November 1945

Dirt was caked under Nico's fingernails. His hands were clammy and cold. His fingers were numb. The ground hard beneath his knees and his pants were damp from melted frost. The park around him was grey with predawn light and thick with fog. Emilie's notebook lay open on the ground next to him. The old rucksack he had brought from camp sat behind him. An old shovel lay on the ground on his other side. He had found the rusted old thing in an alley and it looked like it was about to crumble at any moment.

The trench he had dug was not quite as deep as he had wanted but his arms already felt like worn-out rubber and he had spent too much time in the park already. The sun would rise soon bringing with it coppers and pedestrians who would all do much more than merely question his dishevelled appearance and presence in the park.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a stale sandwich and a full canteen of water. He unwrapped the sandwich and tossed it into the trench.

"Let the dead taste again," he murmured. "Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember." He poured some of the water on top. "Let the dead taste again. Let them rise and taste this offering. Let them remember."

He felt that familiar tug in his stomach. It wasn't as strong as it had been when he had caused the earthquake on the archery field. The journal was unclear on whether or not he had to chant in English or Ancient Greek so he tried both. When he spoke the chant in Greek, the pull grew slightly stronger.

He poured more water into the trench and chanted louder.

"Let the dead taste again. Let them rise and take this offering! Let them remember!"

There was a strong jerk behind his navel. For the briefest of moments, the world was off-kilter. Then it righted itself, just as suddenly. The grave started to bubble. Frothy brown liquid rose to the top like the whole thing was filling with soda. The fog thickened. Dozens of figures began to appear among the trees and shrubbery: bluish, vaguely human shapes.

"Pietro, speak to me!"

A few figures moved forward toward the pit. Nico's heart leapt in his chest. This was it. He had done it. Years of reading and praying and honing his powers had lead to this moment. Pietro had to be among the spirits in the park – he just had to be.

"You are very small to meddle with the souls like this."

Nico swore and sung around.

All of the spectres retreated together into an anxious, murmuring mass.

A tall, dark-robed figure stood behind him. Wings sprouted from his back, with feathers that glimmered in shades of blue, black, and purple. He was lean and muscular, with a regal face and black hair that flowed down his shoulders. Nico thought he was beautiful but in a way that was almost too perfect. He was timeless, remote, like an ancient statue.

"Thanatos?" Nico asked.

The angel inclined his head. "You are correct, child of my master." When Thanatos eyed him, Nico thought he could see straight through his physical form to the soul inside. "This disturbance was felt deep in the Underworld. Your father is not best pleased."

Nico found it in him to stop gawping. "Is he ever pleased?"

Thanatos seemed to think about that for a minute. "Not often," he conceded, "but occasionally." He looked at the huddled spectres. "You summoned more than you intended, I take it."

Nico bit his lip. "I, um… I was looking for a friend."

"A specific friend?" Thanatos asked. "If you are looking for just anyone to befriend I could suggest a number of better places to find one."

"No! I mean, yes. A specific friend. Pietro, we went to school together in Italy. Father said– he told me–" Nico squeezed his eyes shut.

Thanatos withdrew a ledger from somewhere amidst the folds of his thick cloak. "I'm afraid there are quite a lot of 'Pietro's in my ledger. Do you have a surname for this boy? Perhaps an address?"

Nico pried his eyelids open again and willed the tears welling not to fall. "Um… no?"

"Hmm." Thanatos hummed in thought as he paged through the book.

"Oh! Father said he 'advanced his case'. Does that help?"

"Yes, yes it does." Thanatos turned to a page marked by a red tab and jabbed his finger at the book. "There. He would have been… twelve years old? Yes, there's that little red dot, Lord Hades did streamline his case, that's right."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, just that the boy was able to skip the line to enter Asphodel," Thanatos said with a dismissive wave. "Saved the poor child from years of waiting in line. It's easier to just let them start to forget right away – kinder. It can take more than five years to reach the judgement pavilion, you know, and that is once you have managed to cross the River Styx."

"But can I still speak to him?" Nico insisted. "Please? How do I do it?"

Thanatos inspected the trench and the offering Nico had prepared. "This is certainly a good start. Hmm… The grave could be a foot or so deeper; it will make the souls feel a bit more welcome. I would ordinarily say to offer more food but with the strength of your powers that will only result in a hoard. Perhaps try something the specific spirit you are looking for was especially partial to. Did this Pietro have a preference for sweets? I know I myself would be quite easy to summon with the promise of chocolate if I were a spectre anyway. Chocolate is marvellous, don't you agree? The more appetizing the food, the more likely who you are looking for will respond to the summons. Although, most would be hard put to dismiss a summons from a direct child of Hades anyway." The murmurs from the group of ghosts were rising to wails. "Did you consider how you would banish these souls again after the ritual?"

"Oh. I… I guess I didn't really think that far ahead."

"I see." Thanatos waved a hand at the souls. "Back where you belong, do not make me follow you."

The spectres retreated into the trees and eventually vanished.

"I can see that you are serious about contacting this boy. However– well…" he coughed awkwardly. "There is a little note here. This is a bit awkward. It would seem– ahem. Well, Lord Hades has left specific instructions that you are not to contact this spirit in particular. Could I interest you in any others?"

"What? No, I'm not browsing, I'm looking for Pietro! What do you mean I'm not allowed? Hades said I couldn't look for him in the Underworld, he never said anything about summoning!"

Thanatos closed the book and tucked it back away in his cloak. "I do like your tenacity, Nico, but frankly I would prefer it if you didn't incur your father's wrath. He promised me your services as an intern so I can take a vacation one of these decades. If you don't survive long enough to take that position, I am going to be rather out of luck."

"An intern? You aren't going to help me because you want an intern?"

"Well, that and your father does have a bit more clout than you, I'm afraid." Thanatos pulled a small flip notebook from his pocket. "Hmm now let's see… Return souls to the Underworld, check… Tell Nico that Lord Hades isn't happy, check… Yes, I think that's everything. Oh, warn him about future consequences." He looked back up at Nico. "I believe your father's exact threat was that he would make you 'envy each and every soul in the Fields of Punishment' if you ever disobeyed him in this again. There, now that really does seem to be everything I needed to do here."

"And what am I supposed to do now?" Nico demanded. "I try again and Father sends the Furies after me?"

"I would advise you to not try again," Thanatos said helpfully. "Perhaps you would be interested in starting an internship now? I always have extra work for you to do. Unpaid, of course."

"I don't think so," he said. "I need to find Pietro. It– it's just not fair!" Something in his voice cracked. "He shouldn't have died! And he shouldn't have gone to Asphodel! He saved my sister and me."

Thanatos nodded a little sadly. "There is no fairness in death," he said. "That is a lesson I am sure you will learn very quickly, son of Hades." He tilted his head and seemed to stare straight through Nico to his very soul. "You have already begun to learn that lesson, haven't you?"

April 1946

"Up! It's morning."

Nico squirmed under the thick covers. He lay sprawled on his stomach in the massive four-poster bed. His hair was stuck to his cheek with drool. The black duvet was twisted and hanging sideways halfway off of the bed. The mountain of cushions had been dismantled and scattered around the legs of the bed with just one pillow left under Nico's head.

"I said 'up'. There is work to be done."

Nico yelped as the blanket was whisked off of his splayed form without warning. He flipped himself over at and gazed bleary-eyed at the intruder.

Quintus stood over him with arms crossed over his broad chest.

"You should be in the training arena by this time. I still have work to do as well as overseeing your lessons."

Nico groaned and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. The room was lit by the green fires again with licks of red light from the Fields of Punishment coming in through the windows.

"Ugh, what time is it?"

"It is time to wake up," Quintus insisted. "Now out of bed."

Nico slid off of his bed, shuddering as his bare feet hit the cold stone floor. He was still in the clothes he'd worn when he ran from James' apartment. His shoes were under the bed and he knelt to pull them out. He grabbed his backpack from the foot of his bed and pulled out a vaguely fresh pair of socks.

Quintus frowned slightly at his rumpled clothes as Nico tugged his socks and shoes onto his feet. "Let's go," he said.

The sword Nico had stolen from camp was on his new desk and he grabbed it on his way out the door.

Nico's wing of the palace was a quiet one. Since it was mostly unoccupied, the only servants were those cleaning the main corridor and seeing to Nico's own room. Beyond Nico's wing, the palace buzzed with productivity. Skeletal pages and messengers hurried through the halls clutching black envelopes in their bare bone fingers. As Nico and Quintus passed through the entrance hall, a few maids were on their knees scrubbing the bronze floor to a mirror-like shine. Nico even thought he saw Thanatos disappearing around a corner at the opposite end of a corridor with a stack of paper in his arms.

"Does Hades even need servants?" Nico asked Quintus. "Couldn't he do all of this with magic or something?"

Quintus snorted as they left the maids in the entrance hall. "If you suggest to your father that he scrub the floors, I will not be held responsible for the consequences. Of course, he could do it all automatically but it would take his concentration away from more pressing matters. Besides, the souls grow restless without a purpose and finding employment in the Underworld gives them something to do with their eternity. Lady Persephone also seems to enjoy ordering them about which I think makes Lord Hades' life a mite easier."

Nico followed Quintus out the door. "Is it really employment if they aren't actually paid?"

Quintus shrugged. "I don't know if everyone is paid in drachmas or dollars or anything else. My agreement is a simple trade. Charon is paid in some sort of mortal currency, I would assume that it is American dollars. Any other employees likely have their own contracts. I don't interfere in things that aren't my business and I would advise you to do the same."

They had reached the training grounds. The stadium had the look of once being grand but falling into disuse. The main training area was a huge but narrow rectangular stretch of red sand with one of the short ends rounded out into a curve. It was surrounded on three sides by raised benches for spectators with the shortest straight side being the only that did not have any seating. Most of the stadium was dedicated to a running track with the centre left empty for other activities.

Nico followed Quintus into the centre of the stadium. A few weapons racks were lined up at the edge of the centre training area. There were also a couple of practice dummies erected.

"Now, my understanding is that you are believed to be the subject of the Great Prophecy?"

Nico nodded. "That's all I know."

"Then I suppose that we have a lot of work to do. Let's see where you are in your training. Swords are your primary weapon?"

When Nico nodded, Quintus grabbed one of the swords from the rack.

"Draw your sword."

Nico did so and tossed the sheath aside.

"We'll start with a spar, just to see what work there is to be done. I will correct as we go." Quintus nodded at him as Nico readied his stance. "Begin."

Nico struck and Quintus blocked easily. They stepped back and this time Quintus struck first. Nico's arms wobbled as he blocked the blow.

Quintus shook his head slightly. "Stop trying to use your arms against me. We both know that you will not be able to overpower me. Straighten your back, push your hips farther back, shoulders up. There. See how much more secure you are?"

He pushed Nico away and they moved back to their starting positions. "Again."

They continued to practice until Quintus was satisfied that Chiron had at least taught him the basics.

"I can also teach you hand to hand," said Quintus, "and some archery. The bow is not my best weapon but I believe I am well-equipped to teach you the most necessary skills and at least facilitate some practice."

If Nico had thought Underworld training would be anything like Chiron's regimen, he was sorely mistaken. Quintus' training schedule was brutal.

He insisted that Nico arrive for their sessions having already stretched and warmed up his muscles from now on. "An injury will only waste time we do not have," or so Quintus told him. Nico was already fourteen and they had less than two years to prove that he was capable of taking on the prophecy.

During his time hunting monsters on his own, Nico had learned the styles that suited him best on the run. His techniques were sloppy, at least by Quintus' standards, and without thorough correction would only worsen as his body grew and his balance shifted. Nico's fighting style was a mesh of the basics taught by Chiron and dirty street tactics he had picked up from his time in New York. Apparently this was not good enough for Olympus' hero. Everything was retaught. The most basic strikes and parries were drilled into him again and again until Nico could perform them in his sleep.

Quintus and Chiron had both decided that trying to build bulky muscle was a waste of time. Nico was small and slim, it was best to use that to his advantage. They instead focussed on his stamina and speed, building lean muscle and making him quick enough to avoid heavy blows rather than deflect them.

Quintus was a very different sort of mentor than Chiron had been. Chiron was warm and encouraging and allowed each of his students to work at their own pace. Quintus had a hard edge to him and high expectations. His program was methodical and on a brutal timeline. He expected Nico to progress in his training just as Daedalus himself progressed in his projects. His demands always pushed Nico just a little farther than he thought himself capable. But the warm word of praise at every achieved goal made Nico want to please him. He wanted to prove himself, he wanted to earn the sanctuary Hades had given him and the time Quintus had dedicated. And the only way he could do that was by pushing himself to exceed their expectations.

After training, Quintus sent Nico back up to his room while he himself returned to his basement workshop. Nico returned his weapons to their various racks and slipped back into the palace. He thought he could probably find his way back up to his room if he tried, but he had other things on his mind.

He bypassed the front entrance hall and continued out the front gates. None of the skeleton guards made any moves to stop him so he assumed that Quintus' request to stay put was not actually an order and he could get away with it. Probably.

He followed the path from the main gates towards the Judgement Pavilion. Nico knew some of what happened in the Underworld from Emilie's journal. He knew that the Judgement Pavilion was where the souls were judged to decide if they went to Elysium, Asphodel, or the Fields of Punishment. It was staffed by Zeus' demigod sons and could only be bypassed by those who chose the express line to Asphodel themselves rather than taking a chance at Elysium.

The Pavilion itself was a black tent. Nico crouched by the side of the pavilion and peered in through the tent flaps. Inside was a slightly raised judge's bench at which sat three figures in black robes and gold masks. A long line of souls stretched from the entrance of the pavilion all the way back to the River Styx.

A girl with a head of dark russet hair in tight curls stood before the judges. She looked too small to face them on her own. It seemed wrong for her to fend for herself like that. Shouldn't she have a lawyer or someone to defend her?

The judges were deliberating amongst themselves but didn't ask her any questions. It seemed like they were pulling the answers and events directly from the soul. The souls couldn't lie to the judges even if they wanted to.

"Guilty of cowardice," the middle judge was saying, "weakness."

"She is young," said the third judge. "Her mother's life hung in the balance."

"My mother," said the girl. "Where is she? What is her fate?"

The judges regarded her. It was the centre judge who spoke again. "Your mother… an interesting question, the division of fault."

"Yes," said the first judge. "The child died for a noble cause. She prevented many deaths–"

Something grabbed Nico's arm and he was dragged backwards away from the tent. Quintus stood over him, holding his arm in a firm grip. He dropped Nico on the black grass and it crunched beneath him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

Nico scrambled backwards a few more paces. He was half-expecting Quintus to bring out a switch. "Nothing!"

Quintus held out a hand to help pull Nico to his feet. Nico stared at it for a moment. He was pretty sure Quintus was trustworthy but could he ever really be certain? He took the offered hand cautiously and let Quintus pull him to his feet.

He fixed Nico with a hard stare. "You know this is out of bounds."

"I was just looking for my friend–"

He held up a silencing hand. "No, actually, the less I know, the better. You took a wrong turn. Now back to the palace. Go." As Nico trudged past him, Quintus gave the back of his head a playful knock. "Straight to bed, you. I don't want to catch you where you don't belong again. For Olympus' sake, I'm a swords master, not your nursemaid."

Quintus never asked Nico what he had been doing at the Judgement Pavilion or who he had been looking for and Nico did not offer the information. Finding Pietro was going to be a much harder quest than he had anticipated.

His summoning efforts were next to useless and with Quintus, Thanatos, and Hades all watching him, he knew he would not have another opportunity to search the Underworld himself. Maybe he could find someone else to summon Pietro, someone Thanatos would not know to be watching for, and then he would not directly be disobeying his father.

Since his last visit to the Underworld, Hades had said nothing about Nico seeing Bianca again and he didn't think it was likely they would be together again anytime soon. But who, other than a child of Hades, would be willing or able to summon spirits directly from the Underworld? He would have to find somebody, anybody, to help him.

December 1946

Nico saw nothing of his father and step-mother after his arrival in the Underworld. They ignored his presence in their palace constantly, and Nico learned to stop looking. Hades would send for him when he was ready. He had to prove that he was worth more than Hades had ever thought he was. He could live up to his sister's example, he could make his father proud. He just needed a chance.

It was nearly Christmas time when Nico finally saw his father again.

As usual, a skeletal servant had woken Nico early in the morning with a tray for breakfast. Or, Nico assumed it was early but it was difficult to tell time in the Underworld, but his body at least seemed to be on a regular schedule for eating and sleeping. When he had eaten and prepared for his lessons alone in his room, he made his own way down to the arena where Quintus was usually already waiting and ready to put him through his paces for the next several hours.

On this day, Nico had already been training for the better part of the morning and Quintus had put him through their usual progress of sword drills when Hades swept into the arena.

Nico's stomach lurched when he saw him. What had he done wrong?

Quintus sheathed his sword and bowed low as Hades approached with his black robes trailing on the arena sand. Nico copied him, his heart pounding in his chest. Damn it. How did his father always manage to throw him off balance?

"Lord Hades," said Quintus, straightening. "What I can do for you?"

"I have come to see my son's progress. I trust there has been some improvement since you began?"

Quintus nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"I've never missed training," Nico added helpfully. "I've been working really…" he trailed off when he realized he was being ignored. Hades hardly seemed to notice he was there.

"Nico," said Quintus, "draw."

Nico glanced at his father as he unsheathed his sword. He hadn't sparred with an audience since Camp Half-Blood and Hades was the first spectator whose opinion actually really mattered to him.

Quintus locked eyes with Nico and gave him a slow nod. He could do this.

Quintus struck first. Nico dodged and cursed himself for it. Cowardly move. He couldn't dwell on it before Quintus spun back and slashed at Nico's neck. He ducked, crouching below the arc of Quintus' sword and slashed at his trainer's stomach. Quintus jumped back, spinning his sword with a flick of his wrist. Nico took the moment to glance over at his father. Hades watched him with a calculating eye, carefully examining each and every movement.

Quintus stalked toward him, taking his time like a predator on at the prowl. Damn it. Keep your focus, di Angelo. Nico huffed out a breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He could do this.

He ducked under Quintus' next swing and danced out behind him, striking him square between his shoulder blades with the flat of his blade. He might not be very experienced or physically strong, but he was fast and against a tall man like Quintus, that counted for something.

Quintus whirled back to face him, sword already coming down over Nico's head. Nico swung his blade up to parry, just catching the swing in time. For a moment, their blades locked, before Quintus shoved him away with a grunt and thrust at him again. Parry, dodge, swing, duck.

Nico allowed himself to fall into the pattern of thrusts and parries, following his instincts.

Nico's arm lurched as Quintus' blade struck the hilt of his sword, sending it flying into the dirt. Quintus kicked out at Nico's knees, sending him sprawling. He landed face down in the sand and Quintus tapped the tip of his blade gently between Nico's shoulders.

"Match."

Nico groaned and pushed himself up on one hand, flopping over onto his back to sit up. He breathed heavily, looking up at his trainer with narrowed eyes. Couldn't let me win just one…

Hades robs slid over the arena sand with a soft swish as he approached, casually as could be. He stood over Nico, looking down at him critically. Nico was all of a sudden very conscious that there was dirt in his hair.

"You have progressed quickly," Hades mused, "I admit, more quickly than I anticipated." Nico accepted Quintus' hand to his feet and felt his face flush with his father's praise. "You will accompany me to the Winter Solstice next week. The Council wishes to see you for themselves and I suspect they will raise an issue with your current residence."

"Will they make me leave?" Nico asked, ruffling some of the dust from his hair.

"I have no doubt that my brothers will try but I have my ways of convincing the other council members. I was unprepared at our last negotiation. Now I have had time to gather resources. I will send for you when it is time to leave."

Hades turned to leave and Quintus clapped Nico on the shoulder.

"That was very good, Nico," he assured him, "but you fell into the pattern again. Don't get comfortable."

Nico nodded, only half-listening. He was still watching his father's retreating back. If he was going to say something, it was his last chance… Hades seemed like he was in a good mood. Maybe now he would listen.

"I want to look for Pietro," Nico blurted.

Hades paused and turned back around to face him. "Excuse me?"

"I– I want to look for Pietro. I went to the pavilion but…" he glanced at Quintus and then looked down at the dirt, "he wasn't there."

Hades' expression hardened. "That is the second time you have demanded that privilege from me," he said coldly, "there will not be a third. You have pined over that boy long enough."

"Then what about my mother?"

The temperature dropped. Hades stalked toward Nico until he towered over him.

"Under no circumstances are you to contact her." Hades' voice was a low angry hiss. It sent shivers down Nico's spine. "I forbid it. If I hear one whisper that you have contacted your mother in any way, I assure you, you will not like the consequences. Do you understand me?"

Nico looked away, half-hoping Hades wouldn't notice his mutinous expression. Half-hoping he would notice and pick a fight. Nico did not enjoy being scolded like a child. He was fourteen years old, plenty old enough to make his own decisions. He did not need his father telling him what to and what not to do.

"I said, do you understand me?"

"I heard you," Nico snapped.

"Nico…" Quintus warned.

Nico ignored him. First Pietro and now his mother. It would take a miracle for Nico to see either of them. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried. He had spent months trying to summon Pietro without any results, and it was even worse with his mother. Nothing he did seemed to get him remotely close to reaching her.

"I want to see her," Nico insisted.

"I do not care what you want," Hades snarled. "I will not be disobeyed."

The ground shook, dust showered from the cavern roof high above, pebbles falling to the dirt around them.

Nico glared at him. "That isn't fair! She's my mother. If I want to see her I will!"

A stalactite plummeted to the ground. It whistled through the air and slammed into the earth beside Nico, spraying up dirt and sand. Nico jumped away, shrinking closer to Quintus.

"You do not want to discover what happens to those who disobey my orders," Hades breathed, "and I will not hesitate to punish you because you are my son."

Nico swallowed heavily and refused to meet his father's eyes. Behind him, Quintus shifted uneasily.

"Evidently you have been given too much freedom," said Hades. "You will no longer leave your quarters outside of training."

Nico seethed. I'm not a child, he wanted to say, but the fallen stalactite was enough to silence him. He was not eager to test Hades' aim.

Hades moved his cold gaze to Quintus and the swordmaster straightened. "I will hold you personally responsible if he is found out of bounds."

Quintus dipped his head. "Yes, my lord."

As Hades departed, Quintus put a reassuring hand on Nico's shoulder. "Come away now," he murmured. "That is enough for one day."

"It isn't fair," Nico grumbled as Quintus guided him.

"Hush," Quintus rebuked. "I would not anger Lord Hades any further."

Nico spent the next two days alternating between training, sulking, and studying. The books Quintus had provided were in a mix of languages: English, Greek, Italian, and some Latin just for the extra challenge. Apparently, in addition to being grounded, he was to be assigned extra book work. He read up on military tactics, beginning in Ancient Greece and working his way through history, and reviewed myths focussed on the Underworld. It was dull work and with his reading problems it took up most of his day. Which he supposed was the point. At the end of each day, Quintus tested him on what he had studied and assigned extra repetitions for each wrong answer. It hardly seemed fair.

On the evening of the third day, Nico sat on his balcony with his legs hanging through the bars and swinging out in open space. His arms wrapped around the metal hugging the railings close to his chest. A hot wind blew up from the Fields of Punishment, ruffling Nico's already messy hair.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Nico yelped and twisted around, his arms on the bars. Quintus stood just behind him, leaning on the doorframe to Nico's room.

"Oh, it's you," said Nico, his racing heart slowing to a normal pace. "No, I– I just have a lot on my mind."

"Your friend," Quintus guessed. He grunted as he lowered himself to sit beside Nico. "Pietro."

Nico nodded. "I want to see him. He saved me and my sister. I never got to say thank you… Or goodbye."

"You should not antagonize your father," Quintus advised. "Lord Hades upholds the laws of death, and you are not yet ready to speak to the souls. If you cross your father–"

"He'll do something worse than shout at me," Nico finished, turning away to look back over the Fields of Asphodel. "I know."

"And you should also know," said Quintus, clearly annoyed at being interrupted, "that Lord Hades has lifted your restrictions. He is not as harsh as you seem to believe. I would think that it is quite normal for a father and son to argue in any other family."

Nico shrugged and hugged the bars a little closer, letting the metal dig into the skin of his arms. He didn't want to hear that it was normal, he wanted to be angry and petulant and punch something. Preferably something breakable

"I will see you in the training room tomorrow morning as usual."

He patted Nico on the shoulder and left, closing the door behind him.

Nico huffed and leaned forward against the bars again.

The balcony was one of Nico's favourite places to sit. His room was near the front of the palace and he could see almost the entire underworld from his balcony. The wind mussing his hair and his legs dangling in open space made him think of a pirate, high up on the mast of a ship amid the sails. It made him feel powerful, above it all. The same way his father looked on his throne.

He straightened. Hades had better posture.

Nico stood, stretched, and went back into his room.

He had collected a few more belongings in the months he had lived in the palace. The chest of drawers was now full of training and casual clothes. A stack of books sat on the desk along with a few notebooks and pencils. His old shoes, the ones he had worn when he first came to the Underworld, were kicked somewhere under the bed and had since been replaced with a selection of brand new pairs.

He wasn't sure who was being sent to the Overworld to buy everything for him but he was glad that they knew his size. Maybe Hades had sent one of the furies like he'd sent them to fetch Nico and Bianca from school. Or maybe Quintus went himself. Either way, he was happy about the new clothes. It had been years since he had had anything brand new and not handed down.

Quintus didn't let Nico keep any of the practice weapons in the room with him. Maybe he knew about the lamp incident at Camp Half-Blood. It would have been nice to keep just one in his room but none of the blades he practiced with were really his – even the one he had stolen from Camp. He didn't know when, if ever, he would get a weapon of his own.

Nico had always secretly hoped that Hades would gift him a blade but after experiencing the god's disinterest first hand, he had given up. When he was older – people were always saying that – he might get to keep one of the swords he and Quintus worked with. He would definitely need one if he was going fulfil the prophecy and save Olympus. Surely then he could have a blade of his own.

Nico closed the door to the balcony and drew all the curtains shut. The braziers lit the room with green flames. The sight had made him uneasy at first but after all the months he had spent in the Underworld, he found the cool green a soothing respite from the hot burning of the Fields of Punishment and red sand of the training arena.

He was home.

His little corner of his father's palace was so different from everywhere else he had lived but he fit into the landscape so naturally that it was hard to imagine he had ever been anywhere else. Sometimes he missed his tiny apartment in New York with James, or curling up in an overstuffed armchair in the Big House's living room, or even sharing breakfast in the dining hall with the boys from St. Dismas'. Maybe it was his father's blood, but he felt at home in the Underworld in an entirely different way. The Underworld called to a part of him he had never recognized before. It was where he belonged. He was almost sure of it.