Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.
Warnings: Swearing, PTSD/grief symptoms.
"Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate: To every man upon this earth, Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods?"
―Thomas Babington Macaulay, Lays of Ancient Rome
"Nico di Angelo."
Kronos pronounced the name like a foul curse. Nico fought the urge to flinch as the Titan stared down at him, his golden gaze curious and cold.
"The prophecy child, here in Othrys. Chiron has let you wander without a leash, hasn't he?"
Kronos let the question hang in the cold air, patiently waiting as Nico slid his suspicious gaze up from the black marble floor to Vinnie on his left. The ghost gave Nico a grin and quick thumbs-up. It didn't help the unpleasant nerves coiling in Nico's gut—but he hadn't come here for Vinnie, anyway.
Bianca. He could do this for Bianca. She wouldn't want him to be afraid of Kronos.
She hadn't been afraid even when she died in Annabeth Chase's arms, leaving Nico behind. Her bow had been snapped in two, the wooden splinters digging themselves into Nico's sweaty palms when he found it, and blood had been everywhere, but at least she had been brave when she'd been taken from him—
There was a familiar pressure behind Nico's eyes again. He clenched his fists, tighter and tighter, until his knuckles ached and the threat of tears disappeared.
He would not cry. Not in front of anyone. Not anymore.
Nico took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted his chin, jutting it out as he finally looked the Lord of Time in the eye. "He didn't let me do anything. I left camp when your army killed my sister."
The bland look on Kronos's face didn't even flicker as Nico's accusation. Instead of responding, he rose from his throne to prowl the room, circling closer and closer; Nico clutched at the ice-cold metal pommel of his sword like a security blanket and tried not to think about lions or monsters or gods.
"I was told she'd be protected," Nico continued, his voice sounding tiny even to himself; he sounded like a child. "Everyone at camp said she'd be safe, under the gods' protection. They lied to me."
Vinnie made a sympathetic noise, nodding as Nico spoke. Kronos watched the two, tilting his head.
"My children do have the nasty habit of being liars," he drawled. Nico tried not to give a start at the reminder that basically everyone in this war was related. "And now you've come to me, with your sister long gone."
The words long gone hit Nico like a cannon blast to the chest. It'd been three days since. . . that, and every reminder of it felt like he was watching Bianca die for the first time.
"Of course, if he agrees to join you, that can be fixed, isn't that right, Lord Kronos?" Vinnie wheedled, his grin stubbornly fixed to his face the entire time. "I mean, sure, she was fighting for the wrong side, but we all make mistakes. She's family to the little guy here, after all."
Vinnie clapped a hand on Nico's shoulder, pressing down with surprising force, for a ghost. Nico fought the urge to shrug him off.
"Family," Kronos repeated, his pronunciation clumsy and slow. "I suppose."
"His sister swore allegiance to an Olympian goddess." It was a different Titan that pointed this out, one standing by the throne and dressed in a style of tuxedo Nico had rarely seen after leaving the Lotus Casino—Prometheus. Vinnie had described him for Nico, when laying out his plan. "That's rather more deliberate than the garden-variety mistakes of most demigods. If we agreed, she could prove a liability."
His voice was silky, smooth, and reasonable. Nico hated him on sight.
"True," Vinnie conceded. Nico whipped his head up to glare at him; Vinnie's grip on his shoulder tightened, shutting him up, while Kronos stopped his pacing to study the two of them. "If you could bring her back."
"Do you doubt my ability, shade?" Kronos's voice was even, but the oppressive thick atmosphere of the room had become crushing, shoving Nico down, down, down.
"Never—never , my lord. I'm just pointing out that resurrection ain't exactly an easy trick."
"When I reclaim my throne, total control of the Underworld will follow. What is one mortal soul crossing the Doors of Death to me, at that point?" Kronos asked, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "It can be done, for a price. The question remains, what are you willing to pay?"
"My Lord Kronos—" Kronos held up a hand, cutting Vinnie off. The Titan turned his attention back to Nico—and it was ridiculous, Nico realized, ridiculous but still right , to clench his hands to stop them from shaking with anxious fear, to be so terrified of someone who looked barely old enough to enlist in the army, years younger than when Mamma had met his father.
Vinnie's last warning, given before they had entered Othrys in a tone dark enough to jerk Nico out of a haze of grief, rang through his head. Don't be fooled by appearances, kid. Luke Castellan is a shell. We need to worry about what kind of predator is lurking inside.
"I need her back," Nico said, his voice again sounding tiny and pathetic in the echoing grand hall. He tried again, puffing out his chest and projecting. "I—I can convince her to join, promise. If you help me get her back, I'll help you. She's my family, like Vinnie said. I'm the demigod of the Great Prophecy, right? You need me."
If the gods wouldn't help him, he would have to try here instead. And, he knew, from Vinnie's explanations, that meant bargaining; Nico felt pretty confident that he held the biggest chip with the prophecy.
When the Apollo head counselor, Annabeth, Sherman Yang, and Grover had gone into the Labyrinth, Chiron had finally let Nico hear the whole thing. Just in case, he said, It is far too easy for me to foresee a future where things go wrong.
Just in case. Something bitter and sharp rose in the back of Nico's throat; he wondered if Chiron had foreseen this.
Prometheus raised an eyebrow and exchanged glances with Kronos before turning his attention back on Nico. "In time. There are no other living candidates, unless Thalia Grace has decided to leave the service of Artemis. You will decide this war."
Nico swallowed. Prometheus walked up to Nico, who craned his neck back to try and look him in the face.
The Titan smiled, and the pit in Nico's stomach grew. "I do not wish to frighten you, you understand? It is a terrible, wonderful fate placed upon you, and you've made a brave choice, in defying Zeus."
Strangely, Nico did not feel better.
"In the meantime, you and the ghost will be of use to us," Kronos said, his attention drifting to Vinnie, who had remained quiet as he gripped Nico's shoulder. "I believe you and I once again have much to discuss. Vinnie. "
Nico snapped his head around to give the ghost a betrayed glare. "Wait, you already talked to—"
"Don't worry your little head, Nicky-boy," Vinnie soothed, raising his grey, translucent hands in a peace gesture. "Just some preliminary negotiations is all. It would've put a damper on things if Lord Kronos here had killed you on sight."
He jerked a thumb at said Titan to emphasize his point. Kronos watched them with gleaming eyes and a hand casually resting on his own sword. The reforged scythe. A good reminder that if Nico messed this up, Bianca would still be dead, and he'd be very, very dead.
"Yeah. I. . .I get it." The anger, the first thing Nico had felt in days that hadn't been sadness, sank to his stomach like a punctured lead balloon. "What am I going to do, then? The prophecy says I need to be sixteen, and I'm not even twelve for another week."
Kronos waved his hand. "You'll have your uses, same as the rest of your brethren. Are you prepared for the consequences?"
"W—What are you talking about?" Nico wasn't stupid; he knew he couldn't ever go back to camp. "I know what I'm doing for my sister. I can't go back, right?"
His sister had died. She had immortality and sworn sisters to protect her and everyone fighting for the gods had promised she would be okay and they had lied and Bianca was gone now, sent by the three judges to the Elysian Fields while their father looked on.
Prometheus gave a thoughtful hum. "No. No, you will not go back to Chiron. I can see it."
Never going back sounded just fine to Nico.
"There you go, Lord Kronos. Greek Forethought himself says he's not going back to the horse-man, consequences or no," Vinnie declared with a wide, toothy smile and grand two-handed gesture towards a straight-faced Nico, like he was a prize horse at a show. If Nico watched too closely, the ghostly flesh flickered and disappeared, revealing a grinning skull.
He tried not to watch at all.
"Not as long as you honor our deal," Nico crossed his arms, tucking his white-knuckled fists into the crooks of his elbows. "I'll do it. I'll be the half-blood of the prophecy and defeat the gods. I'm prepared."
Kronos let out a huff of something too close to laughter for Nico's comfort. "Are you? Zeus already murdered one nephew of his in an attempt to fight destiny. Do you really think he'll give much pause before killing you, just like Perseus Jackson?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Nico saw Vinnie's face do something complicated for a split second, his heavy-lidded eyes going wide, before smoothing back over.
"Huh. Nepoticide in the name of the throne?" Vinnie asked, rocking back on his heels."You guys aren't that different after all. Mind filling a dead man in?"
For a single, terrifying second, as the room temperature nosedived to match a wintry New York night, Nico was convinced that Kronos was going to whip out his sword and kill Vinnie, deal be damned.
Instead, as Nico whipped his head back and forth like he was watching a tennis match, Kronos only gave a deathly glare that made Nico's heart seize, while Vinnie stared back with a smirk.
Prometheus made a delicate, small cough to break the silence. "The simplified version is that one of Poseidon's children was killed twelve years ago. Due to Zeus's noted paranoia about the Great Prophecy, combined with the killer's disappearance and unusually young age for a demigod to attract a monster who would kill a mortal, certain assumptions have been. . .made."
"Certain assumptions," Vinnie repeated, in a strangled tone that Nico couldn't read but made Kronos tilt his head.
"Indeed. Do we have more to talk about—Vinnie?"
"Nothing that hasn't already been said, my lord."
Nico hadn't been stupid enough to believe him when he had introduced himself—what ghost would be this interested in mythological war and be called Vinnie? —but the sneering emphasis with which Kronos said it made Nico wonder if he should've demanded his true name.
Kronos turned his gaze on Nico; with great difficulty, Nico crossed his arms, dropping his hands to his side, and trying very, very hard not to flinch. Vinnie gave him an approving nod.
Bianca, Nico reminded himself. You can do this for her. "The journey we are on, Nico di Angelo, is not for cowards. If we succeed, you and I will regain what we most desire. But if you look back for one moment, you are lost," Kronos promised, sliding a finger under Nico's chin, jerking his face up until Nico saw exactly what lost meant in Kronos's eyes.
Trying to look somewhere else, anywhere else, Nico's gaze slid over to the Titan's sword, still in its sheath.
Waiting.
Nico took a step back. He looked the Titan in the face one more time, even if it felt physically painful to do. "I'll do what must be done. Lord Kronos."
And if he got justice against the gods in the process. . .
He was the son of Hades, the one who would end the war. And they had let death take his sister away.
In that rainy back alley, where Nico had cried until it was a wonder that he hadn't drowned in his own tears, Vinnie had warned him that gods would do whatever it took to keep their thrones, first and always — but that there was power everywhere, if he knew how to bargain for it.
The deal struck and the two of them dismissed, Nico warily backed out of the throne room. He was immediately greeted by a gaggle of armored, slouching skeletons he hadn't figured out how to send back to the Underworld — if it was safe to send them back to Hades.
Behind them were small piles of monster ash scattered across the obsidian floor and an ashen, wide-eyed demigod guard cowering in bronze armor.
Vinnie chuckled at the sight. Nico almost managed a smile, cold as he felt at the sight.
Maybe camp had been right to be scared of him after all.
Percy wandered through an unfamiliar palace of white marble and gold.
Like the Hall of Ages in Heliopolis, the ceiling of the main hall curved up to a height that left Percy's neck aching. Intricately carved Corinthian columns acted as support, different from the lotus style Percy was so used to seeing everywhere in the First Nome.
Then again—
There were no curtains of light depicting humanity's history, or glowing hieroglyphs drifting through the air, signifying the Chief Lector's presence; tapestries vivid enough to be photos hanged from the walls, and a burning smell of ozone left Percy hoping he hadn't gotten dropped somewhere with angry ghosts. Again.
—he wasn't in the First Nome.
Percy came to a stop behind a large column, peeking around to watch the Greek gods argue, their words angry and indistinct, in front of twelve towering thrones. His eyes fell to the center of the lineup, where a deep-sea fisherman's chair stood empty.
"Do not worry," said a young, gentle voice behind him. "They cannot see you. Not yet."
He did not jump.
In the corner, away from the dying fire in the center of the throne room, a young, dark-haired girl in a plain brown dress and headscarf was curled up next to flames of her own; she didn't look much older than Felix. Percy almost bought it.
Almost.
With eyes red as firelight, she gave a significant look to the empty spot on her bench; Percy took the hint. He sat down, careful to leave space between him and the unnamed goddess.
"Who are you, then?" She smiled, sweet and warm and conjuring up memories of golden crowded mornings in Brooklyn House. "I haven't had a visitor like this in a long time."
"Percy. Percy K—" Percy frowned. No. Not right. Not here. But was he enough, either way, for what was coming? Something in his non-existent chest twisted. "I'm—Percy."
The girl cocked her head. "Percy. Do you come to Olympus as a hero or a magician?"
"Who says I can't be both?" he asked, shrugging.
"How impertinent of you," she laughed, the embers crackling with it. "Good. Do you know who I am, Percy?"
"The hearth. You're. . .Hestia, right?"
She hummed approvingly. "Not bad, for what you are. I tend the fire, when everyone has left home for war. I keep the peace, when I must. But I am not for fighting, child, even in these desperate days."
"You're not going to do anything?" It slipped out before Percy could think better of it—in his defense, the picture Annabeth Chase and Clarisse La Rue had painted was pretty fucking grim—but Hestia just shook her head.
"I said I would not fight, Percy. Not that I would do nothing," she said mildly. The rebuke was more harmless from her than from any other god Percy had ever met, but he shifted uncomfortably. "You still have much to learn."
"Uh-huh," he said, out of both agreement with the general idea and a desire to never find out just how prone Greek gods were to mid-REM cycle smiting. "And on that count, my last report card is Exhibit A."
Hestia's smile returned, sadder than before. "Not too proud. You would not have made a bad hero, in happier times."
She poked at the embers, and Percy reminded himself that his chances of beating the prophecy were not zero.
"Perseus," Hestia said, solemn. Percy fought the urge to squirm under her gaze. "I know how to yield when I must. I do not fight, but it is never nothing. Do you understand?"
Percy thought of Zia Rashid blazing against the darkness, of a snake's millennia-old promise to swallow the sun, and of a goddess screaming at him to save his own life. "Probably not, to be honest."
And just twenty-four hours ago, he had been okay with that. What had his life been up until that point, if not fighting when he shouldn't? It was how he had saved the world the first time, after all.
"No," Hestia agreed, "But you will. This is not your scholars' world. Now, why did you come here?"
Because at least his subconscious could admit that well-intentioned vibes weren't going to cut it this time. "I don't really plan on ruining my beauty sleep with near-death experiences. Does there have to be a reason?"
Hestia raised an eyebrow and waved a hand over sparking coals. "Demigods never dreamwalk without one. Your nature will out itself, one way or another; their magic would only have made it worse."
Well, Percy considered—no; and yes. He'd had some contenders for the Kafka Dream Olympics, sure, but they had never been pointless. Not even that shared Brooklyn House-wide one with the Cheese Man.
It had been a really weird couple days after defeating Apophis.
The background irascible murmur of a godly war council rose in volume, clearing into what Percy now recognized as very angry Greek. He jerked around and dropped on reflex, waiting in a defensive crouch for the—he did a quick head count—eleven gods to finally turn around and notice the mortal in their midst.
He tried not to think too hard about the missing twelfth.
Or Hestia's declaration. Or the prophecy he could hear them snarling at each other over.
Olympus to preserve or raze, declared a golden-haired man with armor of sunlight, The Moirai will not be swayed on that count. I can only deliver the Great Prophecy, not change it. Athena?
A woman with graying dark hair and eyes identical to those of Annabeth Chase gave a thunderous frown, her fingers drumming against her shining throne. Perseus the Destroyer, or Perseus the Avenger? I cannot promise a path. He is changed and—unpredictable.
Percy let out a shaky breath, turning back around, willing the all-too-clear conversation to revert back to a dull roar, before she finished her doomsaying.
Separation was enforced before this age; we know the consequences if it fails. But with the son of Hades untried and his whereabouts unknown. . .we must wait to kill this one.
Either way.
Percy really, really hated dreamwalking.
"Keep your nerve, hero."
Percy jumped at the epithet, falling back onto the bench; Hestia studied the Greek gods behind them with a weary expression, old and out of place on the girl's face she wore. "Their worries will keep. Your father will keep. That is why you're here, aren't you?"
He was still stuck on hero. "I—"
"Curiosity is not a sin. Poseidon was once no better," she said, amused, "But you will not find him today. You have much training in your future, and your time is almost up, nephew."
Percy tried not to take that any less literally than he had to.
"You can't seriously think they'll just let me be," Percy said, incredulous, "The Destroyer? Consequences of separation between pantheons? I wouldn't leave me alone."
Hestia's face was pitying. "Child. They have what they want."
Him. Him, presumed prophecy dude extraordinaire, back in their camp, to train in their ways. Percy took a deep, steadying breath. His body didn't need one, technically speaking, but he sure as hell did. So he took one.
Like Athena had said, with this Nico guy gone, they would just have to wait to decide whether to smite Percy until after he saved their asses.
Awesome. He loved multiple near-death experiences as birthday presents. Percy looked up at Hestia, who watched him with a quirked eyebrow that told him she knew exactly what was going through his head.
"I'll see you again, Percy Jackson, when your final choice and the Great Prophecy come to pass."
The goddess opened her hand. The glowing cinders, caked with gray ash, blazed into golden flames that leapt ten feet into the air, and the world faded into oppressive heat and fire as Percy fell away.
"Nico, I've got no clue why you think you can trust this guy, but—"
"—and make sure the blacksmiths are prepared, Delphin. Tell Tyson—"
"That ghost has awoken an abomination—"
"—Jason Grace, son of Jupiter. Who are you?"
"Take Nico di Angelo to see the son of Hephaestus, Captain Torrington."
Percy jerked awake with a gasp.
He heaved himself upright in bed, clumsily kicking his tangled sheets off. The slick of sweat made his shirt cling to his back, making him grimace as he pulled on it to try and dry out. Gross .
He felt like he had run a marathon. In Death Valley. With Ammit trying to bite his kneecaps off the whole way just to really make sure his heart was in it.
Greek dreams, Percy reflected as he grabbed a bottle of water from his bedside, sucked absolute shit. His hands shook as he flicked the cap off and promptly spilled half the thing all over himself.
Percy's heart began to pound a bit less in his ears as he took in his darkened room, noting familiar details. The jacket thrown over a door, muddy boots thrown into their usual corner, discarded scroll on some ancient medical spell that Jaz had spent the last two months insisting she'd come by to pick up any day now.
Percy smiled faintly at the remains of eye-watering orange glitter, stuck in cracks of stone from the latest wave of prank wars.
All of it was familiar—the promise of Brooklyn House. Home.
Still. Something in his chest refused to uncoil.
His eyes fell on the dresser and what lay on top of it: a souvenir from the visit to Camp Half-Blood.
Against his better judgment, he got up and, without even knowing why , tiptoed across the room. Gingerly picked up the pen like it was a bomb.
Uncapped the pen. The glowing bronze of the blade—Riptide—immediately appeared.
Percy gave it an experimental swing, cutting through the air with the faintest whistle. The weight was comforting in his hands, like grabbing the arm of an old friend.
Too comforting. It took Percy two shaky tries to touch the tap to the sword tip before dropping it back onto the dresser, the ballpoint reluctantly falling through limp fingers.
Funny, that.
He'd spent years clinging to an amulet and magic that felt like hugging rabid honey badgers, and now here he was, frozen at the possibility of a destiny and power that had apparently been his all along, unable to hold onto a sword at three in the morning without getting freaked.
Scared.
Well. Percy tilted his head, and slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle black laughter.
Maybe it was the accompanying apocalyptic prophecy and promise of violent death. Just maybe.
"Who's dead?" Carter Kane asked grimly.
A dozen teenage magicians crowded around the kitchen table stared at him for a long moment of silence, then each other, then his sister, who continued to find her frighteningly large cup of matcha tea the most fascinating thing in the room.
He heard a distinctive sharp inhale from his left—the one Zia let out when she was trying very hard not to find something funny.
Uncle Amos had peeled off to the kitchen for a quiet conversation with Camila; Carter could hear the quiet exchange of hellos as the middle-aged Portuguese woman began brewing another kettle of coffee while the initiates tried not to fall asleep into their breakfasts.
If one ignored the fact that the three of them had tumbled out of a portal, startling Philip to the far side of his pool and splashing water all over the tile, it was a peaceful morning, by Brooklyn House standards.
So. It couldn't be that bad. Probably.
Gods, he hoped. He'd take feeling slow over someone being killed.
"Sadie," Carter insisted, "Is anyone dead? Injured? In a mysterious, fiery, god-induced coma?"
Across the table, a bleary-eyed Jaz muttered into her grits, "That was once, Carter."
Carter gave her a sheepish half-smile; the resultant snickering dragged Sadie to the waking lands. She gave him a weak wave from across the table, pressing her other hand to her forehead. "Mother-henning brother of mine. Lovely to have you home. Have mercy and be quiet. Please."
Carter walked around to—quietly, he wasn't a monster— pull a chair up next to Sadie, tapping Walt on the shoulder before he face-planted into his eggs as he went. Carter could see Percy's windbreaker thrown over one of the couches, no one seemed inclined to move very quickly, and he doubted that Sadie would be calmly nursing tea if Percy was still MIA or worse .
"So. Don't take this the wrong way, Sadie," he said, "But what the hell? Where's Percy?"
"In his room, packing. Uh. . ." She looked at Jaz, ignoring Carter's sudden choking fit. "What's the short version, d'you think?"
Of Percy packing?
"The short version?" Zia murmured, leaning on the wall behind Sadie, crossing her arms in very deliberate fashion. In the corner, Carter saw Uncle Amos settle in among the younger initiates, all of them wide-eyed at the Chief Lector's presence and reaching for the glowing hieroglyphs around him. "It's barely eight in the morning here. How much can happen?"
"Percy wandered into the world's most heavily armed summer camp, the Greek gods are real, they have kids—demigods—and they've got issues. A war and a prophecy," Jaz tacked, her voice dry as the desert. Carter's head whipped around hard enough for an audible crack to look at her. "I don't think we should cover the last part until Percy finishes packing up."
Everything. Everything could happen.
Zia straightened up off the wall. "A demi-what."
Hercules. Achilles. Bellerophon. Theseus— probably; Carter remembered some gray area from a dig outside Athens with Dad.
And his cousin Perseus Jackson Kane. Carter was going to strangle him.
"Demigod," Jaz repeated, nose wrinkled in distaste. "A child of a Greek god and a human, to be specific, though that's. . .probably not exclusive to them, now that I think about it."
There were thoughts Carter simply never needed to have. Not in times like this—or ever, really. He didn't need to be wrapping his mind around the metaphysics driving possible god-human procreation and the evidence supporting the possibility.
Much less the existence of Greek gods, Ra's fucking crook and flail.
"Nuh-uh. There are only so many disturbing revelations I can take before my second cup of tea, Jaz," Sadie grumbled, clearly of one mind with Carter, for once. "Multiple pantheons spawning can wait until I'm caffeinated."
Judging from the pained look on the face of Uncle Amos, Carter decided to take the confirmed existence of the Greek gods as a given and move onto his next headache. "But how would that work? Do they just—possess someone— "
It was too early. It was too early for a fraction of this, let alone all of it, but here Carter was, because Percy couldn't make one single phone call at Jet Lag O'Clock, contemplating the mechanics of human-god sex lives—
"Well, the fucking stork didn't bring me," Percy declared as he walked in, duffel bag over his shoulder, Khufu hot on his heels, and talking with the kind of near-homicidal cheer that came with needing another six hours of sleep. "Though I gotta say, at this point? Kinda wish it had."
Any relief Carter could dig up at seeing Percy alive and in one piece transformed into a sickly familiar anxiety digging itself a pit in Carter's stomach. Rapidly . "That's not very funny, Percy."
Percy shrugged with one shoulder. "Take it up with fate. Anyway, we're semi-reliably informed that there's no possession involved. The Greek gods play by different manifesting rules, if Team Manhattan's to be trusted."
None of this made Carter feel measurably better.
Fates. Not Fate. A trio of ladies hailing from the Greek pantheon—gods who, if the stories were true, would give any Egyptian deity Carter had ever tangled with a run for their money in cruelty and capriciousness. And one of them was Percy's. . .father, considering his mother was, well, dead. Really dead.
Carter found himself looking over at Uncle Amos, who was studying Percy with an expression Carter couldn't quite interpret past worry. Worry for their apparent Greek demigod. Carter shook his head, feeling a bit stupid. Maybe he should've taken Percy's nightmares after Apophis a bit more seriously.
Maybe he should've taken everything about Percy a bit more seriously.
Carter scrubbed his hands over his face, willing this surreal morning to be nothing but its own nightmare.
"You understand why I may have forgotten to look after your blood pressure," Sadie muttered under her breath.
Carter gave Sadie a look of deeply exhausted annoyance that he had been perfecting since he was eight and she blew up her birthday cake. He and Amos and Zia had hauled ass halfway across the world and Sadie couldn't have left them a voicemail?
Greek honest-to-the-wrong-pantheon demigods. At least Apophis had made sense.
"Alright, then," he said, marshaling what he remembered from when Dad had brought him to the Mediterranean, and the Greco-Egyptian shrines he had seen. "Greek gods are real. One of them is Percy's dad. As long as it's anyone but Zeus, we can roll with that."
And by Zeus, Carter meant Hera. They had enough vengeful gods out to kill them without immortal evil stepmothers in the mix.
"Not quite." Percy made a face, before he grabbed his windbreaker, tucking a ballpoint pen into one of the pockets, and dropped into the chair next to Carter. Khufu made his way into the kitchen, presumably in pursuit of food appropriately suffixed -o for breakfast.
"Poseidon," Sadie continued without missing a beat, "Very important, world-ending prophecy involved, if the horse-man and their oracle are to be believed."
Of course. Carter didn't know why he expected anything less in this house.
Behind him, Zia muttered something unflattering about oracles in Arabic that made him snort; Carter knew enough to recognize somewhat unrealistic threats towards someone's mother when he heard them.
"Did their gods tell you?" she continued in English, "Or was it other demigods, or—no. Just tell us the whole long version, or we'll be here for hours. Last we heard, you disappeared without a word."
Percy winced. "Sorry, Zia. I ran into someone's oversized petsuchos and just kinda. . .forgot."
It was Carter's turn to grumble something unflattering in another language. Percy groaned. "I said I'm sorry. Things spiraled real quick."
Carter bit back a reflexive No, you're not, restraining himself to sharing a dubious look with Zia, who shrugged. Apophis and the House's civil war hadn't even been six months ago. Setne was gods knew where with the Book of Thoth, with an axe to grind against them.
He felt he was allowed to be a bit on edge.
"From the top, Percy," Uncle Amos finally chimed in from across the table, carefully extracting his wand from Shelby's six-year-old grip as he spoke. "One last time."
"Once more, with feeling, right?" Percy said, something approaching a smile crossing his face—the call-and-response of some running joke that predated the British Museum. Uncle Amos gave him a nod, and Percy launched into. . .well, if Carter was being honest in the relative safety of his own head, a story that was about on-brand for the Kanes.
The loose petsuchos—a mascot of Sobek's temple, and not something that would just wander into Percy's path, even if he'd dealt with it without too much trouble. Percy stumbling into a camp of heavily-armed teenagers, each of them apparently the child of a Greek god, meeting their leaders: daughters of Athena and Ares and Aphrodite, children of Apollo and Demeter, twin sons of Hermes.
Being informed that Percy was some kind of long-lost big deal, as the dead son of Poseidon and subject of a prophecy.
"What kind of prophecy?" Zia interjected, adding with a humorless smile, "No one's required to get swallowed this time, I hope."
Percy began to fiddle with a butter knife, his attention on his plate. "Nothing interesting. Just that when I turn sixteen, as a 'half-blood of the eldest gods', I make a choice that'll either destroy or save the world, determine the fate of Mount Olympus, stuff like that. You know, normal prophecy stuff."
"You should hope so," Walt said with a laugh—a glance into the Duat revealed Anubis was grinning. "You didn't hear what Sadie was calling you after we dragged you out of all that snake goo."
"Excuse me for being upset that my idiot cousin had as good as died," Sadie grumbled, "And I meant it. If you ever pull anything like that again, I'll drop you in the Hudson, Percy. We're a team. "
Percy's eyes narrowed. "Do you want me to actually finish explaining, or do you just want to continue Yell At Percy For His Life Choices Power Hour?"
Sadie matched his glare, but didn't say anything else. Percy gave an exaggerated nod. "Thank you. Now, this is when my favorite cousin decided to appear and try to smash the place into smithereens—"
Carter hid his smirk behind his coffee; Sadie flushed as Percy explained in vivid detail how Sadie had nearly initiated violent negotiations with a border patrol before he and two of the demigods talked everyone down, to badly-muffled snickering from the rest of the breakfast table.
Mention of the civil war between the Greek gods and the Titans killed whatever good mood was built up.
"It's why I'm packing," Percy admitted without a trace of regret. "I'm not putting all of you in danger like that, especially with the anklebiters, and—gods, I barely know what I'm up against."
Before Carter could open his mouth to argue, Sadie agreed with him—albeit through grit teeth. "He's right, Carter. Not that I trust Percy's common sense, but according to the horse-man, it's the same as for any of us. He's about to start attracting Greek demons by the truckload, to say nothing of whatever kind of target was put on his back by their bloody prophecy."
"This place is warded to within an inch of Bast's life," Carter argued, "We've got the entire House of Life on call, and some of the world's largest archives on magic to go through. We can definitely come up with something ourselves."
Percy snorted. "I appreciate it, but those are archives on Egyptian magic and prophecy, as we all found out the hard way during some pretty godless hours last night. There's nothing to deal with my little Greek problem."
"Nothing?" Zia repeated in a high pitch, thoroughly scandalized—she had been raised within the First Nome, Carter remembered. She probably knew exactly how extensive those records were, better than anyone else in the room. "I refuse to believe that."
"We got back late, and half of us stayed up to research, for hours, " Sadie complained, "Cleo turned the library inside-out and ran her shabti minions ragged across the world. Best she came up with were copies of the Iliad and Aeneid, some rather dry books on Greek mythology from last century, and rumors of rumors on half-burnt papyrus. Nada. "
Carter pinched his nose, and turned to the girl who knew more about wringing knowledge from a stone than anyone else in the room. "Cleo?"
"Well. . .the Chief Lector could have us go through the First Nome's records directly, to look at anything recovered from Sais or Heliopolis excavations, or the Fourth Nome's archives in Athens, even," she offered tentatively, "But I wouldn't be hopeful. Herodotus might've been telling more of the truth than I thought he was, but these are two cultures living on top of each other for millennia and there's barely evidence that the House of LIfe encountered children of Greek gods, let alone. . .anything else."
Carter frowned, wracking his own brain. Sais was the Egyptian city Diodorus claimed was built by Athenians, suggesting a connection to the Greek goddess Athena—Plutarch claimed to have visited a shrine to her there. It held the original grave of Osiris and a temple of Isis, and Neith had been the city patron in its heyday during the Late Period. Dad had brought him there several times when Carter had been younger, while Percy, Sadie, and Walt had gone there to find Bes's shadow last year.
There was next to nothing left of the ancient city in the modern day, he knew, with the town Sa el-Hagar standing in its place; Heliopolis wasn't much better off, with the last vestiges of it housing the First Nome beneath Cairo. But Heliopolis had been Alexandria before Alexandria—Homer, Pythagoras, and Plato had all supposedly visited the schools of learning there—to say nothing of the city's temple of Ra, or the relationship between the Greek phoenix and Egyptian bennu and association between the two, specifically In Heliopolis.
The connections with Greece and its gods—predating Alexander the Great's invasion of Egypt by several centuries—were the key. They had to be. Something had to be there for them to find.
"Sais was—I mean, it saw enough action over the centuries for destruction, especially when the Rashidun Caliphate invaded Byzantine Egypt and Sais was wrecked, and—we're not exactly a peaceful bunch," Carter said slowly, trying to stay on track. Lecturing about the Muslim conquest of Egypt was not the point here. "I don't think demigods are much better. Probably didn't live long, and didn't stay in Egypt if they could help it. If the House of Life wasn't looking for it, outside of our own gods. . .isn't it possible that they flew under the radar? Anything suspicious written off as our own UFO incidents? Especially after the Library of Alexandria burned—"
"Carter," Cleo interrupted, frustration beating out her usual timidity, "We have proof of the duel between Moses and House of Life scholars. A singular event, a much smaller scale. This is—godlings were born, not made. There should be something, especially after Alexander invaded. "
Down the table, Amos let out a sigh, leaning forward on his elbows and nudging the 'glyph for light out of his way. "I can allow you access to the First Nome's archives, though I doubt you'll find much that isn't remnants of hearsay. Leadership of the Twenty-First Nome meant I swore oaths of secrecy for this situation—"
"I don't think anyone had me in mind," Percy said cheerfully, "Pretty sure you could've been as nosy as we are, just this once."
"Careful. I might find I still have the power to ground you," Amos warned, sighing and running a hand through his braids. "For all the good it would do. But I'm not hiding anything useful. Letting Manhattan be was for the best, especially after Ruby's death and Julius going into exile. The House of Life barely survived Roman conquest, and so many of our records were destroyed. . .demigods are beyond me, outside of the one in this room."
The table fell silent, and Carter took a great gulp of his coffee to give himself time to think. He hadn't expected Uncle Amos to have all the answers, but he had hoped for something more than what he could find in an encyclopedia.
What did it mean that their resident librarian-in-training and even the Chief Lector couldn't tell them a thing?
"Sabotage." Walt broke the silence by voicing Carter's thoughts. "Someone made sure that you'd barely be aware that the Greek gods existed, let alone had kids. Not that it was hard, after the path of the gods was forbidden on pain of death."
Walt, who had the most direct line to one of the—Egyptian—gods out of any of them, who had been pretty quiet through their speculations and tangents. From the Duat, Carter could see Anubis, youngest of them all—relatively speaking—give him a shrug and helpless look.
"Well, they didn't get everything," Alyssa pointed out from halfway down the table, gesturing with one hand, as she pinned back her fluffy dark curls with sparkling pink hair clips in the other. "I mean, there's that story about Hera pursuing one of Zeus's girlfriends to Egypt, and a few versions of the Trojan War where Helen was in the care of the pharaoh."
"Well, they can't get rid of everything, " Zia reasoned, before adding dryly, "People might hear of this obscure conqueror called Alexander of Macedonia, for one. Like Cleo said, there should be something. "
Sadie pursed her lips. "So they leave enough for plausible deniability that we did more than have mutually hostile tea, and our separate set-ups eventually turn into stories like that one chap's twelve labors and Medusa—"
"—yes, um, I'm now pretty sure those were both real—"
"And after a lot of convenient pillaging and arson, each side is convinced the other is a myth, 'cause there's nothing to suggest otherwise," Sadie forged past Cleo's nervous interjection. "So we just keep on as usual. Until they set up shop on the wrong side of the river, and this one manages to give twice as many people as usual a stroke when we adopt him. Stop smiling, Percy."
Percy grinned wider, because Carter's cousin was sometimes insufferable like nothing else on the planet. "Shouldn't have signed the papers, Amos. No getting rid of me now, I hope."
He emphasized hope by shoving a cursing Sadie halfway out of her chair, as Uncle Amos shook his head with a laugh, the glowing hieroglyphs twinkling in the morning light around him—a tempting target for the anklebiters, Carter realized half a second too late.
Shelby snatched the 'glyph for bonfire out of thin air and yelped when the cuffs of her sweater began to smoke, Zia hurriedly reaching into dowse it with a flick of her wrist; the table burst into sympathetic laughter as Uncle Amos delivered an impromptu lecture on not just grabbing the language of creation out of thin air. All this left only Carter to watch Percy.
If Percy's grin disappeared too quickly in the ensuing chaos, a shadow lurking in his eyes that wasn't there on New Year's Eve, Carter wouldn't be the one to mention it.
Carter watched as his cousin stood back up, gesturing to Zia, who slid into the chair with a smile, and clapping his hands for everyone's attention.
"So," Percy said, all business, "Gameplan, team. I'm going on sabbatical at Demigod Central, Long Island, for. . .let's go ahead and call it the next six and a half months, until my birthday. I'll visit on weekends unless the apocalypse really wrecks traffic; teaching custody of Whatever Works 101 goes to Jaz, Sekhmet help you all. If you miss me enough to watch me get destroyed at swordfighting, don't employ Sadie's problem-solving skills and blow up the magic barrier at at the summer camp."
Sadie rolled her eyes. "You are really never gonna let this go."
"We really aren't," Carter and Zia confirmed in unison, before Carter gave her a matching grin on reflex to that, and Sadie began to mutter about lovey-dovey dorks under her breath.
Percy continued, sidling over to the coach to grab his duffel bag and jacket, before beginning to back towards the door. "—It's basically vampire-style entrance spell stuff. Yesterday's away team saw it work if you guys have got questions, but I've got faith in you as long as you're not Sadie."
It was almost right. Carter couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, exactly, as Sadie began to issue an array of threats against Percy's continued existence as a humanoid vertebrate, and their initiates all laughed at the surprise morning show—
"I mean, I have questions, and I was there," Jaz said, cutting through the babble, "Are you sure about this, Percy?"
Halfway in the entrance to the kitchen and out the door of Brooklyn House, for the first time that morning, Percy stopped dead, looking back at them, and everyone fell silent as the grave.
"I mean," he said finally, not quite meeting anyone's gaze, his eyes sweeping across the room, back and forth. "I don't think I was given a choice."
Zia scoffed and pinned him with a look that would've guilted the Pope into confession. "I don't think there's anyone who I'm less inclined to believe than you about the inevitability of prophecy. You've always had a choice."
Percy looked up at the floor, then back up to give Zia a wistful, crooked half-grin—one that reached his eyes, Carter realized. That was the difference.
Nothing on his face had reached his eyes all morning, creating laugh lines that Carter would've said Percy had inherited from Amos, if he didn't know better. Except that new shadow.
"No. I never did."
Percy was so desperate to get out of Brooklyn House, before he cracked and started sobbing something embarrassing about how he was going to die before he could get his driver's license, that he wiped out on pool tile he'd been walking on since he was three years old.
He would've joined Philip in the water—where he belonged, maybe; he didn't know —if Amos didn't pull him upright and out at the last second.
"Watch your step there," Amos said mildly, letting Percy go for the two of them to futilely try and adjust their clothes. "I'm a bit out of practice, you know. I haven't done this since you were eight."
This was, typically, where Percy began to grumble about embarrassing childhood memories being unfairly held over his head. And on any other day, when he wasn't fresh off of the dream stroll from hell— Hades, maybe, gods above—he would have.
"Thanks," he said shortly.
Amos frowned. "Percy. Don't attack me for repeating Jasmine's question, but are you sure about this?"
"Well, if not now, then I'm going to have to be soon," Percy snapped before he could think better of it. "The Great Prophecy—"
"The great prophecy?" Amos repeated with no small amount of disdain, without the audible capital-G. "Who came up with that?"
"Oracle of Delphi. I wasn't consulted," Percy rolled his eyes, "Both a lie and not really descriptive. They're not even sure who's directly involved. Annabeth Chase said there's still a chance it's not me, if, y'know."
What was it Travis Stoll had said? That as demigods, painful death was totally still an option?
"You're not eligible if you die. Which I would rather you don't," Amos filled in, with enough cheerfulness and calm to make Percy's chest seize. "For one, I think Ruby would ground you, and she, unlike me, has eternity as a very real threat."
Percy needed to get out of here before he did something really embarrassing, like cry all over Amos like he was nine again. Or start running his mouth about exactly what the To-Be-Greatly-Renamed Prophecy entailed.
"Yeah," Percy managed, quite proud of how non-strangled his voice came out. "Getting sent to the corner with Ammit for all time would be a real bummer after my heroic death."
Hero. Was that what he would be, whether he wanted it or not? After years of questionable magician-hood, he'd still be a demigod at the end.
"Oh, definitely," Amos said with a weak chuckle, before sobering again, placing a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Percy. I couldn't have predicted this, or even wanted this for you, when I took you in—the gods know I would prefer your mother alive—but I realize you will likely meet your godly father soon, and you should know, whatever happens—"
"Amos, listen, I—" Percy began, a sudden urge gripping by the throat to just say it, to be done with it, if this was what he felt now—
"I know your name as my child," he said firmly, "That will never change."
Percy stopped.
He'd known, of course. They hadn't talked about it in years, since Uncle Julius had blown up the Rosetta Stone and their lives had become one emergency after another. But he had known. Despite Sadie's claims, he wasn't completely emotionally ignorant.
Amos was—well, if Percy was asked to envision a dad at any point in the last decade, not just his father but someone who was there, who raised him, through shenanigans and apocalypses and magic and his befriending of Philip and—him.
It was a world away from actively thinking it. Amos Kane was his dad.
"I remain as impossibly proud of you and your abilities as I was three years ago," Amos said seriously, "but I want you to know that the rest of us are here, and prophecy or not, rules or not, you're not alone. It remains your choice, but don't take this on by yourself. We don't need to re-enact old lessons about playing the hero from Apophis, right?"
Percy looked up at him, and felt the weight of the ballpoint pen in his pocket, too heavy for its size and balanced and weighting. He remembered she chose to leave us and preserve or raze and the chances aren't zero.
("Keep your nerve, hero.")
Single choice, to end his days. Preserve or raze.
("It was too close for all of us.")
"Loud and clear," Percy said, mustering up a brighter tone. "And just for the official record: Are you giving me permission to break the rules, Chief Lector?"
Amos let out a huff of laughter. "Not in any official record, I assure you. Not when a third of the House is still convinced Set is running the show. Get out of here, kid, before someone changes their mind. Good luck, and we'll see you on Saturday."
"Gotcha, chief." Percy gave him a lazy salute, and right before he stepped over the edge of Brooklyn House, was able to catch Sadie putting in the last word with a roar.
"Or else!"
Percy would beat this. He would. He'd convince Annabeth Chase and her friends to not kill him and he would figure out the rules the Greeks played by and, gods, he'd set those rules on fire as much as needed to get out of this alive, so that he could get grounded for a definite non- eternity for lying his face off to everyone after the fact.
And the fire would be literal, if his track record was any prediction of what was to come.
A/N: Alright, I have survived assault, PTSD, my own brain chemistry trying to kill me, another year of plague, the American political system, collegiate system ableism, college finals, and my sister's driving "skills", so that I may bring you another installment to one of two stories that have fucking consumed my free time, and I couldn't be happier.
I love you all dearly, and here's hoping to surviving another year. Solidarity with anyone who's also survived any combination of the above factors. This chapter was for you, darlings. We are going to make it.
After all the research I did for this chapter, I also feel like I need to give y'all a bibliography, since pretty much everything Carter talked about is true. Here you go (If you want access to any of the journal articles, hit me up on Tumblr, since I have copies saved):
1. Redford, D. B. (2001). The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt (1st ed., Vol. 3, Ser. Egypt-Antiquities-Encyclopedias). Oxford Univ. Press.
2. READER, COLIN. "THE NETJERIKHET STELA AND THE EARLY DYNASTIC CULT OF RA." The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology, vol. 100, 2014, pp. 421–35. JSTOR, stable/24644981.
3. Nuzzolo, Massimiliano, and Jaromír Krejčí. "HELIOPOLIS AND THE SOLAR CULT IN THE THIRD MILLENNIUM BC." Ägypten Und Levante / Egypt and the Levant, vol. 27, 2017, pp. 357–80. JSTOR, stable/26524908.
4. The Historical Library of Diodorus the Sicilian, in Fifteen Books, translated by G. Booth, Esq. Vol. 1, 1814. London.
5. Agnieszka Dobrowolska, and Jarosław Dobrowolski. Heliopolis : Rebirth of the City of the Sun. Cairo ; New York, American University In Cairo Press, 2006.
6. Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. "Sais". Encyclopedia Britannica, Invalid Date, place/Sais-ancient-city-Egypt.
7. The Histories by Herodotus, Book II, 1858 translation.
And, yes. There is a hilariously obvious Star Wars reference in here, if you know what it is. I really, really don't regret it.
Oh, and happy Pride from your local trans fanfic author. Got in before the end of the month!
