Authors Note:
Chapter 2!
Unknown Location, August 22, 2009
He awoke to the steady pitter-patter of rain drops on the roof above him.
Shaking the drowsiness away and wiping his eyes dry, hissing as pain flared through his body, Percy Jackson blinked repeatedly, trying to get his bearings. Beside him, Annabeth Chase groaned softly, forcing herself up to her knees. Percy immediately offered a calloused hand to Annabeth, who gratefully accepted it and hoisted herself up to her feet.
A single, flickering light bulb barely illuminated the room around them, casting elongated shadows along the stone walls. The room itself was barren except for a simple mahogany table on the verge of falling apart. In the far corner of the room, a faint stream of light trickled through a small, barred window, like the ones Percy would expect to see in prisons. A simple, wooden door was present, directly across from the demigods. Percy shivered and rubbed his arms, aware of the chilly draft blowing in from the entrance of the room. The rainfall increased, judging by the steady uptick in the intensity of the drumbeat the raindrops produced, and Percy could feel the rumble of thunder shaking the ground.
"Hey, Annabeth? Where are we? What … what happened?" Beside him, Annabeth hummed, squinting her eyes as she also took in their surroundings. Finally, she scoffed and shook her head, her response indicating that she had no answers for him. Percy sighed and trudged towards the window, drawing Anaklusmos but keeping it capped. Outside, leaves and tree branches whipped through the air, and the rolling fields were drenched due to the constant rainfall. Percy couldn't see any of the towering skyscrapers or bustling streets that were characteristic of New York - just the remains of a tall, sky-blue building in the distance and acres upon acres of empty grassland. It felt familiar, but Percy couldn't figure out why he felt so comfortable.
"Hey, uh, Annabeth? I don't think we're in New York anymore. At least not in Manhattan."
He turned his head, only to realize Annabeth had completely tuned him out, frantically searching the floor for … something. He observed as Annabeth grumbled in frustration, picking up a familiar, corroded Celestial Bronze dagger and wiping the dirt and mud off the hilt. The blade itself was bent unnaturally from the hilt, curving downwards before straightening out near the tip. Multiple chunks of bronze were missing, leaving behind gaping holes and serrated sections. A murky mixture of red and gold dripped from the edges of the dagger, hissing as the drops made contact with the ground. In a fight, the dagger would probably break with one solid hit, rendering it useless. However, Percy understood the significance of her knife - Luke's knife - and what it meant to her. In the end, it was Annabeth's decision on what to do with her longtime companion's gift.
"What are you thinking, Wise Girl?" The question took her by surprise, with her eyes slightly widening and focusing on his. Her knuckles paled rapidly, as she clutched the knife tighter. Percy gestured to her hands and Annabeth's expression smoothed out. Giving a distasteful glance towards the weapon in question, she violently thrust it into the stone wall to her right, the blade shattering immediately upon impact. Annabeth's breathing was labored, and her posture was still tense, but her face was serene - as if she finally found some semblance of peace within herself.
"I'm sorry."
Percy blinked. And blinked again. Out of all the possible things Annabeth could have said, he wasn't expecting this. A minuscule part of Percy was worried that this wasn't Annabeth, but rather an imposter. After all, her pride didn't allow her to apologize easily or often, and generally led to more arguments between them. But she met his eyes, and that traitorous voice disappeared. There was no way anyone could replicate those intimidating thundercloud grey irises, or that soft smirk that drove him crazy. Even while covered in dirt and grime, with dried blood caking her clothes and small cuts dotted on her skin, she was gorgeous.
Annabeth continued, seemingly oblivious to his internal musings. "There was never a choice to begin with. I choose you, Perce. It will always be you."
The sheer honesty and emotion leaking through her voice caused Percy to choke up. Wordlessly, he wrapped Annabeth in his arms, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. A fresh set of tears trailed down his cheeks, leaking into Annabeth's somehow-perfect princess curls. For a moment, Percy felt at peace, and he could almost pretend that they were two normal teenagers hanging out in the mortal world.
A particularly vicious crack of thunder reverberated through the air, and Percy reluctantly released Annabeth, who was also struggling to hold back her emotions.
"For what it's worth, I chose you ever since you told me I drooled in my sleep."
Annabeth snorted before schooling her expression to a more neutral one. "Hey Percy? What's the last thing you remember?" At this, Percy stiffened before doubling over, the onslaught of memories threatening to tear his head open. Annabeth cried and rushed to his side, grabbing Percy and helping him gently fall to his knees, but he paid no attention to her, instead replaying the scene on Olympus before waking up here.
Olympus was in shambles. Hundreds of groves and gardens were scorched by blazing columns of orange and rising clouds of grey. The agora, modeled to resemble Ancient Athens, looked like the unfortunate victim of an earthquake - with toppled buildings, jagged cracks running the length of the courtyard, and numerous piles of dust and debris blown around by the winds. Countless bodies, of both demigods and monsters, littered the marble stairs leading to the Olympian throne room, and streams of red mixed with golden dust pooled into various puddles at the base of the stairs.
Percy and Annabeth, hobbled as they were, defiantly stood in front of Luke - no, in front of Kronos. Despite carrying the Achilles Curse, patches of warped, sinuous skin clung desperately to his body, with glowing beams of gold and silver pulsating through the gaps between the skin. The Titan let out a guttural laugh, brandishing Backbiter and pointing it towards the two demigods.
"You see this, Perseus?" Kronos rasped, drawing their attention to his body, "You have failed. This weak, pathetic mortal vessel will disintegrate, soon to be replaced by my former body."
Faster than even Percy and Annabeth's eyes could follow, Grover - who was carrying a deformed club - galloped from the right and leveled a strike towards the Titans eyes, but Kronos grabbed the Satyr by the scruff of his neck, wrinkling his nose in revulsion. "Satyrs. Loyal to the end. Too bad your loyalty is misplaced Underwood, unlike your fellow nature spirits." Kronos spit those last words out, and in an enormous show of strength, hurled the flailing satyr high in the air. Grover's head made contact with the opulent, abalone doors to the Throne Room, and the doors opened with a deep groan as Grover dropped to the ground with a sickening crunch.
With renewed rage, Percy thrust his hands and summoned a wave of water to distract the Titan, while Annabeth nimbly navigated along the steps and slashed at her former friend's face. Kronos jumped back and landed a quick punch to Annabeth's gut, who doubled over but maintained her balance. Percy released the torrent of water and uncapped Anaklusmos, swinging hard at Kronos's throat only to be intercepted by Backbiter. Sensing Percy's shock, Kronos quickly backhanded Percy to the edge of the doors, and threw Annabeth in his general direction.
Risking a glance at Annabeth, Percy confirmed that she was still conscious but clearly laboring from the punch her former elder brother gifted her. Kronos sneered as Percy could hear the cacophony of snarls and screams echo through the once-beautiful city.
"Is this all you had to offer me, children? Pathetic." Kronos spit a glob of blood in his general direction, before steadily making his way towards the demigods. The last thing Percy recalled was a towering column of hazy orange flames wrapping around the injured demigods like a hug, and the snarling face of the Titan Lord, before Percy's vision faded into oblivion.
"Hestia." Percy shot up from his position on the floor, making eye contact with Annabeth and shaking his head in dismay. "She saved us, and somehow healed us with those flames. After that …" he trailed off, seeing Annabeth nod like his response was expected.
"Yeah, I thought so. I blacked out after that moment as well." Annabeth admitted, unconsciously rubbing her lower stomach area where she was punched. Percy continued to scour the area around the table, where he discovered a small Ziploc bag of crushed ambrosia cubes behind one of the corners.
"Here," Percy tossed the bag to Annabeth, who carefully removed a small amount of ambrosia and sealed the Ziploc bag up. "What should we do next? We know we're not in New York anymore, but where exactly are we?"
Annabeth swallowed, a temporary expression of bliss appearing before fading away. "This place feels familiar - it reminds me of one of the storage sheds we had back at camp. Normally, we would store a few chariots here for the races because there wasn't enough room in the stables, but with the ongoing war, well …" Annabeth trailed off, and Percy understood what she was saying. The chariots were needed for the war. However, another part of Annabeth's words stood out to Percy.
"Annabeth, Hestia is the Goddess of home and the hearth, right? So if Hestia randomly teleported us somewhere -"
"Then she sent us to the place which feels most like home!" Annabeth finished with horror dawning on her face, an expression Percy knew was also plastered on his face. It all made sense - the familiarity of this place, the comfortable feeling Percy had, all of it.
"Annabeth," he shakily spoke, and Annabeth's attention snapped towards Percy, clearly fixated on what he was going to say next, "the Big House is blue right?"
Annabeth, understanding what Percy was trying to say, stormed to the window and peered outside. A moment of silence persisted between them before a muffled sob escaped Annabeth's lips, her hand covering her mouth as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. Percy could feel his own eyes tearing up, but he angrily blinked them away. Now wasn't the time to mourn. They had to get out of here.
With a hardened glint in his eyes, Percy gently grasped Annabeth's hand and tugged her away from the window.
"Annabeth." The blonde furiously rubbed her face, before clenching her fists. "We should go. Find the others, regroup, and come up with another plan." An expression of surprise but also understanding appeared on his face when Annabeth released an animalistic growl, and she bared her teeth towards the Son of Poseidon.
"Fine, but I swear on the Styx that Kronos will pay for this. And I swear that I will not stop fighting until I see the light leave his eyes." Thunder rumbled in the background, indicating her oath was heard by the Styx. Percy simply nodded, kicking the door open and letting the frigid winds and torrents of rain enter the shed. Clutching each other's hands, the two demigods walked out, welcoming the storm in front of them.
Washington D.C, August 22, 2009
Prometheus had to admit that mortals technologically advanced far more rapidly than he expected when he first crafted them from clay. Of course, that wasn't saying much, considering the last time he was surrounded by this many mortals had been back in Greece, right before he was sentenced to his punishment by Zeus.
Still, it was rather shocking for Prometheus to see his creations build majestic buildings taller than the mind could fathom, and developing their own communication systems which could connect individuals with others across the globe by pressing a few buttons. The humans were even sending others into space to explore the unknown - something Prometheus would never have fathomed the mortals could accomplish even in his wildest dreams.
Plus, the clothing was much more comfortable than those chitons he wore back in Greece. He never was a fan of how exposed they made him - especially considering that damned eagle targeted not only his gut, but his arms and legs as well. Everywhere he went, he was mocked and insulted by numerous individuals for his marred skin. Even now, despite a jacket and khakis covering his arms and legs, Prometheus could sense the wariness and distasteful glances emanating from the mortals, but that was because of the jagged arcs of crimson and white crisscrossing across his face, festering and ugly and exposed to the rest of the world.
"Oh, by the name of Chaos, nephew, could you not have picked anything more comfortable than this? Maybe a chiton, or better yet, some armor." His companion hissed from beside him, and Prometheus pinched his nose, a flash of irritation rippling across his face.
"Uncle, you do realize that the point of wearing these clothes is to not stick out, yes?" Prometheus asked Krios, who only rolled his eyes in disgust. Internally, Prometheus could admit his uncle didn't look like the feared Titan of the South in his rolled up, navy blue skinny jeans and checkered red flannel shirt. Krios's hair was actually combed for once, and he trimmed his scraggly beard in an effort to make himself look respectable and inconspicuous. To top off the look, his uncle donned a pair of fake 'nerd glasses' which both suited him and looked utterly ridiculous on him, which was rather disturbing. Prometheus had a terrifying mental image of Krios wearing both those glasses and that helmet with ram horns he adored so much, and he internally cursed himself for his vivid imagination.
Prometheus sighed at the muffled giggles of some teenagers they passed by, and rubbed his temples. "Uncle, please lose the glasses. You look like a hippie."
"Cheeky brat," Krios grumbled, but grudgingly acquiesced, stuffing the frames into his pocket. "But I still say there is no reason for us to wear these garments, especially not when the mortals will know about us in a few short hours." He paused, glowering at a particularly annoying group of teenagers openly laughing at the duo. Their laughter ceased and their expressions paled, as they frantically scrambled away from the Titans. "Besides, these … jeans are rather itchy and uncomfortable." Krios muttered that last sentence under his breath, discreetly scratching his thighs and glutes before picking his nose.
A disgusted expression made its way on the younger Titan's face, and he slapped his Uncle's hand, wiping it off on his pants before focusing back on the path ahead. Tourists milled around, wandering into random stores or speaking with various other mortals. The ingenious contraptions known as cars sped through the streets, and cameras flickered all around them, with mortals taking in the sights of the city.
"Oh, I dare you to try that again, Prometheus." Krios growled, rubbing a slightly swollen hand with his other hand and leveling a baleful glare in his general direction.
Prometheus ignored Krios, stuffing his hand inside his pocket and fishing out a dull, red ball of string. Even though its appearance was unremarkable, Prometheus could sense the innate magic shifting and coiling like a snake inside the string. Next to him, Krios released a deep, long-suffering breath, murmuring a few choice words (which Prometheus conveniently ignored as well) before clearing his throat.
"Nephew, you mean to tell me that we've been uselessly walking all around Washington D.C for the past six hours when you had the String of Ariadne with you this whole time? Why could we have not taken the Labyrinth from the beginning, back when we were in California?" Krios adopted a scrunched-up expression, confusion rolling from him in waves. "Come to think of it, how did you even know the Labyrinth wasn't collapsed? Was it not tied to the life of that wisdom goddess's child?" Prometheus smiled thinly, leading Krios to an isolated alleyway between two apartment complexes and pressing his thumb on a seemingly blank, maroon brick.
"Because I wanted to see how my creations have done without me, dear uncle, without the fear of divine repercussions. After all, when was the last time you could say you were able to roam free on this world without the watchful eyes of your nephews and nieces monitoring your every step?" Prometheus replied, eyes still focused on where his thumb was pressed. Krios scowled but gestured for Prometheus to keep talking.
"As for your second question, dear uncle, I hoped that you wouldn't jump to conclusions this quickly." Prometheus admonished, and Krios just gave him a dry, slightly irritated look. "Does a pet dog die just because its owner is dead?" Krios gave no answer, but Prometheus could see the realization dawning on his face.
"No, but now that Daedalus is dead … " Underneath Prometheus's thumb, a glowing, blue symbol appeared: the Mark of Daedalus, ∆. Prometheus smiled again and withdrew his thumb, backing away from the wall.
"The Labyrinth is free, uncle. Not even a clear-sighted mortal can navigate through this maze now. That particular feature died with dear old Daedalus." Prometheus tossed the ball of yarn to Krios, who caught it in surprise. "The only reason the clear-sighted mortal trick worked was because the old inventor was fond of Ariadne, and that fondness was mirrored in the Labyrinth." The wall crumbled into dust and ashes in front of the two Titans, revealing a musty, narrow corridor. Whispers echoed from inside the corridor, begging and pleading for them to turn back. The Titan of forethought and crafty counsel purposefully stepped into the passageway, with Krios a step behind him, slowly unraveling the yarn. Behind them, the entrance sealed itself shut, leaving both Titans in nothing but darkness.
"Gods, this reminds me of every time Father got pissed at us. It was as if the world was swallowed in darkness, and you could only see more than five feet in front of you once the lightning started." Krios murmured, clearly lost in his memories. Prometheus snapped his fingers in front of Krios, the clacking sound echoing throughout the corridor.
"Come on, Krios," Prometheus said, "you can't tell me that you'd rather be with Hyperion back home. Besides, we have a President to meet and a White House to invade."
Westport, Connecticut, August 22, 2009
In all honesty, this was probably one of her better days.
Blue-lidded tupperware containers filled with dozens of freshly-baked assorted cookies lined the kitchen counter top, and she managed to avoid dropping a single plate or utensil on the floor today, despite the shakiness of her hands. She had even dusted off the collection of Greek statues and artifacts sitting on the top of her bookshelf, although it seemed that no matter what she did, there was always that extra little haziness to the collection that just wouldn't go away.
And she wasn't privy to any sort of prophetic vision! That made it five days in a row that she was able to get through the day without Delphi hijacking her mind and taking control of her body.
May Castellan sighed wearily and collapsed in her armchair, exhausted from the work she did. She almost wished she was in one of her less lucid phases - at least she wouldn't have been aware of the sheer emptiness permeating through her bones.
It was getting increasingly more difficult for her to differentiate between reality and fantasy, especially since she started dreaming again. In the years after Luke left home to that half-blood camp (to protect her! As if she needed any protecting!), May didn't have a single prophetic dream. Not one. However, after Luke came back to Westport to ask her for a blessing (something about a River and a curse? May could admit that she was too busy fussing over her poor son while he was explaining the reasons for his visit), her daydreams and nightmares were bombarded with all sorts of random mythological references and prophetic images, to the point where each image was seared into her mind.
It got to a point where she couldn't tell when she was awake, or when she was asleep, or both. The acrid odor of brimstone and petrichor permeated her nostrils every night, and visions of blazing flames and pristine ice clashing against each other haunted her at every waking moment. Or maybe it was flipped. Maybe she was just going senile in her old age. Maybe it was a premonition of upcoming events. She didn't know, and wasn't sure if she wanted to know anymore. All she knew was that until five days ago, she was treated to a daily dose of visions and nightmares, thanks to that annoying spirit of Delphi living inside her.
She could still sense that sliver of Delphi slithering around in her body, but it was oddly silent, as if it wanted to avoid her gaze, or if it was hiding from someone.
There wasn't actually a lot of communication between her and the lingering Delphi spirit. It would whisper in her ears and caress her mind with random blurbs and prophetic sayings that May couldn't be bothered to write down, but any attempts she made to communicate with the spirit were rebuffed or left ignored. Of course, there was also that tiny issue of losing control of her own body because Delphi wanted to take her body out for a joyride, but it was unfortunately something May became used to over the years.
'He's coming.' A saccharine-sweet voice crooned in her mind, and May flinched at the shrieking laughter of Delphi inside her mind. 'The restored King is coming! Hide, for he is coming!'
Before May could ask the Spirit to elaborate, another voice piped up from behind her.
"Mom?"
Luke Castellan, her son, her beautiful baby boy, stood in front of her. He was wearing an emerald green, ornate robe, with vivid golden swirls embroidered along the sides. A bronze, double-edged sword was sheathed at his side. Sad, blue-gold eyes stared back at an overjoyed May, who quickly wrapped Luke up in a bear hug. A tense silence passed before Luke reciprocated, wrapping his own calloused arms around May.
'Danger,' the oracle all but screamed, forcing May to cover her ears, 'hide! Keep the restored King away!'
"Mom? What's wrong? I told you I would stay safe and come back." Luke said, and May frowned at the slight accent coating his words. She didn't recall any particular accent that Hermes had, but maybe this was one of those quirks he passed on to Luke - something her son was growing into. She ignored the pleas and tortured cries of Delphi's spirit, dragging her son to the dining table.
"Don't worry, Luke! Just some crazy mumbo-jumbo that annoying spirit is coming up with. Now come! I made you cookies and sandwiches!" May squealed, but her giddiness gave way to confusion as Luke released May's hand. For a moment, Luke's face twisted into something beautiful and monstrous, and a jolt of fear coursed through her veins. But May blinked, and it was as if nothing was there in the first place. Luke still stood in front of her, his lithe frame devoid of any tension.
"Actually, that's sort of what I came to talk to you about." Luke said sheepishly while ribbing his neck, but there was an analyzing glint in his eyes, which seemed to contain more gold than she remembered. Her son placed May's hands into his own, and looked into May's eyes earnestly. "The Oracle."
Despite all her senses (along with that lingering spirit) screaming at her to back away, May simply nodded. "Promise me you'll stay afterwards?"
At this, Luke grinned, although there was something in his expression that put May off-kilter. "I promise I'll stay afterwards."
With that, May wordlessly beckoned Luke towards the couch she was sitting on, and clasped her hands together. She tilted her head towards her son, wondering what exactly about the Oracle he wanted to discuss.
"I just have one question. Why did you try to take on the Spirit?" His eyes burned intensely into her own, slight desperation along with anticipation etched on his face. Despite the tense atmosphere, May let out a tinkling laugh.
"I wanted to be involved in your life, Luke. Being the Oracle would keep me by your side, and I could use my clear-sightedness for good." She looked down at her shaking hands. When had they started shaking? For the first time in what seemed to be weeks, Delphi was silent. May didn't know whether she felt relieved or unnerved by the spirit's absence. She continued, aware of Luke's slowly growing impatience. "I was given the gift of clear sight for a reason Luke, and I wasn't going to waste it." She choked down a sob, the memories of her encounter at Camp appearing at the forefront of her mind. "This was my chance to do something good."
A grating, raspy chuckle broke May out of her musings. Luke wiped his eyes, which were alarmingly almost completely golden by now. Her son cleared his throat, one corner of his mouth slightly upturned with amusement. He leaned forward with interest, steepling his hands.
"No, May, that wasn't your sole reason. Now, I suggest you give me your true reason for your decision. Think wisely before answering me." His voice was noticeably more baritone and harsh, and much more of the foreign accent bled through.
Luke smiled, but it wasn't the carefree, joyful smile from his childhood. No, this was one which screamed of danger and bloodlust and carnage. This was a smile that didn't belong on her son yet suited him perfectly. A smile that she only saw in her dreams and visions.
"Kronos, the fallen king." She breathed out, and her son nodded in confirmation. May watched as Luke's eyes narrowed, focusing on the picture frame holding an image of a younger May Castellan, holding a drooling, baby Luke in her arms. May smiled at the memory - Hermes had taken a photo of them outside the restaurant May first met him at, with one of the newer Polaroid models Hermes stole.
"You did it for him." There was no hidden question in his statement, only surefire certainty as Luke's pure-gold eyes met May.
She nodded numbly, before elaborating. "I know - I know that demigods don't have happy endings. Hermes told me as much, and that Apollo sensed a particularly dark fate for you. Well, I guess for Luke." She paused, gauging the Titan Lord's expression only to find it unreadable. "I wasn't ready for him to die. I thought, maybe, in some way, being the Oracle would give me some insight on how to … I don't know, delay my son's fate? Help him avoid it altogether? If I could somehow change fate, I would take it."
Eerie gold eyes stared back at her, an unknown expression flickering on her sons face, before it settled on a neutral expression. May expected herself to feel shame at admitting something she should have said a long time ago, but instead she felt … relieved. She didn't realize how much the truth was weighing down on her until this moment.
'Foolish girl,' the sickly sweet voice sang, a mixture of shrieks and howls and cadences which pulled apart her core before stitching it up again. 'Foolish, stupid girl. You should know better than to play with the strings of fate. After all, Fate is inexorable and unyielding.'
"You remind me of Rhea." May's eyebrows shot up, as the voice of the oracle faded away. "So headstrong and stubborn, so willing to fight Fate." A warm, comforting feeling spread through May's gut, and memory after memory flickered in her head. Of a date night with Hermes. Of meeting Chiron on Half-Blood Hill. Of feeding a baby Luke. "It was admirable, really, but she should have known better. And you should have too." The warm feeling in her gut disappeared, only to be replaced by a growing emptiness which leaked through her skin, right down to her bones. She was aware of the blood leaking down her clothes, of the blade that Kronos yanked out of her abdomen, of Kronos's frigid hands leaving her cheeks.
"Unfortunately, you forget, dear May - you are only mortal." Sheathing his blade, her son leaned down to her ears, and May could feel his warm breath tickle her hair and neck. "And mortals? Mortals die when they try to play god."
A faint, poisonous green tendril of smoke escaped from her mouth, but before she could say anything, Kronos made a fist, effectively immobilizing the sliver of Delphi from May's body. Quickly, he dug out a vial and directed the smoke inside, sealing it tightly.
"There. Now there won't be any use for that desecrated mummy back at Camp." He turned to look back at May, who was desperately pressing against the hole in her abdomen. Her eyes were flickering in and out of consciousness, and her face was turning paler by the second. As soon as the vial was capped, her eyes blurred before clearing up, something deep in her soul finally settling into place. The air around her son rippled violently, and some of Luke's features started to melt off, with rounded features replaced jagged edges and tight contours. The result was a being May could only describe as divine. Kronos let out a wicked smile, molten gold eyes analyzing May without an ounce of pity.
"You failed to change your son's fate, and now, you sealed your own." Kronos paused before speaking again, this time with some of Luke's voice bleeding into his own. "Goodbye, mom." With those words, Kronos disappeared in a blaze of golden flames, and May Castellan's eyes closed for the last time.