Long Live The King

by Fangirl Shrieks

"You're playing with fire, my Lady," he seethed, "and you might get burned." Feeling brave, Annabeth raised her chin in defiance. "You can't get burned, my Lord, if you're the flame." OR When Queen Athena's ball to unite four kingdoms takes an unexpected turn, Annabeth finds herself in a twisted game of love, war, lies, revenge, and betrayal. And she doesn't like to lose. Royal AU.

32. Epilogue

A/N: Rip to the chapter titles I never got to use: In Which The Protagonist Turns Out To Be a Dumbass, 10 Reasons Why Clickbait Sucks (#4 Will Surprise You!), Error: Fucks Not Found, One Question: What The Hell, The One Where They Kick Ass.

Also, I put up the poll for a new possible story on my profile page. You can go vote up to three, so please do that for me if you want to, thanksssss.

Additionally, with the coronavirus, I have three weeks off school as a safety precaution, and I'm sure many of you are in similar boats. Please be safe! Most of you are young enough where even if you contract it, you won't fall ill or at least not that ill, but you will make dangerous carriers, and it'll hurt people over the age of sixty-ish, so let's just do our best to defend our family and friends from it, mkay? Sending my best wishes to you and your loved ones in this trying pandemic. xx

Finally, I have an announcement that I've been tossing and turning over whether or not to tell y'all. I've just been wanting to do this for so long that it's strange, but I don't want to commit to anything until I've got anything set in stone, but screw it. I'm… er… I'm writing a book. *hides* I'm about 3 chapters in, and I hope to release it by this summer. It's a dystopian YA novel, and it revolves around this idea I've had since I was like 13. Dystopian fantasy, all that good shit, you already know what's up.

Disclaimer: All rights remain. Much love to Victoria Aveyard, and Broken Throne which gave me some ideas, and from whom I once more sampled for parts I, II and IV of the epilogue. And then overall, of course. If you haven't read her series, you should give it a try. If it wasn't for her, I would've never written this story.

I

Annabeth

As much as you want to let the world go, it doesn't want to let you go. You're making history, kid; trust me.

When Malcolm told her six months prior she would be drawn back in again, that the world would not let her go so easily, she tried to believe him. Tried to believe her life would not be as empty as it had become through the years. And then it was her calling card. Only days before she turned twenty, the Canadians called upon her… and others. A gala. A simple gala. But she saw it for what it was: another puppet show. She had figured after her time in Luke's grasp, she was done playing doll, but… it was different now. No one could shove her into a little box anymore. She had grown. And so it began. She had helped tear apart nations, and now they would rebuild it together.

…

"When do you move out of the estate?" Silena asked, her black hair dark against the sunlight

"After the gala," Annabeth replied. The excitement in her voice was real. "It'll be good to finally come back." After nearly a year of a small cottage off in a more rural area of Canada, she knew Malcolm would also be equally as eager to have a proper home once more. A life of castles to cottages was a strange one indeed. They had bought a house, a beautiful house along the waterside of Canada.

Silena smiled kindly. "Are you living lakeside or slopeside?"

Annabeth curled a piece of hair around her finger, enjoying the feeling of soreness after a good workout. Her muscles ached, and her blood sung. "Slope. The lake town house they offered was beautiful, but I like being up high."

Where she could see, where no one could sneak up on her.

Silena nodded, thoughtful. "How is your brother adjusting?" Malcolm had always been close with their father and mother. Athena would come back in two months' time too to stay, hopefully for good. She had globe-trotted, and she was ready to face her children and the trauma the three of them experienced.

"Better than expected. He likes it here. And what's the alternative?" Epresh? Annabeth almost laughed. Neither of them would return to that place, not for anything short of Jason's return. The odd thought sobered her, and any delight from the training session against Nico faded away.

Silena noted the blonde's sudden change in mood. Her excitable air faded with Annabeth's happiness, and they both lapsed into easy silence.

In spite of the memories always threatening to surface. Annabeth liked being here too. With her brother, with some of her friends. With people who believed the world could change, because they had done it already. It made the future look less daunting.

At the rear gates to the palace, the other Canadians broke off. Nico waved first, his now tanned skin taking on a golden edge in the sunshine.

"Same time tomorrow?" Annabeth asked.

"If our schedule allows," Thalia muttered.

Nico elbowed her in the ribs, trying to draw a smile from the taciturn woman. "Of course, Annabeth, how could we forget?"

"You with your important meetings all week, whispering and dealing—" Thalia began.

"Tomorrow," Nico interrupted her, offering a small smile.

"Tomorrow," Annabeth echoed, watching them go. She swore she'd make time tomorrow. She didn't think she'd keep sane otherwise.

Drew tapped her foot loudly, impatient as ever. She inspected her nails, perfect as ever. "You ex-Amazons are always so sentimental."

"Once an Amazon, always an Amazon," Annabeth reminded her. "And besides, you should try it." The blonde rolled her eyes, pushing past her and into the still-lush grounds of the palace. A few guards nodded as they went. Drew even nodded back to a few, both ex-royal and normal. Annabeth wondered if she was starting to make friends in her new home—if she was even capable of making friends.

"Well, do you feel better, at least?" Drew asked, her breath fogging in the crisp air. Leaves crunch beneath their feet.

"Are you my bodyguard or my mother?" Annabeth grumbled, meeting only her twisted smirk. "Yes, I feel better."

"Good." She tapped her hands together, her rings clinging together like bells. "So it's been a while."

"Almost a year," Annabeth echoed, not knowing what else to say.

"You certainly seemed like you needed the time away."

Her eyes roved over Annabeth, as if Drew could see through the blonde's clothes all the way to her bones. Drew remembered what Annabeth looked like before, the last time she saw her. Drew had been in Canada only a few days, having fled Thasite and the iron grip of her relatives. Annabeth thought she was passing through, just another refugee of the war making her way west. Never did she think Drew would stay in a place like this, a country where she was equal to any regular. Equal to her.

Annabeth supposed Cecily was worth the price. Love was worth the price.

When Annabeth saw her, she had crossed half the world to be here, on foot, by boat, and finally by jet. Somehow Annabeth looked so much worse. Hollow, in shock, unable to sit still or slow down. They passed each other in the Canadian garden, and even Drew had known to give her space. For once, Drew had no snide remarks for her, and let her walk alone.

"I'm ready to be back," Annabeth admitted. Somehow, it was an easier thing to say to her than to Malcolm or Piper or Nico. Drew had seen her at her worst, at her darkest, when Annabeth had thought the rest of my life would be metal manacles and a cruel king's love.

Usually, Drew reserved her pride for herself. Today she spared some for Annabeth. "I don't like you," she replied, and it sounded like another admission. An acceptance. A step toward friendship.

Annabeth's response was automatic. "I don't like you either." It drew a rare, true smile from Drew. "So, what's next on my schedule? I know I skipped out on the trade meeting, but is there something else I have to be at before sunset?"

She blinked at Annabeth like she'd grown a second head. "How should I know?"

Annabeth almost laughed. "I figured you were the type of person to know all."

Drew shrugged slightly. "Usually true, but I don't have any idea where you're supposed to be right now."

"Brilliant."

The mischievous glint returned, brighter than ever. She grinned, showing teeth. "I do know where someone is, though."

Annabeth's stomach flipped. "Why do you keep nudging us towards each other?" Even earlier, at the first meeting with ex-Queen Piper McLean, Drew had looked between Perseus and her, multiple times.

"Well, before, it was to make sure he didn't marry me. Back during the first wars." A year ago. "I mean, could you imagine? No thank you," she said, pretending to retch. Annabeth pursed her lips as they stepped into the palace. "Fine, to each her own."

The change from crisp, cold air to the warm halls inside fell around Annabeth's shoulders like a blanket. The scent didn't change, though. Inside and out, the palace smelled like the fresh tang of pine.

"Why do you keep nudging now?" Annabeth dropped her voice. Several meetings were still in session, and too many people roamed the palace for her taste.

Drew did no such thing. "There aren't many who deserve to be happy. I'm certainly not one of them, but here I am." She led Annabeth around a corner, winding them toward the entrance hall. "I think you might deserve it, Chase."

Annabeth gaped at her. That was one of the kindest things another person had ever said to her—and somehow it was coming from Drew Tanaka.

Again, it felt easy to talk to her. Maybe because they weren't friends or family. She didn't have the same expectations of Annabeth, or the same fears for her well-being. There was no risk to her.

"He saw me the other night." The words fought their way out of Annabeth's mouth. "He wouldn't speak to me."

It felt shameful to say, shameful to even care about. She was the one who told him to leave, after all. She told him to move on if he wanted to. I won't ask you to wait for me.

And yet he didn't say a word.

When Annabeth looked at her, she expected judgement. There was nothing but Drew's usual detached sneer.

"Are you physically incapable of talking to him first?" she drawled.

"No," Annabeth muttered, sullen.

Drew flounced off again, a bit of a spring in her step. Her rings jingled again as she snapped her fingers, gesturing for Annabeth to follow.

"I think you need a drink, Annabeth Chase."

The sector of Canada was lively beneath the sunset, looking out over the lake waters from a man-made cliff. Lanterns crossed over the pedestrian streets, glowing brightly already. Many bars and restaurants spilled out onto the sidewalks, their chairs and tables filled with patrons returning from work. Laughter and music washed over Annabeth, both foreign sounds. Part of her wanted to turn around and go back to some quiet corner of the palace. The noise was almost too much, grating on her nerves. Every happy shout could've been a scream, and the smash of a glass somewhere made her entire body jump.

Drew put a cool hand to Annabeth's arm, grounding her. This wasn't a battlefield. It wasn't a royal palace either.

It reminded Annabeth of royal cities where places like this would've never allowed commonfolk to enter, let alone serve them. But both kinds of blood were here. Many still had their military uniforms, either coming off shift or enjoying break time. She recognized the colors of politicians too, seeking refuge from the delegations. One of the bars was quieter than the rest, and dimmer, full of alcoves clustered around a main bar. More like a tavern than a cosmopolitan meeting place.

And, of course, that was where Percy was sitting, his back to the street, half a drink in hand. She'd know his broad silhouette anywhere.

She glanced at herself, her velvet clothing discarded for a training suit. There was dried sweat on her body, and her hair was probably frizzy.

"You look fine," Drew said.

Annabeth huffed at her. "Usually you're a good liar."

Thankfully, she didn't argue and set off toward the loudest, shiniest, and most boisterous bar on the street. A flash of scarlet rippled at a seemingly empty table on the curb, and suddenly Cecily was sitting there, a glass of wine in hand. Drew didn't look back as she waved Annabeth on. The Ashington scoffed to herself—that meddling woman probably had her shadow girlfriend keep tabs on Percy so she could shove her at him when he was alone.

Suddenly Annabeth wished she had more time. To think of something to say, to rehearse. To figure out what the hell she wanted. She could barely speak to him this morning, and the sight of him last night left her haunted. What would this do to both of them?

Only one way to find out.

The seat next to him was empty, and high up. As she climbed into it, she thanked her body for remembering its agility. If she fell out in front of him, she really might have died of embarrassment. But Annabeth stayed level, and before he could even turn to look at her, she had his glass in her hand. She didn't care what it held. She just drank, steadying her nerves. Her heart hammered in her chest.

The liquid was slightly sour, but cold and refreshing, with an edge of cinnamon. It tasted like winter.

Percy stared at her like he'd seen a ghost, his sea-green eyes wide. Annabeth watched as his pupils dilated, eating up all the color. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned, hanging open to the fresh air. He didn't need a scarf or coat to keep him warm right now, just his drink and his body heat.

"Thief," he said simply, his voice deep.

Annabeth looked back at him over the rim of his glass, finishing the drink.

"Obviously."

The familiar words hung between them, meaning more than they should've. They felt like an ending, and a beginning. To what, she couldn't say.

"Is the great Perseus Calbourne skipping out on his delegation?"

She reached, putting the glass back in place in front of him. He didn't move, forcing her arm to graze across his. The simple touch exploded through her, down to her toes.

The bartender passed by, and Percy motioned with two fingers, silently ordering for both of them. "I'm not a Prince anymore. I can do as I like," he said. "Sometimes. Besides, it's another trade debate right now. I'm no use."

"Me neither."

It's a relief to know that, for now, no one else was relying on her. Not to speak, stand, or be someone else's flag bearer. When the bartender put a full glass down in front of her, Annabeth drank half of it in one gulp.

Percy watched her every move, a soldier surveying a battlefield. Or an enemy. "I see you've learned drinking."

She grinned, shrugging. "Had to do something to pass the time up north."

Percy sipped more politely and wiped the foam from his lips. "How was it?"

The valley beckoned, even now. The empty wilderness, the mountains, the quiet of falling snow beneath a full moon. It was a good place to forget yourself, to be lost. But she couldn't do that anymore. "It was good for me. I needed . . ." Annabeth bit her lip. "I needed to be away."

He furrowed his brow, watching every tick of her face. "And how are you?"

"Better." Not perfect. Not whole. She would never be whole again. His eyes darkened, and she knew he saw that in her. He felt it in himself. "I still don't sleep properly."

"Neither do I," he replied quickly, forcing another sip of beer. Annabeth remembered his nightmares, some quiet, some thrashing. About his father dying at his own hand. She still couldn't imagine what that must've felt like. And now Annabeth betted he dreamt about Luke. The body he found, her wound in his belly. She dreamed about him too.

"I try not to think about him," Annabeth whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. A sudden chill blew over her. From Percy or the mountain, she couldn't say. "It doesn't work."

Another gulp of his drink. He broke first, looking away from her, his gaze a tsunami. "I know." After a long moment, his eyes swept back to her. The sorrow cleared from his face. "So what's next?"

She wasn't sure what he was asking, so she answered the easiest interpretation of the question.

"Proper resettlement. Malcolm's supervising a move to a townhouse of our own, up the slope." She pointed over his shoulder, gesturing in the general direction of their new home. "He said it has a beautiful view, and I guess it's close to where Nico and I can train."

One side of his mouth drew up in a grin. "I figured the battle cries up the mountain weren't natural."

She returned the smile and gestured to her ragged appearance, sweat and all. "In case you couldn't tell."

"You look beautiful. You always do." He said it so nonchalantly, then took another sip of his drink without blinking or breaking his gaze.

Cold air whistled past her teeth as Annabeth sucked in a breath, a last gasp before the plunge. Her grip tightened on the glass in her hand, until she was afraid it might shatter. "You saw me last night," she whispered, her voice almost lost in the tavern.

An emotion she couldn't name shadowed his face. "Yeah."

She hoped for some clue in his voice or expression, but she was left to stumble in the dark for understanding. "Why didn't you say anything?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate. Annabeth couldn't tell if it worked.

He forced his trademark grin, lopsided and easy. "You wanted me to wake up half the palace, including your brother?"

"That's not why." At least she knew how to see through his charm by now.

A blush bloomed over his cheeks. She unsettled him as much as he unsettled her. Frowning, he took another drink of his beer. A long one, as if he could just wait her out. Fat chance, Calbourne.

She didn't waver, staring until he couldn't avoid the question anymore.

"I figured you needed every second you could get," he admitted, biting out the words. As if there was shame in them. "I didn't want to rush you."

His warmth rippled over her, tentative and searching. "Into what?"

"Into making up your mind, Annabeth," Percy huffed, throwing up one hand in exasperation. Like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Annabeth swallowed around the tightness in her throat, biting her lip. He noted every movement in her, watching her face like a battlefield. Looking for an advantage, looking for opportunity. "I did a lot of thinking up at the valley," she said. She felt like she was balancing on a cliff, ready to tip in either direction, with no idea how far the drop might be.

He didn't say a word. I won't ask you to wait for me. The thoughts were haunting.

"I would certainly hope so," he said, laughing darkly. He even shook his head, then took another gulp. His frustration didn't last long, quickly melting into apprehension. Annabeth shivered as his eyes darted over her, his lips parted. "And?" he added quietly, as if holding his breath.

"And I don't know. I still don't know." Before he could react, her head bowed, and she looked at her hands twisting in her lap. If anyone at the tavern was listening or even looked their way, Annabeth didn't notice. Again, the world had narrowed to him and only him. At first she clenched her teeth, to hold back the words rattling in her throat. No, she thought. You don't have to do that with him. "I missed you terribly," she whispered. "I was so afraid to speak to you this morning."

The heat grew, cocooning her from the cold air of the mountain. "I was afraid last night," he murmured.

Her head snapped up to find him leaning closer. The edge of her vision swam. "And now?" she asked, feeling breathless.

He didn't flinch, his face stone, his eyes fire. "Terrified."

She was all lightning, her nerves crackling beneath my skin. "Me too."

"Where does this leave us?" One of his hands brushed hers on the bar top, but didn't linger.

She could only shake her head. She didn't know.

"Let me simplify." He licked his lips, and his voice took on a warrior edge, resolute and unyielding. "In a perfect world, without war, without the reconstruction, without the Europeans or the Amazons or any other obstacle you can think of, what would you do? What would you want for us?"

Annabeth sighed, waving him off. "It doesn't work like that, Percy."

He never wavered, only leaning farther into her space, until their noses were just inches apart. "Humor me," he said neatly, as if carving every letter.

Her chest tightened. "I suppose I would ask you to stay here."

His eyes flashed. "Okay."

"And I would hope that, in a perfect world, every time you looked at me, you wouldn't see your brother's corpse." The last word came out hoarsely, broken apart. Annabeth lowered her gaze, looking anywhere but his face. She settled on his fingers as they twitched, betraying his own pain. "And every time I looked at you, I wouldn't see him, and what he could have been. If I could have . . . done more."

Suddenly his hand was beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His touch was flame, almost too hot to bear. "I don't see him every time I look at you," he said. "Do you really see him every time you look at me?"

Sometimes, yes.

Every time? Now?

Annabeth searched him, her eyes weaving back and forth over every inch of skin she could find. Sure, callused hands. The veins of his exposed neck. A shadow of stubble already spreading over his cheeks. Strong brows, straight nose, the forever crooked smile. Eyes that were never Luke's.

"No," she told him, and she meant it. "Did you wait, Percy?"

His fingers weaved through hers as he grinned. "I'm still waiting."

This must've been what it felt like for a bird to fly. Somehow her stomach dropped and leapt at the same time. Despite the warmth of him all around her, Annabeth began to shiver. "I can't make promises," she sputtered hastily, already trying to get ahead of the admission they had both made. "We don't know where the world is going. My family is here, and you have so much to do back east—"

"I do," he said, nodding. "I am also very good at flying jets."

She couldn't help but laugh. "You and I both know you can't just commandeer a jet when you want to see me." Though the thought did make her heart skip a beat.

"You and I both know you aren't going to stay put here either," he retorted, and his free hand went to her chin again. Annabeth didn't push it away. "The future won't let you. And I don't think you can let yourself sit still much longer."

The words continued to spill out, as quickly as they popped into her head. Obstacles in their way, problems to be solved. "That doesn't mean I'll be anywhere close to the States, if and when I do decide to get involved with all this again."

Percy just grinned wider. For a moment he was a second sun, beaming warmth all over her. It broke and re-formed her heart. "If geography is really the only thing standing in our way, then I consider this settled."

Sighing, Annabeth allowed just a bit of the tension in her to release. She relaxed into his hand, angling her head. Could it really be this easy? "Do you forgive me?"

His eyes darkened, and his smile seemed to fade. "Have you forgiven yourself?"

Again he looked her over, hunting for an answer. Ready for her to lie.

It took all her strength not to.

"No," Annabeth whispered, expecting him to pull back. To turn away. "I don't know if I can."

He had his own demons, as many as her. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to shoulder the burden of hers too. But he only tightened his grip, until she couldn't tell where her fingers ended and his began.

"That's okay," he said simply, like it was just so obvious. "We have time."

Annabeth blinked as she felt herself fall from the cliff, the balance finally tipped.

"We have time," Annabeth echoed.

Her heartbeat thumped, a steady rhythm. The electricity in the walls, in the lights, hummed with energy. The air whipped around her ears. The stars twinkled above. And then she simply shut it all out, plunging the tavern and the street into embracing darkness. It was as easy as breathing. Voices around them rose in her imagination, but she ignored them, focused on Percy instead. No one could see them now.

His lips met hers slowly, a steady invitation. He always let her set the pace, always gave her a chance to step back. Annabeth had no intention of slowing down, or stopping. The sounds of the tavern faded away around her, and her eyes slid shut until the only sensation was the feel of him.

If Annabeth could've held it back forever, she would've.

When it all returned, buzzing back to life, she pulled away first.

He lingered, reluctant, then smirked as he reached for his money. But Annabeth had already left some on the countertop, her hands quicker than his ever would be. They grinned at each other. She wished she still had the coins he gave her, that night when she stood in the shadows and waited for someone to see her for who she was.

Annabeth took his hand and led him back up the mountainside. To his room, to hers, to the forest. To the sea or fire. It didn't matter.

She was almost twenty. She had nothing but time. To choose, to heal.

To live.

---

II

Percy

By the time the gala caught them, Percy would've rather slept through the evening. And it really did feel like a predator, crouching at the end of the week, waiting to pounce. He'd had more than his fair share of balls, parties, and overblown celebrations in his lifetime. He knew how this went, and he knew how boring, exhausting, and otherwise nauseating this night would be. After their days filled with meetings and debates, small talk with the delegates would be salt in an open, oozing wound.

At least he was not alone here. Annabeth hated this as much as he did, but when he suggested they both conveniently come down with sickness, she soaked his hair with some new invention of hers. They spent enough time together. People would've believed it.

But she was right. They owed it to the alliance, to their delegations, and to themselves to make a show of this. In the end it was just a party, and maybe they could hunt down a little fun in the midst of it all. Not to mention, Rachel had the kitchens working all week. At the least, he would leave tonight very well fed. Besides, he'd rather not risk Sally's wrath or Chiron's gentle disappointment. Both had worked too hard this week, especially his mother. She settled after their first meeting, doing her best to bridge the gap between the royals and the rest of the alliance. Without her work, and Reyna's too, they might've had another rebellion on their hands, with more nobles ready to join the Secession. Instead, they had allies.

Tonight she intended to bask in her small victories, bedecking herself in the old jewels she once wore as a Queen. As they waited for Chiron and Kayla, she inspected herself in the mirrors of their salon, turning back and forth to let her water-colored gemstones catch the light. Her long, flowing blue gown seemed to dance as she whirled.

"Chiron tells me you're going to be staying on a few days after the gala," she said to her reflection, though the words were meant for him.

Percy had been ready for half an hour, he was almost asleep on the couch when she spoke. Her voice jolted him back, and he sat up, sharp as ever in his plain black suit. Only the badge on his collar, the joined circles in blue and white, adorned his clothing.

"Yes," he replied after gathering himself. Her eyes followed him in the mirror. "A few weeks, I think. Then I'll head back to the States and return to work."

Percy's body tightened, bracing for a motherly inquiry. Instead Sally just fixed her hair, smoothing her graying locks back behind her ears. She drew out her response, making him wait with the grace of an old Queen.

"Good," she finally said, and Percy nearly fell out of his seat. "You've earned a break."

"I—I suppose so, yeah," he sputtered, surprised. She knew who he was staying with, and why. Annabeth Chase was her favorite topic of inquiry and yet… nothing. "Thanks."

"Of course," she said. His mom grins as she turned around, amused by his shock. "You might not think it, but I'm proud of you, Percy. What you've done, what you continue to do. You're a young man, and you've accomplished so much with your time." Her footsteps were soft, muffled by the rich carpets of the salon. The couch barely sank as she sat next to him, one lined hand taking his. "You're strong, my dear son. Too strong. You deserve the happy moments when you find them. And all I want, beyond anything else, a crown or a country, is for you to live."

Percy's throat threatened to close, and he had to look away from her, if only to hide the sharp sting of tears. "Thank you," he forced out, focusing on a spot in the carpet. As much as he had wanted those words from her, ever since she "died" when he was a child, they weren't easy to hear or accept.

Her grip on his fingers tightened, forcing him to look at her. "I've lived through the rule of four Kings. I know greatness—and sacrifice—when I see it," she said. "Your father would be proud of you. In the end."

When Chiron and Kayla finally emerged, they were good enough to ignore his red-rimmed eyes.

With the delegations out of their uniforms and in finery, it was easy to pretend this was just a party. Not simply another meeting veiled by silk, liquor, and roving plates of stupidly tiny foods. At least Canada wasn't as rigid as old Thasite or its court. He didn't have to wait to be announced, and Percy descended into the grand ballroom with the rest of the delegates, all of them moving like a school of jewel-colored fish.

The chamber can't compare to Thasite's, or even Epresh's. Royals had the edge when it came to splendor, but he hardly minded. Instead of white molding and gilt frames, the long ballroom had polished timber arches and brilliant cut-glass windows looking out on the valley as night fell. The fire of sunset sparkled off mirrors that made the space seem grander and bigger. Percy looked across the floor, searching for familiar faces.

Annabeth's brother and Frank would be easiest to spot, tall as they were. They weren't here yet, so likely she wasn't either. The premier was, of course, greeting delegates as they filtered into the room. Thalia stood proudly at Reyna's side, waving over servants as they passed. Percy watched as she nearly force-fed one of the old high house members a tiny portion of salmon.

Drew had Cecily hanging on her arm, the two of them hovering near the string band that was still warming up. When the violinist raised his instrument, the pair of them begin to dance in perfect rhythm. As always, Drew managed to sparkle in the most threatening way. Her gown was beaten purple rose, sculpted to her form but somehow fluid. The color looked good on her, warming up her otherwise cold appearance. Cecily, on the other hand, seemed to be playing the part of a winter queen, her red hair flames as always, made even more bright by her pale skin, a light blue suit, and silver lipstick.

If anything was proof of the new world, the new possibility they could have, the Raya siblings were. First Drew, once meant to be his Queen and his burden, then a Princess of a hostile kingdom—now a soldier of an equal nation, with the woman she loved at her side. And her sister, heir to a throne as much as I was, nearly crushed by the expectations of a similar father—Silena was here too, oathed to defend all she was raised to destroy. And Piper, sweet, forgotten Piper, no longer forgotten. She was no longer Queen, not really; there was no use for the Amazons anymore, just as Artemis had always strove for, but she was in the front lines of the Canadian council alongside Rachel Elizabeth Dare, and she had found her pirates to battle, and her horses to tame. All three had so many sins behind them; some had no right to forgiveness or a second chance. But they found it, and the world was better for having them.

Like Annabeth, Percy couldn't help but think of Jason when he saw them. He was her best friend, and Percy mourned him as well, but he couldn't hate the Rayas' cousins for what they did. After all, he had done the same. Taken siblings and loved ones, killed for what he was told to believe. How could he condemn others without condemning himself?

Behind him, Chiron and Kayla kept watch, already halfway through their first drinks. "Just doing our duty," Kayla quipped, catching his eye.

"Thanks," Percy replied, grinning.

The pair of them pledged to keep any delegates away from him as long as he wanted, to give him time to breathe. Today was the worst of all: Percy spent most of it policing a shouting match between an Amazon general and one of Europe's transport ministers.

"Behind you, Percy," Chiron said and pointed his chin back up the stairs. From their spot on the floor, they had an excellent view of the crowd as it descended, and it didn't take Percy long to pick them out.

Malcolm wore a dark grey, white-vined coat—neutral colors for a neutral man. Percy found strange relief to see such familiar faces. Nico was walking with him, still dressed in black, though Percy suspected that was simply because that was Nico, not because he was rebelling against freedom. Will laughed at something, grinning broadly over his blue and green coat.

Annabeth was dressed in white too, neutral at its finest. Percy had never seen her in the sheer silk overlaid over a crisp white sleeve. She seemed like an angel, though he knew she was anything but.

She smiled just for him as she walked, careful to keep the hem of her skirt in check on the stairs. The many candles danced above her, making her glow. Percy waited patiently, letting the rest of the crowd break around him in a river. If someone tried to speak to him, he didn't notice. His focus was on one person in the room.

A flush colored the tops of her cheeks, the perfect complement to the strawberry color of her lips. And the curl of freshly washed hair. Percy couldn't help but smile like an idiot, especially when she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The stones glimmered there, different colors in the earring, for her brother, for Jason, and for him. The seagreen gem winked across the room, a star Percy would follow anywhere.

When she reached the floor, Percy didn't move, letting her maneuver carefully around her mess of friends. They spotted him and offered polite nods, better than he felt he deserved. Malcolm more polite of all the ex-Amazons, offering a smile, while her Reyna pointedly looked at the ceiling. Percy didn't mind. He had time with them. He had time with her.

"I have to say, I expect more from you," Annabeth said, stepping up to me. She ran a hand down the lapel of his suit, letting her fingers trace the buttons before finding the badge on his collar. Her touch, even through the clothes, made him shiver. "You look like you're dressed for a quiet night in."

"I wish," Percy muttered, closing his hand over hers.

She squeezed his fingers. "I wager we make it thirty minutes or so."

As much as he enjoyed the thought of stealing away the night with her, his stomach growled in disagreement. They could've had food brought up to his room, but that just seemed rude, and certainly Rachel would see that they were sent the worst of the kitchen scraps.

"And miss dinner?" Percy balked. "No thanks. If I'm going to suffer, I'm going to at least get something out of it."

She pulled a face but nodded in compliance. "Good point. But if she runs out of steak again, I'm leaving."

Percy laughed quietly, wanting to pull her closer, regardless of propriety. But tongues were already wagging about them, and the last thing they needed was a gossip circle about their status. Not that they themselves could even agree on that. No promises, as Annabeth said. They were simply taking things as they came, with their priorities and boundaries starkly drawn.

"Are you all ready for next week? Did Sally say anything?" Annabeth looked at him, her lips pursed, prepared for the worst. She searched for any hesitation in Percy's answer, knowing all his tells.

Percy smiled wider. "Believe it or not, she gave me her blessing, no questions asked."

"To go up to the cabin when the weather breaks?" She blanched, her eyes darting to pick out his mother in the crowd. "I'm impressed."

"I haven't told her about the valley, but I doubt she'll care either way. It's not exactly easy for me to get frostbite."

"Unless you piss me off and I lock you out in the cold."

Before he could laugh her off, Nico and Malcolm appeared on either side of them, almost leering. "Don't think she won't," Nico warned, his brow furrowed.

Malcolm bobbed his head in agreement. "I almost lost a toe."

"And you would have deserved it," Annabeth snapped, shooing both of them off with an exasperated grin. "So, are you going to make me dance?"

Elsewhere, the string band was in full swing, serenading a floor teeming with dancing couples of various skills. Percy glanced at them, remembering the last time he did this. Annabeth was there, on Luke's arm, dancing steps only moments after she'd danced with Percy, fighting for dominance.

She felt the memory as he did, both of them lost to watching the floor. Her smile faded, as did his, and they weathered the storm of loss and regret together. It was the only way through it.

"No," they said in unison, and turned away.

They didn't stay glued. That was not her way, or his. She went where she wished through the gala, as did he. As much as Percy hated it, he made the rounds he had to, thanking members of the delegations for their time and expertise. Chiron did it with him, at least, his smile unfailing. Once or twice. Despite all his training for battle, the runs with Annabeth every morning, and his rigorous workouts, Percy flagged long before she did.

"Unless you're particularly invested in dessert, I think you can call it a night," his uncle muttered, his grip gentle on Percy's shoulder. "You look ready to drop."

"I certainly feel it," Percy whispered back. As with training, the ache in him, the exhaustion, was the good kind. This pain accomplished something. "Where's Annabeth?"

"I believe she's scolding Nico for ripping his dress jacket. Unlike you, she has some stamina left."

She always did.

"Should I get her for you?" he added, looking over Percy with concern. "I can let her know you went up early—"

Percy waved him off. "No, it's fine, I can wait her out. Nico certainly deserves it, after all the work Piper put in, arranging expensive silks."

Chiron and Percy had the same smile, a crooked slash across their faces. He looked at Percy fully, eyes searching his. Now Percy realized how much he looked like his mother, and for a moment, his heart broke at the reminder of how he used to need to know her.

"It's good to see you like this," Chiron said, putting both his hands on Percy's shoulders, forcing him square to him. "I knew you'd find your way back to Annabeth, but I did have my fears for a while."

Percy glanced down at his feet, sighing. "Me too," he said, chewing his lip.

Chiron's grip on him lessened and he stepped back, fading into the kindly uncle Percy knew—and not the haunted man he was. "Percy, it is a rare man who is willing to look at himself and see what truly stands. A rare man indeed." Percy tried and failed not to blush furiously, heat smoldering in his cheeks. Chiron ignored his embarrassment, or he simply didn't care. "You would have made a good King, but never great. Not like you are now. A great man who needs no crown."

Percy's insides twisted. How could Chiron know who he was? What he might be in the future? Who he could become?

It was a worry, Percy supposed, everyone carried. Himself, Annabeth, even his uncle. They were chosen to some kind of greatness, and cursed to it.

"Thank you, Chiron," Percy forced out, overcome again.

Chiron clapped him on the shoulder, voice dropping. "This isn't over, but you know that, don't you? It won't be for years. Decades, maybe."

"I know," Percy replied, feeling the truth of it in his gut. The Europeans, the Asians, the Royal Secession. No matter how strong this alliance was, there would always be someone to challenge it—and the world they were fighting to build.

"History will remember you, mark my words," Chiron said, now steering Percy toward the terrace. Outside, Annabeth had Nico by the scruff of his collar, forcing him to bend down so she could shout at him.

"Make sure it remembers you well."

…

It was always the same dream.

Worse.

And always the same thing.

Luke, alone on that island, standing just out of reach no matter how hard Percy tried to move.

…

She didn't want to come with him. And Percy had rather she didn't.

He needed to do this alone.

…

The fog lifted slowly. He wished it wouldn't. He wished visibility would be too poor for a landing, and he'd have to turn back to the mainland.

Percy could've always lied and turned back anyway. No one would've questioned it. No one would have cared if he made it to Movae, the small island, or not. No one would've even known.

No one but Percy.

And him.

The island was gray this time of year, as the autumn days bled toward winter. It barely stood out in the steel-colored ocean, little more than a smudge against the rising sun. Percy buzzed the northern cliffs, maneuvering his small dropjet with a few easy movements of the controls. It looked the same as it did last year. Percy tried not to think, to remember. He peered down at the landscape, focusing on that instead. Few trees, the dunes, slopes of yellowing grass, the docks of the small harbor, the abandoned base—it unfurled below him in a second. The runway bisected the island and made for an easy target. He tried not to look at the squat barracks as he wheeled the dropjet into position, its propellers whipping up a cloud of sand and dune grass. This place held enough bad memories—Percy could only handle so many at a time.

Before he could change his mind, Percy dropped altitude. The landing was rougher than it should've been, the craft jarring as it touched down. But Percy was eager to be finished, and his hands shook, even as he flipped the necessary switches and levers. The roar of the propellers lessened as they slowed but didn't stop. Percy wouldn't be here long. He couldn't bear it.

Chiron offered to come, as did Sally. He refused both.

The island was without any sound but the wind in the grass and the seabirds calling out over the water. Percy was tempted to whistle, just to make some human noise. It was odd, knowing he was the only living person on the island. Especially with the remains of barracks and such human memories all around.

Mavae had been without people since the Amazons evacuated, fearing a raid after Annabeth's capture. They still hadn't come back. While the base had been worn by wind and the changing seasons, the rest of the island looked content to be left alone.

Percy's feet followed the path from the runway, winding into the tall grass and up the gentle hills. Soon the trail faded, gravel giving way to sandy soil. There were no markers to lead the way—only people who knew what they were looking for would find him.

There was talk of burying him elsewhere. He asked to be buried with his mother, but he did not specify a place. Medusa was on Mavae, in a shallow grave. Despite the state of decay, she would have been easy to dig up and move to the mainland. Of course, there was opposition to the idea. Not only because of the gruesome nature, but because, as Chiron quietly pointed out, he didn't want Luke's grave to be well known or easily accessible. It could become a rallying point or a monument, giving strength to anyone who might take up his cause.

In the end, they decided Mavae was best. An island in the middle of the ocean, so isolated that even Luke might find peace.

The loose ground shifted beneath Percy, sucking at his boots. The steps became more difficult, and not only because of the terrain. He forced the last few yards and crested the rise beneath the gray light of autumn. He could smell rain, but the storm hasn't hit yet.

The field was empty. Even the birds didn't come here.

At first glimpse of the stones, Percy dropped his eyes, focusing on his feet. He didn't trust himself to keep walking if he had to watch it get closer. The dream rattled in his head, haunting him. Percy counted off the last few feet, looking up only when he had to.

There was no silhouette, no impossible shadow of a lost boy waiting to be found.

Medusa's headstone was unmarked, a single gray slab already worn smooth by the wind. There would be no record of her here. Not her name, not her house. Not a word of who she was in life. She didn't deserve a memory. She stole so many others'.

Percy refused to give Luke the same treatment. He deserved something at least.

His stone was milky white, with rounded edges. The letters were cut deep, some already filled with dirt or dead grass. Percy cleaned them out with a few swipes of his fingers, shivering as he touched the cold, damp stone.

LUKE CASTELLAN

Beloved son, beloved brother.

Let no one follow.

He was without his title, with little more than his name. But every word on the stone was the truth. They loved him—and he strayed down a path no one else should pursue.

Even though Percy was the only person on the island, the only one for miles and miles, he couldn't find the strength to speak. His voice died; his throat tightened. He couldn't say good-bye to him if his own life depended on it. The words simply wouldn't come.

Percy's chest tightened as he bent a knee, bowing over the grave. Percy kept one hand to the stone, letting it flood him with sickly cold. Percy expected fear—he was standing over two corpses. Instead there was only grief.

I'm sorry raced through his head, a hundred times, a thousand times. Memories of him flashed just as quickly, from when he was a young boy to the last time Percy saw him, and sentenced him to die. Percy should have found another way. Percy cursed himself, and not for the first time this morning. He could have kept him alive somehow. There was a chance. Even in the now States, during the siege. Something could have been done. There must have been a way—and Percy just couldn't find it.

Some days, Annabeth told him to move past it. Not to forget, but to accept what had been done. Some days, she bled with him, retreating to blame herself as he did the same. And some days, Percy could only blame him, blame Medusa, blame his father Poseidon. Percy was just a boy too. What was he supposed to do?

The wind turned icy, a sudden gust howling through his jacket. Percy tightened against the cold, letting numb cold flood his chest.

Maybe he should have burned him. Given his body to flame, and let the rest of him go where it willed, carried on the wind.

But like always, Percy could not let him go. Even now, he could not let Luke go.

He never would.

Percy's face was already wet when the rain came.

---

III

2020

"Quit shining that damn light; I'm coming, for fuck's sake."

She grinned, her teeth gleaming from the warm glow of the flashlight. She obediently shut it off.

He slammed the glass of the window upwards, scowling at her from his bedroom window. "Yes?" she saw him mouth, the audio coming through the phone held up to her ear.

"Oh, don't be like that," she teased, cocking her head to one side. He shot her a withering glare.

"It's four in the morning," he pointed out.

"Thanks for the time."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"I swear to god I will throw a book at your head."

"Into this window at my face from yards away? Your pathetic, skinny little arm? I'd like to see you try," she dryly remarked. He wasn't even close to skinny, but that was hardly the point.

"Fuck off," he whisper-yelled into the receiver. She snickered. "I swim."

"Let's go on an adventure."

"I'm wearing PJs."

"I bet you look adorable."

"I'm not even wearing pants."

"Say that again, but look me in the eye." She peered across the green, stifling a laugh when he reached for the curtains framing his window, using them to cover himself more. "Are you going to the rally tomorrow night?"

"Hell no. You think I want to be trampled just to stand outside New York City Hall? You're fucking crazy."

"You curse too much."

"And you bitch too much," he mocked, but she could hear the smile in his voice. She relished it, the way his mouth formed around the vowels, the lilt in his tone. She cherished every bit of him, knowing that this moment would be gone in the blink of an eye.

"You're such a grandpa, Cas."

"All the more reason for you to kindly not see my underwear, thanks."

"We're going!" she declared, fed up with his piss-poor attitude. "Meet me downstairs in five minutes."

"You little piece of s—"

She hung up quickly, cutting him off. Castiel Jackson could cry her a river for all she cared. He'd probably swim in it too. He was like a shark in the water, but in her opinion his only magical power was his ability to be dripping wet behind the ears at all time, the stupid little fucker.

"What are you wearing?" she cackled, eyeing his hastily dressed bright white bottoms. "You look like you're about to do a paint job. Come paint my room, won't you? I was hoping for green."

"Great." He sulked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll choke you with a paintbrush."

"Kinky."

"Stop hitting on me."

She held up her hands in surrender. "Who knows? Maybe in your delusional, 4am state of mind, maybe you—"

"—never gonna happen, kid."

She smirked up at Castiel anyways. "I can wait."

"I'm like three years older than you. You should probably let it go."

"I really, really won't. But you already know that." She winked cheekily.

"I know." He raked his hand through his hair. "And besides, even if it did, a paintbrush, really? You're so weird."

"Speaking of paint, which green do you think I should go with?" she mindlessly asked, leading him up her staircase to her room. Her parents wouldn't really care. They knew Castiel was a perfect gentleman, and he'd never spare her a second glance anyways. It was like fighting a losing battle.

"Puke green," Castiel suggested.

"You're an idiot."

"Thanks. It runs in the family," he dryly remarked.

"Not really. Your brother's kinda cute."

"Oh, great. He's targeted too. And since when has being cute been a solid foundation for intelligence?"

She shrugged. "Since just now." She gingerly stepped over the rubble on her bedroom floor. Castiel frowned in distaste.

"This is terrible."

"Well, rooms tend to look terrible when they're under renovation. Besides," she chirped, "it's not like your room is exactly stellar." She was entirely unbothered; his room always looked like a tornado had swept through it. "Your room constantly looks like a tornado swept through it." She froze up. "Not that I would know anything about it though," she hastily tacked on at the end.

"Stalker," he accused, but it lacked its usual malice.

"I saw you peeking through my window like two hours ago."

She was pleased when his cheeks flushed pink. "I was bored," he weakly defended.

"Whatever, stalker," she said, throwing his accusations back in his face. He cursed under his breath. "Besides, I called you over because I found something interesting."

"A hairbrush, maybe," he speculated out loud, noting her frizzy locks of brown hair.

"Four in the morning," she cheerfully reminded him.

"I look fine," he insisted. "Your hair, however, is committed to doing weird things." He eyed her again. "Like you."

"Don't hair-shame me, you stale French baguette—oh, here!" She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from the rubbles of her bedroom wall. It was yellowed and old, the ink blurry in a few spots, soaking through the paper. Parchment, actually. It must have been at least one hundred years old. There hadn't been parchment since the Victorian era, as far as she knew.

Castiel curiously inspected it, for the first time, perhaps, actually invested in something she'd shown him. "This might be the first time you've called me over for something cool." He carefully held it in his hands, the parchment stiff and fragile. There was water damage to it too, and she had always known her house was old, but she hadn't realized how old.

"I'm cool."

"Sure, kid."

"Not a kid."

"You're like eight."

"Eighteen," she corrected. "I'm going to college next year," she proudly reported.

He rolled his eyes, gently pushing her away with his hand. He was twenty and had been attending Columbia for a couple years now, studying history and political science. In the fall, she planned to study mathematics, but at what college she wasn't sure yet.

Carefully, Cas unfolded the envelope, his eyes going wide at the signature on the bottom. She was hoping he'd recognize something from one of his big classes.

"Mia," he choked, and when he looked up at her, his sea green eyes were wide like saucers.

"What?" She frowned, peering over his shoulder to see what he had seen. His hands were trembling.

"That name… what does that say?" he asked shakily.

"Jaxon?" she guessed, squinting at the bled-dried ink.

"No," Cas refused, shaking his head in reluctance. "Where did you find this?"

Her forehead crinkled in confusion. She had just found it in the walls while smashing the cement open. She hadn't Cas to have a stroke or something. Maybe he loved history so much he was having a seizure.

"Are you dying?" she quipped, laughing nervously. Something akin to concern filled in her dark blue orbs. His sea green stared back at her, the only time she had ever seen such a green. Cas was adopted, and she could only imagine his birth parents, wherever they were, had equally beautiful eyes. He had kept his last name, and nothing more. Their whereabouts and other information was nowhere to be found, if they were even alive still.

Cas didn't even have to pull out his phone, the facts memorized down to the finer details. "P. Jackson," he clarified. He had been searching for them his whole life, and part of him, it had always felt incomplete. At first, she had helped, eager to win his favor, but she had instead developed quite the crush on him, and they had both forgotten their aspiration to find where Cas hailed from. Castiel had kept searching, but she had long given up, more than satisfied with simply supporting him in his tedious endeavors. She found sorting through paper filled with old names of people who no longer existed boring anyway.

"Jackson? Wait," she laughed. "Your name is Jackson; that's—" Her eyes went wide.

"I hadn't recognized it at first, Mia. He must've dropped his other name. The family name."

"Family?" She knitted her eyebrows together as he scanned the paper, his eyes lighting up with boyish enthusiasm like she had never seen before.

"Annabeth," Cas repeated, scanning the paper excitedly. "Are you fucking kidding me? I have the greatest, great, great, grandparents in the fucking world." His eyes darted across the words once more. "Miss Chase would smack me," he parroted.

"What are you even talking about?" She smirked slightly, entertained by his shift in demeanor. "Miss Chase understands me."

"Hush for a moment, won't you, Mia?" Castiel grinned shyly to himself. "Come with me." He fished for his keys, carefully holding out the paper like a priceless artifact.

"Where are we going?" She allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Wall street." He was curt.

"Wall street?"

Castiel practically ran down the driveway. She had to sprint, her short legs barely keeping up with his long strides. He carefully put the paper in the inside of his light jacket, the summer air blowing comfortably through their hair.

"Wall street," Castiel explained as they walked down the streets of New York City. "The Federal Hall National Memorial."

"What the fuck?"

"P. Jackson," he whispered to himself in quiet awe. "Perseus Jackson, Mia."

"Who's that?"

"You're a dumbass."

"I like numbers."

"Perseus Jackson Calbourne. He dropped the name, and I didn't realize." Had there always been a fleck of gold in those ocean eyes? She was content to be lost in them, even if she had no damn idea what he was going off about.

"Calbourne?" Why did that sound slightly familiar? She tried to remember back to history class, not that she'd been awake in any of them anyways.

"The Calbournes," he breathed, and it sounded ethereal in the late of the night, the dark closing around them, only the city lights bright to lead the way. The stars were clouded by the pollution, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. It was nights like this that made her feel like she was part of something bigger than herself, something just out of reach, and Castiel would always, always be there to lead the way. She subconsciously stepped closer to him, the shadows long in the night, and his presence light despite his dark clothing.

"I've heard of them. What did they do?"

Castiel laughed. "What didn't they do?" he whispered incredulously. She examined him out of the corner of her eye, noting the way the tightness around his mouth relaxed when he was talking about something he loved.

"But more importantly, his wife."

"His wife?"

"Annabeth Chase Ashington. What a woman. I'd never even known."

"What'd she do?"

"She's the reason we live in fifty states, Mia," Cas whispered. He paused in front of the lighted museum, a golden palace on a bright street, but it shone the brightest. She felt small standing there, but he put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

"How?"

"She started and ended the biggest war in all of history," Cas began as they ascended the wide stairs. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but she felt close to him anyways.

"And this letter is from her?"

"From Perseus," Cas corrected. "The historians will really appreciate this. I can already imagine their faces."

"I did good, then?" she inquired tartly.

He grinned at the ground like he thought she wasn't looking, but she was. It made her smile despite herself. "I don't know what kind of freakish luck you have, Mia, but I think I'm in love with… with this letter."

"And me?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling. "Maybe," he answered coyly before darting towards the building.

Her heart felt like it would burst at any second. "Come back, you coward! Face your feelings like a man!"

"I prefer to run away and come back dramatically like all Calbourne men."

She laughed wildly without any care in the world, and she still had no idea what he was talking about as she ran after him, chasing him up the endless flight of stairs. "Tell me more about the Calbournes. I want to know what I'm getting myself into." She was inhaling desperately, out of breath after flagging him down.

"Bold of you to assume you're getting yourself into anything," he snorted, but he smiled down at her. "They represent the best and worst of the entire Victorian era. Some, like Percy, were painted heroes, and some, like Luke, were painted villains. In the end, they were brilliant. All of them. And they were great. Some did terrible things, some changed the world, for the better and for the worse, but they were great. Every single one of them." His eyes shone.

"Are you great?"

"I aspire to be," he replied, his voice bouncing off the tall walls of the museum's classy interior.

Her heart warmed at his words. He would always be great to her, no matter where they went from there. "Does this mean I get a kiss? Because I found your family, and solved all your problems, and saved your life from a hopeless, inevitable downfall."

"We'll see," he said with thinly veiled amusement. She prayed he couldn't hear her heart, palpitating wildly like a crazed schoolgirl. "Their situation started similarly to ours, actually," he mused. "Two brothers and a girl."

"I identify as a trash bag," she interrupted.

"Hush," he cut her off. "The rather obvious difference is that you're not betrothed to my brother, and I doubt he's a psychopath."

She wrinkled her nose. "He pushed me down the stairs. That seems like a warning sign of psychopathic tendencies."

"He was six. And besides, he didn't laugh; I did." He smirked.

"I was five."

"You broke my telescope," Castiel recalled. "I think I might've told him to push you," he admitted.

"Rude," she gasped, laughing to herself. "Besides, it was Fisher Price, not like something expensive."

He sniffed. "Every self-respecting eight-year-old has a Fisher Price telescope to start out with."

That was right. Pointed out his window was some expensive telescope he'd gotten for his fifteenth birthday. He'd shown it to her once, only to look back down from the sky and see her pointing it into her own window from his, pointing to her fish in the fish tank with childlike glee. She suspected he'd used it to peek into her room more times than he'd ever admit out loud, though she had indeed seen him study the stars with such fascination she herself had wanted to love the sky like he did. But she loved him. And it was enough.

She had never known the Calbournes, obviously, and she didn't quite understand yet, but she wanted to, and standing here, looking up at a man who'd walk through heaven and hell for her, she thought a silent prayer of thanks to Perseus Jackson, wherever he may have been, looking upon his descendent from the heavens, and to Annabeth Chase, and to everyone else who had forged this world for her so that she could stand here, simply stand here, and love the people around her, and the future long and bright ahead of her, and the past, filled with good and bad memories, and the present, the true gift, the gemstone hiding in a pile of rocks.

Per aspera ad astra. The words above the carved arch of the museum's north wing seemed to lift off the walls, pressing into her mind. There was old, heavy jewelry around them, like the jewelry of Kings and Queens, and he even led her past a spiky blue diamond crown, placed on a royal blue cushion. There was a spiderweb crack running down the back of it. A broken crown. A broken throne.

The golden bulbs around Cas' head looked like a halo, a ring of heavenly gold curling around his dark hair. She half expected blinding lights to flood down around him, raising him up into the sky as angel wings sprouted from his spine when he looked at her.

Deep in his eyes, the waters calmed, peaceful and thoughtful. If she looked far enough, she imagined she could see everyone before him: his father, and his father, and his father, and his father Perseus Jackson, and his father Poseidon Calbourne, and his father, and his father, and his father, and his…

He reached out a hand for her, ushering her down the long, marble lobby, his white teeth peeking out from his small smile. She glanced one last time at a tall statue of a girl with luscious curls and a dagger in her hand. The marble girl's head was tilted up, and she faced north, as if she was looking at the Latin etched into the smooth stone with fondness. Mia squeezed Castiel's hand with her own, her slender fingers slipping delicately into his outstretched promise.

Through the thorns to the stars.

---

IV

Farewell

While the Calbourne Civil War officially ended with the abdication of King Perseus Jackson Calbourne, dissolving the Kingdom of Thasite as it was known, the cessation of hostilities did not occur until several years after. The conflict that followed was known as the Waltz War, as each side stepped in a triangle fashion, moving from high points to low points in a fluid, uneven fashion.

Only through the efforts of Canada and the Amazons did the fledgling nations manage to hold off invasion attempts from both Thasite and the Europeans. It was outwardly a defensive war, with the nations maintaining their borders. However, the Amazons, Queen Piper and General Reyna in particular, were often accused of infiltration and interference with sovereign nations, attempting to encourage civilian uprising against monarchy governments. The War of Gold Lightning two decades later would bring those efforts to fruition.

Diplomatic maneuvers were also integral to maintaining a shaky peace in the nations. The once Crown Princess of Sumisu, Drew Tanaka Raya, was ultimately able to intervene on behalf of Canada, Sumisu, and Thasite. She tricked Queens and their successors several times over the course of the Waltz War. Together with the former King-to-be of Thasite, Perseus Calbourne, she was also able to negotiate peace among the former high houses still chafing under reconstruction. Rachel Elizabeth Dare, who was elected to the Canadian office as Prime Minister, was a stalwart ally to the royals of all high houses who gave up their titles.

By the time of Gold Lightning, the nations were largely settled, and therefore escaped much of the turmoil that gripped the Europeans and parts of Asia. Most notable in Gold Lightning was obviously the Storm of the Citadel, a mission to destroy the Europeans' largest military installation. In an assault led by Annabeth Chase and Malcolm Chase, the fortress was torn apart by Ashington-created man made lightning.

The royal nations were not without their own troubles before and during Gold Lightning. There were several royal-led efforts to return a Calbourne to the throne of Thasite, largely in support of Perseus Calbourne's two children as they grew up. Both Jason Calbourne and Charlotte "Charlie" Calbourne broadcasted their own abdication, renunciation of rights, and citizen pledges to the Canadians several times, hoping to quell any conflicts of succession to the former Thasite kingdom. Ironically, Perseus Calbourne was a General in Gold Lightning, as was Annabeth Chase, and both defeated the forces that were hoping to elevate their children to the old Calbourne throne. At present, the nations are governed by a mixed council of elected representatives and military officials. Unlike the Canadians, the nations, renamed the United States of America, also utilize class speakers—two individuals elected from each of the two social groups to represent their own. They are currently Reyna Ramirez with Hazel Levesque, and Chiron Jackson with Silena Beauragard, representing the normal civilians and ex-royals, respectively.

Research into confining scientific madness, like Octavian's episode with immortality, continues to this day in facilities across the continent, with the Canadians leading the charge. The current premier, Jirot-born Nico di Angelo, prioritizes education. The Canadian efforts of discovery are the best funded among the organized nations. Will Solace, head of the laboratories and head surgeon, works closely by his side.

At present, the United States, the European Union, and the Asian Federation stand in alliance with the Free Republic of Canada. All have democratic governments with equality of blood at their cores, unlike the royal-led nations down south. Some detractors accuse Canada of empire building, as it appears to hold sway over the other governments. The balance of power has certainly shifted, and the remaining royal nations strive to maintain peace with the Equal Alliance. Some are making strides toward their own transformations. For example, a few are introducing equality laws and representation for its impoverished citizens, while the ex-Duchess of House Haersley's granddaughter recently married a simple accountant.

Who can say where the paths lead, or how the scales may balance in another decade? I suppose I can, but that is my curse. To watch, to see, until the ending of all things. We destroy. We rebuild. We destroy again. It is the constant of our kind.

We are all a god's chosen, and we are all a god's cursed.

-Tiresias

---

A/N: And that's a wrap!

For those of y'all wondering, Percy wrote the letter from the prologue before he boarded the ship for Greece, and it just got lost along the way. I didn't really mention it bc I didn't think it was super important, but that's how it fits into the timeline. He writes not to forget her bc when he leaves for Greece at the end of the last chapter, he leaves not knowing if/when he'll ever see her again, if she'll remember him, if she'll become reclusive and hide with her memories and trauma, etc. And so he writes a hope for the future, the last of his innocent hope, scrounging up the final pieces of optimism from when he was small and six and hopeful.

I'm so fucking sad y'all, and it's the shitty kind where you feel super empty. It's not that I don't have things I want to do from here, but every time I reread the Red Queen series, even just to sample it for this story, it takes something from me. Maven (Luke in this story) just haunts me like he haunts Percy. And it kills me inside, you know?

Finally, you guys were so amazing. I enjoyed every bit of writing this story. Usually as I near the end of my stories, I'm relieved, and it's… odd to miss it already. I plan to release a oneshot soon (it has to do with immortality, and I'm quite proud of it so far), and as I said—there's a poll on my profile for you to vote up to three, and then perhaps the most exciting of all, there's the novel I'm working on. I'm hoping those of you guys who support me and it will feel the emptiness and love for my characters as you've felt for Percy Jackson and all his family and friends through the years.

I hope this epilogue has given some closure, especially for Percabeth, even though I still believe it's somewhat bittersweet and open-ended. Let me know, for the final time, what you thought again. I may reply to some via PMs.

I hope I'll see you again somewhere, whether that's in reviews for my other stories, or in my PMs inbox. Some of you guys feel like friends, like people I know now, and that's wild. Once again, with the virus, stay safe, and thank you so much for pushing me to become a better writer/human being.

Until we meet again~

With much love and best wishes,

Kit xox

PS You guys might be my most active review community thus far. Beyond what words can possibly explain, thank you. I don't think you'll really ever understand how much it helps in, well, life. It goes past writing skills and all the way to my tiny heart.

---

Guest: Me 2 sis.

Reader: I'm sooo glad you're not angry with the last chapter's ending. I feel like most people will be, simply because FF with the label of Percabeth promises Percabeth at the end. That's part of the reason I added some Percabeth in the epilogue. It promises of a future. I like this much better than just putting them together in the last chapter. They reunite here after a year, and they acknowledge they will simply let fate take its course, and they both have other priorities. Piper is one of my deepest regrets. I had so much more I wanted to do with her arc, but with so much happening, I was never able to describe hers. It is true I never intended for her to have a happy ending. She ends as empty as she began, except perhaps with more friends. Maybe one day she'll go out and start over, but for now, even as Percabeth's children are mentioned at the end by Tiresias, she's content with the life she's built herself. Well, maybe not content. But not unhappy either. She's stuck in those shades of grey, as we all are. Queen of the Amazons is certainly a burden just as much as it is an honor. "nobody can comfort them the way they do w/ each other, and nobody can cause as much pain" That's perfect. That's exactly how I wanted to depict Percabeth, and I'm glad you got that same vibe. And I'm glad you respect Piper. People overlook her too much, but she's strong. Solangelo is indeed safe. Nico's got a long way to go, but he hasn't smoked in some time, so it can only go up from here, right? Malcolm is sort of in the same boat as Annabeth. He has Annabeth and his mother, plus some friends obvi, but he too will have to start anew. "(they all really gave soo much up for Annabeth didn't they... Luke, Percy, Malcom, even Nico with his hatred for her after having lost the only person who meant anything to him)" And therein lies Annabeth's true power. She convinced nations to fight for her, to fight against her, and she alone brought the change to the world. It is why Percy and historians credit it all to her in the end. "I've come to respect Drew a lot in this story. I have bittersweet feelings about her, she craved power but really she just wanted to live, be known, and given the importance she knew she deserved. It's funny bc I feel like Annabeth hates her bc she basically got her happy ending, she manipulated and forced her way to it, but she did it, something Annabeth couldn't do despite doing the right thing." Life's unfair, and I kind of address it through Percy's POV in this epilogue, but Annabeth's certainly having a hard time dealing. I think you nailed it tbh. "So what Luke did with the shoulder thing was almost like a test? To see if Annabeth would stab him. And when she did, his eyes showed sadness that he was correct, and satisfaction that she did, or the other way around. But does that mean he could've been saved?" I wouldn't say it was a test. I pointed out he leaned on purpose because due to biology and logistics, Luke could have easily killed her with her pinned to the ground like he'd had her. He had her. He had won. And he purposefully moved. He let her kill him for what reasons… well, that's up for speculation. I say it's a complicated mix. I say he let her kill him, not because he loves Annabeth (like I think others suspect), but because he loves Percy, and he needs someone to be there for his brother. My point though, overall, by pointing out his purposeful leaning is that he let her kill him. You can decide why. :) "But I also don't want his POV, i don't want to feel bad for him as much as I already do, i'm so selfish ik lol, but maybe it's cuz i knw that i would feel for him soo much but also knowing that he was too far gone." Ugh, ik. But I love that sort of nuance, and I don't think you guys would've entirely switched sides or anything, but the ideas I had in mind were powerful for sure. I once again wanted his piece here in the epilogue, a flashback perhaps, but I had too many words, so I let it go. "It's crazy how I thought this was gonna be one those Royal AUs where they didn't belong together but runaway and live happily ever after. And i'm freakin dying laughing at myself that I actually thought that. But in my defense, the summary doesn't provide enough context to the freaking intensity of this story and good luck to future readers cuz they're in for a RIDE." Lmao yeah nO. I try my damnest not to do all the cliches, only enough to satisfy our inner trope-hos, but not enough that it's predictable. I like to keep y'all on your toes. Bro the summary is so damn constricting. With the word limit, I can never get out what I want to get out. It sucks. "U should put a warning addressing the emotions readers will go thru lmao." I should highkey just put that on my profile for all my stories lmao. "Obviously I also knw now cuz ur not the type of author who write something w/o a bigger purpose, like u said with tying fantasy and reality, and I respect that a lot about you. But honestly it's amazing how a rebellion for equality and democracy turned into soo much more. A whole era of change that would've happened sooner or later." I actually love dystopian YAs for that reason in particular. To imagine a world factored for some reason or another… it's fascinating and horrifying to see the parallels to sexism, racism, etc in our modern society. And when you tie it together, it freaks people the fuck out, and that's just another adrenaline high for me. It's crazy to look at fucked up worlds like the Hunger Games, Divergent, Red Queen, etc, and pretend that it doesn't apply to us, until you realize and then it's like… oh. Fuck. "Girl it's an honor to be here since AFA, I'm so fucking grateful I found u and ur stories cuz tbh they keep me sane." Girl it's an honor to be acknowledged by people like you. You all keep me sane lol. Well… as sane as I can possibly be. ;) "Thank you for everything Kit, as a sophomore myself (i'm assuming ur a sophomore), I knw how hard it is with all the freakin work we have to do, not to mention u doing all these other activities AND practically winning competitions?! CONGRATS BTW, but u still managed to construct this amazing story without it being rushed or lacking anything imo, is truly incredible." Yisssss. Class of 2022 you already know wassup lol. THANK YOU lmao. I'm glad it didn't lack too much. I have many, many regrets for this story, ideas I'll never get to share, but if it feels like enough to you, if it makes you happy, then I've done my job. "stay safe and wash ur hands, don't get corona, lol. And I will see u in your next story XOXO" You too, sis lol, and thank you sO MUCH. Hopefully my next story doesn't weird people out too much lmao. All of the things I'm planning for any of the prompts I'm considering are v strange ngl. It's like this story but on crack, if you even want to try imagining that lol. Bye for now xx

shabbyboi: "for 300k words I rarely ever felt bored reading this story so that's a pretty big accomplishment" That's so freaking nice, and I can't even begin to explain how much that means to me. Sometimes I get irritated by the length, and I'm glad you don't. "Honestly, I night have preferred if you didn't explain some of your stylistic choices in your a/n, but I definitely get that you probably had to put some kind of explanation in there." Ah… yes. I usually don't, but idk why I just felt like last chapter was super confusing. I think it was all in my head, though, bc no one seemed to have too many questions, so I'm sorry lol. I try not to explain unless I think it's really out of control, and I just misjudged last time. Thank you v much for the feedback; I'll keep your suggestion in mind for the future. :) "Really looking forward to the epilogue but I also gotta say that I LOVE the way you left so much open ended in this chapter." Ahhhh you're the second person to say that. That makes me so unbelievably happy. Ik most people aren't happy w/ open endings, just bc in FF when I list Percabeth, it implies Percabeth fully together at the end, which is part of the reason I made sure to include some semblance of them in the epilogue (even if the epilogue is also still kind of bittersweet), but people like you who look past the typical way to end a story and go out of your way to tell me you liked mine… it helps more than you think it does, really. " I pretty much fully trust your judgment on all things to do with writing." Aww, that's so sweet of you. Thank you very much. "Also so happy to hear you're proud of your own work!" Eek, you're starting to sound like Reader lol. I think I experienced personal character development firsthand alongside my characters, don't you think? I hope the epilogue doesn't let you down too much!

Shauna Kullden: A kiss would be unrealistic thoughhhhhh lol. Welp, this epilogue promised a future, so there you go lol. "*Bursts into tears and proceeds to search for a knife to stab you with*" Bold of you to assume I wouldn't stab myself first lmao. Thank you so much for reviewing through this story btw. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.

AnnabethChase-Wisdom'sDaughter: That makes me so excited to hear! I try to avoid the big cliches, only including enough to satisfy our inner trope-loving selves, but not so much that it's predictable, and this type of feedback is great. I hope the epilogue was okay, and thank you so much for reviewing consistently for this story. I means a lot to me xx

Guest: Poor Malcolm, indeed.

antarcticas: Hi! Ngl my heart skipped a beat when I read your username lol. (My inner fangirl has unleashed). Your praise means the world to me, and I love your writing so much. Ah, yes, the eleven-year-olds. In all fairness, I rarely read PJO anymore unless it's following an old story that's still going on, so I totally get where you're coming from. I love you for quoting the bits of my story that you like. I love to write the pretty, flowery internal, angsty one-liners, and when people show their appreciation for certain lines, it helps me understand what works, and what doesn't. "it shows some serious character development and it's a testament to your writing how clear the difference is between annabeth's interactions with percy and luke" I am such a ho for character dynamic comparisons that it's almost sad. "but my abSOLuTE favorite thing in this entire story is literally your last passage with annabeth's kind of analysis and story end." I lowkey loved the end of that chapter too (which is weirdddd; I'm not supposed to like my own writing; I have a reputation man, c'mon). Thank you so much for the constructive criticism, and the praise, and showing up, and just ugh I really need to go read your writing. I saw you updated the Jason and Piper story, but I didn't get the chance yet, and you have some new stuff, and I'm totally going to take advantage of the time off school for corona to catch up. Hopefully you can expect more reviews soon! And your poetry is so good, dude, don't even. Even if your writing style isn't really similar or anything, your vibe reminds me of Erin Hanson so much, and I love her. I hope to see more poetry from you as well!