A/N: I take super hot showers to practice burning in hell. #capricorn (BTS' album is setting me on fire. I've listened to We are Bulletproof: the Eternal like seven times in a row, ironically.)

Do you guys ever think about the confidence cake decorators must have? Like goddamn you better keep than hand moving, or the icing is all gonna pool in that one spot, and then you're screwed, and you've ruined a child's birthday, and you don't even deserve to be alive good job.

Also, I loved Fat Tuesday. I'm from the Detroit area, and a little way from here in Hamtramck, Michigan (a city within Detroit), there's a famously large Polish population, and the authentic bakeries make the best pączki, and I think I might cry from how good they are. I'm pretty sure the record for eating pączki is held by a dude from Michigan as well. Basically, Michiganders go nuts, and I am not exempt from it. I feel like I gained 10 pounds, but it was well worth it. I'm not even Christian, and I don't do Lent lol, but I live for Fat Tuesday, and after the week I've had, it was hands down my favorite day. (Also I literally got a snow day on Ash Wednesday. Fuck yesssss. Tis the reason why I could write this entire chapter today).

I'm really excited about the last scene of this chapter. Oh, and I'm high with fatigue, but that's not new.

Disclaimer: All rights remain. Or do they? OooOo—I'll stop.

Annabeth

She wished Luke had some version of mind-reading powers, just so he could have looked into her head and seen exactly what kind of ending she gave his mother. She wanted him to feel the pain of loss as terribly as she did.

Luke's eyes locked on her as he finished his memorized speech, one hand outstretched to better display the chain binding her to him. Every he did was methodical, performed for an image.

"I pledge myself to do the same, to end the Amazons and the monsters like Annabeth Chase, or die in the attempt."

Die, then, Annabeth wanted to scream.

The roar of the crowd drowned out her thoughts. Hundreds cheered on their King and his tyranny. She had cried on the walk onto the stage, grieving both Hylla and what Luke was aiming for, all in the face of so many blaming her for their loved ones' deaths. So this was what he wanted: to convince the world he was genuine. She could still feel the tears drying on her cheeks. Now she wanted to sob again, not in sadness, but anger. How could they believe this? How could they stomach these lies?

She too had been forced to speak a speech, written carefully for her by Luke. She had memorized it easily, horrified by what he was asking for. 'Your generous King promises to take in all Amazons and Canadians and citizens who seek shelter from us terrorists. He will save you.' She had felt sick to her stomach, speaking Luke's wishes to convey his refuge for the public. Worst of all, she had cried, over Hylla of course, but it had only sold her the image of terrorism and inhumane Amazons more than anything else.

It was his new tactic, she realized, to get the people on his side. And most blindly believed him, the fools. She could only imagine how she, the symbol and face of the Amazons, was ruining the image, saying lies against her own corporation out of force. Her stomach twisted uneasily.

Like a doll, she was turned from the sight. With the last of her strength, Annabeth craned her neck over one shoulder, hunting for the cameras, the eyes of the world. See me, she begged. See how he lies. Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrow, painting what she prayed was a picture of resilience, rebellion, and rage. It felt like a lie. She was dead in every sense except for the merciful end. But it was the last thing she could do for the cause, and for the people she loved still out there. They would not see her stumble in this final moment. No, she would stand. And thought she had no idea how, she had to keep fighting, even here in the belly of the beast.

Another tug forced Annabeth to spin around to face the court. Cold royals stared back, their veins of steel and diamond rather than blood. They focused not on her, but on Luke himself. In them Annabeth found her answer. In them she saw hunger.

For a split second, Annabeth pitied the Boy King alone on his throne. Then, deep down, she felt the teasing breath of hope.

Oh, Luke. What a mess you're in.

She could only wonder who would strike first.

The Amazons—or the Lords and Ladies ready to slit Luke's throat and take everything his mother died for.

…

"So you're the Ashington."

Annabeth blinked through teary eyes, peering at emerald, unfamiliar eyes. The stranger smiled, her teeth pointy at the corners, and Annabeth folded into herself, uncomfortable to be so closely scrutinized by a random woman. She didn't allow for strangers to get this close, for them to see into her deepest, darkest fears. Only this wasn't a stranger.

Annabeth's breath hitched in recognition. "Lady Gardner."

Katie's brown hair was swept into a dazzling swirl atop her head, delicate jewelry sinking in around the smooth curves of her neck. She tilted her head to one side, a half-smile etched into her expression, but there was something cold in her face, like she knew exactly what she was doing, like she knew everyone would underestimate a foreigner, like she knew much more than all of them combined. It rubbed Annabeth the wrong way.

This was the young woman to whom Luke was to be wed. Annabeth found herself at a loss for words. If Luke thought marrying Katie was the easy choice, he was sorely mistaken. There was something about Katie, something undeniably clever that made Annabeth feel as though Luke had finally met his match.

"It's an honor, Lady Chase," Katie articulated, almost as if it were practiced. Annabeth neatly folded her lithe fingers, acutely aware of Katie's sweeping glance on the manacles. The gaze burned like fire. The blonde found herself frowning at a moment's notice. Lady? No one had referred to her as such since before she betrayed her family for the Amazons. She was no longer a woman of the court, and no one would dare remember her old position in the collective effort to shun her from her old lifestyle.

"Is it?" Annabeth quipped, eyeing her suspiciously.

Katie's mouth straightened. "You every right to be wary," she acknowledged, "but I promise I was merely curious. I've heard so much about you, as I'm sure you know."

"News travels fast?" Annabeth guessed.

"Even to the UK," Katie agreed.

"Hmm." It wasn't really a reply, but it was all Annabeth could muster. "I'll be there at the wedding this evening," Annabeth told her. Not like it's my choice.

Katie's pink lips curved up, but the distaste in her face was evident. She confirmed Annabeth's line of thinking—she hadn't really wanted to marry Luke—in just a miniscule shift of expressions. There were half-moon crescents, a pale red, in Annabeth's flesh when she loosened her tightly clasped hands at her abdomen: an admittance of nervousness, of anxiety, and a weakness—Annabeth smoothly slipped her hands behind her back, hoping to hide them.

Katie's eyes darted down to the 'L' on her neck, then back up to Annabeth's face. Annabeth had no doubt Katie and her house had a few tricks up their sleeves. There was no way they would simply agree to join forces with Luke, especially not if Katie seemed so disgusted.

This weird, old part of her wanted to warn Luke before she remembered who she was, and who he was now, and why she was here in the first place. Annabeth bit her tongue before she could say anything she'd regret.

She could feel eyes burning holes in her back, and sensing it was Drew, Annabeth took it as the opportunity to politely excuse herself.

"It was nice to meet you," Annabeth emptily remarked.

"Likewise." Katie generously gestured to Annabeth. "I'll see you at the wedding," she decided.

"Yes," Annabeth whispered, looking at her oddly one last time. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Piper

"We can't," Thalia argued. Reyna sat close to her, dark circles under her eyes. "We can't afford another mission. Look what happened to Hylla."

"My sister made her choices," Reyna murmured, shaking her head. "Now we make ours."

Piper's mouth went dry. "We need Annabeth to retract her speech, and she can't do it with Luke, the bastard, hovering over her every move and word," she quietly seethed. "We'll lose the momentum we've built; people will trust Luke over us, will go to him, not us, and we'll sacrifice even more numbers than we already have. It will be a losing battle."

Reyna shook her head, covering her face with her hands, deeply exhausted. A sting of sympathy nestled its way into Piper's heart. Thalia's forehead creased with concern, her hand warm on Reyna's shoulder as she comforted the General.

"You don't have to be here for this," Piper gently reminded Reyna, who stiffly shook her head no.

"I'm quite alright," Reyna croaked, her eyes hardening. Piper could see through the weak facade like it was glass, but she said nothing of the matter, granting Reyna her wish. She would not unnecessarily put all eyes on her, especially not after the death of her only and much beloved older sister, another devoted General of their multi-decade cause.

"I will follow you into battle," Reyna vowed when people watched her anyways, eyeing her reaction as she fell apart carefully. Thalia subtly stood in front of the General, shielding her from the intrusive, inquisitive stares of their comrades and friends.

"I appreciate that," said Piper, biting her lip guiltily.

"It is your call," Thalia told her, staring her down.

Piper shuffled the plans Percy had drawn up for her before he left with Will and Nico for Malcolm, for Epresh. She wasn't really studying the papers, more so buying herself time, but she tried her best to seem invested.

"I think it's a good idea," Piper decided, watching as the faces of her friends hardened into battle warriors. She prayed she was right, she prayed they would not lose more. "It will be worth it to rebrand our reputation, to shake the enemy at the core, at the heart of all they've built."

"Last time we did that, half of us died," Gwen pointed out. Thalia glared at her, supportive of the brunette. Piper was grateful.

"When do we leave?" Thalia tried instead. Reyna had closed her eyes, leaning back against the cream column. Piper couldn't help but wonder where she went when she shut out the world like that. Thalia pressed her lips tightly together, not subtle at all as she kept checking on Reyna out of the corner of her bright blue eyes. Eyes that pained Piper every time she saw them.

"Two days from now. Dawn," Piper announced. "We want to show up in the daylight, let them know we do not fear them."

Gwen frowned.

"We are not cowards," Piper addressed the crowd. Some seemed to agree… others, not so much.

"But we are not fools either," Gwen protested.

"Which is why we must be victorious, or the plan fails more than waiting like sitting ducks," Piper quipped, her mind made up. "Send Perseus and the others a message, please. Let him know of what I've concluded."

Gwen scowled. "I'll get on it immediately."

"Anyone who disagrees can leave right now," Thalia bit out, disgusted by the blank expressions on her friends' faces. "She is Queen, and she will lead us to victory."

Rachel stood up. "All in favor." A chorus of 'ayes' echoed through the democrats. The Canadians were on board. It eased Piper's anxiety, if only by a little.

…

The torch burned brightly as they sent a small boat full of flowers out into the stream in symbolism of Hylla.

Reyna spoke in Latin, wishing her sister goodbye. "Ave atque vale," she whispered, and the whole base muttered it among themselves, the lights illuminating the stream.

"Peccavimus Domino: ascendemus et gloria auri," Thalia repeated, and a few others echoed after her, chiming in at different times so that the message would be eternal.

Reyna leaned on Thalia for support, and Piper quietly watched the board float upstream, carried by the gentle current of the water until it disappeared just out of sight.

They left the fires burning all night.

Annabeth

Annabeth blankly stared at the leaves turning brown, the wind turning cold outside. She had long lost track of her time captured, but based off the weather she could only assume it was nearing September, meaning she had been here for nearly three months. That was three months too many.

She had been practicing walking, slowly and steadily trying to maintain some semblance of strength. She would not want the autumn air to blow her over if she got out. No—when she got out. She had been saving pieces of the broken shards of the china she shattered too, keeping them as some semblance of makeshift weapons.

She had grown immune to Drew's presence by now. Well, nearly. The maids were nothing more than busy bees of whom Annabeth paid no attention. Perhaps that's why she felt odd turning around to see who had opened the door behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she knew with certainty that her visitor was not her usual visitor.

The snake's son.

"You think I'll be the black sky, so you can be a star?" she demanded, her voice soft. She paused. "I'll swallow you whole." They should've been angry words—she was angry at him, after all; she always was—but her words lacked their usual malice.

He was quiet. It seemed Luke only reserved his odd silence and kindness—if you could even call not killing her kindness—for her. Annabeth slouched against the cool bars, turning to look at him. She arched a sardonic brow.

"Try me," he challenged, but he was tired too. "You have no weapons on you." Her guards filed out of the room out of habit. Luke always made sure it was just the two of them. At first, it had made her uneasy, but now it was her sole solace. She could say whatever she wanted to him. Almost. Or not.

"I don't need weapons."

"Going with just fists? That's a new one for you," he drawled.

Annabeth glared at him. "It's not as if you're armed either." He never was. It was unnerving.

Luke glanced out the window she had been so entranced by only moments before. "My tongue is my weapon."

Annabeth swallowed hard. She had seen firsthand what he could do with his voice, and she had good reason to be afraid. They all did.

"You're terrible," Annabeth roughly told him, angry by his mere presence. "You—you come here, and you think you own the world, but you don't. You're a monster. And someone will stop you."

Luke didn't flinch once, accepting her blows as truths he already knew to be true. "Do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?" he contemplated.

Annabeth's breath caught in her lungs. "I hate mind games."

Luke chuckled humorlessly, but his eyes flashed cold. "Based on the way you brutally murdered my mother, I'd say that was a given."

"Who gave you that?" she found herself asking without any other inhabitations. There had been a long scar going down his face from his eye to his jaw for as long as she could remember.

Luke stiffened. "Who do you think?"

She hated the way he always asked questions, rather than simply choosing to answer or not to answer. He was a carbon copy of Medusa. She spat but missed on purpose. Luke was unfazed. She had tried to spit on him so many times that it was almost predictable at this point.

"Your mother," Annabeth guessed, pursing her lips.

Luke gave her a long look. "You know as well as I do that her scars are all internal."

Annabeth swallowed thickly.

"My brother, actually," Luke commented.

Annabeth took a step back. Percy would never. Percy adored Luke from the start. Percy was kind, forgiving, and much better than she deserved. He was the light out of the three of them, the angel with two demons sinking him down—Annabeth and Luke.

"Shocking, isn't it?" Luke half-grimaced at her. Annabeth schooled her expression, but she was afraid he had already read through her like she was translucent. To him, she supposed she was. And vice versa. "I had been around eight at the time, and we were training, and it was an accident, but that was that. It's marred my face for years. The healers said it was unhealable, at least completely."

Oh. Unwelcome pity surged through her for her captor. "The way I see it, it was well deserved," Annabeth bit out. "A scar to remind you that he is better than you in every way possible." Her eye's glittered, pleased when he bristled, letting his colors of anger shine through. She reveled in the power, however small.

"We swept out the left Amazon flank today," Luke bit back. He was just as immature as her, deep down. It didn't make her feel any better. Annabeth faltered. Luke would only ever tell her the truth now, and she had a sinking feeling now was not any different. That would mean… that would mean he killed at least four dozen people.

"No," she refused, her knuckles white around the bars. Tempting him was like poking a bear—he would only strike back harder, faster, sharper like a cobra, a King.

"Don't you see? You've lost. Give it up, Annabeth; it's over."

Annabeth gasped, her emotions numbing the searing pain. Perhaps it was the adrenaline or the pure fury in her, but she drew on some strength that was buried deep within her and when she opened her eyes, her piercing glare could have melted metal.

"I may have lost the battle," she admitted, her pride shattering on the cold ground of the cellar. It hurt to even say that; she had never been a graceful loser, and fortunately, because she was so ruthless, it was a rare feeling. Annabeth pursed her lips, reaching out of the cool steel bars and grasped him by the front of his shirt. She pulled him forward—surprising them both with her strength—knocking him into hard surface and ignoring the biting metal cutting deep into her wrists.

"But trust me when I say, I will win the war. And when you're on your knees in front of me, suffering, begging for your pathetic life, for mercy, for a miracle, I will personally make sure that not one person lifts a finger to help you. Not even the Gods themselves," she snarled, her knuckles turning white.

Luke's eyes widened fractionally and he hastily ripped himself out of her grip, stepping back cautiously. He desperately tried to conceal his fear, but, much to Annabeth's delight, he was standing a good couple feet further back than he had been initially. The blonde casually remained standing—a silent challenge of her own—not making one effort to fight the chains. She was not his prisoner. She was nobody's prisoner.

In fact, he was the real prisoner, contained in this cage of fear he'd built around himself. Her newfound strength was quickly fading, but because she refused to sit in front of him, to be lower than him, she instead leaned against the bars in fierce determination.

She had been here once before, but she would not kneel now, she would not fall to his feet so easily.

"Percy gave me this scar," Luke's voice chilled her to the bone. "But when I bury him," he threatened, "I'll make you watch."

Annabeth faltered backwards. "Death would be less tortuous than this." It was a hollow laugh. "But you'll never get him. He'll always be better than you," she taunted. "And you'll always, always be the shadow, no matter how you try. Why would anyone ever look to you when they have gold standing before them?"

Luke simmered, his fists clenching at his sides, but she refused to stop.

"Who would choose second place over first? Who would look to a wave when there's a storm nearby? Who would ever, ever pick a monster over Perseus?" She knew how to twist the knife. Words were his power, but she could pain him like nobody else. Annabeth took satisfaction in hurting him like he had hurt her time and time again. "I would rather walk alone in complete darkness than follow your shadow, Your Highness," Annabeth mocked.

Luke reached forward, pressing his thumb into her brand so hard that she nearly saw stars. Annabeth choked, involuntary reflex tears coming to tear ducts.

"You can't own me anymore," Annabeth croaked out. His fingers would leave purple bruises lining her throat for the next morning, but for now she soaked in the pain, a reminder than she was alive, no matter the extent of the suffering being alive required. "You can't own a rebellion, an idea of freedom, a symbol. I'm not tangible, not anymore. I'm bigger than this."

She mildly wondered if she looked as crazy as felt, tearing her sleeves to shreds with the manacles.

Luke's fury bounced off her. She was fire, and a shadow could not snuff a flame like hers. She was intangible as long as I wanted to be.

"Nobody will believe the shit you make me say and do. Because they know me; they know me," Annabeth convinced herself. Everything her, but she summoned the last of her courage, determined not to go down without a fight. She was tired of being quiet. "You'll never have me."

She glared up at him, spitting at his feet. This time it landed on his shoes, and Luke stepped back, thoroughly disgusted.

"Not even when I'm dead."

Malcolm

"I've got it."

Nico was on his feet in an instant, looking at him with wide eyes. Percy, who had been looking out the window for some time now, was immediately on alert. He studied Malcolm's face, apprehensive.

"Do you really?" It was Will, scrutinizing the blue vial in his gloved hand. Malcolm tried to keep his hand still, slowly moving the safety glasses off his face. They clattered against the counter haphazardly.

"I think so," Malcolm affirmed, his voice quavering uncharacteristically. If this was really it, the antidote to Octavian's madness, then… then he'd have saved the world, quite possibly. "Percy, can you…?"

"On it," Percy interrupted, clumsily scraping at the freezer from the anticipation. Malcolm could feel the tension in the room rapidly rising. Nico began to plastic wrap the chalkboard, hoping to preserve Malcolm's chicken scratch math and diagrams. If this worked, they would need the recipe to recreate a thousand times more.

The Calbourne Prince struggled, and Nico rushed to his aid, helping him lift the heavy body. Together they practically slammed the preserved body onto the table. Will nimbly began to unwrap the minotaur. Percy had done his best to keep from mutilating the figure, but the minotaur was a tough one to beat, and Nico had nearly lost a hand in the encounter. As a result, the minotaur was missing one horn—Percy had left it on the counter a while ago—and its face was scarred, some of the heavy fur coat ripped off in patches. Will gingerly picked at the minotaur's plastic, revealing the stench of death and battle through the room. Percy took a step back.

"Tongs," Malcolm requested. Will quickly passed them over. "Glasses." Together, Will and him covered their eyes. The Ashington glanced up at Percy and Nico. They scuffled backwards in understanding; they were not wearing glasses, so it was for the best that they watch from afar. "Gloves." Will handed him another pair for a double layer and then protected his own scarred hands. "Drip tarp." Will spread out a plastic, crinkly, blueberry blue tarp around the body to catch the fluids. "Ice." Will shoved a package of uniform cubes over to him.

Malcolm lubed up the tough flesh of the minotaur, setting his vial down in the ice to cool it close to frozen. He carefully sliced open the minotaur's fat vein to expose the white blood. The white changed, mixing like a White Russian, only it was turning a robin's egg blue as Malcolm poured the antidote into the minotaur's bloodstream. Will was holding his breath next to him. Malcolm felt like he couldn't breathe at all.

Nothing happened. Frustrated, Malcolm reached for the papers again, covered from corner to corner, edge to edge in Annabeth's curly writing.

"Where's the original diagram?" Malcolm bit out, frowning. Nobody moved for a moment, and then Percy sprung into action, scanning Malcolm's board for the diagram he'd neatly redrawn. Malcolm observed it… what was he missing? There had to be something. He'd checked Annabeth's math—she was exactly correct down to the hundred-thousandth decimal—which meant that only he had forgotten something.

"Heat," Malcolm realized. The square Annabeth had drawn next to the triangle was actually an H. Damn her for her unruly writing when she wrote too fast. Will handed over the bunsen burner without another thought. "How much?"

"There's just a bunch of dots," said Percy, squinting at her crumpled notes.

"A gas," Malcolm deciphered, his mind going a million times a second. "Twenty degrees celsius."

"This is America," Nico reminded him.

Malcolm chuckled. "Sixty-eight degrees fahrenheit," he translated, and Nico smiled to himself.

"That little fire is enough?" Will was doubtful, pointing to the burner.

"You'd be surprised. The center of that 'little fire' gets to about two thousand, seven hundred degrees fahrenheit."

Percy's went wide in surprise.

"Vial," Malcolm instructed. Will passed it along with the tongs once more. Malcolm poured more of the liquid into the bloodstream, holding a fire to it. The rotten smell of burning skin filled the room, and Percy went to open a window, but Malcolm could not care less. The blue mixed with the white once more, but instead of finding a happy medium, it was turning red, red like the blood of a human being. A monster no longer.

Before their very eyes, the monster shifted to something else, a little girl with brown hair and a dead face. Malcolm resisted the urge to gag. Dead monsters and science, maybe, but dead people really weren't his thing. Nico gaped.

"That's wicked," Nico said what everyone was thinking. A stunned silence passed over them.

"She's a genius," Malcolm realized, looking away from the body. Octavian had poisoned corpses, resurrecting them into monsters, and Annabeth had not only figured out how to poison them in the first place, but she had also figured out how to reverse it. Malcolm felt her now, even if she was thousands of miles from here, impressed by her ability to discover something otherworldly. The successful reversal kept the insanity of her capture at bay for now. He had always known she was smart, but this was something else. This was like a mini Athena and probably better, actually.

Percy stiffened at his words. The loss felt heavy over their heads.

"I miss her," it left Malcolm's mouth before he could say anything else. It was an obvious truth, but one he did not say out loud nonetheless. Nico soberly nodded in agreement. Will's shoulders slumped forward. Only Percy didn't move, his arms defensively crossed over his chest like he was cold or upset or both.

"I think she'd be proud of us, though," Malcolm murmured, and Will put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him in his loss. He was grateful. "And amused."

Percy looked at him curiously.

"At how long it took us to figure it out," Malcolmly sheepishly explained, cracking a smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

"That's not a surprise," Percy found his voice. "She might be better than us all combined."

Malcolm huffed out a gruff bark of laughter. "Might? Is," he corrected. "There's no doubt about it." They were quiet again.

"So," Malcolm began, carefully peeling his gloves off to reveal sweaty palms. "Is anyone going to move this girl, or do I have to throw up first."

"On it," Nico decided, reaching for a fresh pair of gloves to dispose of her properly, but before he could hoist the corpse off the counter, it began to dissolve. The four men watched, fascinated as it dissipated before their very eyes.

"How?" Will posed the question, blankly staring at the dustless spot before them.

Malcolm was quiet, and then he threw his hands up in exasperation. "Gods knows. Actually, Annabeth knows," he amended. "Her notes, please."

Percy wordlessly handed over the thick rolls of papers.

Percy

Percy was reminded of Annabeth's late-night rantings about the old wars as he stormed into the strategy shed.

Reyna was wide-eyed, her face flushed with anger. Piper was pale, and she looked up at him surprised.

"What the hell happened?" Percy demanded. "It's been barely an hour since we sent the first jets out." They were launching the first of a long battle, deciding to go with Piper's decision to fight in the heart of the war and tear the royals apart from inside out. With the Europeans on Luke's side, they were stronger than ever, but Malcolm had scoured together a small army as backup.

"Thalia just messaged," Reyna informed him. Thalia was in Sumisu, forcing the Rayas to surrender. The Rayas had exposed themselves as enemies of Luke and weak from fighting two wars, they had fallen from a height like no other. "Queen Silena surrendered, but in the battle…"

"King Charles is dead," Piper interrupted. She visibly deflated in front of Percy. "His death pretty much sealed the end of the Rayas." She spoke as if they weren't her relatives. Percy was only all too familiar with the feeling.

"And?" Percy fought the disappointment. He hadn't known Beckendorf all too well, but he had known Silena and him were truly in love, perhaps the only royals who married not for public appearances, but for love. It made his heart feel heavy. They could've changed the world, and around them their world burned.

"Silena's asked for you," Piper whispered.

"Me?" Percy could not disguise his shock. He hardly knew Silena at all. He hadn't seen her since he was at least eleven. And Athena's ball that started this all, of course. "Why?" Percy sputtered.

"She wants to talk to you, but that's all she'll say. Something about ruling."

Percy went cold all over. "Tell her no," he bit out.

"Percy," Piper interrupted. "She always wanted you to be King. You know this. It's no surprise she wants to see why you left in the first place as her country cedes to fight back."

"I don't care. I can't do it. I can't go back to Sumisu, not now. I have to go with the fifth legion to

Thasite in less than half an hour. I'd rather steel myself for how I'm going to get Annabeth out."

Piper nodded in understanding. "Okay. Leave now, actually. Don't wait."

The screen behind her beeped with an alert. Reyna rushed to pick it up, recognizing Thalia's icon. "Thalia," Reyna said, and there was a dampened voice speaking quickly over the receiver. A recording, most likely.

"I'm leaving now," Percy assured Piper, his heart thumping out of his chest. This was it. She'd be there. He hadn't seen her in so long.

Percy unsheathed Riptide, practically running out of the room. I'm coming, Wise Girl. He could only hope Luke wouldn't see him. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he had to face his brother, and he wasn't sure he wanted to imagine that reality any way it went.

Annabeth

When she first saw him, she thought she was dreaming. It wasn't far from the usual truth—she had dreamt of him enough times that it was warranted.

Annabeth clumsily pulled a shard of glass—one of her mined treasures from shattering all that china—out from its concealed spot under her dress. She had carried it with her everywhere for days, and it momentarily granted her peace of mind, but there wasn't much she could do with a stub of sharp glass on her own. All and any attempts to murder her way out would be shut down. She was hopelessly and completely alone in this cage.

Until now.

Part of her was pissed at him, pissed at everyone. They had left her for months together. It was probably November or October as far as she was concerned, though she had certainly lost track long ago. Part of her was relieved, was strong, was reminded of his rescuing her from Octavian what felt like ages ago. Part of her was angry, ready to fight. She had been waiting for this moment for so long she had thought it would never come, and here it was.

Percy was tanner than she remembered and more muscular. There was a healthy glow to him, as if he had been training extra hard. She had no doubt he had. He, like his brother, had an obsessive personality. He must have drilled himself overtime in the wake of absence. Or perhaps she simply hadn't been all that important at all. Annabeth shut down the thought as quickly as it came.

The last piece of her was triumphant. It was freeing in itself to watch the Amazons and Canadians and Malcolm's recruits and all of these men and women—we the fucking people—come together like a whirlwind of gold and blood and anger. Use that anger. Channel it into something greater than yourself. A reminder she had replayed over and over again through her mind surfaced now, reminding her of all she had fought so desperately for.

Percy hadn't seen her yet. He was barking out orders, his now unruly, grown-out hair falling into his eyes. It might've been her imagination, but he seemed impossibly taller too. And then his eyes were on her.

Annabeth was aware of the people whizzing past her in blurs of white and gold and red and black, but she couldn't see them, not when he was standing there in front of her, albeit yards away.

His mouth was pressed in a hard line, and something akin to relief and recognition overtook him.

If this was a movie, she would've ran to him, flung herself into his arms, and kissed him something fierce, but this wasn't a movie, and she wasn't the damsel in distress he would sweep off her feet. A large figure stepped in front of her, and she had thrown the glass before even processing it, the deadly point fatally lodging into the man's chest, forcing him to keel over, blood spurting out of his mouth like a mini fountain.

Percy was at her side in an instant, tossing her a dagger without another word. It wasn't her dagger, but it was still familiar in her grip. He cracked his sword against the metal around her wrists, absolving her from restraints; she had forgotten what it was like to be without he manacles, and when they clanged against the throne room's marble floor, something in her chest unlocked.

Wordlessly, they fought back to back, as if they had practiced their entire lives. They had, of course. They had been molded into the leaders they were today by parents who had not loved them, and if this was the biggest show of their lives, they would go down fighting.

…

Annabeth braced herself against the wall, fatigued by about half an hour of battling. Percy patiently waited by her, but she was only frustrated with herself, frustrated she was slowing them down. It was to be expected of course—she had been entrapped for so long—but it did not make the disappointment any less.

"How many?" Annabeth groaned. "How many did he get?"

"From your speech?"

Annabeth cringed, silently begging him to understand. She had not written the words, simply been forced to parrot them back for Luke. She nodded solemnly.

"At least two dozen."

Annabeth's mouth fell open. "But… but why?" Her fists balled up at her sides. Why did Luke want the people on his side? It was clear he didn't care for them. Even a blind bat could see that; unfortunately, the delusional, ignorant people seemed to buy into Luke's words, no matter how obvious it seemed to an analyst like her.

Percy cursed, dragging her by the arm when a few of Luke's soldiers rounded the corner. She ran despite her complaining body.

"He's hunting people not to protect his throne but to hurt you. To find you. To make you come back to him." His fist clenched on his thigh.

Percy quickly pushed her out the door before following. Annabeth had not touched grass in so long, and saw the trees from so close, and been under the blue sky. She was overtaken by the overwhelming urge to cry. Percy, noticing her distress, sympathetically paused, allowing her a moment to take in her surroundings. He silently implored her to understand with his expression, understand that the Amazons had forced him to not come rescue her. He was one of the few pilots they had left, far too valuable, and his feelings had no place in war. Annabeth would address it later. For now, she simply basked in the sunlight, patiently anticipating Percy's next words.

"Luke wants you more than anything else on this Earth," the dark-haired man finally finished, deciding not to say what he had been thinking.

She wished that Luke was here now, perhaps for the first time ever, just so she could rip out his horrible, haunting eyes. "Well, he can't have me." Annabeth realized the consequences of this, and so did Percy.

"Not even if it stopped the killing? Not for the wars?"

Tears bit her eyes. "I won't go back. For anyone."

She expected his judgement, but instead he smiled and ducked his head. Ashamed of his own reaction, as she was of hers.

A siren wailed in the distance, spiking Annabeth's heartbeat. Her head snapped up to Percy: he was her only sense of information as of now.

"It's begun," he hollowly muttered.

"What's begun?"

Percy wordlessly strung his arm in hers, pulling her just out from the corner of the wall. Annabeth's mouth dropped open.

In front of her hundreds of people fought. Half were unmistakably Luke's army, dressed head to toe in white and blue. It was a heart of the wars, all of them conglomerating here on Thasite's land. Surely, there was still fighting at all the borders, the borders creeping in different directions as the Amazons conquered more and more land, forcing enemies to surrender, but she had never been on the front lines of the war, never really seen them with her own eyes. But… how? How were there so many people on their side? Luke had murdered so many on that plane before capturing her.

She gaped up at Percy, the question obvious in her face.

Percy grinned, and she felt warm all over, still not quite exempt from his charming features, even after all she'd learned about him, and all she'd been through. "Malcolm. He talked his way to the top."

"Where is he?"

"He's here. Somewhere," Percy promised her. "Probably closer to the northern borders. He'll be securing the Jirot borders with Nico, if all's going well."

Annabeth's heart pounded. Nico. She weakly smiled despite herself.

"And the others?" she hesitantly inquired.

"Reyna's here in Thasite. She's leading the center squad that raided the castle." He glanced around, twirling his sword between his forefingers. "Thalia's probably negotiating with the Rayas right now. I knew they were backstabbers; I just knew—"

"The Rayas?" Annabeth stared at him, wide-eyed, and hopeful for the first time in years.

"I bet on the Rayas to be betrayers. And I was right." Percy allowed himself a smug grin.

"They didn't." Disbelief flooded her voice.

"They did. They surrendered. They revealed themselves against Luke, and they couldn't fight him and the Amazons at the same time. We conquered Sumisu only days before."

Annabeth's cheeks hurt from grinning so hard. Things were finally coming up Amazon. "And the English? Katie's married Luke," she reminded him.

Percy's expression soured. "And they have been loyal so far, sending troops to help him out, but hopefully he'll still be outnumbered, or at least even now. We've leveled the battlefield. The Amazons, the Canadians, the Pevanshires, the Ashingtons, and with the Rayas out of the way, all against the English and… the King of Thasite." He said it like he didn't know Luke anymore, which he didn't, but Annabeth still caught the hesitance and shakiness in his voice.

"Do you think we'll win?" she asked, her voice going soft, nervous, afraid, unsure.

Percy sobered. "I don't know, but like I said, it's finally a fair fight. We have a chance, Annabeth, and maybe with luck on our side, we'll win."

The wars had been going on for at least eleven months now, but they had considerably conglomerated, people taking sides, leaving only two left.

"Do you want me to take you to Malcolm?" Percy asked, breaking her from her stunned stupor.

"No," Annabeth said without pausing. "He's busy, and you're needed here." She gestured to Rachel, who had noticed him and had gestured for him to come over to where she was. Will, Annabeth saw, was bandaging Hazel off in the middle of battle. She had not let go of her sword, though, still the stubborn fighter Annabeth remembered and admired. "I will see him soon enough when this over," Annabeth promised, allowing herself a shred of implied hope. When. This would end, and it would end well.

"You can fight?" Percy queried.

She nodded stubbornly. "I'm not completely useless yet. He hasn't taken it from me yet." He lingered over them awkwardly, her mention of Luke uncomfortable, a barrier between the both of them.

"Okay," was all he said, and he darted off to Rachel, who was relaying information at the speed of light. Thalia had messaged. The Rayas had given in entirely. Drew had disappeared somewhere, as had a few more of her relatives, but they were still searching for her whereabouts.

Annabeth studied the strategies laid out near Rachel's arm as Percy and the redhead conversed about matters she did not understand anymore. The maps were drawn in that shaky, albeit precise handwriting she was so familiar with. It was always like this when he drew fast. In her absence, Percy had planned out their strategies. Signed at the bottom was Piper's name. Bewildered, she looked up, only to find Percy hovering over her shoulder expectantly.

"McLean?"

Percy blanked, realizing she didn't know. "She has to sign it off," he explained.

"But the Queen always…" Annabeth's mouth went dry. No way.

"You missed a lot while you were gone," Percy voiced, gauging her reaction as he spoke. "Piper was chosen as Queen."

…

Percy had disappeared somewhere with Frank, who had been holding a rack of weapons fit to serve a mini army. He was never too far, she knew as well—she doubted he would leave her stranded after finding her in the state she was currently in—but she had gone in search of Malcolm, hoping for her brother to give her tasks.

She fought as she went, sometimes seeking the shelter of the sides of the castle, avoiding the explicit bloodshed when she ran out of energy, and sometimes cutting down every soldier in her path with the viciousness of a hungry tiger. She stepped over the corpses of people without blinking an eye. For those of her own side, sometimes she'd cover their eyes with their golden bandanas if nobody was around to cut her down when she wasn't looking, but she walked past the royals and Luke's armies of faceless men without another glance. Recognizing a face would only shake her confidence, and she didn't need that shit right then.

"Annabeth!"

The blonde spun around, blades slashing around her. She ducked, only a lock of her hair drifting to the ground.

"Piper? Piper!" Annabeth hadn't seen her face in so long, and she sort of wanted to collapse into a pathetic heap of prisoner and sob for herself, for Jason, for Malcolm, for Percy, for freedom, for a optimistic, brighter future.

Piper was squeezing her in a crushing hug before she knew it. Annabeth's sleeve went damp with Piper's tears.

Annabeth pushed Piper's hair out of her dirt and blood-streaked face, gazing at her friend with so much love and relief and pride. "You're Queen," Annabeth half-sob, half-laughed.

Piper was crying quietly, where only sporadic hiccups escaped her lips, her nose pink like an adorable bunny. Piper was one of the few people Annabeth knew who was still flawless, even in tears. The brunette pulled her back into a hug, wincing at how skinny and weak Annabeth had gotten.

"Who gives a fuck?" Piper cried, sniffling. "I'm so glad you're okay." 'Okay' was an exaggeration. They shared a look of understanding; Annabeth had witnessed more suffering, both firsthand and that of others than almost anyone else. But positivity was so rare that they decided to revel in the spare happiness that came with Annabeth's return.

"Of course it's important," Annabeth weakly argued. "I'm so proud of you. And I am… I am honored to serve you." She choked, her throat tightening, her emotions running thick.

Piper wiped away a stray tear. "Stop," she pleaded. "I love you," Piper vowed, her eyes rimmed red. "I had thought I would never see you again."

Annabeth guiltily chewed her lower lip, remembering the way Piper had begged her not to submit to Luke three months ago, all of them trapped by Luke and his armed men and women. Piper's hoarse voice still haunted her. "Never mind that," said Annabeth, holding Piper by the arms in front of her to study her. "Tell me what to do. You've held up the fort so well, but I'm here now, and I can help."

Piper didn't look at her like she was fragile or crazy. She nodded, shuddering one last time from crying before pointing across the battlefield. "To the East. Reyna sent a messenger about five minutes ago." Piper gestured to the dark-haired boy next to her. He was small, young, maybe thirteen, and starstruck to be in both Piper and her presence. Annabeth felt a stab of guilt at such a young kid fighting in the war. He must've been one of Malcolm's recruits for she recognized the orange flame on his breast pocket immediately—a symbol of Epresh and the Ashingtons. Pride flushed through her.

"Princess," he gasped, looking up at her. "It's an honor, my Lady."

"I'm no longer royal," she gently reminded him.

He stubbornly shook his head. "You'll always be our voice," he promised. "My sister loved you. As did my mother."

Loved. Annabeth swallowed, choosing not to ask. She prayed he wasn't also an orphan, but she had a feeling that was exactly what had happened as a result of all this ongoing bloodshed. "Well, thank you," she permitted. "I will always love my people, as comrades or as subjects," she told him, her heart swelling with affection for this younger boy and his family she hadn't known.

"Reyna needs backup," Piper relayed the boy's message to Annabeth. The Europeans are sending bombs from the East."

Annabeth swore. Her mind had not deteriorated in that prison: it was the one thing she was still sure of. "We need machinery then."

Piper nodded. "I sent a messenger to Malcolm, wondering how the inventory in Epresh or Jirot is, but I wasn't sure."

"Forget Epresh and Jirot," Annabeth instructed, her mind whirring. "We need to send a squad to Sumisu."

Piper's mouth parted in surprise. "But Thalia's still securing their surrender down there. It'll be chaos."

"A small squad, then," Annabeth amended. "But your sister Silena married Sir Beckendorf of Baca—"

"Beckendorf's dead," Piper revealed, interrupting.

Annabeth's mouth opened and closed in surprise. "When?"

"About three hours ago."

Annabeth cursed. "It's okay. Silena's still down there, right?"

Piper grimly nodded. "She's probably in a strange mindset, though."

"It's fine; we can still work with this. All Silena needs is to give us access, and Thalia can do the rest."

Piper nodded in cautious agreement, slowly understanding where Annabeth was going with this.

"House Haersley will have access to the top of the line vehicles and aircrafts. Some of their model fighter jets have built in bomb detonators that can drop from miles above sea level," she spoke quickly. The boy at Piper's side watched in amazement.

"I'll send Leo," Piper understood. "He can fly one back."

"Take Frank too—"

"—his pacifists use helicopters frequently and have basic knowledge," Piper finished for her. They were a good team. "You're a genius, Chase."

Annabeth's heart surged with happiness. It had been so long since she had felt this useful. "No. We are." It felt complete to say, and Piper traded a genuine smile with her before sending the boy off running to deliver the message to Leo.

A crossbow clicked behind Annabeth, but before the attacker could shoot, Piper had already slashed his neck, having heard the movement moments before. Annabeth, startled by her delayed reflexes, gaped at Piper in surprise.

"Thanks."

Piper simply nodded before darting off into battle, Annabeth closely following, the dagger in her hand still warm from Percy's touch.

…

As she fought, she slowly gained her reflexes, though once in a while she grew easily tired, and one of her nearby comrades would save her ass from decapitation. Annabeth bent behind Hazel as the small, curly-haired angel speared a guard to his knees.

"Thanks," Annabeth called over the chaos. Hazel smiled sweetly before gunning down Piper's fourth cousin, twice removed. Annabeth shivered, making a mental note never to cross the young Levesque. Annabeth persisted through the crowd in search of someone in particular, a blond man with haunting eyes, in particular.

She wanted to throw it in his face, to slam the hilt of her dagger against his temple.

"Who are you looking for?" a voice whispered in her ear, surprising her.

"Percy," Annabeth realized, calming her pounding heartbeat with deep breaths. "Oh, god." There was a long bandage across her arm, presumably from Will, but it had peeled off, and he was bleeding again.

"It's okay," Percy promised before she could fret. Annabeth deeply frowned, but chose to ignore it for the moment being.

"No one in particular."

"Liar.

She mustered a glare at him.

"If you're looking for my brother, he's still in the castle, protected by his fleet of guards. I already looked."

Oh. Annabeth felt small under his intense stare. "I'm looking for Kitty."

"Who?" Percy's forehead creased.

"Guard Haven."

"You mean Medusa's guards?" Percy realized.

"I never knew their name." Annabeth shrugged, stabbing an attacker. Percy finished her off, burying his sword into her chest before pulling the blade out, slick with dark blood.

Percy frowned. "I see. I think I saw her—right there, actually." He pointed a lean arm to just over the hill. Sure enough, Kitty shot down a small ginger girl with a single bullet, her expression fierce. Annabeth went icy cold all over with hatred. "I'll see you in five minutes?"

She barely nodded, and before Percy could stop her, she sprinted up the hill, stalking Kitty like prey, ironically. And then she pounced.

Kitty's face paled with realization. "You!" she cried, her eyes narrowing at Annabeth, but it was too late.

Using all her pent up anger, Annabeth grazed Kitty's arm the first time, mistakenly missing, but then she parried the blow by holding her dagger vertically, and then she struck like a snake, sticking her dagger into Kitty's neck. Annabeth didn't feel an ounce of regret. After all the torturous loneliness and Kitten's cruel smirks and stinging words and rough hands, Annabeth felt Kitty got what she deserved.

Percy was a hurricane behind her, warding off rows upon rows of guards, fighting a demon. She watched with awe, but then—but then she saw it out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't respond fast enough, falling to her knees against the grass with pure exhaustion. Percy was too occupied with a particularly stubborn soldier to see it coming.

A guttural scream rose in her chest, and she was shouting his name, and his eyes went wide as a sword cleanly sliced into his abdomen.

And then she was running as fast she could, but there were too many bodies, some cheering, some angry, some saying something about Luke murdering them all for taking his kill, and Annabeth was shivering, and when she reached for her face, she realized she was crying.

She had never been religious before, but it wasn't until now that she prayed, prayed for the Gods to be real, to be watching over her, to be watching over him. There was blood pooling underneath him, that much she could see. She tried to shove her way to the front, but someone's elbow cracked against the bridge of her nose, sending mind-numbing pain shooting up the front of her face. Annabeth stumbled backwards, her shaking hands flying up to ease the pain, but blood was already trickling out of her nostrils.

"Let me through!" she demanded, but her voice was lost among the sea of people.

"Bring his head for the King!" a soldier crooned, cackling. Annabeth stabbed him so hard with the dagger that the sheer force of her forward movement sent the corpse toppling over, dead before he'd even hit the ground.

"Don't touch him! Nobody touch him!" She yelled her voice hoarse, weeping without even understanding why.

But that wasn't necessarily true. She didn't have to make her way through the people to understand what all of this meant, what the sobs were for, why the men cheered, why others were grieving something fierce. An ungodly sob wracked its way out of her chest, and she fell to her knees, the thin flesh scraping, dotted with tiny beads of blood, but she didn't even feel it.

This was a loss beyond what words could describe.

It was startling. She had words for every occasion be it a celebration or a mourning. She was born of words and thoughts, blessed with the ability to talk her way out of any situation. But there were no words for this sort of moment, the moment when you know you've lost everything you've waited so long for.

People, Annabeth had always known, were cruel at heart. She watched them argue, shutting her out of their circle, keeping her from seeing him. Annabeth pushed herself away, backwards, every muscle in her tingling. And perhaps it was her cynical outlook, but she had always believed people were inherently selfish, ever since she was little girl. People were not good to each other because if they were, death would not be so sad.

Annabeth watched the world blur in her hazy eyes, crumpling into herself. She staggered against a thick tree trunk, leaning against it for support. Then she retched. Screams filled the air, sobs of mothers and fathers, of friends and family. Of lovers. Of enemies.

She slid down against the tree trunk, falling into the dirt grass, her chest void of any feeling. First she sat with her anger—rotten, hollow anger. The type that has no real substance except for you're so angry at the world that you can't seem to really care. She sat with anger long enough that anger introduced herself, hesitantly revealing her real name was grief. Guilt took her hand, comforting her lightly, but Annabeth snatched her fingers away, too empty and furious and exhausted to feel the full effects of the horrific incident. She did not want their artifice, not now.

The chilly fall air nipped at her ears, reminding her winter would come next. It felt like the world was grieving alongside her. The leaves waltzed in time with the wind, the red and yellow and brown skittering across the dulling blades of now pale green. When the sea cried, they swam in the tears of Thasite, spreading over the oceans' surfaces, covering the water Percy had so dearly loved.

She wanted to rake all the leaves out, fight the world to go back to summer, leave the water clear so he could swim again, even if she knew with certainty she was fighting a losing battle. But she could imagine it: the sun would kiss his skin, and he'd laugh at her irrational fear of the water and encourage her to swim with him—he would have promised to keep her afloat. What she wouldn't give for the sea to swallow her whole if he'd just be standing there next to her. Autumn was a killer, and it murdered summer with the gentlest of touches. She raked her fingernails through her scalp, and her nails came away stained red from tip to tip. She stared at her hands blankly.

She briefly remembered something she had read long ago. She wasn't sure why it came to her when she was already alone save for her ghosts, but it encroached in her space nonetheless. When someone dies, their body weight drops by exactly twenty-one grams. It was not noticeable lest you were hugging them to your chest, watching the human soul dissipate into thin air. She knew, rationally, it was in actuality the elimination of bodily fluids, not souls, but she was overtaken by the urge to chase the wind and capture his soul nonetheless so that she could have it forever, keep it on her nightstand and hug it tight to her heart in the empty of the night.

It was simply twenty-one grams. Five and a quarter teaspoons of sugar. Twenty-one raisins. Seven pennies. Four thousand, seven hundred, seventy-three grains of sand.

Seventy percent of one droopy, sad pink carnation.

And it was also all nineteen years of his life combined, reduced to a mere lump of grams.

Annabeth put her head down in her arms.

Death's fingers ghosted over her pale forearms, silent and understanding. She did not shove him away, finally giving into the inhibiting sensations.

Annabeth tried her damnest to remember the last thing he'd told her. She found she couldn't remember and that only made it worse. She caved into herself, her mind nothing but a series of fuzzy static. It flooded back to her all of a sudden.

"I'll see you in five minutes?" His words had curved up, hopeful, gentle, understanding—everything she loved about him rolled into ones. Five minutes had never felt longer than it did now. She wished she had five more minutes, five minutes to tell him how much she loved him, to shove him out of the way, to sob apologies into his warm chest a thousand times. She didn't want to touch him now, only to feel that he was freezing all over. Her Percy was not cold, not even when angry, but he really wasn't hers, was he?

He was a man of the reaper himself, as they all were. Children of life and death and every painful, heart wrenching moment in between. He was perhaps one of the only honest men she had ever known, and that in itself was his final truth, the final gift he'd bestowed upon her without the knowledge he had touched her at all.

Death sat in the seat next to her.

Together they made a lovely pair.

A/N: Idk why, but I'm really frustrated with the end of this chapter. I was initially excited for it, but it doesn't quite sound like how I want it to, but I've been messing with it for the past 20 min, so I think I'm just going to let it go. It didn't have the punch I wanted. It's moments like these that make writing so frustrating, especially when I have the vision, but not the execution abilities. Regardless, let me know what you thought of the chapter (if you want to, of course). A lot of it was frustrating to write, actually. None of the sentences strung together like I'd hoped, and I personally believe it's just lackluster as a whole, but if you agree or disagree or have any thoughts about it at all, feel free to let me know.

We're coming awfully close to the ending of this story, guys, just to let you know. It's probably going to round off at chapter 30, a nice number coincidentally lol. It's bittersweet, I suppose. I'll be grateful to have a little time to myself, not that I don't enjoy writing these chapters, but sometimes I get irritated with myself for procrastinating by writing these stories (like I did all of today smh). Plus there's only one death left, so you can find solace in that. (That's not a pun. Will's not the one dying. Why am I explicitly explaining this.)

I have a few more plot points to resolve. One obviously being Percy's demise, one being the monsters, one being the wars still going on, and then there's some antagonists still alive and people not content, like Drew, and then there's still Luke running about, and then there must be an epilogue to complement the prologue, and then we must have some sort of satisfying conclusion for Annabeth, and her brother, and her mother who is traveling, and democracy versus monarchy, and all they have suffered, but it will go quick from here. It started with a little girl who wanted to change the world, and it's got to end with her. Our girl's going to go off next chapter.

Also, I'm already cackling at the chapter title for the next chapter lmao; it's got me… deceased. (Too soon?)

It's not the end yet, obviously. And even when it is, I'll still be active. Who knows? I might start a new multi-chap, but for now I think I'm just going to breathe. I've been a constant stream of writing since I was thirteen, when I began my first multi-chap, and then immediately released the 1st chapter of this story not even a week after the end of that story. I have a oneshot in the works right now, which is actually super interesting imo. Percy and Annabeth are immortals in that one, but it's still an AU. It's unorthodox, and strange, and humorous, and sends you into another existential crisis, and… well, you'll see. :) Point is, keep your eyes peeled for my stuff after this story ends if you're into my writing.

Oh, this also means if you guys have any cool ideas, let me know. I don't usually do requests, just bc that can get overwhelming really fast, but if a large majority of you really want something, I might consider putting my own spin on it. Also, I'll probably have a poll up soon, like I always do, for the next story. Part of me wants to do a mErmAid story just cuz I'm really weird, and apparently I don't know that writing College AUs is the beloved standard (oh my god my soul is still 12; pining really doesn't get better than the fake dating stories with bED SHARING and angsty unrequited love, and I dare you to tell me otherwise), but IDk mAn; it also feels like one of those ideas you get when you are like super high. Like Percy would be a mermaid lmao and Annabeth would be normal, and maybe it could be some play off Hannah Moskowitz's Teeth book, which I love way too much. OR I could do a business tycoon one where Percy is suave af bc who doesn't love smooth Percy, oR I could write a oneshot about passive aggressive newspaper columnists, OR I started this story a longggg time ago (meaning I'll have to rewrite it all bc the writing is trash) which is loosely like 12 Finally by Wendy Mass, where Annabeth's been promised all these things the day she turns 14, like a phone, boy-girl parties, etc, but nothing turns out the way she hopes, and a teen actor is coming to her town to film a movie at her school (Percy), and he just finds her unfortunate situations hilarious, and that story would be v lighthearted and nice, which I think I'm missing lmao. These tragic stories only get me periodically depressed from time to time. But then I really wanna write a mURDER MYSTERY also, where Annabeth's deeply afraid, and it's like almost a horror, and someone's killed her dad or something, and she's trying to find the killer, and Percy's just the sorta shady guy who might know something about it, just bc I've never done anything that cool before, and I might make it rated M, so it's terrifying, idk.

I'll let y'all know if I put a poll up real soon. Sorry this A/N is really long (like 1,000 useless words) and messy; I'm too tired to edit it down. In all fairness, the actual content of my chapters, excluding reviews and A/Ns is about 10,000 words as usual. I'd never cheat y'all like that.

Until next time~

Kit xx

BethnPercy: Aw, we all have bad days. I'm pleasantly surprised to hear something my dumbass said cheered you up; I sincerely hope today's going a little bit better. You screenshotted it? I'm flattered, my dude. I always sound extra stupid in review responses lol (mostly bc I've been writing for a long period of time before hastily replying so I can quickly release the chapter), but that's so sweet of you. Besides, the least I can do is reply to y'all. You guys are so freaking funny, and I'd feel weird if I didn't acknowledge the badassery. I find it hilarious that Nico's outing was your favorite scene, considering how little thought I put into it (and it shows). I was googling Greek monsters, saw a painting of a siren, realized it was half-naked, and then with the maturity of a twelve-year-old boy, proceeded to write the strangest, humorous scene thus far lmfao. I'm glad it was funny though. I'm trying not to include forced humor, only things I find funny myself, but sometimes I'm not sure if other people find it as entertaining as I do. Tbh, I feel like Uncle Rick accidentally put sexual tension for Theyna, even in the canon version. Like that one scene in BoO where Reyna's captured by the Hunters of Artemis, who were working with the Amazons, led by Hylla, and she ends up punching Thalia in the face without any weapons:

"'Unharmed, right where you left them,' the ginger girl promised. 'Look, it's three to one and your

hands are tied.' 'You're right,' Reyna growled. 'Get another six of you in here and it might be a fair fight. I demand to see your lieutenant, Thalia Grace.' The ginger girl blinked. Her comrades gripped their knives uneasily. On the floor, Reyna's hostage began to shake. Reyna thought she might be having a fit. Then she realized the girl was laughing. 'Something funny?' Reyna asked. The girl's voice was a gravelly whisper. 'Jason told me you were good. He didn't say how good.' Reyna focused more carefully on her hostage. The girl looked about sixteen, with choppy black hair and startling blue eyes. Across her forehead glinted a circlet of silver. 'You're Thalia?' 'And I'd be happy to explain,' Thalia said, 'if you'd kindly not cut my throat.'"

I'm personally attacked by how well I can imagine them together, you know? I think, like Rick, I've accidentally made them have sexual tensions, but I'm not mad lol. I can run with it, seeing as how many of you are down for Theyna. Yes, yes, you better be getting some sleep. Don't make me expose my very, very buried, nearly nonexistent (lol) maternal instincts and nag you to sleep. Stoppp omg. You're too sweet, really. And as always, thank you for reading.

Lishiba: YES; Princess Diaries is a national treasure. I honestly make so many references to so many different fandoms throughout all my stories lol, and it's always the best thing ever when somebody catches one. It's always nice to meet fellow fans. :) Thank you so much for reading!

Deeksha.27: I'm always shooketh by your reviews, and this time is no different. Like your analyses are always spot on, and I'm personally attacked by the depth and amazingness that comes with your reviews lol. (Thank you, and seriously there's no reason to apologize for delaying reviews. The fact that you review at all makes my day). PS I hope finals went well. I'm sure you're a smart cookie by yourself, but a little wished luck never hurt, right?

Review 1 Response:

"So I read the last 2 chapters again, and what the actual fuck?" That seems like a fairly common reaction to my writing lmao. Luke is the craziest b to ever exist. (I love it). Ah, yes: the branding. Now she's just gonna have a nice little 'L' on her collarbone for all time. (Can't wait till Percy finds it—oh wait. [I should not find this as funny as I do.]) I suppose none of us will really understand Luke entirely except for him. I'm not even sure I do. Am I even an author at all if I don't throw you off your game? Dude's got so many issues I can't even begin to count. Mama issues are probably the most fun, though. I feel like he's been delusional for a long time. Like he's delusional, but he's still incredibly capable and genius even in his state of mind? It's pretty weird. "Even though Medusa fucked his brain up, that still doesn't absolve him off any of the atrocities he committed." Oh, one hundred percent. I think Annabeth, at the end of the chapter, finally came to that general consensus. I imagine a part of her will always be with him, just as another part will be with her brother, and Percy, and Jason, etc, but she's decided that no matter who he used to be, no matter the small part of him that cares, she has to do what's right. (That's perhaps the biggest difference between her and Percy. Percy's loyal to a fault, as we all know, and he never would've had the guts to kill his brother, even if he knew it was the right thing to do, even if he hated him more than Annabeth. That's his little brother, at the end of the day, and he'll always hold out to a perhaps naive hope that Luke will revert back to the boy he used to love and know.) "But at no point did he really feel guilty; in fact, he became the player himself, a game master in his own world." I think Luke only feels guilty for the shit he's done to Annabeth and Percy, and indirectly killing Poseidon with Medusa but not really anything else, so that's pretty spot on.

"His 'love' for Annabeth is, quite complex." Truer words have never been spoken. "...because of not only their common goal, but also similarity in personality/interest. She saw him for him, not as a shadow to Percy's flame, which pretty much would seal the deal for him." Yes, yes, yES. You're so right that it's exciting lol. THEIR PERSONALITY IS NEARLY THE SAME THAT IT'S FREAKY. This was all confirmed in the Luke bathtub scene last chapter, and it's wild. Annabeth and Luke are both extremely ambitious and cunning and that's why so long ago in the "How To Spot A Passive Aggressive Partner" chapter, there's this scene: "'You picked a real winner,' she muttered once Drew was out of earshot… Percy's smile died with a downward twitch, and he started walking towards Annabeth's room, ascending the sloping spiral…Finally he turned, his eyes like the roaring ocean. 'I didn't pick anything. Everyone knows that.' 'At least you knew this was coming.' Percy winced at her words, but she didn't care. She couldn't handle his self-pity. 'And, you know, there's the 'you're going to be king' thing. That must be a boost.' He chuckled to himself, but he was not laughing. His eyes darkened, and he took a step forward, surveying her from head to toe. Instead of looking judgmental, he seemed sad. Deeply sad in the blue-green pools of his eyes, a little boy lost, looking for someone to save him. 'You're a lot like Luke,' he said after a long moment that made Annabeth's heart race. 'You mean engaged to a stranger? We do have that in common.' 'You're both very smart.' She couldn't help but snort…'You know people, you understand them, you see through them.' 'I did a great job of that last night. I definitely knew you were the Crown Prince the whole time.' 'You knew I didn't belong.' His sadness was contagious, sending an ache over her. 'So we've switched places.'"

Even Percy acknowledges she and Luke are one and the same in many ways. And herein lies the real question, the question Annabeth has been asking herself a million times throughout the entire story: Luke or Percy? It's worse than your typical love triangle because both brothers have the strangest, scarring issues. Like that time she blew up on Percy out in the woods, Percy's a child soldier, bred for the monarchy, a carbon copy of Poseidon, who is by no means perfect, tortured by Sally's 'suicide' and Medusa, and then there's Luke, what with his cruel mother, never quite fitting in, being the forgotten Prince, etc. They've painted a tragedy together to rival Shakespeare's, which is what makes Annabeth's position so interesting. On one hand, Luke will understand her better than Percy ever could. It's just the truth. They've made each other monsters, but in another life, they could've made each other angels. They would be unbeatable, but they could also drive each other to insanity. Two fucked-up people either result in peace for both, or a more fucked-up product. As we can see here, it ended up being the latter. Then there's Percy. He's a stark opposite of her, so he balances her out, but he'll never get it, and they'll always resent each other a little for the shit that went down with Luke. Percy subconsciously resents her for tearing the monarchy to shreds and disturbing a peace he was so accustomed to, for ruining Luke in some ways. She'll resent him for wanting power all the time, for leaving her stranded with Luke by not defending her against him and making her the bad guy who had to put her foot down. He'll regret her for letting people die because he's too damn loyal (like when he yelled at her after she argued with Thalia over Jason's death). Either way, it's a lose-lose-lose for all three of them because they're nuanced characters.

"To desire and own Annabeth was not only possessing one of Epresh's finest strategists/Amazonian warrior/enemy of the state, but also sending a message to Percy as a revenge for stealing his betrothed from him. He's like a little broken kid, who only wanted to be validated and loved, but instead, was compared to his golden brother." I agree completely. Emotionally, he really is just a child.

"I think deep down, in his gory, morbid twisted and vile thinking, he probably still loves her... the past version, a shell of what she was... like, he could have done even worse ( since she killed Medusa and publicly announced her death): god know, he could have kept her in a rotten cage: with barely anything to eat, no forms of entertainment, no proper supplies. He could have tortured her physically and emotionally, for all that she did against him... he could broken his word and killed her comrades without her knowing it,,, but "as a man of his word" , he let them go.. as a man who kept his promise : he didn't let her die. He visited her occasionally because of her. He never really executed/punished her every time she did something or raised a storm." This is all so true. He really does still love her in his own twisted way, but then sometimes his shines through, and it's just so fucked-up and weird that Annabeth feels equally disgusted and pitiful. He regrets in some ways letting Medusa push him to betray her because by his own admission in the bathtub scene last chapter, he says he knows now she would've been entirely his had he not switched sides and stabbed her in the back. We can see again how much Luke understands her by the room he leaves her, particularly the books. He knows her enough to leave her Chiron's books. It makes us want to sympathize with him, to pity him for Medusa's touch, because he really is sweet in odd ways, but then he pulls a 180 and brands her, and it's just unsettling. It's interesting that you said he's a man of his word for not letting her die. It's funny because in all his notes he promised to save her. Even in the cage immediately after locking up Percy and Annabeth after his betrayal, he asks her to be his Queen. He does more than promise not to let her die; he probably saves her more than even Percy. When Drew ordered Kronos to torture Annabeth, he's clearly angry at Drew for showing him up in front of the council and forcing his hand for her interrogation. He doesn't just spare her from a gruesome death over and over again—he actually protects her from all harm. The only harm that will ever come to her under his rule is his own. It's possessive, it's cruel, and it's weirdly kind. That's Luke in a nutshell, and it's why he's so intriguing. I'm sure he knew of the suicide pill, but I simply did a poor job of writing out Hylla's death scene. It happened rather quickly actually. The guards had found her only moments before they brought her in front of Luke. He hadn't even gotten a chance to say anything before she killed herself. That's on me, though, that you didn't understand that part. I failed to clearly express the details.

Review 2 Response:

Thank you so much! I'm crossing my fingers that my ACT scores are good enough for college lol. If I have to restudy and retake, I'm just going to crawl up in a hole and die. Awww, thank you! I love music, so I've always been super passionate about it, and thus very competitive. ;) I see you've come to chew my head off as well lol. You can join the club. *points a line of my v angry, exasperated readers* "also, why in the hell do u think ppl would feel obligated to write a review ?!" IDK, MAN. IT BE LIKE THAT SOMETIMES. I feel weIRD asking for reviews. I write for people like YOU; you don't write for me. I just love you guys, that's all, and so many things have made me guilty recently. *shrugs* "In fact, I was feeling guilty the other day because I wanted to review but didn't have time/didn't have much to say until now... I'm pretty sure others have given u an earful so I'll stop at that!" Nooo, don't feel guilty. Seriously. I love your reviews, like seriously, seriously adore them, and it's so fun to contemplate character motivations with you, but like I said, if you write a review, I'll cherish it for all time, but I don't want y'all to stress over it. Thank you times a billion. (And yes, everyone else seriously berated me like a bunch of mothers. It was… interesting lol). "But just remember , we review because we love the story and the author!... It's nice that you take in and write what your readers feel like they want, but pls give credit to ur self. U r equally important. It's because of ur idea of a story, we r connected. Always remember that." You're making me feel all mushy stop omfg. I'm not supposed to fEEL THINGS. XP (Thank you. Again. I could never say it enough).

"One thing that really warmed my heart was the closure between Nico and Percy... first off, the situation itself was hilarious" Ah, yes. The naked Siren lol. I really don't know what I was thinking, but the majority of you guys seemed to find it funny, so I'm relieved. "Everyone wants to be accepted, no matter what they say otherwise. With this , not only the characters got closure, but also us as readers... I love how Percy was non-judgemental and was upset at that fact nico would just assume the worst. He really showed character growth as he warmly accepted and embraced nico, like an older brother would." I love that first sentence, and I agree completely. Nico puts up a tough facade all the time, smoking cigarettes and reveling in self-destruction, but he really does care, and we can see that in how upset he gets. Also, I'm glad you like Percy's acceptance. We can see he doesn't totally get it—a fault of his upbringing—but he's trying for Nico's sake. After all he's gone through, I'd hope he's grown, at least a little bit. Additionally, like I said in my A/N, this story is sadly coming to a close soon, so I am definitely trying to wrap up and give closure to some major plot points, like Nico's sexual orientation and the blatant homophobia in the royal society. "I think it still holds true as homophobia still exists and very prominent over the world, but at least actions are being taken for equality... pretty much was laughing my ass off while reading that past, damn, how did u come up with that?" Yessss. One of the major reasons I made Will a bigger character than just a basic side character was for the purpose of him playing an honest, non judgemental lense. He's supposed to be the readers' idea of what they should think. He's impartial to most things, and he's one of the few genuine people in the entire society, a mere healer in a society of riches and artifice (he's kind of the "Nick" in the Great Gatsby, if you've ever read that book).

"I mean, it takes plenty of guts to defy a "king's orders ";twice . I would be shitting bricks if I was in her place , so... Idk what her stance is in the whole war, but she's definitely interesting to see…" I. Love. Drew. She's so veiled, and I do my best to preserve her thoughts in the shadows, so none of us really know where she's coming from, even if it's her own POV. She embodies the essence of a Raya: never quite good or bad, but instead stuck in the ambiguous shades of grey. Sometimes it feels like she's fighting for Annabeth, and other times it looks like she's fighting for Luke. She, like all Rayas, has been raised to be entirely selfish and not necessarily in a bad way. She is selfish for her own success and survival, and she will side with who she must, regardless of the cardinal virtues. She's more realistic to me than some of the other characters simply because of her indifference to all but herself (and the one person, Cecily, who she's chosen to love). She exhibits the raw reactions of humanity; perhaps it's my cynical side shining through, but to me humanity will always be innately selfish, and I have created Drew to share my opinion and act upon it.

"Also, was Twig the experiment that successfully proved resurrection? (I'm just joking, u must be very busy at the moment, but u might want to check on Twig cuz initially he "killed" by Drew but now he's " alive" again to report to Luke…" OH SHIT. I had a mini heart attack when I read this, and then I proceeded to immediately go and change it. I didn't even realize omg; thank you so much. (Also, I like your method in calling me out for it. It made me laugh.) The issue is that I rarely get time to write chapters in one or two sittings, rather writing tidbits sporadically: a sentence or two in French class, a paragraph in passing time, a rough idea at a stoplight, a scene on the bus ride home, etc. This obviously results in continuity errors and plot holes. My bad. Thank you for the correction, and I'm sorry for any confusion that may have caused!

And finally, thank you so freaking much for your reviews. I had so much fun reading through them and considering your analyses. They're so good they could be the outline of an English essay lol. (Also, can I just say I love some of the words you use. I'm such a ho for sophisticated diction).

I hope to hear from you soon xx :)