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Notes and Etymology
Day-Fire – A kenning used to refer to the sun.
Trygve Halvardsson – Odin's Rest, 889 CE
Trygve stalked his way through the midnight streets of Odin's Rest. For hours he had scoured the city in search of his errant general, and for hours he had gone empty-handed. The hunt was proving to be as frustrating as it was dull, and his dour mood only worsened with each passing failure. Were it not for the importance of the matter at hand, he might've abandoned his search in favor of his bed's warmth hours ago.
Damned to boredom as he was, Trygve could do little else but trudge onwards. His bootsteps – sounding out like the most tedious of melodies – threatened to lull him to sleep with each passing moment, but he resisted with all his might. Odin's Rest was a large place and his search had so far proven fruitless, but still he maintained hope that he would taste success before the city felt the light of morn.
As he traversed the silent alleys and wandered passed slumbering homes, a rhythmic pounding noise began to draw him in. It was subtle at first – scarcely louder than a wind-carried whisper – but as he drew closer, the noise gained definition. The seemingly erratic rhythm developed a clear cadence, and the pounding noise identified itself as the resounding clang of steel on steel. He easily recognized the music of hammer and steel after so many years in Odin's Rest. Such cacophony could only mean that a smith was working the forge in the dead of night. How curious.
He closed on the smithy with renewed vigor, hoping with every part of himself that his search would soon come to an end. When he reached the entrance to the forge, he could feel the extreme heat radiating from within. Never in his life had he felt such an intense hot, nor had he heard such a vigorous hammer swing. There was no doubt in his mind then that he had found his brother at long last.
Sure enough, the first thing he saw when he entered was Percy hunched over an anvil hammering away at red-hot steel. Trygve shoved down the self-satisfaction that threatened to take him and returned his focus to the purpose of his visit. This conversation had waited far too long, and he would not let Percy weasel his way out of it any longer. He had questions that needed answering, and he would not rest until he was satisfied.
"You were missed at the funeral." Trygve started. "People asked questions. Concerns were raised."
"Damn the jarls and their concerns."
"It's not just the jarls who were worried, Percy… Why didn't you come?"
Percy's hammer stopped mid-swing, and the superheated steel before him seemed to burn even brighter in that moment.
"Why does it matter if I was there? I cannot resurrect the dead, Trygve."
"No, but you can honor them, and she would've wanted you there."
"You don't know a damn thing about what she would've wanted. She's dead, Trygve, and the last thing she needs is us coddling her corpse. The same goes for each man on every pyre we burn."
"So, what do you propose then? That we let them all rot? That we deny them their final chance at dignity before the afterlife?"
"There's no such thing!" Percy snapped. "I've killed thousands of men, and none of them have died with any dignity. If you want your men to be at peace, if you want… If you want her to be at peace, it's not a funeral that you need. It's vengeance."
"And this is how you get it?" Trygve challenged. He swept his gaze over the smithy, eyebrows raised accusingly. "By spending your nights forging an axe you don't even need? You're not avenging anyone, Percy! You're just running from the fact that she's gone!"
Percy slammed his hammer down with a roar of frustration. He gave Trygve a look of utter contempt as he grabbed the cherry red axe head with his bare hands. Trygve's eyes widened in panic, but Percy didn't even flinch as the scalding metal sizzled against his flesh. Trygve watched on in complete disbelief as Percy lugged the axe head to the quench bucket and dunked it in… Was that?
Crimson liquid sloshed and hissed as Percy cooled the scorching metal. The stench of burning blood ravaged Trygve's nostrils, and steam tinged with red took to the air. Percy's eyes didn't leave the vat of blood, but Trygve could feel the intensity of his hatred burning far hotter than the superheated forge. It was an oppressive feeling, and for the first time in a long time, Trygve felt genuinely afraid of his brother.
"You remember the old legends, don't you?" Percy asked, voice unnaturally dark. "It is said that a weapon forged from the bones of your enemies and quenched in their life-blood will be tempered far beyond normal means. It will create a steel that kills faster and more painfully than any other metal could ever hope to."
"Percy, you didn't…"
"I did."
Percy wrenched his hands from the pool of blood, revealing the cooled bone-steel axe head. It was adorned with intricately carved patterns, and written across the top in carefully etched runes, one word stood large and proud. Kvelja. Torment.
"With this axe, I will do more than just avenge Liv's death. I will return the pain they put her through ten-fold. The English scum will weep in fear when they see my steel glint, and they will tell their children stories of the grim reaper who holds damnation at his fingertips. I will slaughter every last one of them, and when their blood reddens their rivers and soils their fields, I will bring you their king in a thousand pieces. Vengeance is coming, Trygve, and neither you, nor the Saxons can stop it now."
Perseus Thrall-Born – Portcestre, 890 CE
The walls of Portcestre stood tall and proud over the churning waters of the English Channel. Percy could see Saxon soldiers milling about atop the ramparts, and he could feel their fear permeating the air. They knew his fleet sat in their harbor, and it was no secret what happened to cities that faced Perseus Thrall-Born's rage.
Acke, as always, observed silently from Percy's side. His loyalty had only grown more solid with each passing day, and Percy was relying on that fact for the coming hardships. He had no disillusions about the path the war would soon take, and he would need a man willing to disregard everything else for the sake of a vendetta. Acke would be that man. A fantastic soldier and an even better friend until justice was served or death took them both.
Unlike Acke, his men were beginning to grow restless. For almost a day now they had lazed in the Saxons' harbor, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. It was only natural that his men were eager for battle. He felt much the same, but in war patience was paramount. The carnage would have to wait for a while longer yet.
One of his men, Bendt, had been particularly vocal about his yearning for battle. Even now, as the sun kissed the horizon and its light painted the sea with glittering hues of pink and orange, the man continued to lament his boredom. Normally Percy would encourage such enthusiasm, but today, with such a tantalizing opportunity sitting before them, he could afford no itchy fingers.
"Look at them up there!" He heard Bendt shout. "Cowering before the battle even begins! How much longer must we wait before we put them to the sword?"
"That's more than enough." Percy called over his shoulder. "You know as well as I do that it is best to attack under the cover of nightfall. Better yet with a storm at our backs."
"I've killed scores of Saxons with the sun high overhead." Bendt countered. "And I see no storm brewing."
"Abandon your doubts, Bendt. I have it on good authority that a storm will come. And besides, the message we must deliver is one best sent in darkness."
"But–"
"Still your lips, Bendt!" Acke snapped. "You will have patience, or you will swim to the walls."
Bendt swallowed his tongue and left Percy to his waiting game. Percy stood patiently, watching the horizon with muted thoughts as he waited for the sun to set. It felt like an eternity, but eventually the day-fire stooped below the horizon. As darkness took the earth and the stars dominated the cosmos, Percy expanded his focus far beyond the confines of his longship.
He first pushed his senses skyward, forcing the water in the air to condense into clouds so thick they had no choice but to shed their tears upon the earth. He then turned his focus to the air itself, pulling the water in the air so forcefully he summoned gales as mighty as a breath from Jörmungandr's maw. Finally, he reached out to the ocean itself and conjured a tidal wave so large it mingled with the stars.
Shouts of alarm sprouted up from his men, but they were nothing compared to the terrorized shrieks he heard echoing from the Saxon walls. Their fearful pleas only redoubled when the wave passed harmlessly over the vikingr fleet before continuing its advance. Then, as their horror-driven prayers fell on their false God's deaf ears, the wave struck home.
Trillions of gallons of water landed all at once. Men were thrown from the walls, and those not immediately killed by the impact suddenly found themselves trapped in a city-wide bog. He felt them struggling desperately for the surface, but he didn't allow a single soul to reach their precious air. A city once filled with life had been reduced to a field of gurgled pleas for God in only a few moments, and he had not a sliver of mercy for those slain.
"Aegir lends us his favor!" Percy shouted, voice so loud it carried to every ship in the harbor. "Allow us to return it tenfold!"
Vikingr cheers echoed across the sea, and as one the fleet began its advance. The waters aided them at Percy's behest, carrying them swiftly to the base of Portcestre's walls. His men launched grappling hooks towards the top of the wall, and with no Saxon's left alive to cut the ropes, scaling the wall was child's play.
Percy was the first to reach the ramparts, but Acke and the men were soon to follow. When they looked over the wall and into the city, they were met by one of the most glorious sights Percy had ever laid eyes upon.
The streets of the city were blanketed by a sheet of water three feet deep, and the corpses of countless Saxon men floated atop the briny pool like giant flesh lily pads. Percy couldn't help but grin wickedly. Never in his life had he been more pleased with his handiwork than he was in that moment.
"By the gods." He heard one of his men mutter. "An entire city, gone just like that?"
"Not quite." Percy pointed to the far side of the city, where another wall had warded off the brunt of the tidal wave. "The citadel wasn't touched."
"Do we march on it?" Another asked.
Percy nodded.
"But the city has already been decimated enough as it is. All that would've survived are a few nobles and some chambermai–"
"We came to send a message!" Percy snapped. "The Saxons think us weak! They think us unable to avenge our comrades. We came to show them that it is they who should be afraid! That we will take ten of them for each of ours! There is no other way… Before daybreak, they all must die."
Perseus Thrall-Born – Odin's Rest 890 CE
None dared to stand in Percy's path as he stormed through the streets of Odin's Rest. They knew not where he was headed, but they recognized the fury which carried him there. To try and stop him now would be to throw yourself before a horde of raging draugr. Though the Bjornar were a brave bunch, Percy met none with the stones to act so foolishly until the moment he reached his destination.
"I'm sorry sir, but King Trygve has asked that we bar all entry to the council room. I can't let you in."
Percy blinked at the man as disbelief temporarily wrestled control from his wrath. He recognized the man as one of his own. A poor soldier but a good man, with all the courage and none of the skill. And now here he was, placing himself between the King and the most dangerous man in all of England.
"Move aside, Vetle. I have business with the King that cannot wait."
"King Trygve said that none have business with him today, especially you. I'm sorry, but you must wait."
"Orders be damned! I saw Saxon royal banners in the harbor! If you don't let me in right now–"
"You will wait." Vetle interrupted. "There is no other choice. I was told that if I let you in that room, my family and I will face the blood eagle."
Percy's eyes narrowed. He could think of only one matter that would incite such paranoia in Trygve. One foolish plan that would cause him to bar his own brother from a meeting. He had to act before Trygve made a mistake that could not be undone.
"I'm sorry, Vetle." Percy murmured.
"For wha–"
Percy grabbed Vetle's head and slammed it into his knee. Vetle was unconscious before he could even react to the grapple. He hit the ground with a thud, and Percy stopped only long enough to ensure the man still breathed before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.
He barged in with a heavy, booted kick that sent the door flying off its hinges. Three heads swiveled to him as one, and as he saw their faces, his worst fears were realized. There before him sat Trygve and two men dressed in purple and orange. His heart sank like a rowboat before Aegir's rage.
"You dare?" Percy hissed. "You treat with them after what they've done?"
He stomped his way to Trygve's desk. The two demigods tried to stop his approach, but they were no match for him. The first walked throat-first into Percy's open palm, where he was quickly relieved of his larynx. The second man had just enough time to shower in his compatriot's blood before Percy had snapped his neck.
Trygve rose, face red with outrage. Percy put him back on his ass with a single punch. When he recovered from the blow, Trygve felt at his lip with trembling fingers. He came away with crimson-stained flesh. He looked at his hand with unadulterated shock for a moment before spitting out a glob of blood. Then, Percy's brother of ten years was on his feet again, eyes angrier than Percy had ever seen them.
"Are you mad? You've just killed two dignitaries under a banner of peace!"
"And you were brokering peace with the Saxons!"
"Do you think I wanted this, Percy?" Trygve shouted. "You've given me no other choice!"
"It's my fault, is it? You plot to hand over your crown to a psychopath, and you dare to blame me? It's your mind that has gone."
"Really?" Trygve challenged. "That's what you think? After what you've turned this 'war' into? There's no honor anymore! No order! You and Acke have twisted our fight for freedom into something sickening!"
"We've killed thousands of Saxons! Is that not the point?"
Trygve slammed his hands on his desk. The bang echoed through the room, and Percy could see the wood beginning to splinter in Trygve's death grip.
"But not just soldiers! Women and children, Percy! Farmers and merchants and hobbling old men! Your bloodlust is insatiable! You're not just fighting a war, you're massacring an entire people! And once you started, the Saxons did too! You carve a path of death through England, and with each city you destroy, two of ours go with it! We're dying faster than you're killing, and you're too damn angry to see it!"
"And you're too much of a coward to do what must be done." Percy snarled.
Trygve let out a roar of anger, and with strength far greater than any mortal man should've been capable of, he hoisted his desk and threw it against the nearest wall. It crumpled on impact, showering the room with shrapnel. Trygve's hulking form heaved as he drew in heavy breaths before finally, he spoke again.
"Maybe." He murmured, voice dangerously low. "But my cowardice will save countless lives. I will not sacrifice my people to avenge just a single life."
"It's not just a life." Percy breathed. "It's Liv."
Trygve nodded.
"I know. Believe me Percy, I know. Gods know I loved her too, but even she would agree that her life is not worth the lives of every Bjornar left."
"Then even she would be wrong." Percy growled. "You make your peace with this butcher king if you must, but I will not rest until Cynefrith tastes my axe, or death takes me. So, unless you're willing to swing the sword…"
Percy opened his arms and waited, but Trygve didn't move. He just looked at Percy with the most morose eyes Percy had seen on him since Halvard's death.
"I didn't think so." Percy spat.
Trygve flinched, but Percy didn't care. There was nothing anymore but his vengeance. Brothers and broken people be damned. He gave Trygve one last look of disgust, and then he was gone.
Perseus Thrall-Born – ?, 2017 CE
Percy woke up to a mouth full of sand and the sloshing of a rising tide. An intense, pounding pain sat imprisoned in his ribcage, where it battered endlessly against its inescapable cell. His eyes cracked open, only to be seared by the harsh sun hovering high overhead. From his head to his toes, every part of himself yearned to lay in the warm sands forever. Against his own wishes he forced himself to his feet and discovered… Paradise?
An endlessly expanding ocean sprawled out before him. Wave after glittering wave lazed towards the pristine shoreline. Mangrove trees soaked up the enriching seawater, and the sky overhead bathed their leaves in the purest rays of sunlight Percy had ever experienced. Opposite the ocean, a sea of rolling green hills extended to a distant wall of trees so lush they hardly looked real. He had no idea where he was, but one thing was certain. It sure as shit wasn't Hale's factory.
He immediately reached out with his senses, hoping to figure out where he was. Strangely, he couldn't feel even a single drop of water. He knew the water was there – hell, the ocean was right in front of him – but his powers didn't seem to know it. It was as if the world had been turned to tv static, and now all he got when he focused was a power-blinding soup of nothingness.
"No powers." He muttered. "Not a good sign."
Even worse than his apparent weakness, he found himself eager to take up roots in this strange place. He'd hardly been awake a few minutes and already he could see a home here. A house where the hills met the sand, a dock where he could fish and dangle his feet in the water, and even a little parasol on the beach to hide him from the sizzling sky. All of it seemed perfect, and that's what most worried him. In the godly world, nothing set off alarm bells quite like comfort did.
Normally, he would relish the chance to face some unknown danger, but unfortunately, he didn't have the time. This wasn't Valhalla, Fólkvangr, Hades, or any other life after death he recognized. That meant he was still alive, and if he somehow survived the explosion, then dollars to donuts Adrian did too. The sooner he got back to Camp Half-Blood and finished what he started, the better.
Despite his sudden lack of hydrokinetic abilities, Percy didn't hesitate before throwing himself into the sea. Depowered or not he was a son of Aegir, and the ocean was his home. Or at least that's what he thought until the first wave hit him.
Getting struck by a wave and actually moving because of it was an experience so foreign Percy's mind could hardly process it. It had been so long since water had resisted his will, he'd almost forgotten it was possible. And now, as he dipped his hand into the water and began to swim, he realized that this wasn't going to be the cakewalk he'd envisioned. He had to fight with the sea. Struggle to gain any ground like some weak-willed mortal. It was sickening.
Nevertheless, Percy was nothing if not determined. Driven by his resilience, he forged a slow and steady path through the churning waters. He was confident that his powers would return to him after he escaped his paradisical prison. All he needed to do was swim… And swim… And swim…
He labored on for what felt like days. It was a task that was, impossibly, almost as tedious as it was arduous. The sea itself seemed to be working against his escape, and his mind fought against him too, but still he pressed on. He swam until the beach was a strip of land in his rearview. He swam until it was but a blip on the horizon, so small it was indiscernible from a low-swooping sea bird. He swam until the island was out of sight, and then he swam some more.
With the island gone from view, he felt his power begin to seep back into his veins like fluids through an IV drip. As his strength returned, he immediately redirected his focus to the water all around him. He pushed with all his might, losing himself in the all-encompassing control he had been so sorely missing. His strength increased with each passing second, and so too did his speed in the water. Unfortunately, his focus couldn't quite keep up with his progress. Distracted as he was by the thrill of his escape, Percy didn't notice the obstacle directly in his path until he rocketed face first into it
The impact sucked the wind from both his lungs and his sails. His disappointment didn't end with a simple bruised ego though. When he recovered from his stupor, he looked up to a sight as unbelievable as it was deflating. There, no more than a yard from the tip of his nose, a set of footprints stood out in the sand. His footprints.
"What the hell?"
He turned around wildly, hoping desperately that he'd stumbled upon a different deserted island. That those weren't his feet in the sand. When he spotted the same patch of trees and the same rolling hills, he knew his hopes were ill-founded. Somehow, against all odds, a son of Aegir was lost at sea.
His instincts told him it was time to panic, but his logical mind assured him that hysterics would do him no good. He would have to find another way off the island, even if it meant temporarily submitting himself to the tropical forest's mystical allure. With reluctance hindering every step, Percy turned his back on the shore and headed for the hills.
The journey was, quite literally, full of ups and downs. Percy traversed the field quickly, and as the trees grew closer, he could see they were not the edge of a forest at all, but rather the outskirts of a tropical garden. The garden was filled with all manner of plants – most of which he didn't recognize – and looked remarkably well cared for.
The sight of such a meticulously planned and maintained garden filled him with immense relief. A garden like this needed a gardener, which meant he wasn't alone on this godforsaken island. All he needed to do was find his fellow castaway, and perhaps they'd know of a way back to the real world.
He turned his attention away from the smattering of foreign flora, hoping to catch sight of the mysterious stranger. Though he saw no signs of movement among the trees, he did notice a discreet footpath that disappeared behind a low-lying hill. With little else to go off of, Percy followed the dirt through a series of twists and turns that ultimately deposited him at the mouth of a small cave.
When he entered, he was shocked to find that it wasn't much of a cave at all. Instead, it was more like an apartment carved into the stone. There was a kitchen, living quarters, and even a bathroom, all illuminated by glowing crystals that speckled every wall and ceiling in the place. The apartment was as well maintained as the garden but, unfortunately, equally empty.
Resigned to waiting for the owner to return, Percy decided to make himself comfortable on their couch. At best, they would take his relaxed position as a sign he meant no harm. At worst, he would at least be comfy before the fight started.
When his butt hit cushions, he allowed himself to more closely observe the room at large. The longer he looked, the stranger things seemed. After two minutes he noticed that the dishes in the kitchen were cleaning themselves. After five, he saw the end table being dusted by the air. Then, when he finally turned his attention to the coffee table, he noticed the most peculiar thing of all.
A single flower stood tall and proud in an intricately painted vase. It was a beautiful flower, far more foreign and striking than even the plants he had seen in Odin's Garden long ago. It was silver, shimmering, and elegant. It was exactly like a flower Alex had described to him when he recounted a few of his adventures… But it couldn't be… Could it?
Immediately his mind began to put the pieces together. Suddenly his prison was a puzzle, and his friend's past adventures held the answers. Percy recalled Alex mentioning a tropical island, an ocean that wouldn't let him leave, and flowers that shone like the moon. Percy was shooting three for three on that checklist. There wasn't a doubt in his mind. He knew exactly where he was.
Ogygia.
"Gods. Fucking. Damnit."
Perseus Thrall-Born – Ogygia, 2017 CE
Time was a difficult thing on Ogygia. On some days, Percy would wake up only to find that the sun was already setting. On others, he would train for hours before even a single cloud moved an inch. He was eternally tapped in a confounding reality in which the passage of time was measured not in hours or days, but in the slow decline of his sanity.
It was a hard thing to admit, but Percy knew he was going crazy. The island was empty, and though that did wonders for the price of his cave-home's rent, it certainly didn't help his mind. Percy had long had a streak of reclusiveness, but nothing could've prepared him for Ogygia. For the sheer lack of life on the island.
Training had been his outlet at first. It had given him something to focus on when the hours seemed to trickle by like molasses dripping through a pinhole. Unfortunately, that sweet respite only lasted so long. As good a distraction as training was, it largely lost its charm once he started hearing the voices.
They were subtle at first. Just a whisper in his ear when he woke up. A muttered conversation as he practiced his axe swing. Enough to set him on edge, but not enough to genuinely worry him. But once the voices grew shadowy faces, and every moment was plagued by figures lurking in the corner of his vision and speaking words he couldn't quite hear… That's when it started getting to him.
Those damned voices were why he found himself on the beach now, before the sun had even crested the horizon. The voices were quieter here, the shadows not quite as long, and when he dipped his toes in the water, he was often granted the cherishable blessing of silence. Today the voices were annoyingly persistent, and he would do just about anything to get a break from them.
When his feet fell into the surf, he was not afforded the comforting quiet he'd been expecting. Instead, he was struck by an odd feeling. It was a subtle pull – not a whisper, but rather a faint tug that existed solely on the fringes of his psyche – and its gravity held him captive. He tried to fight it, but there was something about this that was different from the specters that had been haunting him as of late. Against his better judgement, he turned and faced the pull.
What he saw was, to put it lightly, the most crushing thing he'd faced in a good long while. There, standing before him, was the ghost of a man long gone from Midgard. A heaping mound of muscles, crimson beard, and smiling eyes that Percy never thought he'd see again. Gone were the void like entities that haunted his every step, as now Percy found himself staring at the ghost of his own brother.
"Trygve." Percy breathed.
The giant of a man smiled.
"In the flesh."
Percy's eyes narrowed. This wasn't real. This wasn't Trygve. This was no reunion. Just his mangled mind talking to itself wearing a ghastly disguise.
"You're not real. You're dead. Have been for a long time."
"Aye, that is true." Fake Trygve agreed. "I've spent many days watching you from the afterlife. It's a damn shame you've spent most of them fucking things up."
Percy recoiled like he'd been struck.
"What are you–?"
"Oh, don't pretend this isn't a conversation we've had a thousand times already. You're unhinged. As reckless as you were back when we were young. Only now the only person left for you to get killed is yourself."
Anger like only a brother could conjure bubbled up within Percy, and before he knew it his fist was heading towards the ghost of his past. Luckily for Trygve, he was only an apparition. When Percy's fist collided, all he met was a cloud of mist.
"He has a point." A new voice said.
Percy whirred on it. This time, it was Acke who stood before him.
"I never thought I'd see the day you preached caution." Percy sniped.
"I'm not talking about caution, Percy. I'm talking about self-preservation. When you and I did what we did, you weren't planning on dying at the end of it. Vengeance was the end goal. Not self-inflicted punishment."
"Punishment?" Percy challenged. "You think I asked Alex to kill me because I wanted to be punished?"
Percy blinked, and then Acke was replaced by another familiar face.
"You think this is about what you asked Alex?" Anna asked.
Her eyes – normally alight with mirth – were deadly serious in a way Percy hadn't seen since the day she first pulled him from the ice.
"What else would it be about?"
"The factory." Anna hissed. "You knew that explosion was coming. You had the time to protect yourself, but you didn't. Why?"
"I didn't–"
"You did. You could've made a water bubble. You could've hidden behind your indestructible shield. Hell, as fast and strong as you are you might've been able to run right through the wall and make it out in time. Instead, you stood there and waited to die like an idiot."
"I don't need this." Percy snapped. He whipped around and marched away from the phantom of his past. "I'm arguing with myself about stupid questions."
"Are they so stupid?" A new voice asked.
The sound of her stopped him in his tracks. Bringing up his brother and his lost friends had been one thing, but her? What sort of sick madness had he been plagued with that he would be haunted by her.
"You know why I do what I do." Percy murmured. "It's been millennia. Is it so wrong that I wish to rest?"
Slender arms reached over Percy's shoulders, encircling him in a hug that was more cloud than human. Still, the sight of her hands around his neck, the feeling of her hair tickling his cheek as she leaned around to whisper into his ear, the scent of her as fresh as it had ever been on his nostrils… All of it was devastatingly real. All of it hurt.
"Everybody wants to rest, Percy." She said. "Not many are willing to die for it."
"I'm sick of waiting. Every fight I hope that I'll finally fail, but… When Hale had me that first time, I thought I would see you again. To have that ripped away from me… When the explosion came, I saw a chance to kill Hale and myself in one move. I decided to take it. Do you truly expect me to regret that decision?"
He didn't even have to look to see her frown. Even after all these years, she was still imprinted on his mind.
"Do you truly expect me to forgive it? Would you accept such foolishness if I stood in your place?"
"No, but–"
"Then don't ask that of me, Percy. We have 'one day', and that should be enough, shouldn't it?"
Percy shook his head as moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes.
"I'm sorry, but no. I've had enough of 'one day'. I want my life back, even if I have to die to get it."
Liv squeezed him and pressed an airy kiss to his cheek. He could hear the sadness in her voice when she next spoke.
"I only ask that before you make this mistake, you think on why first picked up an axe."
And then she was gone, and Percy was alone.
AN: Huzzah. A new chapter for all of y'all. I know it was shorter than we've been averaging on this thing but that's planned. The next chapter is going to be a big boy (with big reveals!), and this one was essentially meant to set the stage for one massive closing act. Anyways, that's all I have to say really. I hope y'all are well, I hope you enjoyed, and until next time,
Peace