Summary:
When Percy Jackson turned fourteen years old, he learned that the Greek Gods were real. And that they were dying. The gods have long abandoned Olympus, weakened and battered after a civil war born from a vow that was never to be taken. Percy is taken to a trainer of heroes and learns there are more like him, but they are scattered with no safe place to go. Trained how to survive and fight in this new world, Percy gains friends and a new goal: to bring hope back to Olympus. But, hope is a fickle thing. And when Percy is told that his fate is dictated by an old, great prophecy that caused all this pain and destruction, he will learn just how fickle hope can be. Percy has no choice but to push forward and continue with his mission. He will bring peace to the demigod world and restore the Olympians to their power. Or die trying.
Act I: Prologue
Two gentle hands held a smoldering flame cupped between their fingers. A small number of twigs and sticks rested beneath the flame, trying to keep it alive. The goddess that carried it was not perturbed by the heat. Even if she had been a mortal that could feel such pain, she would have kept going. This duty required that she not stop.
Carrying the sacred flame out of Olympus was something unheard of. When the heart of civilization moved, the hearth moved with it. The ability to remove the flames from the hearth was something only an Olympian could do, but only one Olympian had been given the task of doing it.
Of protecting her home and preserving the lifeline of the gods.
Hestia cradled the flames close to her body. Every year it seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer. Ever since those demigods went to war. The loss had been great. Not only in the lives they were now missing but the repercussions carved throughout the immortal world.
Most of the Olympians were just... gone. Hestia did not know where they went, and while she wanted to find them, she could not leave her post. At the moment, she was the last Olympian. It was her duty to watch over the hearth, her home, and protect it.
This task required her to leave, though. She had watched the flame die down more and more with each year. While that amount of time, decades as mortals would call it, usually passed by in a blink of an eye for immortals, it was different this time. With nothing to do but watch the fire slowly wither, every hour felt like an agonizing day.
Hestia could not wait anymore. She needed answers. Hestia was not one to give up hope, but she had to know that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. That a hero would step forward, just like the ones of old.
What was the point of struggling like this if there was no hope?
Hestia cradled the flame of civilization and walked into the small temple. This place did not have a set location. It just appeared when someone needed it, if they knew where to look. Hestia slowly walked through the marble halls. The flame was too weak to illuminate her surroundings, and even with godly sight, this place was too dark for her to make out.
Hestia continued her walk forward and heard creaking in the distance. It wasn't until she was closer to the creaking that she stopped walking. The only light that cut through this darkness was golden shears wielded by the Fate Atropos. Her shear moved forward every few seconds and cut through something that could not be seen.
Even with their world at the edge of extinction, the Fates continued their work. Clotho continued to spin the yarn that would represent the life of a mortal. Lachesis would measure out the years, and Atropos would cut through the fabric to bring new life. Or to end an old one.
"Atropos, Clotho, Lachesis," Hestia greeted. None of the Fates faltered in their duty. They just kept moving forward, as they would do until the flames of Olympus died out. "Please answer my question. I have no Apollo to turn to, nor do I have his oracle."
"Is there a hero that will step forth and save Olympus, or will our light permanently go out?" Hestia pleaded her question. Atropos shears froze mid-cut. Then, the golden blades lowered. Clotho stopped weaving, and Hestia did not hear the sounds of Lachesis measuring out life. "I need to know."
Hestia knew it wasn't like a goddess to beg, but she had been holding strong for so long. There were no more camps to bring forth a hero. Chiron and Lupa were doing what they could, but all they could do was give demigods a chance. How were they supposed to raise a hero?
A soft hum escaped one of the Fates. It was Clotho who spoke first, "Every demigod is a hero. Who is to say that one will not step forth on their own?"
"I see four heroes that may become a champion for Olympus," Lachesis added. "One is unlike the others. Forlorn. Consumed by war. The second is unremarkable, but their actions will dictate the choices of the others. The third will be a leader, if they do not ruin the world first. The fourth should not have been born. A vow should have kept their existence from happening, but no such vow was taken."
"And," Atropos chimed in. Her voice cut Hestia down to her core and made her shiver. "Three of the four will know the cold embrace of death."
"The fourth is the hero then?" Hestia slowly asked.
"All four of them are heroes. There has never been a hero throughout history that did not have help, whether it be from an immortal or otherwise. These four will have to work together, until they are split apart," Clotho answered. Hestia wanted to ask them what they meant, but she felt the fire grow colder in her hand. If ever so slightly.
"Thank you for your time," Hestia said with a grateful bow of her head. She turned away. While she was left with more questions than answers, she had been left with something even more important.
"These four heroes will decide the fate of our world," Lachesis foretold. Hestia slowly looked back at the Fate. "It all starts with the one who does not know of his inheritance. He does not know that he is the son of an earthshaker and one of the most powerful Olympians. By his hand, the flame will reignite or finally fade. His name is Perseus Jackson."
"Does this Perseus Jackson know who he is?" Hestia questioned as she studied the Fate weavers in front of her. The trio did not answer. "Thank you again."
Hestia turned and walked away. There was no more time to waste. She needed to get back to the hearth and keep her fire ablaze. Most importantly, this visit to the Fates had given her something that she had almost let go of.
Hope.
I've had this idea in my mind for almost a year now, but I wanted to wait until I had a solid outline to post it. This is going to be a little different than my other stories as it will be broken into acts. I may take a month or so hiatus from writing the story after each act, but it definitely will not be forgotten. I'm beyond excited for you all to read this story, and I hope you enjoy the ride.