Hades stared vacantly at the glass display his symbol of power lay behind. The gift bestowed upon him by his wonderful, yet thoughtless wife sat confined in its cage. Unused for some time, and would remain so as long as peace prevailed over Olympus. Recent events, however, were proving that reality more fleeting by the day. Perseus Jackson had once again shown just how much of an annoyance—and a threat—he could be. Not for the first time, Hades regretted ignoring his instincts—which had told him to orchestrate the boy's death in some way before he grew too powerful. Even if doing so caused another war. Even if his brother grew to despise him for all eternity. By resisting the animal, instinctual need for self-preservation, Hades had effectively damned them all.
Mercy, it seemed, had been a mistake. Their salvation had grown to become their destruction.
Still, despite his outwardly posturing, deep down Hades yearned for an opportunity to test the blade's power himself. It was a beautiful thing, and the warrior in him, repressed and buried as it may have been, was disgusted to leave it to dilapidate at the hands of time. Weapons were made to be used, not gazed upon like one would a lover. Beyond their singular purpose, which was to slay men and beasts alike, they held no value whatsoever.
At that thought, the god of the afterlife's eyes fell to the thin scrap of parchment in his hands, delivered personally by Persephone. On it, were words written in immaculate print, almost as if it was made using mortal technology. Whoever sent it must have had great respect for him; more respect than any of his siblings had given him in over two millennia. That, and that alone, was the only reason why he had not discarded it and reported to Zeus upon reading the first line.
Hades averted his gaze from the letter and onto the sword that lay behind the display case on the far side of the room. It was unsheathed, allowing for its immaculate beauty and luster to be shown to the world. Unfortunately, that was all it was and would ever be: room decor. Artwork that could be shown to envious guests, but would never be able to fulfill its true purpose. Hades would never get the chance to use the damn thing so long as peace reigned.
Hades sighed longingly and lamented that Olympus had prevailed over all its enemies. The blade really was of fine craftsmanship.
Hades stared at the piece of parchment again, repeating the words over in his head until his eyes spun. He knew not to trust them at face value, considering who the sender was, yet he also could not bring himself to dismiss it either. The words beckoned him like a siren, appealing to a baser, more primal part of him that he thought he had tamed long ago. The desire for respect and power. Too long had he sat in the background, watching as his brothers gained all the glory while he, ruler of arguably the most vital aspects of society, observed. It was only recently that he was even allowed a seat on Olympus—something he should've had from the beginning.
The question crossed his mind again. Could such a thing really be done?
He looked at the sword, then back at the letter, before gazing at the sword once more, lamenting the fact that such a beautiful gift would be collecting dust for all eternity.
Was ascension for one such as him so trivial that it could be portrayed with words? Would this finally grant him the respect he deserved? The same respect that had been withheld from him since he was old enough to perceive emotions?
He could see it in their eyes. They thought of him as the weakest of the "Big Three". Mere trash frolicking about in the shadows of true divinity. After all, being a god of death and decay was as appealing as a rotting carcass.
Hades frowned. It couldn't have been that easy. The drafter of the letter must've taken him for a fool. It wouldn't be the first time the god of the dead had been underestimated.
But what if?
Hades growled in frustration and cleared the fog of indecision from his mind. He would have faith in his brothers' ability to make things right and rekindle the extinguished flames.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to take precautions in case what was stated in the letter came to pass.
"Persephone!" Hades roared, voice carrying down the halls of his palace. The woman appeared not two seconds later, looking pleased to finally have a task.
"Undo the lock," the god the underworld commanded simply, without preamble. There was no need to elaborate, since doing so would only insult both of their intelligences.
His wife froze in place, a look of puzzled apprehension on her face. "...Husband," she said softly, gravely. "What of the oath? If word of this ever comes to light—"
"I am aware of the consequences, woman," Hades snapped with growing impatience. "Open it."
His wife threw him a weary look but complied nonetheless. Hades watched her dispassionately, feeling numb to it all. Though, the thought of sampling the sword's power for himself did improve his mood a tad. A remnant of his warrior spirit, perhaps? Indeed, things had been dull since Gaea and her ilk had been defeated.
After all, his siblings had broken their word on more occasions than he could count, seemingly having no respect or thought of the consequences that followed. Oaths and promises were clearly just words to them, so why should they mean something to him?
Annabeth woke.
Through cracked eyelids, light poured through and graced her with the gift of sight once more. The breath of life filled her body, yet, for all its grandeur, it was not the same. Returned, but not restored. Something felt off.
Annabeth winced as a harsh blue-white glow blinded her and the sharp sting of antiseptic burned her nose, threatening to make her sneeze. Groaning, she tried to sit up only to gasp as liquid fire pooled in her belly. Agony, so exquisite that there was nothing else to do but scream silently, spread like fire across her skin and forced Annebeth back to her prior position down on the bed. It was like a persistent...burn—a sunburn, but one that covered every inch of her body and hurt a thousand times worse. It felt like she'd been put in an oven and browned to perfection. Cooked slowly so the heat could seep into every nook and cranny.
And worse, she couldn't remember any of the events leading up to her incapacitation. The memories were there, yet not there, slipping through her fingers like fine sand every time she tried to grasp them. She managed to salvage a few, small cups in her hands, but it wasn't enough. Not even close.
Distantly, she saw a flutter of movement followed by hushed whispers; as two or three figures passed in and out of her vision. Their words, unfortunately, were quieter than the pain and Annabeth grit her teeth just as she began to feel the first droplets of tears pool in her eyes.
Thankfully, her torment didn't last much longer. One of the figures reached down and tilted her head upwards, bringing something to her mouth. Annabeth's first instinct was to spit it out, deeming it poison, but rationality took over as she recognized the taste of the Ambrosia used to heal demigods. She chewed and nearly gagged at the medicine's dryness before swallowing it in a single gulp. Almost immediately, she noticed the agony plaguing her body fade into a less intense, but still painful—more manageable—ache. Annabeth sighed in relief.
"Annabeth?" a concerned, but familiar, voice called out softly. "My dear, are you with us?"
Annabeth smiled weakly as the haze of pain lifted somewhat and she could see, but more importantly, think, a little clearer. She nodded wearily.
Her teacher looked wholly relieved at that. He smiled down warmly at her. "How do you feel?" Chiron asked.
At the question, the sensation hit her immediately. Annabeth blinked. Her entire mouth felt dry and sore and cracked, with her tongue being the worst offender. It felt like she'd swallowed an entire desert and then some. "Water," she croaked.
Chiron nodded and one of the attendants—a young girl she didn't recognize—swiftly stood and disappeared from her sight. When she reappeared, it was with a small clear plastic cup held between her hands. Annabeth sighed in pleasure and relief as the chilled liquid sunk down her throat. Water had never tasted as good as it did then. Swallowing, she asked the first question that came to mind. The words just flowed out. "Where's Percy?"
She had a terrible, terrible, feeling that whatever had happened to her had also not left her boyfriend unscathed. She needed him now—to make sure he was safe.
Chiron shared a hard look with the other occupants of the room, a tacit conversation flickering between them. Silently, the three campers turned and filed out of the infirmary, leaving Annabeth alone with her teacher. Chiron watched them go before turning to her and sighing deeply. Never a good sign. "What is the last thing you remember?" he asked, as he went to pull up a chair next to her.
Annabeth blinked and then looked down at her hands. "I remember," she started, struggling to wade through the haze of amnesia. "Percy and I were talking about something just outside of Camp. Something important, I think. But, before we could finish, there was a flash of light, and then pain. Unimaginable pain—like nothing I've ever felt before. Words can't even begin to describe it. The next thing I knew, I woke up here."
Annabeth swallowed hard and moved to sit up again. She flinched as the pain, while reduced, proved to definitely still be there. "Ah," Chiron chided and rushed to her aid. He put his hand behind her head and eased her back down gently. "Do not move. Your muscles have atrophied greatly since you were last conscious. It will take time and rest for them to reach normal functionality again."
Annabeth breathed in and took the advice, relaxing her body. "What—" she gulped, mouth dry and cracked again. "What happened?"
"I believe I should be the one to answer that," spoke a voice from the far side of the room. With great effort, Annabeth turned her head and saw a man clad in sandals and a T-shirt despite a glimpse through a neighboring window telling her that the weather outside was probably below freezing. She squinted as she took in his features. The hair, face, and eyes were different from what he usually appeared as, yet, the warm and comforting presence she felt was unmistakable.
"Apollo," Annabeth greeted weakly, not bothering with formalities. That would only annoy the both of them.
Apollo flashed her a smile and swiftly crossed the distance, moving to take Chiron's seat as the man stood and folded his arms across the small of his back. "It's good that you've woken up, at the very least," he quipped. "Any longer and we'd have to start calling this place a morgue."
No one laughed at the grim joke. If anything the mood grew even more somber as Annabeth was now faced with the thought that she could've died. It wouldn't be the first time, she knew, yet her latest dance with death felt…different. Off in some way.
And her strange case of amnesia wasn't making things any better. The only thing worse than not knowing something was knowing that you knew it, yet not being able to remember. It was infuriating.
Apollo frowned, but recovered quickly enough from his failed attempt at humor. "The fact that you are conscious does not mean we are in the clear," he explained seriously. "Far from it. During the events leading up to your, ah, incapacitation, you sustained damage of varying degrees to your nervous system. At Chiron's request, I will run a series of tests designed to diagnose said damage and observe the sensitivity of the affected nerve endings. Inform me immediately if any pain or discomfort arises, understood?"
Annabeth grit her teeth and then nodded.
At that, a small, silver needle appeared in the god's hand. Apollo reached over, towards her legs, and gently poked the instrument in various places, starting with her foot, working up her left leg, and then over to the right one.
"Can you feel this at all?" the god questioned after the first and second toe. Annabeth flinched, but nodded. "Hurts," she groaned. "Everything hurts."
Apollo paused and then ceased his prodding, eyes glued to the watch at his wrist. "Too early," he murmured to himself, staring at it as if the thing was cursed. Annabeth strained her ears, but couldn't manage to hear anything else the god was saying.
A few moments later, Apollo ceased his reverie and regarded her silently. Annabeth met his eyes unflinchingly as the god seemed to contemplate something, although what it was, she had no idea. Finally, he let out a tired sigh. "We've had you on a number of analgesics since your hospitalization." the god said, relenting to her pressing stare. "Specifically, a mixture of various over-the-counter, mortal medications, which are then amplified by my own collection of godly medicine. It has worked well in keeping you docile during your rest, but now that you've awoken, something stronger may be in order."
A strange mix of dread and relief settled in Annabeth's stomach at the mention of something stronger. Relief because then the pain would finally stop. Dread because she had seen exactly what those types of substances did to people. What it took from them. Living in New York, the sight was all too common.
She didn't want to end up like them. Or worse.
Apollo nodded, almost as if he'd read her mind. "Indeed," he said grimly. "Though, while significantly more deadly—and addictive—than their normal counterparts, certain narcotics, modified to be effective on demigods, should provide relief for a time. In your case, however, it is still fifteen hours too soon for another dose of any kind. I cannot administer anymore without risking your body building a tolerance and subsequently a craving for it."
Annabeth frowned reluctantly as she took in the information. She would've refused them anyway, but it was still disheartening to hear that she'd be plagued with pain for what seemed like a lifetime.
Over the next hour, Apollo had come and gone from the room, each time slipping in to monitor her vitals or to fiddle with something outside of her vision before disappearing again. Near the end was when the tests began again.
When he'd asked her to try moving her arms and legs, Annabeth did so, but barely, only managing to lift her wrist a pitiful few inches from the bed. Apollo had grimaced at that, and she didn't miss the pity that had been slowly creeping into his eyes ever since he'd come into the room.
Finally, after an hour of being poked and prodded by needles, she'd had enough. "Where's Percy?" Annabeth blurted out forcefully, yet demandingly. They had kept the truth from her long enough that she was starting to worry. What had happened to him? Was he safe or had he suffered a fate similar to her own? Bile rose in her throat as that small, pessimistic corner of her brain asked another question:
Was he even alive?
If something had happened to him, gods knew nothing would stop her from finding out. Not even the pain.
Instead of answering her question, Apollo continued to scribble on the clipboard in his hands. Annabeth narrowed her eyes at the god's blatant refusal to answer her question. Bad news, then.
So she tried again. "Apollo?" Annabeth called, and when the god turned and looked directly into her eyes, asked "What's happened to Percy?"
The god smiled lazily. "How are you feeling right now?" he asked, again completely disregarding her questions. "Has the pain increased? Any nausea or an urge to vomit? I know of a few antiemetics that would be helpful if that is the case."
He was deflecting, Annabeth noticed immediately, which all but confirmed that something had happened to Percy. Something big enough to keep even from her. Especially from her.
There was a flicker of…something in the god's eyes as he awaited her response. Then, as quick as it came, it was gone.
"Fine," Annabeth eventually ground out an answer. It was a lie. Never had she been in more agony. Pain, that four-letter word she'd become so accustomed to in her years as a demigod had never inflicted its torture like this. Gods, it even hurt to breathe.
Of course, she wouldn't tell him that, though.
Apollo favored her a look that said he knew all the same, even if she was to stubborn to admit it.
"Now," Apollo said, voice taking on that doctorly tone once again. "The part I hate the most. The prognosis." Annabeth swallowed nervously in anticipation. "You display the typical signs and symptoms of strong electric shock—deep burns due to heat resistance, internal scarring of the organs, the brain in particular; and moderate neuropathy. Additionally, the section of the brain responsible for controlling bodily movement, the Cerebellum, was damaged during the...accident. That, coupled with the aforementioned issues, will in all probability have you experiencing lifelong weakness as a result of your injuries."
The world suddenly went cold and dark. Time seemed to just stop and distinctly, Annabeth could feel her chest tighten as her breath picked up at an increasingly rapid pace.
Apollo was quick to continue. "Not to say that you will be immobilized," he explained. "Not forever. Given enough time, rest, and physical therapy, coupled with routine treatment, I do not doubt that you will recover greatly from your injuries."
Annabeth noticed that he hadn't said "full" recovery when explaining the prognosis. Only "greatly", which only exacerbated her panic.
"Unfortunately, the weapon by which you were dealt the wounds is a powerful one," the god continued. "One of the strongest in existence. I did my best, but it is beyond mine or anyone else's capabilities to heal you fully." Apollo then paused, before his demeanor gained a lighter tone. "You know," he said, grinning toothily. "There was a man long ago that I treated for wounds inflicted by lightning. A son of Poseidon, coincidentally, and the state of his insides looked similar to yours. Even with all of my knowledge, I could only put him out of his misery. In all honesty, you are very lucky to be alive right now."
Annabeth growled, the very action causing her body to tremble with pain. She didn't feel lucky at all. "Give it to me straight, doc," she hissed angrily. She didn't have the patience to play the game the god of the sun was proposing. All she wanted was Percy and answers, and she wanted them now.
Apollo sighed again, which made her want to shrivel up and die right there on the bed. That look, that sigh made her feel like she was less than nothing. Like she was a failure and a liability.
"Godly healing techniques and medicine can only work so well on a mortal body," the doctor enunciated. "While it is true that you will recover somewhat, things you have grown accustomed to such as running and fighting—rigorous physical activity—are now impossible. I'm—I'm sorry."
Apollo adjusted his collar and seemed to straighten. His next words sounded so far away and muddled—like he was moving away from her. Or, perhaps, maybe she was the one doing the running.
"Now, you will need to be vigilant for signs of desquamation—that is, peeling of the skin caused by the profound effects of lightning damage. I have prescribed several medications designed to combat this and the pain, but, as I mentioned earlier, all of them are especially potent and can cause dependency—even in someone with divine blood. Restraint must be exercised at all times when taking them. Additionally, there is also the matter of—"
Apollo's drabble was drowned out. Annabeth winced painfully and groaned, shifting as her chest reignited into a roaring inferno.
"Percy," she croaked, and closed her eyes. Why wouldn't anyone at least tell her if he was safe?
"Annabeth?" Chiron asked, softly and alarmed. She had forgotten he was there. "Quick! The medicine!" he bellowed.
In her dreams, there was no pain, or worry, or fear. No war or anguish. In her dreams, there was only peace.
Cinder greedily bit into the sea creature she'd bought from the market earlier that day. It was a strange kind of shellfish, sporting a rather garish exoskeleton, yet still tasting delicious—an uncommon trait for many species on the planet. She would surely return for lunch. And, perhaps, dinner.
Her hasty departure into the sea had carried her to a small, quaint island in the southern Caribbean, according to Nyx. It was pleasantly quiet, which she appreciated, and the locals had been friendly enough. They didn't pry or question why a stranger had suddenly appeared in their midst. And if one did, a simple application of the mist convinced them otherwise.
More than once, Cinder had been offered lodgings for the night, which she'd politely declined. The thought of sharing a roof with seemingly benevolent strangers was less appealing than staying out in the wilds. And, the beauty of nature was simply too great to resist. Tainted with evil as it was, none could ever call Gaea's Earth hideous.
As much as Cinder would enjoy spending the rest of her days like this; admiring the world for all it had to offer—she had obligations to uphold. Perseus had been captured—or killed, presumably. Nyx had not claimed to have located a body yet which meant that there was still hope, however small.
It had been mere coincidence that Cinder had been away on an assignment, delivering various minor gods their offers of power, when the attack happened. She predicted that while there were numerous deities that were bound to feel under-appreciated and slighted, most of them would reject the offer and inform Zeus immediately.
When she had brought these concerns to Nyx, her only response had been a laugh and vague ramblings about it being a "challenge worthy of The Night."
Cinder wondered what had happened to discretion.
It had been days or weeks, by her estimates, since Perseus had vanished. Cinder had been tasked with locating, and if need be, rescuing him from whatever fate he'd found himself in. It had been a fruitless task, and Cinder had been dreading when the time came to make her report. Her master had a penchant for tantrums, and would not react well to the findings of her search.
Cinder had tried her damndest to put off the report. To enjoy the simple pleasures of life. But, perhaps through the bond that tethered them, she could sense Nyx's anger grow at her tardiness. Given enough time, it would explode.
Cinder sighed weightily, and finished her meal. She rose from her position in the sand and, after a bout of tense breathing, brought her hands into a prayer and began chanting.
Almost immediately, black liquid spawning from seemingly nowhere began to coalesce into a sphere before her. The liquid stretched and elongated, gaining shape, definition, and color until eventually Cinder was staring at herself.
Unlike last time, there was no interference. No static or otherwise visual clutter. A result of the added power, perhaps?
"Have you found him?" were the first words out of the goddess' mouth. She sounded even more irritable and short-tempered than she usually was and inwardly, Cinder wanted to kick herself. Prolonging the delivery of the news had backfired, after all.
Cinder met the eyes of her still-waiting master. "I have not," she responded simply and quickly, bracing herself for the storm that was about to erupt.
However to her surprise, what she saw in Nyx's eyes wasn't anger, but the opposite. It was fear. Fear and desperation.
Cinder couldn't believe it.
A sigh spilled out from Nyx's watery image. "Unfortunate," she muttered. "I had hoped to locate Perseus during my various tenures here since his disappearance. If I cannot sense him still, then it means he currently resides outside of my grasp. Death or otherwise."
Cinder tilted her head in curiosity.
Nyx frowned down at her. "Don't tell me you've forgotten," she chided disappointedly, like a mother scolding her child. "Since the creation of Day, I have always retreated from the mortal world at set intervals of time. Too much darkness, and life on this planet would cease to exist. It would mean the end of everything. I cannot stay in the mortal plane forever."
Nyx paused and then shook her head. "The very embodiment of our existence and you've forgotten it?" she questioned snidely.
Cinder wisely said nothing. Rising to the insult would only sow discord and chaos at a time when it was most unneeded. The goddess would be free soon and then she would be left to her own devices. For that reason alone, any amount of abuse was worth it.
Nyx was speaking again. Cinder withdrew from herself and turned her attention back to the matter at hand.
"—imperative that you remain hidden. Our adversaries cannot under any circumstance know of your existence. Discovery would reveal to them that there is an enemy in their midst. A second, mortal enemy who shares none of the same limitations they do. It is still far too early to tip our hand just yet."
Nyx continued. "Now, so this summoning is not a complete waste, I will inform you of our current battle strategy," she intoned. "Listen closely."
Cinder did, and waited on bated breath.
"I have begun the recruitment of a sizable number of children of my father to our cause, promising them free rein in the mortal world during my rule should they manage to crush the opposition. When we locate our quarry, I shall send them to both camps, forcing Olympus to divide its attention between them and us. A war on two fronts."
Cinder frowned. It was genius—throw a weak, but numerous—army at the Olympians while they snuck in quietly to achieve their goal. It was a good plan, save for one small detail. "You are...attacking the camp," she reiterated slowly in disbelief. That was the exact opposite of endearing themselves to Perseus. Proving to him that their solution was the path toward peace and justice. Their actions had to be carefully calculated and utterly unimpeachable or they risked losing him forever.
Nyx bristled, lips downturned in the barest hint of snarl as a sternness crept into her tone. "I think you misunderstand the relationship Perseus and I have," she stated tersely. "Simply put, he is mine. He belongs to me, despite certain compromises I've made that make it appear otherwise. It became that way the moment he bartered his freedom for a path out of the pit and protection from my father's sight. Without my personal intervention, Perseus would have perished long before he ever reached the Doors of Death. Alternative outcomes, divergent fates—such things were never a possibility in the first place."
Cinder felt her voice rise, which was a very, very bad idea considering who she was speaking to. But she couldn't help it. "The very same friends whose lives you now threaten?" Cinder questioned heatedly. "I see your point. I do. But how is attacking his family going to show Perseus that he should fight with us and not against?"
"It does not matter!" Nyx growled furiously. Wisps of darkness began drifting off her aqueous form. "His is not a position one can so easily relinquish! The oath was sworn and it will be honored, one way or another. He must continue until death, and, perhaps, even after that."
Nyx took a few breaths to extinguish her anger before continuing. "Clemency only extends so far," she hissed acidicly. "I haven't the time nor the desire to pretend to be concerned with the fate of those not pledged to me. The fact that I am even allowing them the opportunity to fight for their lives as opposed to simply killing them outright is the greatest mercy of all. Any of his so-called 'friends' are more than powerful enough to survive the assault. It is only the fodder and the weak will fall."
Cinder looked down sadly at that. It…hurt to see Perseus suffer as he had in the days after their assault on those mortals. How it broke him. And with the notion that they would be subjecting him to even worse torture left a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn't help but think that their treatment of him since Gaea's defeat had been just…wrong. "Is this truly the only way?" She asked.
"Yes," Nyx answered almost immediately, devoid of all remorse or emotion. "If we fail to draw his attention elsewhere, Zeus will not hesitate to send forth his best warriors in an effort to thwart us directly. Above all else, Olympus will not allow those camps to fall, and thus will split their forces between them and us. Divide and conquer. That is how we will succeed and put an end to this farce."
The plan still didn't feel right. "But—"
"Enough!" Nyx roared in a fury. "You will obey me and speak nothing of this to Perseus when you locate him. His only concern should be reaching the South Pole and enabling my liberty. He need not know the happenings at the camps. Not until it is dealt with and there is nothing more to be done about it."
Cinder grit her teeth and nodded. She had half a mind to tell him anyways, just out of spite. Then, she would finally have the pleasure of seeing the vile creature's plan crumble into dust before her eyes. Retribution for everything they'd had to put up with. The thought was immensely tempting.
Cinder opened her eyes, only to see that the goddess was staring at her, gaze inquisitive, yet knowing all the same. Gulping, Cinder quickly schooled her features behind a mask of impassiveness as she awaited further instruction.
Nyx's eyes lingered for a bit, a small, almost imperceptible smile on her lips before it was dashed away. "Summon me again only when you have the boy," she instructed her creation. "I do not wish to see you before then."
And she vanished with nary sound, almost like she was never there in the first place.
Cinder let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She looked around, silently admiring the trees swaying in the distance. And how the water gently crashed against the shore. The weather really was nice.
Maybe the search for Perseus could wait a little while longer.
Hideous.
If there was a single word that could properly describe how she looked, hideous would be one among many. Numerous red marks that reminded Annabeth of dead tree limbs branched across her skin, covering every inch, spreading into thousands of paths, and from those thousands countless more arose. There was no singular point of origin. Even her hair, which she'd always cherished in a non-vain, prideful kind of way, was cut short and barely reached her shoulders. The rest most likely had been burned off by whatever caused her injuries.
Annabeth posed, favoring the mirror with a small smile as she tried to look dignified. Her lips sluggishly pulled themselves upward, barely managing to form a lopsided, ugly grin that was more of a scowl than anything. It took everything she had not to scream right then and there, for fear of further aggravating her wounds.
Would Percy still think she was beautiful?
Annabeth doubted it.
Which reminded her. "Hey," Annabeth beckoned her caretaker. Kara was her name. "Do you know what happened to Percy?"
The child of Apollo shook her head in the negative. Annabeth sighed. It was worth a shot. No one had any inkling of where Percy was, only that he'd suddenly left camp in the dead of night after she'd been injured. And the ones that did know were being frustratingly tight-lipped about the whole thing. She couldn't get any answers no matter what she tried.
Shouldn't she have a right to know where her boyfriend was? Whether he was even alive? It didn't take someone of her genius to know that this entire thing smelled rotten.
Her thoughts inevitably drifted back to what Apollo had said in the infirmary. The prognosis. She would never run—or barely even walk—without assistance again. Her life as a demigod had been effectively ended.
It didn't bother her as much as she thought it would. Sure, she wouldn't be able to protect herself much less another, but that's what she had Percy for. At the very least, she could still pursue her dream of designing the architecture on Mount Olympus. The Fates had stolen her body, but her intellect was still very much intact.
Annabeth sighed longingly. Honestly, she couldn't imagine a future where Percy wasn't by her side.
A grunt of pain spilled from her lips as Kara brushed over a particularly sensitive spot with her fingers. After sending the girl a sharp look, Annabeth tried to focus on something other than the pain, which was proving itself all but impossible.
Despite her best efforts, a nagging feeling in her subconscious brought her back to the subject of her suffering. It was an intrusive thought—a scenario that her mind was screaming at her to revisit. Annabeth frowned. Her instincts had never failed her and she doubted they would today.
Apollo had said her injuries were caused by a weapon of great power. But what? Who in their right mind would attack a daughter of a major goddess within the boundaries of her own home? And not just who, but what even had the power to do so? The Titans were either dead or imprisoned, last she'd heard. Same with the Giants and their mother. That left only—
Annabeth gasped as realization flooded her. Lightning strike…weapon of great power. Her mother had spoken briefly about tensions rising in Olympus but had brushed it off, claiming that they were trivial and of little concern to anyone. Thinking about it now, only one being was capable and fit every prerequisite.
Anger, white-hot and boiling, more powerful than she'd ever felt in her life threatened to devour her whole. It was an all-consuming rage, quickening her breath and blackening her vision until she couldn't even see what was in front of her. Betrayal. While not being the first time, the very notion of it happening again stung worse than the physical wounds she suffered from.
A soft, yet firm hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. "What's wrong?" Kara's concerned voice washed over her. "Did the medication wear off already? Is the pain getting worse again? Is it too cold? Are you hungry or—"
"Fine," Annabeth snapped. Far harsher than she'd meant to. "I'm fine. Everything's alright I just…think I need to be alone for a minute."
Kara looked like she wanted to protest and Annabeth was suddenly reminded of how stupid an idea that was. But right now, what she wanted—no, needed the most was solitude. Some time to organize her turbulent thoughts and emotions.
Kara gave her a look that she hated; concern at first, but more pity than anything else. Like she was just some damsel in distress that couldn't do anything for herself. Someone to feel sorry for and nothing else. The look had been omnipresent ever since she'd awoken; following her everywhere, always waiting, always watching.
She despised it, with every fiber of her being.
Annabeth turned away as the door clicked shut and stared back at her reflection in the mirror. The person that met her gaze was someone she didn't recognize, and Annabeth could only chuckle bitterly at the irony.
Because what resided in the mirror was not something made of flesh and blood, but a monster warped by hatred and pain.
Percy swam.
After his father had saved him from almost certain death, he swam. Swam as long and as hard as he could, only stopping when the fatigue in his limbs outweighed the restorative effects of the water. When that had happened, he'd sunken deep below the surface, hoping, praying that no god or ocean-dwelling monster found him. So far, he'd been lucky.
He had been drifting for days, or was it weeks? Countless hours spent just…drifting. He didn't know how to get to Atlantis from his current position or where he even was, really. Everything looked the same to him: water stretching out endlessly towards the horizon. Distantly, he remembered he had swam down at one point, trying to see if he could reach the ocean floor in order to find some sense of where he was. He recalled swimming until the water turned black and his sense of direction had been distorted. He would've gone further had it not been for something brushing up against his leg and frightening the death out of him. Percy had made a beeline towards the surface after that, unwilling to risk it despite knowing that little in the water could hurt him.
Still, it was odd. Percy had thought the amount of pressure would've killed him long before any sea monster could. Even with being a son of Poseidon, there had to have been some sort of limit. A point of no return.
Percy sighed and lazily turned to float on his back. He didn't know where he was and honestly? He didn't care either. Because despite his best efforts, another war had broken out. Somehow, Zeus had discovered his connection to Nyx and was gunning for him harder than a monster who hadn't eaten for months.
Ice settled in the pit of his stomach upon the realization that he had failed. His father was probably dead, or in the process of being dead. Percy held no illusions of what Greek torture was like, especially when it involved traitors. Poseidon was probably bound to a rock somewhere being roasted alive or having his organs plucked out by an eagle.
And his friends…
Percy stopped himself right then and there.
His side had been given and there wasn't a thing he could do about it other than wait hopelessly for a rescue. Or shrivel up and die out here in the middle of the ocean. The thought invoked a humorless chuckle. That would be preferable to fighting the people who had become like family over the years.
Was this what death felt like? Every day a never-ending cycle of nothingness and banality. Would he break, again? Like he had on the boat? Despair eating him from the inside out until he couldn't breathe. Couldn't live.
A low rumble originating from somewhere around him ended his train of thought. Percy blinked and looked down at himself, surprised, given that this was the first time he'd felt hungry since before everything had happened. Just long had it been since he'd eaten?
It was a priority, then, to find food. Earth's oceans were teeming with life and Percy doubted he'd have any trouble at all in finding sustenance. Gently, he angled his body vertically and allowed himself to sink below the depths of the water. Almost immediately, he spotted a school of fish not too far away from where he was.
He was pleasantly surprised that, upon noticing his arrival, the fish didn't try to escape from him as most prey animals had the instinct to do. Rather they remained stationary and stared inquisitively, all of them intrigued by his presence, yet none of them brave enough to approach.
Finally though, one—the biggest of the bunch—did. It swam forward warily, trepidly approaching him like the dangerous predator he was.
"Greetings, Lord," a voice appeared suddenly in his mind. Percy blinked. He had forgotten about that particular ability of his. It had been so long since it was of any use to him. "This one lives to serve. How may we be of aid?"
Percy ignored the thing. Why was food talking? Another mystery.
Before the fish could utter another thought, Percy was on it in a flash. He devoured the creature, biting into the sinewy, and honestly, horrible-tasting meat with gusto. For a second, he wondered what it would've been like to be a son of Hephaestus before dashing it away. Cooked or not, he'd eaten worse.
Percy's eyes zeroed in on the next piece of food. They seemed to be getting over the confusion and were just now realizing how much danger they were in. With a growl, Percy lunged forward, catching two fish in each of his hands and another in his mouth. Immediately, the remaining fish seemed to take the hint and scattered, all no doubt eager to preserve their lives.
After scarfing down two of the fish and tearing a large chunk out of the last one, Percy channeled his energy and pushed towards the surface. The water parted before him easily, almost as if it was air, and he reached his destination in no time at all.
As Percy burst through the surface of the water, he became aware of a persistent…sound—a buzz—ringing in his ears. It was muffled, sounding vaguely like words, and he had to strain his ears so hard it felt like he would pop a blood vessel.
It didn't take long to locate the source of the disturbance. The fish in his hand had its mouth open wide and was screaming bloody murder. Loudly, in fact, which made Percy silence it by shoving the entire thing in his mouth, save for the tail. He chewed quickly and sloppily, doing his best to avoid tasting the foul meat yet also not wanting to choke either. For the briefest of moments, a pang of guilt rang through him before it was dashed away and Percy noticed it was easier to clear his conscience this time. Easier than it should've been. He turned and looked toward the horizon, spotting the sun slowly making its descent.
Not wasting any more time, he sped off in search of his next meal. If Percy had it his way, the entire ocean would lay empty before he was satisfied.
Zeus stalked down the halls of Mount Olympus, his stride brisk, yet full of anger and purpose. The growing mass of divinity and spirits alike parted before him, most eyeing him with respect and awe, others with doubt, but all identifying him as king. Their reverence had lessened, he noticed, which left a bitter taste on his tongue. In time, when Nyx and his brother were dealt with, he would be able to mend fences and restore his image.
Zeus narrowed his eyes as he saw a few of the assembled observe his injuries akin to a predator spying its prey. He grimaced in disgust. Snakes, they were, right here in his midst. They would jump even the most minuscule of opportunities if they thought him vulnerable. Perhaps they saw a weakness in him not present before. A chance to change the natural order of things in which they themselves were victims of. It was utter nonsense, and Zeus would be more than pleased to remind them of their place should they step out of turn.
If nothing else, The Night had presented him a prime opportunity to eviscerate all that stood against him, once and for all.
A flare of pain almost made his knees buckle and Zeus once again spat curses at his enemies. Poseidon's armor had been a surprise, loathe as he was to admit. One that had almost cost him the battle. Fortunately, though he would never say, he had allies. Allies whom, after some prodding to see where their allegiance lay, would prove vital in the upcoming war.
Normally, he would never reveal himself in such a weakened state in front of peasants, but he had more important matters than his appearance to attend to. Such as contacting his other brother. He would be especially vital in the coming weeks, provided he knew which way the wind blew.
Zeus threw open the doors to the throne room and strode inside. The dimly lit halls were empty, save for the soft orange glow of the hearth and its warmth. Zeus smiled. If nothing else, his sister invoked a confronting presence that made all of his troubles feel trivial.
As if on cue, fire rose from its place on the ground, gathering in on itself as a figure emerged from the embers.
"Hestia," Zeus nodded in greeting. It was always pleasant, speaking with his eldest sibling. She had a patience which the others had less of or outright lacked, and always seemed unbothered by the frivolities of life. It made her an excellent confidant and an invaluable asset.
The goddess of the hearth quirked her head before speaking, eyes aflame as she stared at him in a way that made him feel slightly uncomfortable.
"Zeus," she rasped, dry and coarse. "End this madness."
Zeus' smile faded. It seemed this was going to be one of those conversations. "And what, pray tell, is this madness you speak of?" he asked smoothly, slipping into the mask of the king easily. "I have done nothing you yourself would not have done in my position. To suggest that my judgment is somehow flawed after all these years is an insinuation that offends me greatly."
Hestia's gaze remained on him and this time it felt as if she was looking through him, not at him. Bearing witness to all of his flaws, doubts, and insecurities. In that moment, under her piercing stare, he felt like a warrior with no armor. He felt vulnerable.
Finally, the torment ended and she spoke again. "Do you truly believe that you are in the right, brother of mine?" she asked.
"I do," Zeus stated, resolute.
The fire that was his sister's eyes seemed to dim as he spoke those words. "Then there is nothing more to say," Hestia intoned somberly.
Fire erupted in front of him, devouring the goddess until there was nothing even vaguely human in her place. Only the crackling hearth and its comforting warmth.
Zeus snarled and turned away. What right did she have to judge him? Did she think he wished for chaos and disorder? Like some rabid dog who only thirsted for blood and bit the hand of everyone around it. What other choice did he have, to secure the future of Olympus? His sister was completely ignorant of the weight of the crown and the sacrifice it demanded from its bearer. What would she have done in his position?
Another question arose, one that resided in the deepest part of his being:
Had Perseus truly been plotting against him?
Zeus shook his head. Clear away the doubts and deceit. The lies and the hesitation. Now was not the time to lose focus.
Zeus reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew a pendant no larger than his finger. It was in the shape of an owl, angry and screeching, and he knew that after using it, there would be no turning back. After all, he rarely summoned Hades for any ordinary occurrence much less a social call.
Zeus clutched the pendant in his fist and channeled lightning into it, watching the thing glow a soft red as it absorbed his power. Then, he waited.
And waited.
When nothing happened, he tried again, this time visualizing the target in his mind. Still, the pendant remained intact, a stark opposite of what it was intended to do.
Zeus' eyes shot open and with dawning horror, he realized that a new enemy had joined the fray. One that would very much tip the scales against Olympus.
A;N:
I'm alive! Apologies for the delay but certain circumstances prevented me from writing all this time. Not to say that those circumstances are over, just that I've found time to write and brainstorm ideas—for now, at least.
Hopefully won't be too long until the next chapter. Not sure if I can do the old schedule of weekly/biweekly uploads, but I can promise the next chapter will not take a year to write. And once again I wanted to thank the new and returning readers who've kept up with my story despite the hiatus. Although I write for fun, it is nice to see others enjoy my work.
