives, I just… I panicked. And fought back. Hard. My mind was fixed on saving them. I knew if I didn't do it, they would die before I finished."

"And if you did it too hard, you would've killed everyone in the building, including yourself."

"That was at the back of my mind."

"It shouldn't."

"I know."

"Then why did you do it?"

"You know why."

"I've learned that you can only really know things if it's either said explicitly or it's trying to kill you. I want to hear it, Percy. Straight from you."

Her gaze was merciless. I looked for a scrap of warmth and found nothing. Not even familiarity.

"I was afraid. And guilty. I was only thinking of Felix, and Eli, and Izzy. I knew if I failed again… I wouldn't have the strength to keep going."

"So you risked your life, and the lives of your current team, to save the ghosts of your dead friends in a vain attempt to rid yourself of guilt that you refuse to process."

"If I could've gotten rid of the guilt, I would've. What, you think I enjoy the nightmares and constant crying? That I enjoy having people fear me, to be scared of water, to lose my powers, to hate myself, to fear my own sword?"

"Yes. Because the alternative would be to accept that you couldn't protect your friends, and you're too weak to do that."

Never in my life have I been angry with Reyna. But right then and there, I clenched my fist until fingernails drew blood from my palm. It hurt. Twice over, because it was true. And even worse to hear it from someone I've come to care for so deeply. I wanted her to reassure me, to tell me it wasn't my fault, to whisper in my ear and say that everything was going to be alright. But that's who she was, and though that's what I wanted to hear, it's not what I needed.

"Is there anything else?" I grated out.

"Get it together, Percy. I don't need a liability running around. Get out. And for gods' sake, take a shower."

I turned on my heel and fled. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Ellie and Jun talking in hushed tones, Ellie's body leaning a bit too casually to be accidental. Whatever they overheard from my conversation, they were at least keeping it between them.

And in the middle of the via praetoria, I froze. In the four years I've been in camp, this was the first time I didn't know where to go. My first thought was to go to my friends, but they were dead, missing, or no longer friends. I thought to practice swordplay, but the wrongness of my standard issue gladius would weigh on my mind like a blister. I would turn to Reyna, someone who I thought was more than a friend, and denying that she might be less than that now.

When all else fails, I thought of him. As usual. But he was too busy for anything nowadays, let alone a visit from me.

A stiff wind blew through the air, reminding me that autumn was still in full swing and shoving my own scent into my nose. I almost gagged – where did that come from? How did I ever get this dirty? I know from hearing it so many times in the mandatory counselling sessions, that lack of hygiene is a common symptom in clinical depression. I knew I should move, take care of myself, bathe. But if I did that, then I'd… I would… no. I can always do it later.

Filthy as I was, I might as well get some dirty work done.

I headed to the stables. Legionaries passed by and I was stunned to only now realize that they were scrunching their noses at the smell of me, not the sight. Still, that was little comfort, and I ducked my head and speeded my steps.

Camp was deadened. Everybody had seen some action, everybody was overworked, and they were either prepping for the next mission, recovering from their wounds, or teaching the overwhelmed recruits to fight in a war they were too young to join.

But where legionaries would normally take the time and refuge in camp to shout too loud and laugh too long and relieve themselves of at least some of their stress, safe among friends, now they cast furtive looks over their shoulders. Every corner, every shadow, every crevice in the buildings became the object of attraction for legionaries out on errands, paranoia seeping as deep as legionary training.

The nature of the war has shifted. We have an army of saboteurs and spies, not warriors. Battle-hardened, true, but in filthy streets and alleys. I began to doubt our ability to fight pitched battles.

Just before I reached the stables, a crowd formed.

"Still can't believe it," somebody muttered. "Whose idea was this?"

"Who else?"

"I still couldn't believe it. No way they're that crazy. But here we are."

"Should we do something about this?"

"Let's get out of here. Things can get ugly."

I pushed through the crowd and was pleasantly surprised, but that quickly vanished. There, in ramshackle barracks, were familiar faces.

The Cyclopes brothers Abercrombie and Fitch led a procession of dour monsters through camp, bearing a ragged banner of some kind. I spotted a smattering of different races, leaning on crutches and each other, clutching wounds only partially bandaged with strips of their own clothes. Centaurs trotted up the front along with most of the Cyclopes. Dracaena, hellhounds, and empousai took up the main body of the force, but the more numerous humanoids clung to the rear a good distance.

Those dryads, nymphs, and satyrs were barely tolerated for their humanoid features, but the hellhounds, centaurs, and dracaena were given hateful glares they were too eager to return. As bad as we treated them, however, I always thought that the monsters would have at least some camaraderie with each other. Looks like I was wrong. As usual.

They limped through the crowd, arms in slings, scars exposed under too-small scars. It was a sorry sight. The monsters were an auxiliary force, and though some considered them second-class citizens, no Roman should ever be glad to see an armed force this mistreated.

I screwed up on the battlefield, but I could at least do some good here. I pushed through the crowd and called out, turning heads.

Fitch greeted me with a wide smile. "Well, I'll be. Abercrombie! It's the fine fellow we met some time back – what was it, two or three months ago?"

"A year, actually." The other legionaries were staring at me, more often than not with consternation, but so be it. I didn't care that I was talking with monsters. Anyone who treated me with kindness is preferable to anyone who doesn't, no matter what they look like.

"That long ago now?"

"Of course," his brother Abercrombie put in. "I remember. You were the one who proposed we align our forces, correct? It's him, Fitch. Percy Jackson?"

"Ah, yes. Of course. I must thank you, then, though not many would say the same. Life in the legion has been difficult, but it is still preferable to the sorry state we were in. Stowing away in decrepit buildings, waiting to be killed by demigods or other monsters – at least now we have a life. Somewhat."

"I can see that. I know that Reyna can seem mean, but it's always worth it in the end. Is it going well so far?"

"Yes. Some of my fellows have complained, telling us that she's working us too hard, though I can see that everyone else is similarly taxed. She's a hard taskmistress, that praetor of yours, but fair."

"As much as she can, at least," Abercrombie said. "We get the impression that she's also holding back on us. And that, we know for sure."

"Reyna? Hold back?"

"It might be difficult to believe for you, as a legionary and, well, human. Do you know of the cache of Imperial gold weapons?"

"Of course. I helped bring it back two years ago."

"Rumor has it that there we have so many weapons, the armory is near bursting. They say that they're going to be smelted and turned to armor, chariots, plating on war engines."

"But that's great news!"

"Designed for human use."

"You benefit from it too, just not directly. If we had real heavy infantry, we would risk less lives."

"But those same weapons can be given to us, no further processing needed. As well as the training and education to integrate fully in the legion."

And suddenly my belly turned to ice. Arming a contingent of monsters with Roman tactics and Imperial gold weapons? I remembered, then, that my audience had two sides. The monsters glared at me with just as much malevolence as I got from my fellows. They turned away and shifted their piecemeal armor, deliberately showing scars and gaping wounds, flicking nicked and notched weapons. Accusing me with far more than dirty looks and whispered comments.

People had died because we were afraid to give them power. But could we trust them? How much damage can they do if they defected? Do they even count as people?

"I know what you're thinking," Fitch nodded, snapping me out. "It's dangerous, it's risky, it's unheard of. But we're battered and bruised, and we need each other. So please. If not for us, then for our fallen, and especially those who died with broken weapons and shattered armor, helpless as they were cut down. Could you put in a good word for us? Petition your praetor to give us the equipment we need?"

It would be a death sentence. Reyna's hard-earned respect would crumble if she armed monsters. But wasn't this the point? Can they truly be called allies if we did not treat them as equals?

I had to stall for time.

"I'll try. But why don't you guys elect a leader to come with me? It'd be much easier if we had just one person to talk to. I think I remembered another one of you guys when we first met – where's Armani?"

The brothers blinked their single great eye, bloodshot veins suddenly watering.

"Armani died," Abercrombie said. "He gave his life so we could retreat."

He hefted the monsters' standard and I saw that it was no flag or banner, but an enormous white button-down shirt, spread wide to revive the image of the giant who had worn it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know… I'm sure the men he saved will remember him well."

"The monsters he saved." Fitch spoke softly, but I felt the cold wind of irritation behind his words. "They could have defended for themselves if they had more than their bare hands."

"Please, Percy Jackson. Show us that our lives mean something to you."

My heart clenched. I tried to forget the fact that I had questioned their own usefulness just a moment ago. I wasn't sure if I was lying when I said, "I promise. You will get everything you need."

The monsters just snorted at that. But the brothers nodded, grave, and turned to rejoin their column into the barracks. They were little more than a collection of shacks, I realized, one that was placed closer to the stables as necessary.

I heard some coughed laughter behind me and a roar in my ears. They gave their lives for the legion and we were watching them pen themselves next to the animals.

Reasoning and rationality became lost under a tide of anger, awfully familiar nowadays. There was always more work to be done, and every effort I took always made things worse. Even my successes became failures in time. The worst part is that it didn't just affect me. Better that I would bear the burden, that I suffer the consequences of my own mistakes. But that was never the case. When I make mistakes, it's my loved ones who pay.

The small comfort in all this is the small discovery of how to better manage my temper – or, more accurately, how to vent it in a way that didn't hurt anyone. I retreated.

When I wanted to hit something, when I wanted to shout, when I wanted to draw my sword and fight the Titans myself, I knew that I needed to be alone. With nothing to hurt, I was safe from everyone else and vice versa. I walked away from the crowd.

But with monsters and legionaries both glancing at me and whispering among themselves, I found no sanctuary, no safe haven to take me in. There was nobody in the legion who cared for me. Not anymore.

I ran through the different possible places I could go. I've accumulated a few hiding places over the past year, a feat I would be proud of if it weren't used for such a sad purpose. The praetorium – no, Reyna had taken permanent residence there. She only leaves it to sleep, and since she never sleeps, she never leaves it.

Certain rooms under the colosseum and hippodrome were usually empty, but I'd heard rumors that some of the legion's dirtier secrets were kept there. Some campers reported screams coming from those tunnels at night. Nobody knew if it was true, but nobody wanted to find out.

Temple Hill was generally empty, but at this hour, people spoke more and more prayers. There were also more vandals emptying bottles of spray paint to write colorful insults on altars and shrines, especially on the temple of Neptune. Some were addressed to me. But I didn't go there – not anymore, not after what happened the last time I met my father.

There were a dozen more nooks and crannies, but going there would involve travelling through the via praetoria in rush hour, and I didn't know if I could keep the blood from boiling out of my head by the time I arrived.

That left only one option. I considered if I would hate myself more if I relented to my anger right now. But no. I had caused enough problems. I would just cause more trouble for others.

I hunched my head and shoulders and went to the sand pits. Moments before I would arrive, I diverted from the path and headed to the nearby showers instead.

They were deserted, as usual – why go to a locker room shower when you could take a Roman bath instead? But they were perfect for my intended purpose – to be alone and miserable.

I realized that when I got here. I wanted to be this way. I wanted to hurt myself. Punishment always seems to escape me, so I brought it over myself. At least this way, I can pretend that I'm trying to solve my problems. And since my body was too useful to the war, I battered my spirit instead.

I stripped. My clothes left my body with more difficulty than I wanted, sweat and grime sticking them to my skin. The smell almost made me retch out of self-hate as much as disgust. The floor, thankfully, was dry, and my bare feet left tracks on the thin layer of dust.

Unclean, dry, repulsive. That was who I was now. But at least I was safe from myself.

For a time, I stood still, staring at the wall. Then, with all the courage a coward could muster, I lifted my hand and touched the faucet.

Another pause. Just a little pressure, a little push, and a stream of water would fall from the showerhead directly above me. Just a tap, really, and though that wouldn't solve my problems or absolve my fears, I would at least be able to look at myself in the mirror and be disgusted at my actions and not my body.

I pushed and immediately regretted it. My hand snatched back the tap, but it was too late. A splash of water materialized and fell on my shoulders and I collapsed. I scrubbed myself clean of it, raked my skin, clawed it off me, and getting my hands wet in the process. And just as suddenly, the memories crowded my mind.

Swimming into the deepest parts of the ocean. Encasing myself in hatred and anger, using it to push through my grief and shame. Diving through cracks in reality and drowning in another world. A leviathan giving me the pain I wanted. A fallen Titan, reduced to madness.

But worse than that, worse than the terrible memories, were the good ones. The path it took to get there, the journey and struggles and fights we endured to achieve victory at any cost. Laughter, tears, squabbles, injuries, scars, cowardice and camaraderie overlapping as we tore across the country.

I remembered the faces, the voices, my teammates and friends, talking to me, learning more of me and I of them. I remembered them screaming in agony and burning alive. I remember them calling out my name and demanding why I had done that to them. Why I pointed them out and chosen them like cattle for slaughter.

I remembered the tears spilling from my eyes and felt it in the water on my back. My gift and birthright, the power to change the world, had led to more pain and suffering than I could endure.

I sat there, naked and shivering. The water had long gone from my body, and though I felt my fingernails drawing blood, I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Not until I felt what they felt. Until I atoned for my sins. An eye for an eye was all well and good. But how does one person atone for three lives?

But I was a coward. Even then I was afraid. Pain had hurt me, reduced me into a mewling cub, and I was willing to do anything to make it end. It was far too easy to stop and pretend that I had done everything I could already. That I didn't deserve punishment, that this was uncalled for and unnecessary.

But I knew the truth. I was scared of the pain. I didn't want to face it. I would rather drown in guilt and misery and self-pity than try to seek salvation. Because if I did that, then I would be happy. And a man who kills his own friends does not deserve that luxury.

For a time, I sat there, quivering. I wondered why I eventually stood and moved. Maybe, deep down, there was a part of me that was still brave, some goodness that hadn't drowned. But as I took my towel, wet it, and rubbed it against my skin, I knew. I knew as I wept.

If some part of me was still alive, it wouldn't be for much longer. I'll make sure of it.

Walking back to the praetorium was difficult. Stares and whispers were everywhere, though the disgust I had for myself was heaviest of all. I'd put on a new shirt and pants, one that didn't stink of the battlefield and old sweat, and though they felt strange, I welcomed any sensation on my skin other than water.

I felt, not for the first time, like a fish in dry land. Is this what people mean when they feel they don't feel comfortable in their own skin? But for me it was quite literal. Everything might've been different had I not been born Neptune's son, had I not been born in the middle of a war, had I not been born at all. But that was done. All I had to do now was find a reason to keep going. Or to stop.

I'm not sure what moved my feet to the praetorium. Duty and responsibility were faded memories in my mind. Maybe some half-baked desire for Reyna to cave in and admit her true love for me? That if she saw a miniscule drop of effort, she would see me for the good person I was deep down beneath all the hatred and anger, and we'd fall in love with each other all over again?

I suppressed a giggle. When the stares came, even I felt like they were deserved.

The silent crypt was abandoned. A few knocks on her door told me that she wasn't in, but the trepidation I felt was quite real even as I inched the door open to confirm my suspicions. I realized that this was the first time in years that I saw her desk without her sitting behind it, and instead of the person, I saw her work. A stack of missives and reports, quite a few of which were burned, stained, or blood-soaked, gathered in a morbid crowd in one corner. Stationery lined the edges, with stamps and seals strewn about two more stacks of paper. One was stamped 'approved' in condemning letters, the other 'denied'.

I had the sense not to read the contents, though even I could piece things together from the simple clues left behind. She'd probably gone to the quartermaster to get more ink, and in her hurry, left her belongings unguarded. A trickle of unease slithered into my thoughts, seeping past my haze of self-pity.

This was unlike Reyna even in the best of times. Either she's grown sloppy, or these papers were unimportant, or there was someone else in the room.

My hand edged to the gladius on my hip. Eyes scanning the office, I knew that there was nowhere for anything to hide. The mural of Lupa with Romulus and Remus looked down on me, covering the ceiling and parts of the wall. The white columns supporting the roof weren't thick enough to hide a person, and the small crack in the wall that I had discovered so long ago has long since been sealed.

Of course, there was one possibility. My eyes slipped off it like oil on water, but with a bit of focus and the recollection of a memory, I pierced the Mist and rediscovered the door leading to the legion's legendary praetor storage room.

There were stories of what was kept there. A god, a monster, a dragon, a demon, an alien. Artifacts from ancient Rome or Olympus. Or maybe office supplies and a broom. That was what Reyna said when I asked, and since I did that back when we were honest with each other, I believed her. I wasn't so sure now.

Maybe she was down there, looking for a refill. Or maybe she was in danger, just waiting for me to save her.

I crept forward. My hand rested on the rusted doorknob for a split second before I reinforced my decision. It rotated easy as a wheel and swung open without a sound. A staircase I mistook for an oddly shaped carpet lay before me. The darkness and smoothness of its construction blended into the musty interior, hidden from my eyes if it weren't for the soft breath of light from the room it led to.

Someone was crying. I froze. It was a sound I knew too well, but when heard coming from somebody else, it ceased to be pitiful and pathetic and instead became forlorn. The desire to jump down and comfort whatever was feeling the sorrow I fought so hard to stifle in myself warred with battle-hardened instincts to call for reinforcements.

There was a living creature under the praetorium. And it sounded human.

Caution was a distant memory. This just became a secret that needs to be kept and damn the consequences. I'll need to talk to Reyna about this, too. Prisoners of war were questioned and interrogated, sometimes roughly, but never inhumanely. Keeping people in a basement was wrong, no matter what they did, and –

And she sobbed again. I knew it was a she because I knew the voice.

"Please," Vanessa said. "Please."

I crept down the stairs. The afternoon sun was faint, but present, though Vanessa was too engrossed to notice. The room opened up into a storage area filled with boxes and wrapped objects with silhouettes too strange to identify. Old metal beams connected the stairs to the room's ceiling, creating filaments for my prying eyes to slip between unnoticed.

Vanessa was on her knees. Tears streaked down her cheeks, spilling onto her lap and the fists she clenched there. Her head constantly dipped into a bow, as though she couldn't bring herself either to look at what was in front of her or find the faith for prayer.

It was a person. She was seated before Vanessa, and though she was facing me, her eyes were vacant, like a car with headlights on and no passengers. She was worn and scarred, a warrior, though she had no bandages or wounds I could see. Dark hair fell to her shoulders cut abruptly, her sharp nose making her face aquiline even without the piercing eyes that I knew so well.

Alex sat. Her lips were parted so that I could see teeth and a bit of tongue and no intention to use it. Drool seeped from her mouth and Vanessa wiped it away, a gentle caress.

"Please. I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Whatever it is, fight it. Come back to us. We're family, remember? Don't you remember?"

Vanessa took her hand, pressed it to her face, to her bushy eyebrows, the lines around her eyes, the cuts on her lips. But Alex was worse than blind. She had no reaction, no movement except to blink slowly and breathe shakily.

"Alex."

Sorrow was hearing a friend's heart break. When it's done to ourselves, we can at least understand it to some degree and don't need to empathize or imagine. Hearing that same agony break someone else, you can only guess at their pain. You don't know where to begin or if you should. The only sensible recourse is to flee and find the most qualified person for the job, but then you realize that it's you.

A sound blubbered from her lips. Vanessa looked up, and hope in tearful eyes reminded me that there were some things worse than pain.

Alex opened her mouth. But nothing came out. All she managed was a long gargle, like a baby who hadn't grown up with its brain intact. Then she fixed a beatific smile and froze.

Vanessa broke into sobs once more, and this time, there was no end to it.

I ran away.

Sidling backwards, I shut the door without a sound and stood staring at the flat gray surface, hearing my heart beat far too steadily for a good person. Guilt and cowardice allied to assail my spirit, belittling what tatters were left.

I looked for someone to blame.

Rushing back to my barracks brought only painful memories. Sights that had faded to the background forced its way back into the forefront. The notch on our table Alex had made with the horn of the Minotaur. Her bunk kept appropriately messy so we could pretend that she never left. And the gallery of pictures and photographs, hanging over each of our beds. An archive of history and better days and a reminder that memories can be bottled and reused in trying times. How often had I looked into those images and think of the happiness they brought and the people they contained without remembering who was behind the camera?

Reyna wasn't in the sparring spits or the mess hall, for which I was grateful. I didn't want to cause a scene in public, but for this, nothing was unprecedented.

Halfway out of the mess I took a minute to think. Where would she be? If she wasn't working, sleeping, fighting, or eating, Reyna wasn't existing. And yet… ah. Of course.

It's been some time since I went there. Some part of me tried to erase the memory, but it clung onto life like a cockroach. Hate it though I might, it was still a part of my life I couldn't remove. Resentment had lodged itself for so long in my mind that it became essential as breathing.

Temple Hill was busy. More and more people came to worship and decry the gods. Without any aid in our battles, not a single arrow or thunderbolt to help their own children, those who had lost people they could've saved became jaded. The few who remained hopeful were either new or pushed past loss and into desperation.

They were too distracted to notice me slipping into the area and since I wasn't going to the temples of Mars or Jupiter, nobody saw me go into the shrine dedicated to Bacchus.

He was one of the few gods that had escaped the legion's wrath, not out of benevolence, but rather insignificance. Wine and feasting were both the stuff of peacetime. He was worse than useless now, a reminder of better days, time that we could have been spent in celebration rather than grief. Not even the vandals went here.

I took the partially hidden stairs up to the roof. There, I was reminded of the little bits of divinity that the gods had spared for the camp to upkeep their own vanity. The gardens, so beautiful when I had come here to rescue them from neglect, were caught in a state of eternal spring. Flowers bloomed, fruits hung low and fat on their branches, suspended in perfect ripeness. Bees and butterflies alighted on petals, little brushes shaping a painting in streaks of yellow and red and blue.

It was beautiful. And it turns out, it didn't need me.

There was no sign of human activity from up here. Trees and ferns joined hands to form a barrier to the outside world that not even sound could pierce. But I knew better. Pushing against the foliage, I found the bench we had sat on together when she first came to camp, so long ago. I found her there again. But the girl who was too beaten to be hopeful was different from the person I saw sitting straight-backed on a bench in the middle of paradise.

She didn't turn as I sat beside her and neither did I. I don't remember the last time I had mustered the courage to even look at her face, let alone her eyes. That had been someone else, someone good and kind enough to believe that he deserved to hope for love.

"What're you doing here?" she said. The voice of the praetor had gone, and for a moment, I felt like I was with my friend again.

"Looking for you."

"You found me."

"Yes."

She glanced at me sideways while I tried to formulate the correct approach. I failed and stalled for time.

"How have you been?"

"Not well. You?"

"Not well. I met the Cyclopes brothers. They were unhappy, and their friends feel a lot stronger than that. People were laughing at them, Reyna. They came back beaten and bruised, fighting without weapons we could have given them, and we laughed at them as they put themselves next to the stables. I'm surprised they haven't mutinied. I think you should – "

"Stop, Percy. Please. I want to stop being praetor. At least for a moment."

"Are you okay?"

"No."

The hurt in her voice was a warning signal. I couldn't push her. Not right now. But I had to know.

"Reyna. I saw her."

She was already still, but breath left her lungs. "And? Did she react?"

"No. I saw her, but she didn't see me."

"She was asleep?"

"No, but she wasn't alone. Vanessa with her, saying and doing things I've never seen her do. I thought it was best to give them some alone time."

"You ran away."

"That's not – I'm not the one at fault here. You knew? Not only that, you kept her in your basement. Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me? What the hell happened?"

In a day of impossibilities, I shouldn't be surprised anymore. And yet nothing else could compare to what I saw now.

"Percy," Reyna said. "I made a mistake."

And then I saw her for the first time in months. Shame and guilt averted my gaze, but hearing the hurt in her voice, I knew that nothing would've stopped me from caring.

Tears welled in her dark eyes, gathering into pools, and running down her cheeks, drops caught in her eyelashes. Her eyebrows were slanted up in a crease that spoke of grief, sorrow distilled, driving her brow in a shape I didn't know it could take.

I've seen Reyna cry before. I think I was the only one. Back when she was frustrated, angry, confused. Now, the only thing evident on her face was sadness. It was happiness and stability snatched away, the undermining of the foundations that set your shoulders back and face expressionless. It was innocence and stoicism slipping from your grasp and falling where you can't follow.

I held out my arms. She hesitated even then, wrenching what was left of my heart, before leaning forward and pressing herself against me. For a moment we just sat there. In a shroud of guilt, I felt a spot of hope glimmer to life somewhere in my chest. To my shame, despite the tears falling on shoulders and cheek, holding her felt so good. Knowing that there was something in my life other than myself, feeling someone else's existence, sparked warmth that no amount of self-help could create.

I felt life. And more, beside her and around her, I felt the splintered bits of my life connected by a thread of love. A promise that maybe somewhere deep inside, there was someone good enough to deserve it.

But that was beside the point. I wasn't the one that needed help. Not right now.

"It's okay," I said, running a hand on her back. "It's okay."

"It's not," she sniffled, her voice so close yet her words stifled behind her tears. "It's my fault, Percy. I did that to her. If it weren't for me… if I was just better. That never would've happened."

"Stop blaming yourself. How is this your fault?"

"I sent her down there. I made her go. If it weren't for me…"

"What?"

She pulled away from me. For the briefest moment I felt the urge to grab her and never let go, but I knew that was impulsive and stupid. I respected Reyna more than that. I loved her, and more than just a friend, but paradoxically, she was my friend first and foremost.

I listened.

"Last year. Do you remember? She was gone on a solo mission that was never announced. Alex disappeared from the legion, sometimes weeks at a time, to do a secret task I didn't trust anyone else with."

I waited for her to continue and let her emotions out. They came out almost too quick to register, like a rehearsed speech you fumbled and rushed to the end.

"Have you ever wondered how Romulus took us back to camp years ago? I thought that we could use it to our advantage, use it to travel the country and never be traced doing it like he did. I searched for that entrance and found several, right here in camp. I wanted to go down and explore it right away, but after what Romulus said, I knew it would be a bad idea.

"So I went to the library, the Lares, Terminus, anything that might give me more information about Daedalus's Labyrinth. By the end, I was only more scared, but even more tempted. Can you imagine? We'd never have to worry about travel again. A legion of demigods, straight into the heart of Mount Othrys. The war would be over.

"I thought about exploring it myself, but praetor duties swamped me. At the same time, I knew that I needed to use it before the Titans found out. So…"

"You turned to Alex," I said.

"I didn't have a choice. There was nobody else, nobody who can do what she does, and keep a secret. You were busy with your team and Vanessa was busy with forging and I was a praetor. But Alex was perfect for it. She even succeeded the first few times she went in, but then… but then…"

I took her hand. Her fingers gripped mine, and Reyna took deep breaths, aligning herself with my heartbeat.

"She came back worse and worse. At first it was just injuries we could treat in the infirmary, but then she started to get worse mentally. She became paranoid, suspicious of everything and everyone, jumping at shadows and walking everywhere with knives in her hands. I thought about stopping it, but she was determined to fully map the labyrinth and finish her work. But there was something else. Not something to prove, not exactly. It was like she held a grudge against the labyrinth.

"And one day, she came back like that. Her clothes shredded, bleeding from a hundred wounds. I had no idea how she made it. I don't think she really did. No matter what I say or do, what she sees, hears, smells… there's nothing in there. She just sits and stares. Sometimes she tries to speak, but nothing comes out. It's like something took out everything that was Alex and left behind something that barely qualifies as human."

"I still don't see how this is your fault."

"Don't you get it? I could've been the one who went down there. Why not? I should've found a way to make it work with my praetorship. Or I could've just left the office and given it up for someone else. Gods know that there are plenty of people who don't want me there. I could've been the one who went into the Labyrinth. I didn't have to ask her. But I did. I looked at Alex, saw her falling apart, thought it through, and sent her instead of me. Again and again. I thought she was getting better, I thought it was all in her head. But then she never came back."

"Reyna. Listen to me. You asked her to go. You didn't tell her to. Even if you did, Alex made the choice to go there. It was her decision, too."

"Really? So you don't feel guilty at all?"

An impossible choice. One that I was all too familiar with. I remembered screams and hallways blazing into life from an unseen storm of fire. I carried those memories like anvils strapped to my mind.

"I do. But that was different."

"You looked at each of them in the eye and told them to die. How is that different from what I did?"

"Because it shouldn't have happened," I snapped. "There were a million things I could've done differently, a million more ways where everyone made it. A magic labyrinth straight into the heart of Mount Othrys? That's worth more than any magic spear. Your decisions were justified too, more so than mine."

"What if I could've prevented it too? What if I was just scared? What if I was just looking for an excuse? What if, deep down, I'm a terrible person who sent her own friend into something she knew was dangerous, all because I'm a coward?"

"Reyna," I breathed.

"Don't pretend that you didn't think that of me. I know you did. I would. I have. It's all my fault. Why can't I be more like you? If it were you, you would've found a way to help. You would've gone in there yourself, you would've gone with her, you would've found a way to bring her back from the edge and know when to stop. Because deep down, you're a good person, Percy. You care about your friends. And I don't. Not as much as you do. And I don't know why."

"But you do. You wouldn't be here talking about it if you didn't care about her. You do, Reyna. You just confuse strength and duty for apathy. It's not the same thing."

"I can't know that. Not for sure. And if I'm wrong about this, then I'm wrong about everything else, too. Every decision I've made as praetor, everything I've done to this point… how do I know that it was right? How can I be sure that I made those choices as a good person? Won't a bad person always make bad choices? Isn't that what makes them bad? Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe everything I've done in my life was a mistake. Maybe coming to Camp Jupiter – "

"Reyna. Your being here has saved hundreds of lives. Do you think Octavian and I could've fought Lycaon alone? Do you think we could've fought Krios without you?"

"I don't know. But I know that if it weren't for me, Alex wouldn't be this way."

"You can't know."

"And you do?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me, Percy. Would you have made the same decision?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't. All I saw were three dead friends.

We sat there for the rest of the evening. The sun finally bowed out. By moonlight and starlight, we remained motionless, looking for answers in ourselves for each other we couldn't find.

Author's note: Friendly reminder that I can't reply to reviews when they're made as Guest

And we're back! Thanks again for reading this book. You can skip this note if you want, but please remember to review if you can. Feedback is the most important thing to me, and I always welcome it.

This chapter was a lot. It wasn't that hard to write for the most part, but there are a lot of moving parts and things to introduce here that nailing the pacing was tricky. I still don't feel fully confident that I did it perfectly, but if I keep editing, I'll never get this chapter finished. So here we are. I did my best, and I hope you liked it.

Right off the bat - the scene in the showers was painful to right and I hope that the M rating covers it. I want to attract more viewers with a T, but it feels more honest to use an M. Let me know if it's appropriate for that, or if it even matters. More importantly, I'm sorry if the content upset you in any way - I thought about adding trigger warnings at the start of the chapter, but that would be a mild spoiler, so I decided not to do it. Please let me know if you want those in the future.

As for writing this thing, like I said, I think it could be better. But that's how I always feel about my writing, especially on the opening/ending chapters of a book, so it's nothing new. I know better now than to perpetually edit my work - that leads nowhere. But overall, this chapter wasn't that hard to write. Remembering all the things I wanted to introduce, doing it well, remembering how each character feels, coming up with clever dialogue and description and one-liners - that was all tricky, but manageable.

The first challenge was writing about Alex and Vanessa. I wanted Vanessa to fade into the background in the previous book. It's part of the reason why she didn't appear in the ending - don't worry, that was intentional - and it's to make this emotional impact hit that much harder. Hopefully it doesn't seem like I was just covering my ass, but I think I did well enough. Her outburst, too, is out of character to her normal self, but again, I wanted to show that she's far from normal right now. Next, writing her relationship with Alex was more about what to exclude rather than include. I was tempted to make them a romance to further parallel the Clarisse and Chris Rodriguez in the Battle of the Labyrinth. But it didn't make much sense as it felt shoehorned, so I decided to exclude it and keep their dynamic as friends. In a way, I think that made it better.

The next smaller challenge was writing the monsters. I wanted them to be bitter and resentful but open to a better relationship. Yet even throughout the relatively happy conversation with Percy, I wanted resentful undercurrents in their dialogue. I'm not sure if I did that well, actually, but I relied on recency bias to carry my writing - the sentiment that needed to be delivered was executed right at the end of the conversation where it's most memorable, wrapped up in some one-liners to deliver the package. I think I did well enough there, but it felt a little weak. Please let me know if you agree.

A much bigger challenge was writing Percy. I'm sure you've noticed that he's been very poetic and serious, not at all like the goofball we know and love. I admit, at first, that's just my style coming through in the writing. But when I was editing it, I thought - why not? Doesn't it make more sense? After all, this isn't canon Percy, or even the Percy from the last book. This is someone who's broken and morose, who would look at the world not as something to enjoy but only to observe. Still, I might have gone too overboard with this, though I really think that this is an interesting take that I want to continue. Let me know what you think.

Part of that was also letting the reader know what Percy is thinking all the time and why. I'm a direct writer, in that I don't like to write between the lines most of the time. I like to make my characters clear and to the point, without any misleading thoughts or dialogue, relying on the strength of the character itself and their growth throughout the book to hold the reader's interest. That's why I've always been so forthcoming with inner monologues, but I think that's especially evident here. Again, let me know if that's too much or if it's preferable to being cryptic.

Finally, probably the most challenging of all, is Reyna. She's not a character we see often at all even in the canon series, so writing her was hard. I like to treat her as my own character, but when I remember her backstory and canon traits, the lines tend to blur and it's hard to make a clear image. In the end, I wanted her to be strong and focused as usual, but her breakdown must all come from me. It should reflect that this version of Reyna is one who has close friends and at least some level of familiarity with everyone in the legion. There are a lot of parallels to Annabeth as a love interest and Percy as a protagonist, but I wanted her character to be truly hers. It's hard, but with worries that haven't been explored in the canon series or this one, I think I did fairly well.

Honestly, her and Percy's main challenge is the same. They're worried that deep down, they're not good people. This comes from a different place, and them being different people, they have different responses. That's the challenge and the interesting bit about this decision. I get to explore the same problem from two angles at the same time. Oh, and the characters are in love.

Rejoice, Preyna fans! I've finally started to deliver on that promise. As I'm sure you can tell, this fic will be Preyna through and through. Be prepared to savor it like never before, or for the unbelievers, to fall in love with the most underrated ship in the fandom. Seriously, I hope it works. Again, it's a delicate balance they have between friend and love interest. Percy knows how he feels about Reyna and Reyna about Percy. They even kind of feel like the feelings might be reciprocated. But since neither of them think they're good people, do they deserve to be loved by the person they love? That's the big question. I wanted to really show that they need each other. I didn't want to fall into the trope of 'boy fixes damaged girl' or vice versa, so I decided to have both people in the relationship damaged. Fun times. Please let me know if all that detail could be inferred from the chapter, or if it was too clear or too confusing.

I think I should also touch on the elephant in the room. Percy has no powers - at least, not over water. After a swim in the Abyss, he's now afraid of water, and I make that very clear in the shower scene. That was tough to write. I've read somewhere that being naked makes a person feel vulnerable, so I did just that to Percy. I said in a previous note that I wanted to really drag him through the mud in this book and see what comes back up, and I wasn't kidding. Be prepared for some more of that, though probably not so extreme. Fun fact - I was actually inspired by the Hunger Games for this new fear. I didn't even know hydrophobia was a thing until one of the characters in that series developed it, so I thought it would be interesting for the Son of the Sea God to be afraid of water.

Dang, that's a long note. I'll wrap this up before it gets even more out of hand, but before I do, it's tradition for me to leave a question at the end of each note to interact more with my readers. I'm also trying to start a new tradition of transparency with my progress: as of right now, this is chapter 2 of 12 planned chapters, which are likely to expand to more and not less. I've started writing the first draft of chapter, but it's far from finished, so it may take a few days to upload it. Of course that's when Baldur's Gate 3 will get its next patch. That won't be distracting at all, no sir.

Finally, the question: how do you think Percy will overcome his hydrophobia? Will he overcome it at all?

Oh, and to be clear since this site only allows two genres: this book will have elements of adventure present in the whole series, with a lot more romance and hopefully horror along the way - it's the Labyrinth, after all.

Thank you so much for reading all the way here. Please don't forget to leave a review. See you in the next chapter!