Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.

Warnings: Unbeta'ed, swearing, general discussion of wartime, PTSD symptoms.


"But it is one thing to read about dragons and another to meet them."

-Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea


Sadie Kane was struggling to decide whether she should fight the dragon.

Part of the problem was that the dragon hadn't actually done anything yet; it wasn't even that big, only about the size of a small minivan. It was also asleep, curled around a pine tree like it was the most precious of gold and smoke drifting up from its nostrils. Still, Sadie supposed she had to start somewhere in her career as dragon-slayer.

But childhood dreams of pulling a St. George or no, she didn't fancy finding out whether dragons really breathed fire by putting her favorite boots on the line.

Then there were the heavily-armed cosplayers.

"Touch the barrier one more time, whatever the Hades you are. I dare you," their leader growled from underneath his plumed helmet—a counterpoint to a strange mix of refitted Kevlar and ancient-looking armor. And, of course, the sharp bronze sword currently being pointed in the general direction of Sadie's face, which she quite liked intact.

Percy was so dead when Sadie got her hands on him.

Standing on Sadie's left, Jaz Anderson muttered, "Hades? Delphi Strawberries?"

The cosplayers were really into Greek mythology, apparently.

Then again, the sleeping dragon and the barrier that was keeping Sadie, Jaz, Alyssa, and Julian out weren't exactly evidence for that theory. To prove a point to the possible cosplayers—and in the hopes of finding out who created the barrier between her and Percy—Sadie muttered a quick spell under her breath and pushed into the barrier.

The entire area in front her lit up with white light, making everyone around Sadie shield their eyes and look away as she stuck her hand in; it felt like sticking her hand into very, very angry pudding as Sadie cast about, trying to find some sort of magician's or god's signature on the spell.

Sadie knew she was close when it pushed her right back with a loud boom and she stumbled back into Julian, who quickly steadied her. She shook her stinging hand, cursing under her breath.

The cosplayers were left worse off, though, scrambling back to their feet after being thrown to the ground and looking even less friendly than before.

"I said, don't do that!" The cosplayers' leader was unfortunately quick, back on his feet and swinging his sword down before Julian could do more than yell; but Sadie had her staff up, fast as a cobra, meeting the sword in the air with an ugly screeching noise.

"I'll do whatever I like until you give me Percy back!"

"Who's Percy?" he sneered, his face inches from Sadie's. "And who are you, while we're at it?"

Sadie pushed up against his sword, shoving him back with a frustrated growl.

"I'm Sadie Kane, idiots," she snapped, "Member of the House of Life, Eye of Isis, and kicker of your ass if you don't tell me where Percy, my gods-damned cousin, is."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jaz conjuring a handful of bright yellow flames, making the cosplayer closest her to yelp before notching his bow to point a metal-tipped arrow at her in a blur of practiced motion. Julian's amulet was beginning to glow through his jacket, and Sadie could feel the ground rumbling beneath their feet from Alyssa calling on Geb.

But they weren't the only ones with tricks. In addition to being heavily armed with a worrying range of weaponry, one of the cosplayers now had glowing hands raised as fists, and Sadie felt pretty confident deciding that Alyssa wasn't the one making the plant life around them move to form a thorny ring around the magicians. Or making Sadie's ears pop from a drop in air pressure.

"Who are you guys? Some new trick by the Titans?" one of them demanded.

"The Titans? What part of 'House of Life' don't y'all understand?" Jaz scoffed, her Southern drawl leaking through her furious words.

Their leader shook his head. "They have to be. I've never heard of the House of Life before, and no one else would do that to our barrier."

"I wouldn't do that if you hadn't taken my cousin!"

"I told you, I don't know who your cousin is! Either they want to be in camp, or they're a spy and a traitor," he said with disgust. "Then we're all better off without him."

Sadie fixed him with a cold look that promised death. "Liar."

Every single one of them standing between her and her family. Dead.

The cosplayers' leader lifted his sword again, Sadie readied her staff as she prepared to smash him into next week, and a pair of yells cut through the air and mutually murderous tension—one of them familiar enough to make her freeze.

"Sadie! Stop, they're fine!"

"Sherman! Katie! All of you, stand the fuck down!"

Sadie broke off her attack, peeking around the equally flabbergasted cosplayers to look inside the barrier, staring in shock as Percy sprinted towards them. Hot on his heels were two girls his age, both of them dressed in the same mishmash of Kevlar and armor.

"Sadie. . .they're. . .fine," Percy gasped out as he came to a stop next to the cosplayers, who all backed away at the promise of violence on the bigger girl's face and the look of resignation on the blonde's. Their leader yanked off his helmet to reveal dark hair and an angry glare that intensified when he looked in Sadie's general direction. "Mis. . .misunderstanding. They're cool."

"Cool?" Jaz repeated with all the incredulity Sadie felt. The people behind the magic barrier that they couldn't scry through and had been ready to kill the four of them for trespassing were cool?

Percy at least had the shame to give them a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Cool."

While Sadie gave him the best glare she could manage—he had disappeared! For hours! She had been worried—the cosplayers' leader was being filled in. Sadie eavesdropped shamelessly as she tried to figure out something to say to Percy that didn't begin with what the hell, fuck, or are you being mind-controlled.

If he was being mind-controlled, Sadie doubted he would tell her in front of these people.

". . .So. Are these losers with the Titans or not, Clarisse?" the leader of the cosplayers asked first, one wary eye still on Sadie's staff.

Sadie felt like she owed Jaz an apology for waving her concerns from earlier off. Why couldn't it have been normal weirdos dressed up in ancient armor?

"No. They're this guy's family, apparently. He came into camp without telling them, so they came looking." The bigger girl, Clarisse, had a sour look on her face that suggested she agreed with the Titans theory, whatever that meant, but had been overruled.

"Yeah, but regular mortals don't make the barrier light up like it's Christmas. These guys do. Or at least, she does," he added with a jerk of the chin in Sadie's direction. Sadie gave him a grin that was all teeth.

"We're finding that's a common theme, Sherman," the blonde girl said to him. Her eyes were fixed on the magicians' staffs with enough intensity to her gaze that Sadie half-wondered if she could read hieroglyphs.

Sherman moved in closer to the blonde girl and La Rue, their conversation becoming too quiet for Sadie to hear without magical aid. With that avenue of distraction blocked off, Sadie turned her attention to the guy who had brought them here in the first place.

Percy. Sadie bit back a few choice words about him. Some days, she was positive that between him and Carter, she was going to be driven into an early grave, or at least go gray much earlier than she should.

She moved away from the barrier and towards Percy, who was being checking over by Jaz with her typical efficiency at ignoring his protests.

"—I swear, Jaz, in Sekhmet's name, I'm not even bruised anywh—Sadie! Hi. Uh, sorry?" Percy gave her the same lopsided, sheepish smile from before. "I meant to call or get back by dinner, I swear. A petsuchos dragged me this wild goose chase through a forest and things. . .sort of. . .snowballed."

Something tense inside Sadie that had been screaming ever since dinner, working through new and progressively bloodier scenarios about what could've happened, finally uncoiled in the face of undeniable proof that he was fine. Worry and rage were nothing new where her family and friends were concerned, but she'd been close to panicking that something had happened because he'd been alone.

Apophis and Sarah Jacobi hadn't even been six months ago, nor was Sadie under the delusion that they would be the last trouble the Kanes would ever see. Sticking together was a matter of survival.

But it was nothing Percy didn't already know, much as Sadie felt like reminding him of it. He also had his priorities, ones which, ultimately, weren't that different at all from Sadie's own. The apocalypse would return and leave before anyone could change his or her mind on that.

This time, he was okay—everyone was okay—and Sadie could take that for the victory it was. She knew that much after the last couple years.

Still. Sadie scolded him for appearances. "You're fine, Percy. But you have to call, next time, okay? I know you have terrible luck with phones, but the kindergartners were worried."

She had always been terrible at staying mad at Percy.

"Well, I can't have that," he agreed, all mock seriousness, "Gods know how New York would survive a worried Shelby on the loose."

His humor was hollow, though. His eyes kept flicking back to the not-cosplayers, who were now standing around in a tense huddle of murmurs and taking turns staring at Percy like he was from Neptune. Sadie bit back a growl.

What had happened, between the petsuchos and this place?

"Who are they?" Jaz asked, softly enough to make Sadie inspect Percy more closely when he didn't respond. It only took her a second to realize what had caused Jaz to check him over.

Percy looked like he was drowning on dry land. Despite sprinting to meet them, he was still pale and his green eyes weren't focused quite right on Jaz and Sadie; they were glassy and far away, while his hands, usually beating out a rhythm or fidgeting with whatever was at hand, hung limp at his sides. If Sadie didn't know better and had any less faith in Jaz's medical abilities, she would've thought he had a concussion.

"C'mon, Jaz asked a question," Sadie prompted him gently, giving him a nudge at the shoulder, willing him to focus on her. "It can't be that bad."

"Here's the thing, Sadie. It might be." Percy took a slightly shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. Sadie hadn't seen him this unsure of himself since the aftermath of being swallowed by Apophis, when he'd been burning through the First Nome's therapists like it was a personal challenge. "I, uh. . .crap, where do I start?"

Jaz's face wrinkled in concern. She slide one of her hands into Percy's as Sadie said casually, "Beginning usually works. How did you get in when we can't? Did they tell you who—"

"They're me, okay?" Percy burst out, cutting her off. "They're me."

Sadie blinked. She'd expected something interesting, knowing Percy, but— "Come again?"

"Demigods. Children of the Greek gods and humans. They're me," Percy repeated, helpless and incredulous at once. "Apparently, they lost track of me."

Demigods. Sadie felt like she had been punched in the face by Sobek. She waited for a reflexive denial, to see the immediate holes to poke in order to prove how patently ridiculous this was, but nothing ever came. Beyond pointing out that the Egyptian gods were already around and only across the river, anyway.

Though, Sadie realized with a sinking feeling, considering the way they'd always avoided Manhattan like the plague on the word of Amos and Bast, that wasn't exactly evidence against.

Sadie closed her eyes and ran through what they actually knew. It wasn't like how Amos had found Percy was a secret. His mother had been killed by some kind of demon when he was three. She'd begged Amos to look after Percy, Amos had done that, and that had been the end of that.

Except for his father.

The father that, despite a decade's worth of the now-Chief Lector shaking state bureaucracy upside-down by its ankles, had never given them a name for Percy's father. Jackson was his mother's name.

Sadie let out the foulest, meanest curse in Egyptian she knew.

"Yep," Percy said brightly, "That was my reaction."

Greek demigods. Jaz had been right.

"Okay. So if they're not crazy, explain?" Julian said from behind Sadie, almost making her jump in the air. "You're, like, Hercules?"

"Achilles. Helen. The original Perseus," Jaz said, thoughtful. "There's a lot of them."

Carter was going to lose it, some part of Sadie that wasn't sent into a tailspin by this wonderful surprise noted. Come to think of it, most of her extended family was a bunch of nerds who were going to have a conniption fit. Especially her—

Sadie briefly closed her eyes at the thought of her own father.

Her recycled, blue, inhabiting-an-Egyptian-god father, who had never looked at Percy quite right since the British Museum. Her mother, who had loved to tell Percy the Greek story of Perseus the Hero.

If they knew about all this, knew about Percy. . .Sadie wasn't quite sure what she was going to do, actually.

"You think?" Alyssa said, incredulous, "I've counted at least twenty so far around here, and the gods know what Zeus gets up to now with the Internet."

"Y'know, I've had a lot of disturbing thoughts today, but that wins. Thanks, Alyssa," Percy said, shuddering. But he was sounding a lot more like himself, to Sadie's relief, as he began to fiddle with the little crocodile shabti in his hands.

Jaz studied Percy with a shrewd air. "You were trying to figure out how they procreated, weren't you?"

The relief disappeared. Sadie wondered if that Sherman bloke was still up for a duel to the death.

"It's a fair question," Percy protested, "It's not like Set is walking around and having kids—"

"And it got worse," Sadie finished, "Lovely. Now that I have nightmare fuel from now until the next apocalypse, do you know who your godly half comes from, however it works, or do I get to shake it out of the clowns on the other side?"

Sadie rather hoped Percy would say no. Between revelations about Percy's not-dead-after-all godly father—and didn't that explain a few things, Sadie had to admit; it wasn't just anyone who could host an Egyptian goddess and keep all their marbles—and getting a last-minute cockblock from fighting real-life demigods, she had a temper to work off. And a dragon she could fight.

But Percy wrinkled his nose and answered in the affirmative. "They were telling me when you all got here. They're saying I'm a son of Poseidon? The Greek fish dude and their head ocean god."

Jaz raised her eyebrows in interest, while Alyssa looked contemplative. Julian whistled. "Nice, Percy."

"Explains some of those baby pictures with Phil," Sadie said fondly, as Percy choked on his spit and began to sputter again about how it had been a phase. In more sober tones, she added, "Explains other things, too. Here I was, all these years, so innocent and convinced the Egyptian gods were just classist."

"Well, they probably still are," Percy considered, "You've seen what they're like."

"Good point. These guys tell you anything else?"

"Uh, I can speak Greek. Maybe. It's probably why I have dyslexia. I may or may not have superpowers, and since I'm supposed to be so powerful, I stink to monsters," Percy finished, "Honestly, they had only just convinced me that they weren't about to eat me or something when you showed up."

"Why in Zeus's name would we eat you?" The blonde girl, a baseball cap in hand, appeared out of nowhere behind Julian—who probably kept himself from whacking her with his wand by virtue of living in the same house as a bunch of teenaged pranksters who had recently discovered the ability to manipulate reality.

If Sadie didn't know better, she would've assumed the other girl had been invisible.

"It's happened before," Percy said, shrugging. When none of them translated Percy-Speak into English for her, the blonde girl pursed her lips but didn't press. Much.

"Well, then. If you've decided we're not the enemy. . .I'm Annabeth Chase," she said, a bit too reluctant for Sadie's comfort, "Daughter of Athena and senior counselor at Camp Half-Blood. They said you're Sadie Kane?"

"The one and only," Sadie chirped, choosing to forgo making any comments about how she was pretty sure Athena had sworn off men in the myths. Annabeth Chase looked like she knew how to use the weapons hanging from her belt. "You've met Percy, obviously. My three minions here are Julian, Alyssa, and Jaz."

Said minions complained at being addressed as such. Annabeth Chase and Sadie ignored them.

"They're like you?" Chase asked Sadie.

"Like us," Sadie emphasized. She didn't want them getting any ideas about Percy being. . .other. "We're all magicians. As in Life, House of? Twenty-First Nome? Not ringing a bell?"

When Chase shook her head, Sadie grit her teeth. Great. She hated giving the Egyptian Magic 101 talk when it wasn't to someone used to operating with a different set of magic rules. "The House of Life is an international organization of magicians. We practice Egyptian magic and do our best to uphold the concept of Order. Ma'at."

"And you believe in Egyptian gods." Annabeth didn't say this as a question. Sadie wasn't sure if her flat voice came from disbelief in what Sadie was saying, or a Zia Rashid-like refusal to let anyone know what she was feeling when she had anything less than complete control of the situation.

"There's no believing about it," Percy said, groaning, having clearly decided he'd hit his caution quota for the day, "Not when they never shut up."

"Speak for yourself," Sadie snorted. She side-eyed Chase before continuing, "You get left alone. I have the privilege of hearing rants from Her Royal Majesty once a week because her narcissism needs a hostage audience."

Julian muttered something Sadie couldn't catch about Horus but didn't sound especially flattering, while Jaz and Alyssa both gave pained, sympathetic noises. Percy tried and failed not to look too smug for at least escaping this aspect of living at Brooklyn House.

"Well, I'm used to a different modus operandi," Annabeth Chase said calmly. Not that she'd ever admit it, but Sadie had to respect her refusal to crack. "Especially with the war happening, our parents have barely paid enough attention to make sure we weren't all massacred."

Because of course there was another war. One that these people were losing, no less. Sadie couldn't have designed a better situation for Perseus "I can and will fight a god on your behalf once I've known you for thirty seconds" Jackson-Kane to be stuck in if she tried.

Long-lost. . .relatives, Sadie settled on for now—a war that didn't seem to be going too well, if the purpling bruises on Annabeth Chase's face and her angry friends' general state of everything were any sign, and Percy being gifted in a way that could help them.

The only thing that could make this worse, Sadie reflected, was a prophecy. But she knew better than to speak that into the universe.

"Who're the baddies?" she inquired, "These Titan chaps, yes? Led by the one who ate his kids with mustard and so on?"

Chase nodded. Sadie started wishing for Carter and his encyclopedic brain to get here faster so he could dissect all this. He was far better with the non-Egyptian myth stuff than her, low standard that was.

"The Titans, yes," Chase said, her tone brusque, "They've been returning from the Pit in the past five years. It's not the first time, but this time, they've had enough help to reform their biggest players and mount a serious offense against Olympus."

Sherman's words about Percy being a "spy and a traitor" floated back through Sadie's head. "Help from who?"

"Not the point," Percy said hastily, looking back at Chase, whose mask of indifference slipped for a second, her eyes going wide and vulnerable before she shut back down. Sadie narrowed her eyes. Interesting. Could just be that Annabeth Chase had a temper and Percy was trying to keep the peace, but. . .war. Traitors.

"I have to say, you don't seem really shocked by our existence," Jaz noted, gracefully changing the subject, "Even the kids we take on to train normally have some kind of struggle with our gods being real, and you're all from a different pantheon altogether."

"I only care insofar as the war matters. I can be shocked that more gods exist when we're not all about to die over here." Annabeth Chase's voice was hard enough to make Sadie wonder what exactly war on the Greek side of things looked like, when everyone appeared prone to cutting each other into itty-bitty pieces; at least with magicians, if you were dead, it was going to be quick and relatively bloodless.

Most of the time. Some of the time. Sadie tried not to think too hard about the trials Carter and Amos had spent the last couple months overseeing.

"And when's that?" Alyssa asked, ever perceptive. "This barrier goes too deep into the earth for it to be a war-only thing."

Too perceptive. Chase didn't answer that question; her already knuckle-white grip on the hilts of her blades grew so tense it looked painful. "Anyway. As I was saying, your attacking our patrol aside, it's not the most surprising thing I've ever had to deal with. I already knew something was wrong when a long-lost son of Poseidon showed up with a staff and boomerang covered in hieroglyphs."

"Not a boomerang," Sadie corrected, out of reflex.

Percy, because he was a traitor, stage-whispered to Annabeth Chase, "We call it a wand, but it's basically a catch-all defense boomerang."

Despite her best efforts, Sadie couldn't help but notice it looked an awful lot like Chase was trying her hardest to keep any signs of a smile off her face.

"Whatever," she said, her grip loosening on her blades. She shook out one hand as she continued to talk. "I came here to tell you that after consulting with our own magic experts, we're fairly sure you can enter camp with an invitation since you're not entirely mortal. Percy can let you in, as a demigod."

"Right," Percy said skeptically. "A, how, and B, why me?"

"Judging from the barrier's reaction to your. . .curiosity—" Annabeth gestured at Sadie, who wasted no time in becoming offended. Outside the probing spell, she hadn't done anything. Whoever made that barrier was just way too sensitive.

"I touched it." After some brief thought, Sadie added, "A few times."

"Twenty-six, by my count. It seems the barrier puts you in the same category as monsters, which can be invited in by any of us. But why so worried? Not sure you're a demigod yet? Kane?" Chase asked; her face turned cold, and Sadie was reminded that, no matter how much she may fail to hide laughter at Percy's wisecracks, this girl was not their friend. "Consider it your first test. Get your friends inside camp, and then we can continue to talk."

She put the baseball cap back on her head and did disappear this time; a quick look in the Duat let Sadie see nothing but a dark shadow as Annabeth Chase went past the barrier and into the forest.

Gingerly, as if the barrier was going to explode any second, Percy gingerly took the few steps needed to place him on the wrong side of the border. He turned around, waved the crocodile shabti and his wand around experimentally, then shrugged when nothing happened.

"Come on in?" he offered, "No clue how formal I need to get here."

Jaz carefully stepped through to join him, one hand raised the entire way in caution. A groaning breeze whipped through Sadie's hair. She braced herself for something to explode or an angry Greek god to show up and smite them.

After a few seconds of expectant silence, Julian grinned widely before he, Alyssa, and Sadie all walked through where the barrier once flared whenever they got too close. Once in, Sadie fought the urge to jump from foot to foot on the grass or raise her staff to test the limits of this invite. She had the distinct feeling they were being watched.

She pulled Percy close to her instead, with a wary glance over her shoulder. "Hey. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said as he craned his neck to look around. When Sadie continued to look at him expectantly, he stopped and sighed. "It's. . .it's a lot, but I'm handling it. I swear."

Sadie continued to stare. She remembered the aftermath of the British Museum. She'd avoided a nervous breakdown by virtue of being English and almost being murdered every two hours. She'd also at least had Carter along for the ride, loath as she was to admit it, and Percy to watch their backs. Who did Percy have now, out of the Greek demigods?

Percy looked over his shoulder again before Sadie outlasted him with her stubborn stare. He groaned in defeat. "The thing is. . .I never actually thought my dad was alive, setting aside the whole Greek god thing. Which, don't get me wrong, is wild. But you guys. Amos, Uncle Julius and Aunt Ruby, Brooklyn House. The way I'm hearing it, I never even should've met—"

"You finish that sentence, Perseus Kane, and it's going to take a lot more than Isis to fix what I do to you," Sadie promised fiercely. "You're going to have identity problems? Fine. We'll get you through it. But throw that shit right out of your head. Either Fate meant for you to be one of us, or it just can't deal with the Kanes, and in either case, I'll. . .I'll sic Felix's penguins on your stupid father if that's what it takes for us to keep you. Got it?"

Percy stared at her in awe for a moment, before a smile began to pull at his lips. "Got it. You know—"

"Stop it." Sadie knew that voice. She hated it.

"At this rate, you're going to lose the reputation at home as the bad cop. That was sweet."

"I can and will turn you into a chinchilla—"

"Love you too, Sadie."

Sadie opened her mouth, closed it, and then almost opened it again before she realized the fish jokes she'd be subjected to. Which really wasn't fair, considering the fodder this stupid day was giving her for the future.

"Sod off, Percy." Sadie decided she'd had enough of emotional maturity for the day. "Let's go and meet the rest of this circus."

She should have fought the dragon when she had the chance. When things were much less complicated.


Checking in on their children was Hermes's least favorite aspect of his war duties.

Of course, there was a lot of competition for that awful award: The increasingly futile attempts to deliver messages into Atlantis or the Underworld, more of their children swearing allegiance to Grandfather by the day, fights with the Titans and their Tartarus-damned allies, the constant threat of Typhon, the fact that Hermes's own son would create this war. . .

No one wishing to give the award could say they lacked options.

Hermes had lived for a long time, and picked up more than a few tricks of rather black morality along the way. How to stop caring for his children was not one of them. However, today wasn't the day to consider his many mistakes with Luke Castellan.

"Do you want to know sooner, or later?"

"Why in Father's name would I want to hear more bad news before I have to?" Apollo drawled, his vocal disinterest at odds with his uncharacteristically ruffled demeanor.

But not without reason. Ares had challenged Hyperion to a duel, and Apollo been forced to intercede when Hyperion had some Tartarus-damned ally show up; from what Hermes heard, it had turned hot and Death Valley was larger than it used to be.

"Well, it isn't very bad news from Chiron. Depending. Perhaps it's good news if you're Uncle Poseidon. Maybe." Hermes considered it some more, and decided that council would be a bit more bearable without Apollo would finding a way to convey his shock in haiku, if only to drive up Athena's blood pressure.

"His son's alive. If Chiron is to be believed, Perseus Jackson walked into camp."

If Apollo didn't already have the reflexes necessary to spare him all but the most inevitable of physical embarrassment, Hermes suspected he would've walked into a passing column.

"This wouldn't happen to be the same dead kid Poseidon likes to threaten war over every other solstice? That Jackson seaspawn?"

"The very same. Fifteen years old, eight months out from reaching sixteen, and. . ." Hermes sighed. This was where things would become violently interesting. "Chiron's convinced he's been raised Per Ankh."

Apollo's response to this was foul enough to startle a laugh out of Hermes. He said dryly, "Exactly, yes."

"Just when I'm convinced that this war can't get worse than Artie and her girls being sent to scout Typhon's status. But what do we do with him? Wipe his memories?" Apollo asked hopefully, "The last thing we need a senile Ra on our doorstep, much less now of all damned times."

"It's Horus, actually." Not that the switch in monarch helped matters. As Hermes recalled it—and, to be fair, the last time Hermes had held anything resembling a civil conversation with Horus, Rome's vicar had an army mucking around in Byzantium—the Egyptian battle god had a nasty temper and pride sensitive enough to put certain members of Hermes's family to shame. "They sorted their hierarchy out again a couple months ago. They even put a mortal back on the Egyptian throne."

"Did you get a family name? For them or the boy?"

"No. Chiron mentioned that they're still trying to convince Jackson he didn't walk into a manticore's den on accident." Hermes scoffed at the naïve idea. "He's hoping he will open up to them if they gain his trust."

Apollo gave a derisive snort. "When was the last time Chiron met an Egyptian magician? Those bastards are trained to fight gods. Jackson's likely waiting for his first opening to burn the place to the ground."

Hermes was suddenly very grateful that Poseidon had been trapped under siege in Atlantis for the last two months, and Hades had been dealing with an uprising from things who would drive anyone mad; perhaps the throne room had a chance of surviving this meeting.


What little foolish optimism Hermes had scrounged up evaporated the moment an Egyptian god strolled into the throne room.

"How are you here?" Hera demanded, ever the first to puff up at an outrage. "This is not your home! Your kind can't even manifest properly on Earth without help."

"I'm surprised. Considering this is your home, I'd expect you to be aware that this isn't a mortal dimension," the deity answered, straightening the cuffs of his crimson silk suit without a care in the world. "As such, I'm given a little more flexibility to come and deliver a message on my king's behalf."

Set. Egyptian Lord of the desert, strength, storms, Chaos—and evil, depending on who was asked. Hermes had never figured that one out. He didn't want to know what Set had done to get past the sky spirits.

"By what right does your king send you?" Then again, Zeus had a way of making Hera seem a diplomat. "The Ancient Laws demand our separation for a reason, especially in times like these."

"Keep the tunic on, Zeusie. Or is it the toga right now?"

Hermes winced as he suddenly pressed in on his mind. He pressed his hands to his temples to combat the sudden headache, a gesture mirrored in variations by most of his fellow Olympians in the room as they tried to stave off their other forms. The strain of the war on them and their children meant they were all more sensitive than usual.

Set gave an innocent grin that fooled no one. "Silly me. I can never keep up with the youngsters and your trends anymore."

Zeus growled as his armor threatened to change styles and his black hair began to bleach into silver-white. His grip tightened on the Master Bolt. "Deliver. Your. Message."

"War has always made such bores of you all. Alas." Set gave a dramatic sigh. "Whatever you're thinking with Perseus, however you imagine to see him happen to fall back under your influence, compliant and with no desire to return to the House of Life: Don't try it."

The last three words came out in both Set's smooth baritone and higher, commanding tenor that rolled throughout the room—Horus trying to emphasize his threat, no doubt. Hermes fought back a sneer in the name of diplomacy. The Egyptians. They hadn't changed since the last time he had seen Thoth.

Athena, who was growing quite literally grayer by the day, had a—not perplexed look, because confusion and the goddess of wisdom didn't combine—but a facial expression that indicated the facts before her didn't align. "My Lord Set, I must admit to curiosity. None of you are fond of our children, to say the least. I would think Poseidon's son would be no different."

Ares was much more blunt. "Why don't you hate him?"

"Oh, we despise him," Set said cheerily, "Gave my best shot at killing the brat three years ago. I came very close, and have been far from the last to try. My darling wife has spent the last couple months plotting his murder, I believe. Something about a giant snake."

Set laughed to himself, but none of the Olympians took the obvious bait; the air temperature continued to drop as a symbol of Zeus's displeasure, Aphrodite—always sensitive to the emotions of the council—looked positively murderous, and Hermes supposed it was too much for Jackson to have spent the last decade not entangling himself in the affairs of the wrong gods.

"The thing is, Zeus, darling? As much as we all hate him?" Set let the question hang in the air for a moment, a smug grin contorting his cruel features. "We hate all of you even more. Don't think we forgot that little stunt with the Ptolemaic line."

"The Ptolemaic line," Zeus gritted out, "was not our doing."

Set gave a mocking chuckle. "Of course. But someone gave that idiot girl the idea to try and host Isis, and any magician with a brain at the time knew better."

Hermes could feel Apollo fuming, his hot rage offsetting their father's effect on the room; his brother had quite liked Cleopatra VII, had admired her cleverness and charisma. If she hadn't been so busy with Caesar and then Antony before dying, Hermes suspected he would've made an effort at romancing the queen himself.

"None of this has been a new argument since the turn of the last millennia. You're not explaining why none of you blasted the brat into the great beyond and been done with it," Dionysus pointed out, looking sour—which could have stemmed from his annoyance that Perseus Jackson seemed intent on making all their lives even more difficult, or was simply a side-effect of his recent tangle with Hecate. "Or why you won't let us wipe his memory and take him back."

"My dear Lord Dionysus, while under most circumstances we'd be thrilled to get rid of the stench of Greek, the boy holds both strategic value and is a member of the House of Life. It's just not done. Often," Set added, as an afterthought. "It's not done often."

The thought of joining Artemis out west was looking more tempting by the second. Or perhaps Hades—the Fates knew Poseidon had little time and even less patience for any of his fellow Olympians, the past decade—would be willing to let Hermes battle whatever had crawled out of the Pit.

"Now, I believe you have plenty to discuss amongst yourselves. War against daddy dearest, finally finding your lost toys, a message from the pharaoh, managing your. . .double act," Set said with a curl of the lip. "Though I must say, all of you are much more pleasant when you're not up on the Trojan horse."

Every Olympian in the room flinched; Set grinned, then disappeared in a great whirl of red sand and lightning before any of them could do more than recover and threaten him in Greek or Latin—whichever they could manage at the moment. His last words echoed throughout the room as Mercury bared his teeth.

"Oh, yes. I think this is going to be very fun."


Percy suspected a tour of a camp for Greek demigods would've been a lot less depressing in normal times.

Annabeth Chase had been quick to pry him away for what she'd claimed was a proper introduction to Camp Half-Blood, leaving the four magicians with a stunned Drew Tanaka and Chiron in the Big House. She was even an excellent tour guide, Percy had to admit; he could've done without the thorough explanations of why and how different parts of camp had been blown up.

Or her enjoying herself far too much as she explained the apparent Athena-Poseidon rivalry, and why Percy wasn't getting any surprise siblings any time soon.

Still. Things could've been worse. Percy wasn't convinced Annabeth didn't want to kill him.

At the edge of the forest by the armory—a shed as big as one of the cabins—Annabeth stopped at the door and mid-explanation about Greek demigods' weaponry, her hand hovering over the door handle. After a moment of silence, she abruptly turned back around to face Percy.

"I didn't tell you the whole truth at the Big House," Annabeth admitted, her face grim. "I wanted to give you a better idea of what camp and your heritage look like, but like Chiron said, you need to make an informed choice soon, and that means you need to know the Great Prophecy. Unfortunately. I didn't want to do it with the magicians around."

Percy wasn't sure why he expected anything less from her at this point. "Gee, look less enthusiastic about telling me anything, I dare you."

"It's not a joke," she snapped, "We've had spies in this camp before, and none of us have been around you long enough to know how you're going to react."

"I thought you didn't trust me," Percy reminded her.

Annabeth shook her head. "I don't. But there's a difference between not trusting someone who may be a spy and not trusting someone who doesn't even know what side they're on."

"Great. Love it." He found a comfortable-looking rock and sat down on it, carefully placing the crocodile shabti besides him, keeping an eye on Annabeth and biting back any more remarks about distrust."As an idiot who doesn't know anything, do I get this world-ending prophecy if I ask nicely?"

He watched Annabeth's grip flex around her knife, and upped his chances of being stabbed by the end of this conversation to about forty percent. She took a deep, controlled breath before nodding. "You do. A half-blood of the eldest gods, shall reach sixteen against all odds—"

"Eldest gods being kids of Kronos?" Percy clarified, "But you showed me Demeter's cabin, where a bunch of people definitely live. Couldn't her kids be eligible?"

"Yes, no, and because gendered terminology," Annabeth rattled off, her glare sharpening, "Now shut up. As I was saying, it then goes—

And see the world in endless sleep,

The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap.

Percy gaped.

Oh.

Annabeth continued. Her voice hard with restrained emotion, she finished, "A single choice shall end his days. . .Olympus to preserve or raze."

That. . .explained a lot.

Percy was pretty surprised by much was encompassed by a lot. He stared at Annabeth, waiting for her to add anything, any kind of escape clause that made the whole thing sound less. . .doomsday-ish. Both on a general world-saving level and personal Percy-saving one.

Annabeth stared back at Percy, pity turning her eyes soft for the first time.

Percy hated it. He leaned forward, shoving his face into his hands as he failed to think anything past the loop of shall end his days, Olympus to preserve or raze, shall end his days, Olympus to preserve or raze—

Fuck. Sadie and Carter were going to flip their shit.

"I guess you really didn't want anyone else knowing this for a reason, huh," Percy finally said. His voice was raspy, like he'd been screaming for hours, and the rest of him felt numb, like his body was slowly turning to stone.

Shall end his days. Olympus to preserve or raze. He never would've thought a snake destined to swallow the sun looked so good.

Then again, he considered. He remembered pretty well how that ended.

Also then again, Percy had effectively died in the process, so maybe not the best example after all.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Percy said through his fingers, his words muffled, "You didn't write the stupid thing."

Annabeth tilted her head as she studied him. "Do you want to tell them?"

"What are the chances it's not my soul getting reaped?"

It was the first time he'd seen Annabeth Chase look anything less than completely sure of herself, as she tipped her head back to study the sky.

"They're not zero," she answered after a second of thought, which was more than Percy had expected. "But Percy, you have to know, it is likely you may have to—"

"Yeah, yeah. Worst comes to worst, you have my permission to kill me to save the world." Annabeth whipped her head down to stare at him in shock. Percy raised a sardonic eyebrow. "What? It's not my first rodeo, and if you guys lose this thing, I don't think the consequences are gonna be kept to Manhattan. I don't want to die, Chase. Kinda want to graduate high school. But—"

"You want your family and friends alive more," Annabeth completed for him, her eyes widening in understanding.

Percy nodded with a tight, bitter smile. "My therapist says I have a loyalty problem. And you seem like you won't have to think too hard about stabbing someone to save the world."

"Don't worry, I won't." She didn't sound particularly happy about it, but Percy suspected this wasn't the first time she had thought about this scenario.

"I don't think I should be saying thank you, so. . ." Percy trailed off, considering the consequences if anyone found out. "Promise me one thing about this prophecy, okay? One thing, then we pretend this conversation never happened."

He was man enough to recognize the depressing comedy to be found in his switched roles with Carter and Sadie. More importantly, he understood some of their decisions a bit more, too.

Having the world rest on your ability not to fuck up your decisions was terrifying. Everything about this day was terrifying.

"That depends. What do you want?"

"Don't tell anyone from Brooklyn's side of things about the prophecy. Not Sadie, Jaz or, hell, Carter, Zia, or Amos, if you meet them," Percy rambled, "Or any Egyptian gods that decide to get up in my business. If I live, they don't need to worry, and if I die. . .I dunno. You're the wise girl. Think of something clever, tell them it was my idea."

He didn't remember too much about the actual swallowing by Apophis or the aftermath involved. What he did remember, the days when everyone grey and drained because they'd all been worrying over him during the , were engraved on his brain. The thought of repeating that but worse and for months—to say nothing of anything they might try to stop it—scared Percy more than any prophecy outlining his possible death.

He was the demigod. If Annabeth was telling the truth, he was the one about to have everyone and their mother after him because his dad was a god or they were afraid of the prophecy. Not them.

Percy would never forgive himself if something happened to his family or one of the anklebiters.

"I don't make a habit of condoning plagiarism," Annabeth informed him, her lips quirked. "But I'll make an exception in this instance, all things considered. You have my word on my life. They'll never hear it from me."

"Thank you," Percy said quietly. "Really. It means a lot to me."

Annabeth's face was unreadable. "No problem. I won't pretend it's easy. You're not the first prophecy candidate I've seen made a choice about this."

"Not the first?" Percy echoed, "And what happened to them?"

"First one was some daughter of Zeus," Annabeth said, the ice in her tone catching Percy by surprise. "She chose to leave us and the prophecy behind. She's now immortal and serving Artemis. The next was a daughter of Hades. Bianca. She was killed a year later."

Percy blinked. He tried to think of something to say that wasn't a question about just how close she and the daughter of Zeus had been.

"Then there was N—a son of Hades. Bianca's full brother. We thought it would be him, eventually, but we have no idea if he's even alive right now, and clearly, you were gallivanting around Brooklyn the entire time, so I doubt it's him."

"I wasn't gallivanting—"

"You weren't here."

"Was I supposed to have been here to help you?" he asked, exasperated.

"Yes," Annabeth snarled, turning around to jab her finger at his chest. "You were."

She glared at him for a second longer, her chest heaving and looking desperately like she wanted to say more. Percy wondered when the war had begun for her. She couldn't have been much older than he was, if at all. When had the Greek demigods declared Annabeth Chase their general?

Annabeth closed her mouth hard enough for Percy to hear the soft clack of teeth. She turned on her heel, bringing her attention back to the shed. "Now. I wanted our tour finished here for more reasons than two."

And making it clear their conversation about the prophecy was officially over. Percy would play along.

"Let me guess: Athena's also always a multi-tasker?" he asked, remembering Annabeth's earlier smug comment, sometime between explaining what Celestial Bronze was and her own preferred fighting tactics, about how her mother's children always had a plan.

It would've been a smile on anyone else's face; the look on Annabeth's face was too wolfish. "You're catching on, Seaweed Brain."

Percy tripped over the steps as he followed her into the shed. "I'm sorry, Seaweed Brain?"

"Yes. Your brain is made of it. Mom thinks it's hereditary in Poseidon's children."

He nearly asked if she was joking, but his attention was snatched by the weapons around him, with swords and spears hung on the walls, shields and guns stacked in corners, and nearly every single one either clearly seeing very good upkeep, or a lot of battle.

Percy walked past a broadsword covered in some distinctly not-red blood and swallowed. Definitely the second option.

The shed having passed Annabeth's quick inspection, she turned her focus back on him. She looked him up and down with a clinical gaze. "Any weapons experience? Swords, knives, bow and arrow?"

"Khopesh and sword the most, but not a lot of either," Percy admitted. Annabeth's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of a khopesh. "Sickle-shaped sword. I've been taught more hand-to-hand stuff. Magic and swords don't mix a lot unless you can summon an avatar. If you're in close quarters, punching your opponent is a lot more useful than summoning a knife."

Annabeth looked interested against her will. "Can you summon an avatar?"

Percy snickered. "Gods, no. That would require me not being the worst magician on the face of the planet. Or the Egyptian gods not hating my guts."

"No idea why they would," she said drily, "Is your lack of skill due to demigod status, lineage, or lack of study?"

"First one," Percy said immediately. Pharaoh's blood was key to safely following the path of the gods, but there was a reason the House of Life had banned the path of the gods and then chugged along just fine for two thousand years. "Definitely, definitely the first one."

There were a lot of explosions in the past couple years that could attest to that.

"Mmmm. I wonder. . ." Annabeth began to mutter around herself as she rooted around, before she pulled something out from between a pair of twin axes longer than Percy's left arm and what looked like a retrofitted flamethrower. She turned around to Percy, pointing at him in warning. "Just in case. Like I said earlier in the forges, it's for Greek monsters and non-humans only."

She held her hand out, revealing a cheap ballpoint pen.

Or that was what it looked like; Percy knew better than to assume a pen would be left lying around in a shed with enough weaponry to outfit a small army of demon hunters. He took it from Annabeth and began to inspect it with both hands.

It felt. . .he didn't know. There was an undercurrent to whatever magic the pen had. It felt right in his hands.

"Let me guess," he said slowly, "Secret magic sword?"

"Fast learner," Annabeth remarked, in a tone that Percy couldn't decipher. "Do you see magic items a lot?"

"You learn how to identify them or you get turned into a goat," Percy said with a shrug—and the air of someone who'd witnessed said goat transformation firsthand.

It was probably for the best that Annabeth pressed past that. "Greek xiphos, typically wielded with one hand. Treat it with respect. Its name is Anaklusmos. "

The translation of the Greek word came to Percy immediately. "Riptide."

He uncapped the pen and jerked back when it transformed into a glowing, leaf-shaped bronze blade. Percy experimentally adjusted his grip, memory of brief lessons from Bast on how to hold a sword guiding him.

"Chiron hasn't told me much, but I do know that sword was in your father's hands at some point," Annabeth explained, "I think it wouldn't be a bad weapon for you. If you lose it in battle, it'll return, and you only need to touch the cap of the pen to the tip of the sword to close it."

Percy did just that, shoving the pen into the same pocket as the crocodile shabti, and they left the shed in time to see the last scarlet rays of the dying sunset. They didn't go back to the Big House immediately, though Percy didn't doubt that Sadie was raising all kinds of hell there. Annabeth didn't seem eager to leave the quiet silence of the forest's edge and Percy. . .Percy wasn't as eager to go back to Brooklyn as he probably should have been.

He had questions, first off. Gods, so many questions. And second, this camp, this Ren Fair knock-off camp that was clinging to Long Island by a sheer refusal to die—it felt familiar. Not like he'd been here before. But like Percy had finally found a pair of boots that fit him for the first time in years, where nothing pinched at the edges.

Son of Poseidon. It was a shame Desjardins was dead, Percy thought. He would've loved to have seen the former Chief Lector's face when he was told that.

"You're all taking this easily," Annabeth observed, cocking her head to look at him. "I'm not the only ones who learned other gods exist, and people tend to freak out whenever their parentage really hits them."

"Same thing happens with our initiates," Percy agreed, thoughtful. "But honestly? I'm weirded out, but I'm mostly okay. It explains too much, I think, for me to try and be shocked. I've never really fit in with magicians."

"You seem to get along with your adopted cousin and friends all right," Annabeth pointed out. There was a raw, jagged edge to her words that Percy figured they were all better off pretending wasn't there.

"Well, yeah. It's not that, though. I've just never. . .fit. Not in the House of Life. They don't care—" Percy almost laughed as he recalled Sadie's threats from earlier. "—but it's not going away, you know what I mean? I'm surrounded by people I love, but I'm not there there. And we all pretend I am."

"I've been acquainted with the feeling." Annabeth was staring straight ahead at the sunset now. "But people are still relying on you, aren't they? You need to lead and protect them."

Percy nodded, a sinking feeling in his chest."Which is why I have to get this right. I can't go back, can I?"

"No. Not without attracting an obscene amount of powerful monsters. I've. . .I've seen it happen before." Annabeth's gray eyes were firmly focused on the setting sun, but Percy could see them shining with wet silver. "I can't let you do it in good conscience. For this camp or for your family."

It wasn't that Brooklyn House wasn't defended. The mansion was as heavily warded as it reasonably could be, without kicking Bast out or making it difficult for people to leave. It was that Percy knew the size of the threats Annabeth was talking about—and that he'd witnessed multiple times just what they were capable of doing to his home.

There were children in that house. Children Percy had been charged to protect. Maybe he could've convinced himself to keep his distance from this place, go back to Brooklyn if it was just him, Carter, and Sadie.

But Percy didn't know whether he could live with himself if any of his students were hurt.

"Okay. I'll do it." Percy had the distinct feeling he had just jumped off a cliff. "I'll stay here for a while, and you can give me the demigod edition of Saving The World For Dummies. Anyway, it's not like everyone won't be glad they won't have to deal with my cooking for a bit, or—what?"

A funny little smile had crossed Annabeth's face. "Nothing. You're. . .you're something else, Percy. Just for future reference: Is Jackson, Kane, or both? Or neither?"

Percy was fully prepared to say Kane before he met Annabeth's thoughtful gaze and stopped.

Both was a mouthful that was reserved for legal documents and Sadie at her most sarcastic. Kane was a name he most often used in daily life and when he was trying to invite trouble of the Egyptian kind, proving himself a magician.

But he wasn't, was he? Not here, at least.

"Jackson," he decided, "I—I'm not sure. But it feels right."

("His name. . .is—")

"If that's what you want," Annabeth remarked, noncommittal. The look on her face was wry and almost warm. For once, Percy could believe she was supposed to be his age.

"Welcome back, Percy Jackson."