Percy hated silence.
He always had, even when he was just a small boy. That was before his ADHD diagnosis, before hopping schools every year, before he had learned the truth of his origins. In general, demigods were creatures of action. With such a typically low life expectancy, most of Percy's peers chose to take life by the reins and live every moment to the fullest. Even when he was in the midst of battling false theft accusations or sailing to retrieve legendary items, Percy felt at least somewhat in control of his own destiny.
Things were different then.
At the center of Kronos' sick theater, time seemed to wash over Percy like his father's tides. Sometimes it felt like he was breathing fast enough to hyperventilate and then suddenly he was gasping for air after holding an exhale to near blackout. His body felt foreign, out of his control. It wasn't a pleasant experience.
With Mount Othrys emptied for Atlas' march to New York, the young demigod was the sole inhabitant of the fortress. Percy had never felt so cut off from the eyes of Olympus as he did here. No Apollo's sun or Artemis' moon. No Zeus' sky or Poseidon's sea. The never-ending battle to hold up the heavens was the loneliest he had ever felt.
The teen quickly learned to not let his attention wander too far. The Burden taught lessons with pain and suffering, shifting forms and consistencies constantly to catch him off guard. Out of necessity Percy's attention narrowed to the sunken dais he knelt upon - nothing outside of the few feet nearby seemed to matter. Gradually, everything beyond that circle of awareness seemed to fade away into the background, until it was just Percy in the center of a great void.
An empty, silent expanse of nothing. Gods, he was going to go insane.
Percy couldn't be sure how long it had been, even as the light that caught the edges of his awareness subtly shifted angles. Morning, evening, night, such distinctions lost all meaning. Still, Percy was resigned to endure for however long he could. Sally Jackson hadn't raised a quitter, no sir. The teen tried not to listen to the part of his mind that whispered that he was fighting a losing battle.
Despite himself, as the world passed Percy by, his mind wandered. The burn was ever present, yet the longer his muscles ached and bones protested the more mundane the pain became. Was it possible to be both bored out of your mind and yet constantly running off adrenaline? Apparently so. Indeed, Percy found time to think about a lot of things in between mind-numbing bursts of exertion as the sky shifted about.
He thought about his friends first. Was Thalia okay? She had been hit pretty hard on the head and was now missing her trademark armaments. How would she feel when Luke showed up wielding them against Olympus? Hopefully she would be angry. Angry Thalia was scary, which in a war was a good thing.
Percy hoped Annabeth was recovering well - he could only imagine how hard it would have been to hold this burden for the daughter of Athena. Her strength had always been of the mental kind, not the physical. He had admired that about her for so long.
What about Nico? Would he ever forgive Percy for the death of his sister? That was a sad thought. Percy wasn't sure he deserved it. He hoped Grover had found his way back in one piece, at least. It was sad to think that he'd probably never be able to talk or joke around with the satyr again.
To distract himself, Percy switched to thinking about the rest of Camp Half Blood. How long would Atlas' march take to reach New York? Would they fight back or flee? He thought about the city he had grown up in, the apartment belonging to his mother. What would the mist show the mortals when the Titans arrived? What would happen to them? None of his guesses were optimistic.
Blink.
The light on the dais had changed. The void whispered and time marched on.
It was hard to stop the thoughts from turning morbid. Would the demigods remember Percy after he died? Annabeth, Grover, even Clarisse or anyone else at camp. Would they blame him for dropping the sky and dooming them all? Maybe the war had ended already and Atlas was just watching, waiting for the demigod to fail.
Another blink.
Percy shuffled on his knees, shaking his head to return feeling to his neck. It felt like cracking stone. The edges of the demigod's hair, once a midnight mop of curls that was now the color of ash, tickled his forehead. His spine seemed fit to rattle out of his back. It hurt. A lot.
Percy tried to take his mind off the pain by returning to his questions, but he was learning quickly that the endless 'what-ifs' his mind could conjure were almost as insidious as the weight of the sky itself. Still, in the silence, there was nothing else to do.
What was happening on Olympus? Would they lead an army to meet the Titan's head on? Percy wasn't sure they could even win. The demigod wished he had paid more attention to Annabeth's history lessons on the first Titanomachy. The son of Poseidon let himself imagine the hell his father must have raised once he learned that Artemis had left him here.
That thought sparked an unusual surge of anger as the image of Zoë's form tumbling over the cliff outside ran through his brain. It was swiftly followed by a crushing wave of grief. Percy nearly let himself get swept away.
Blink.
Percy's stomach felt warm, and The Burden seemed a tiny bit more bearable. It was just enough to let the aching bend in his back straighten a smidge.
Blink.
Something stirred in the endless void around Percy, pulling him from his errant thoughts. Thin, wispy outlines of vaguely humanoid shapes stepped outside the dais, speaking in warbled tones just out of earshot. Percy's focus on The Burden forced him to pay them less attention than his instincts told him they were due.
Blink. Percy was no longer alone.
A figure had appeared suddenly into his small circle of awareness in the millisecond his eyelids had closed. So instant was the being's manifestation that the demigod visibly started on his knees. Unlike the not-things in the void this person was close enough to be fully formed. Percy's gaze fought from the tips of a pair of greaves up to a gray, inhuman face.
It was Atlas. The titan's bulging form was as tall and imposing as Percy remembered. The general literally oozed with restrained power. The demigod could barely see the bottom of the Titan's chin from his low position, even craning his eyes as far as his skull would allow.
Atlas stood, hands clasped behind his back and still as death itself. His chest didn't move with any breath, nor did the edges of his attire flutter. It was as if even the air was afraid to touch his skin. Atlas had changed clothes, clad now in a more traditional set of bronze hoplite armor so grand it could only have been crafted by an immortal for an immortal. There was silence for a long moment. Atlas slowly, deliberately, switched the grip of his hands.
Percy couldn't help the way he flinched. He had a feeling that was the point. Honestly, the teen had expected to be struck again. Perhaps Atlas had come to taunt instead, to brag about his recent conquests over the Olympians. Instead, what Percy got was far more muted.
"Hmph." The ancient general grunted a single time. "It seems several things conspire against me. Perhaps even the meddlesome Fates themselves." Percy dared to think that the Titan's gravelly voice sounded . . . perturbed. "No matter." Before Percy could process his words the Titan took a step backward and was lost into the void once again.
Percy blinked sweat from his eyes. That was unexpected. The son of Poseidon wanted to dwell it further, but just then The Burden began to shriek and twist in his hands and Percy was lost again.
Reality blurred, fading in and out as he wrestled the thing back under control. The void shifted, swirling around the demigod struggle like a ghostly sandstorm. Finally, after a second or maybe a hundred years he found his grip upon it again.
What was he thinking about? Percy couldn't remember.
There was a pounding pressure in his temples, like two knives stabbing into either side of his skull. When he shook his head, an ashen string of hair ended up in his mouth. The demigod spat it out, disgusted by the flavor of sweat, dust, and grime. The wet piece stuck to Percy's cheek.
It was becoming increasingly hard for the son of Poseidon to focus at all. The longer that he held the sky in place, the wider the cracks in his mind became. Thoughts kept slipping away as the impossible edges of The Burden dripped through his fingers and over his eyes. Percy was forced to permanently watch the entire globe madly swirl just in front of his face. Every few minutes - or was it a few days? - Percy emerged from the technicolor sea lost and confused.
His stomach was warm again. This time, Percy definitely noticed the sky lift up a hair or two. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, the son of Poseidon found the presence of mind to shift the placement of his hands closer to his shoulders, giving his fingers a much needed reprieve. He felt that time had passed him by once more when he wasn't paying attention, but he couldn't be sure how much.
Someone laughed, a dry, scratchy sound. Percy realized it was him. What was happening?
The figures in the void had returned once again and the whispering was louder. None came close enough for him to make out any detail, save one. When the tall, gray presence entered Percy's circle, the body of Luke Castellan snapped into focus.
The son of Hermes seemed even less himself than he had during their last encounter. The boy's once handsome face seemed to sag in on itself, like the skin had become too heavy for the muscles underneath to hold. Luke's hair had lost its luster, his skin all color. The blond's eyes, once human, seemed empty and yet too full of energy at the same time. The older boy was dressed in the same battle gear Percy vaguely remembered, but there were knicks and scratches on the chestplate. Thalia's shield was missing.
Good.
"What a shame." The voice that came out of Luke's mouth was strangely dual toned. One was human, the other something deep and sinister. "I had plans for you, Perseus." The boy crouched down to Percy's level, his misshapen face drawing far too close for comfort. Luke's eye sockets were dark pits. "You would have made a powerful ally with that habit of yours for breaking fate. Apparently even the Great Prophecy is no exception. Would you still join us, I wonder?"
"Never." The strength of Percy's gasped reply surprised himself.
Luke was unphased. "The Olympians abandoned you, child. So did the Fates." His voice was death cloaked in sympathy. The more the person in front of Percy talked, the less he was sure any of the words came from Luke at all. "They have left you to die, just as they do everything that doesn't please their whimsical fantasy. First it was me, then it was Atlas, and now it is you. You know this is true."
This time, Percy didn't have a response. A glimpse of fiery red hair and a morose face flashed across his memory. The demigod took to staring at the ground to hide his grimace.
Luke smiled. It was a sad, ugly thing. "Perhaps a change of heart is still in the cards, then." The unnatural Luke/Kronos hybrid stood. "I convinced Atlas to let you live. I think you'll come to see things my way eventually, given you still have any sanity left. If not, the general will still have his corpse." The older boy's pupils were burning fire as he spun around, stepping away. "You're welcome, I suppose. Goodbye."
"Wait." Percy's voice wheezed out more pleading than he intended.
The body of Luke half-turned, one foot in the void and an eyebrow raised. "Oh?"
"How . . . how long?" Percy gasped. Getting two words out in succession was an unearthly struggle.
"A poor choice of question," The soul of Kronos chided him mockingly. "What do you mean? How long what? Speak up, child."
Percy could only muster his most scathing glare. Every spec of oxygen he could inhale was stolen by The Burden before it could provide any relief.
Luke's dead eyes rolled heavily. "Fine, fine. How long have you been here?" That terrible, evil smile was back. It was almost worse when he could only see part of it over Luke's shoulder. "If you must know, more than five months. My army marches again tomorrow. The death of your gods is imminent, child. I'll return for you then, Perseus Jackson." With that the misshapen figure was gone into the void, vanishing among the shifting lights.
Percy was struck dumb. "Five months?" His whisper was nothing more than an exhale of air, eyes stuck wide as saucers. The surrounding nothingness began to pick up speed, each revolution of gray wiping the remaining shadows from view.
Percy's brain tripped and fell over itself. Five months. That was good, right? That meant the war was still going. Had been going. For five months. Five! Percy's chest felt tight.
His friends could still be alive. Olympus still had a chance! Kronos had expected Percy to die within a day, and yet here he was. Five months later. The demigod's head spun, faster and faster like the surrounding gray. They must know Percy was still alive, since the sky was still held aloft. Maybe they hadn't forgotten! His mother must be worried sick. Her son had been gone for nearly half a year, after all. The void was a tornado now, rumbling with unheeded whispers. Kronos' parting words kept circling in Percy's head as the angle of the light on the dais spun like a top around his knees.
The bottom of the heavens, sensing weakness, redoubled its efforts to throw him off. The surprise attack nearly twisted Percy's torso in half. It took so much to even muster the will to fight, but fight the demigod did. It was only once that warmth in his stomach returned did Percy find the strength to corral the thing.
The voices were louder now. He could almost make out words through the haze of effort that blanketed his mind.
Once the pain had abated and The Burden was back in place, Percy couldn't help but wonder if he and Luke looked the same, now. How far had his soul been stretched? The demigod felt as thin as a piece of paper. He could only guess at how much time this latest bout of pain had cost him. An hour, a day, a month? Percy refused to shake his head, out of fear that his hair would touch him again and he would find it down to his knees.
The weary teen almost laughed out loud when his brain conjured a mental picture of himself with grotesque proportions - arms far too large to be human with his legs brittle as toothpicks. Of course, his mop of curls was so ratty and overgrown that it covered him up to mid-thigh like a pale blanket. Percy, the hero of Olympus, everyone!
He hoped that if Artemis ever decided to keep her promise that she would find him like that. Maybe she would think a hideous monster to be more appealing than a male, and decide to save him this time instead of leaving him to rot.
Percy started at that last thought in a moment of lucidity.
Time had passed the demigod by again, he realized. The void seemed to move slower around him the more aware of it he was. It flowed languidly now, a lazy sea of non-existence. The angle of the light on the dais had shifted once more, and when Percy blinked he could have sworn dust fell from his eyelashes. He felt almost present, and it wasn't until his stomach grew warm again that he realized why.
The muttering voices were audible again, almost like someone breathing right into his ears to the general tune of happy birthday. Strange.
Perhaps Percy was finally buckling like Atlas had predicted. He certainly felt it, when he could feel anything but the weight of the sky on his back. The Titan hadn't decided to visit him again. No one had, in fact. It didn't seem likely that the demigod was going to get more social interaction anytime soon.
Even The Burden seemed uncharacteristically still. When Percy peered into the bend in space he could almost make out a vaguely familiar mountain range slowly rotating before him. The tops of the clouds looked like tiny cotton balls. The demigod figured this was how Atlas had kept himself occupied all those years. Well, this and plotting his eventual revenge. The Son of Poseidon wasn't very good at plotting. Hopefully that didn't mean he would fall to insanity faster.
Instead Percy waited, and thought, and blinked. The light on the dais was in a different position each time.
Eventually the son of Poseidon took to humming instead. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed like a good way to pass the time. Well, when The Burden let him breathe enough anyway. He didn't really have a tune to follow, so the sound just sort of went up or down depending on his mood. When his stomach grew warm, it was high and light. When the sky acted up, it was low and pained.
Percy hoped Atlas could hear him. Maybe the sound of his will to endure would persuade him to give up. It was a silly thought, but Percy had always been a little silly. His mother had said so. God, he missed her. Percy had to physically shake himself from that stunted line of thinking.
He really was going mad.