Chapter Twenty: Light

Zoё'sPOV

Faint voices shook her awake, echoing their meaningless sentences.

"You think she'll..."

"No, she wouldn't..."

"Gaea... Winning..."

Zoё managed to open her heavy eyes, scanning her surroundings. Teenagers- campers- in orange shirts labeled 'Camp Half-Blood' stood around her, in what looked like they were in an infirmary. Demigods, demigods, demigods. At least a dozen stood watching her.

But no Aion, and no Artemis. Luke was lying unconscious on a bed to her left. Where was she? Aion? Artemis? Her family?

A girl with dark brown hair tied back into a ponytail held out a tanned hand. "Sh. You're not fully healed yet," she said. "Serra, daughter of Apollo."

Zoё felt fine. What was this Serra girl talking about? She noticed her hand was heavily bandaged, her sword hand. That was even worse. Zoё raised an eyebrow at this daughter of Apollo. She shrugged in return. "We didn't know what you did, wherever you were. Ambrosia and nectar certainly didn't help and we had to resort to help from our father, Apollo."

Zoё frowned at the name. So it was he who healed her. She would make sure to thank him later, after she found her family, that is. Her need to find them rivaled the urge to decapitate Ouranos. Ignoring the multiple protests, she rose from her barrier, the plank-like bed.

Injuries Zoё didn't know she had escaped their cage and she had only time to gasp, falling back down to the hell she was forced to lay on.

"Dad said to stay here. You'll feel good as new by tomorrow..." Serra cocked her head in silent question. "Didn't catch your name."

Zoё stared her straight in the eyes and said, "I don't believe I have received the order to tell you."

"Well," the daughter of Apollo fell at a loss for words. She finally smiled, straightening out of one the sheets. "If you need, uh, anything, just yell. We won't be too far. Come on, guys."

Zoё let out a breath of relief once the Serra girl left, the others following suit. She looked around the room again. Beds lined the walls, the sun from outside lighting up the place. Beside each bed was a drawer, each seemingly empty, but sitting by hers she found her bloodied sword. Only it wasn't colored crimson, instead a shining white, restored to its former glory. The campers had cleaned her weapon. She leaned over and grabbed her sword.

Leaning back to the pillows was harder than reaching for her weapon in the first place. The pains exploded all over again and Zoё winced. She resisted the urge to scream, but now she held her prize: one of Ouranos's swords.

Zoё smiled a little to herself as she looked the weapon over. So different, it seemed, from when she had first spotted it in the hands of one of Ouranos's wind spirits. She twirled the silver metal around in her hands, testing out its balance. She tried out a couple of experimental swings before looking at her target: the wood across the room where the walls met.

Zoё narrowed her eyes, focusing on the bull's-eye of the wood. She grasped the silver metal, surprised by the new icy aura that covered it, and tossed the sword with one swift movement. The sound came seconds after, metal splitting wood. Then, the same silence. Zoё smiled. The smooth hilt was the only thing to show her sword was lodged through the wood.

"Congratulations. You've passed day one. Tomorrow: sword techniques." Zoё recognized the voice as Luke's. She looked over at his bandaged form.

"I thought they would never leave," he confessed. "Sleep was a guise."

"You never cease to amaze me. What time is it?"

Luke grunted. "Last heard half past four."

Four thirty in the afternoon? Zoё barely remembered yesterday's events clearly. She almost dreaded to ask. "How long were we gone?"

"About forty-eight hours."

Forty-eight hours. She mouthed the words just to be sure. Forty-eight hours; two days and two nights. But that wasn't right- it simply wasn't. They couldn't have done that much... In that ridiculous amount of time.

"I know," Luke replied. "Impossible, right?"

Zoё nodded. "So, any updates on the war? Gaea?"

"Her attacks are getting more frequent... Thrice a day now, I've heard. Camp's defenses are weakening," he reported.

That got her angry. Zoё slammed her broken hand down on the sheets. She winced but she didn't care about the pain that arose. "We can't just stand her like statues. We have to help."

"You think we can get up in this condition?"

As much as Zoё wished it wasn't true what he said, he was right. The more she thought about it, the more aware she became of every ache, each bone being tormented. Heck, Zoё could barely lift her head without feeling it.

"You've energy?"

"I am bound to the bed in bandages, Zoё," he said.

She blinked.

"Of course I have energy."

She smiled. "Then I have a plan."

Aion knew he had crashed into the ground, enormous agony fighting his consciousness. He succumbed to the darkness, and after that? He recalled waking up in a peaceful looking infirmary, demigods surrounding him as if he were some sort of celebrity. An unconscious Zoё and Luke laid in beds near him, but his daughter? Nowhere to be found. That put his mind on red alert, to say the least.

He managed to convince one of the demigods he was fine. A couple of minutes and he was up and walking past the threshold on a mission to find his daughter.

He checked the big house, the beach, the stables, the cabins. Nothing. He was going to sweep the place once more when an unusual amount of teenagers ran past, shouldering him, and yelling battle cries. Some were clad in full armor, some with only breastplates, and some without any armor but jeans and a t-shirt. All of them carried weapons, though, and were in a hurry.

"Ares, left flank!" someone yelled. "Hermes right!" Unfortunately, he recognized that voice. That someone was a certain spawn of Athena who had went with him up Mount Everest, up to Ouranos's palace. That someone was the despicable Annabeth Chase. Aion mentally sighed, scanning the crowd of demigods for her... Ah, yes. There she was, in all her glory.

Annabeth looked just as when Aion first arrived at Camp Half-Blood. Her newly washed blonde hair was up in a ponytail and she was donned in a fresh camp t-shirt and jeans. How similar she looked to during the times so many decades ago when his name hadn't changed. When his name was once Percy, and he was a sonofPoseidon. When Annabeth was smitten with him. And clearly he her.

Aion needed to know what was going on. He ran in her direction. "Annabeth Chase!"

She turned at the sound, clear desperation on her face. "A-Aion?"

"What's going on?"

"Gaea. Her attacks are closing in on us," she said. "We're losing. Demigods are dying and- Demeter, fall back!" She turned back to Aion. "Look, we need-"

Way to state the obvious, Aion thought. "No one," he told her, bringing out his knives. "Look, we were sent here for a reason. Or is my memory wrong?"

She shook her head.

"Where are the soldiers?"

"Protecting the borders."

If they were fighting off Gaea's force, how where they losing ground? "Tired," Aion said. "They're exhausted. How many attacks are thrown each day?"

"Three now. It was fewer-"

"They can't keep this up forever. You knew that well."

"We tried telling them; they didn't listen."

It was time he took matters in his own hands. He wasn't leader of the Ten for nothing. Aion surveyed the fight around them: before him, demigods- the orange figures- were spread out, fighting the hellhounds. While many fell, more seemed to replace them. The same couldn't be said for the soldiers. Fewer blurry figures dressed in ebony- soldiers- were swarming the giants. Aion frowned. He had trained them to be quick, shadows of light to mortal eyes, not simply blurs.

Aion ran toward the center of the battle. He easily settled into his pattern of slice, jab, sidestep, and kick; slice, jab, sidestep, kick. His knife impaled a cyclops in the eye. Another was sent through their heart. Aion retrieved his knives as he kept moving toward the center of adversaries.

Why didn't you kill grandfather?

Aion paused mid-slice. He had heard that voice before; not so long ago, even. It was Gaea. He quickly regained his bearings, sidestepping an incoming dozen arrows. He decapitated one of the hellhounds, turning to face the unsuspecting drakon.

Your wife had said she was rebelling against my grandfather.

Gaea couldn't have been talking about the same person, Zoё, his wife. It wasn't possible.

Or was it all simply lies?

Why hadn't Zoё mention this tiny piece of information to him? Whatever the case, he decided to go with it. "No," he said. "Why would we lie about something so vital?"

Yes, she cackled. Why?

The monsters formed a tight circle around him. He knew no amount of soldiers or demigods could help him now. He was on his own. "Lord Chaos... Was a harsh ruler. He was nice, but once you got to know him, he-"

You're not lying, then. Gaea's tone turned softer. But why are you killing your allies?

Allies? These monsters were adversaries, not allies. Gaea was mistaken. Or was she? All the energy in his body seemed to leave him. Aion swayed, closing his eyes.

He tried to come up with a reasonable reply. "I thought..." He had no answer for the question. He didn't know.

Gaea was silent for a moment. You're not allied with us, are you?

Aion could only shake his head.

You're not rebelling, are you?

He shook his head again.

My Ouranos was right after all, it seems.

Aion brought up his knives as the circle grew smaller. The monsters suddenly exploded at him, driving him to the ground. Wounds appeared everywhere and Aion could only scream. He felt as if he were back in Ouranos's palace: tortured in the darkness, surrounded by piles of his own blood. He didn't know if he was dead or if he was alive. He didn't know anything in that room.

But he was out of that place. He was in control. He wasn't a prisoner to Ouranos. He never was. It was only made to seem he was. He wasn't. He was free.

Aion could do something.

He didn't have to surrender to Gaea.

He was one of the Ten!

Aion wasn't going down this easily. He could feel every part of his body groaning in response as he lifted his heavy form up off the ground. His vision blurred and darkened. He swayed.

No, he wouldn't allow it. He was the Ten's leader.

Aion swung at an impending cyclops. Too slow. He was too slow and he knew it. The cyclops sidestepped, slicing at Aion with ferocity impossible for a monster of its kind.

Kill him, Gaea whispered.

He was floating on air now. Each cut wasn't acknowledged; each jab of pain went unfelt. The monsters stepped back, leaving Aion confused. One of them stuck their sword into the ground, so the hilt remained, a hilt that looked like it was made out of shadows. How strikingly similar it was to a gravestone.

The ground he stood on shook. Gaea, he thought. It was Gaea's doing. It took all his power to lunge for one of the monsters. If he was going down, so were they. The ground cracked and Aion managed to hold onto two dracaena. Gaea didn't show mercy, Aion would admit that. Pieces of earth fell through darkness.

Chunks of earth were next. Her whole army of monsters was to die as well. What was she without an army? Aion didn't know.

He was sliding toward his doom and he couldn't do anything about it. His tenacity left him and he was falling. Dirt pushed to invade his body; through his nose, his mouth, ears, and eyes.

The light above him was only a fragment against the darkness around him. No, it wouldn't be his last light. He vowed it wouldn't. Aion reached up for it, determined to save its beauty.

A powerful strength grabbed his outstretched hand and Aion's breath was thrown from him. He was whisked through the light and back into its portal of reality. He wasn't sure if he heard his name said or not. He wasn't sure if he saw Lord Chaos beside him or not. He definitely wasn't sure if the sight of his family was real or not.

He didn't know.