"So, how do we convince him not to attack my father?"

Anastasia was lounging idly against a sand dune, gathering sand around her to form a sort of chaise in the ground. "Perhaps we can appeal to his pacifist nature," she suggested.

Percy paced back and forth in front of her. "I'm not sure how to do that. Didn't you basically try that when you met him?"

She scowled. "I feel like something must be missing. Is mere power really enough to entice him to take up arms?"

"I feel like historically, yes, for most people." Percy was never that great in school, but that seemed like History 101.

Anastasia crossed her arms. "Maybe we must convince him that it would be too costly to start this war. If we could somehow make him believe that his brother was exaggerating his chances of success, that victory is not as likely as he thinks, then perhaps he will relent."

"Yeah," Percy mused, "something like that."

Anastasia scooped up sand and spread it over her legs like a blanket. "What about the prophecy?"

Percy scoffed.

"I wish it were not so vague," she muttered, continuing to bury herself. "The only advice it gives is to help until the end." She furrowed her brow in concentration. "Well, that and an 'admission of love.' Maybe that is the key."

Percy stopped pacing and fixed her with a doubting look. "You think an admission of love is going to stop your father?" His stomach turned.

She huffed. "I do not know. I did not necessarily mean between us." She plucked a reed from the dune and pointed it at him. "What about that nereid girl? Maybe that is who you need to confess your love to."

Percy felt heat all the way from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. He tried to block out his thoughts, but he couldn't stop someone else from coming to mind, too.

Anastasia perked up. "Oh? Who is that blonde girl?"

"No one," he grumbled.

The corners of her mouth twitched upward. "It could be important, warlord."

"It's not," he insisted, telling her with his thoughts to drop the subject. He was suddenly struck, however, with a powerful longing to tell Annabeth what was happening to him. He felt certain that she would know what to do, that she would make everything all better. But he felt just as certain that he couldn't involve her, the same way he didn't want to involve Calli. There were tragedies to suffer, and a wrath that would find him even in death if he failed. He knew she would help him without question, despite the danger. But he also had a strong, inexplicable feeling that he was meant to shoulder this burden alone. If he damned her by involving her, he would never forgive himself.

"You seem very fond of this person," she taunted, idly drawing in the sand with her reed.

"Let's focus," he said. "This admission of love–I think we need to be careful about that. The prophecy says it's a curse as well as a cure."

Her teasing smile faltered. "Yes, I know."

"I'm just saying, let's not rush into anything."

He looked out past the dunes at the Sound, taking in the noise of the water and the smell of salt air. He allowed his mind to drift to a thought he had been suppressing.

"Absolutely not," Anastasia said immediately.

"I knew you would say that."

"That is madness," she protested. "That would not prevent a war, that would hasten its arrival."

"I'm not so sure," Percy said, his eyes trailing along the edge of the beach as far as they could see, all the way out to where the Sound met open sea.

"You have too much faith in your father," she said, crossing her arms.

He crossed his back, mockingly. "I could say the same for you."

Sneering, she repeated back, "'I could say the same for you,'" her voice mimicking his so exactly that he did a double-take.

"How did you do that?" he asked, alarmed.

She stood up, shaking sand from her legs. "I am half-Siren," she shrugged. "I have strong powers of imitation and deception."

His eyes grew wide. "Show me."

"You can already see in my thoughts."

"But I want to see in real life."

She sighed, then raised her hands in mock surrender. In an instant, she was no longer herself, replaced by a person who looked exactly like him, wearing his exact clothes, glaring at him with contempt.

"Holy Poseidon," the real Percy murmured.

She–or he, for the moment–did a slow turn, allowing Percy to take in his likeness, then crossed his arms. "Are you satisfied?" the imitation asked in a perfect impression of Percy's voice.

Percy was dumbstruck. He could sense how irritated Anastasia was growing with his fascination–the change in her appearance had not affected their ability to read each other's thoughts–but he could hardly believe his eyes.

"How slow are you?" she grumbled.

He shook his head. "Can you change your appearance to anything?"

The fake Percy shrugged. "I cannot change the shape of my nose or the size of my tits or anything like that at will, if that is what you are wondering."

The real Percy threw his hands up.That's obviously not what I was getting at.

"But I can take on the appearance of any living person, provided I know what that person looks like," she continued.

"Whoa," he mumbled in awe. His mind began to race. "I bet that comes in handy."

She shifted back to herself. "It can." A slight grin tugged at the corner of her lips.

Percy shifted uncomfortably. "Um, so anyway," he said, "back to my father."

She frowned, whatever moment of almost-camaraderie that was forming dashed. He felt like a dolt, but he was just too eager to get this figured out.

"It would be a terrible idea to tell him," she said.

"He deserves to be warned about what's coming. And he knows way more than us. He could help us."

"He would kill me," she spat. "Without hesitation!"

Percy tried to protest, but he felt embarrassed to vocalize that when she could see his thoughts. "Well, maybe we could reason with him," he attempted.

Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me truthfully, demigod, and look into my eyes," she challenged, "do you think your father is a reasonable man?"

In truth, on some level, Percy did. He didn't really know his father very well–he had barely ever interacted with him, meeting him in person only once and under tense circumstances. But he got a warm feeling from his father, and he felt as if they shared some sort of familial bond despite their distance, naïve as it might have been. But on a deeper, subconscious level, he felt like he couldn't give Anastasia the answer he wanted to. He had heard stories, rumors, of the wrath of the sea god, as tempestuous and unforgiving as the waters he ruled. Poseidon might be understanding when it came to those in his favor, but for all others…well, it was reasonable to fear him.

"Well, you said it yourself," he said with a sigh. "We're missing something. It just doesn't seem to make sense that your father would have such a reputation for being benevolent and peaceful and then suddenly be convinced to launch an all-out war. The nereids don't seem to have the answers."

"And there is no way I am letting you ask your father."

"And I guess any of the gods are out of the question, too."

They scowled at the ground in stumped silence.

Finally, Percy shook his head. "Do you know anyone who would know about your father's intentions?" he pleaded. "Like, anyone at all?"

She kicked at the ground, scattering sand everywhere. "The only non-mortals I know well are the Sirens," she said.

He raised an eyebrow, an idea forming in his head. She groaned.

"Your mother seemed convinced that your father would wage a war for control of the seas," he said in his most persuasive voice. "Long before Kronos had even stirred enough to speak to him."

She bit her lip, struggling to argue with him. Finally, she slumped her shoulders in resignation.

"Alright," she said glumly, "I guess we must go to the Sea of Monsters."

~.

Riding on hippocampi could actually be peaceful, once you got used to it.

Percy felt like he had adjusted to it by the time dusk fell, and he could already feel the drowsiness seep in. He grinned serenely at various sea creatures who occasionally appeared by his side, chittering,son of the sea god!Anastasia, however, had never traveled this way, and she gripped onto the creature for dear life. For what it was worth, the hippocampus she rode seemed just as put off by her.

The two of them were zipping along at a pace unachievable by mortal means. They would reach the Sea of Monsters by daybreak, Percy being able to sense their exact geographical location. All that they had to do was sit back and let the multi-colored mythical beasts do the work.

Easier said than done, for the demi-titan.

Percy felt her anxiety, but he could not bring himself to address it. He felt like he had been drained of energy all day long, and he needed a break from managing Anastasia. As he watched the rhythmic lull of the ocean on the ever-approaching horizon, his eyelids began to droop, and he gradually relaxed into a deep, much-needed repose.

He found himself frozen inside a fortress of ice.

The large, icy chamber was encircled with columns, each column studded with a lamp containing Greek fire and adorned with an enormous live snake twisting around it. The ceiling was glittered with stars and constellations, so beautiful and majestic that it took Percy's breath away. Every so often, one of the snakes would stretch upward and swim into the ceiling, and Percy realized that it was made of water, like a gravity-defying pool stretching over the world, like a bowl.

He stood far back, in the shadows. Before him, Anastasia, her lower half now a mermaid's tail, stood facing a large dais and a small throne with her back turned to him. The throne was empty; lounging on the dais was a merman. He was impossibly old, with a long gray beard. He reminded Percy of Father Time, almost. He had long gray hair in the typical coarse old-people texture and a receding hairline, and out of his temples grew two bull horns. He was bare-chested and held a staff carved out of driftwood in the image of a python. Percy rubbed his eyes and squinted at the man–something about him was off. As he looked at him, he felt as if the man shifted in and out of focus. If Percy tried very hard, he could make out the outline of the dais behind the man, as if he were slightly translucent.

"Please, my lord," Anastasia pled. "I have heard stories of how you abstained from the Titanomachy. I believe it is not within your nature to fight. I implore you not to take this path."

Oceanus shook his head and spoke in a voice that sounded like roaring water. "Enough, my child. You are so young, too young to understand." He stood and swam leisurely toward her, gazing upward at the starry ceiling. "When the world was born in celestial splendor, I was there, stretching myself over its surface to separate the heavens from the earth. I have seen every age, its rise and its fall. To you, who are but a speck in the fabric of time, the death of Western civilization may seem as if it were the end of the world, but it is only natural. Every age must draw to its eventual close." Turning his gaze back down, he closed the distance between the two of them. "The age of the gods has dragged on for long enough. I see its end as if it were a memory. Even you, who possess but a fraction of my essence, have seen as well the visions of which I speak."

He placed a withered hand on her shoulder, and she flinched.

"My brother has spoken to me of the coming conflict as well. If he truly grows in strength as he believes he will, then I will know that the end is nigh." His eyes, looking off into the distance, cut sharply to her. "Gone is the time for restraint, my child. What you have told me today has strengthened my resolve. Look at me." Anastasia reluctantly lifted her face to meet her father's eyes. Percy tried to focus in on Oceanus's face, but it shimmered in and out of focus as if he were a reflection in rippling water.

"I am not prepared to strike yet," the old titan said, "but my restitution grows sturdier by the day. The inhabitants of the sea grow weary of Poseidon's rule. With each one who forsakes him, I grow in strength. It is only a matter of time before the visions you have seen must come to pass." He held out his other hand to her. "Take your place in my domain, young one. Let nature run its course."

Trembling, Anastasia floated backward, letting her father's hand fall from her shoulder. "This is not nature," she whispered. "It cannot be. You are talking about using force. You are talking about war!"

"War is natural," her father replied, his voice seeming to surge through Percy like a powerful current. "The strong overpower the weak. Power shifts hands. The world is reborn, the cycle beginning anew."

"But why?" Anastasia croaked, near tears. "Why must those who are strong hurt and kill? Those inhabitants of the sea who are unhappy–if there is war, they will die! I have seen it!" Impulsively, she grabbed his outstretched hand with both of hers. "Surely, you do not wish for those who give you your strength to perish!"

He wrenched his hand from her clasp, and she gasped. Her hand seemed to pass through his, as if it were not completely solid.

"Disappointing," he said, turning and strolling back toward his throne. "Your immaturity is unbecoming."

"Please, father–my lord," Anastasia desperately whimpered, "I simply do not understand."

He picked up his staff, which began to glow in his grip. "You do not understand yet," he corrected, "but in time you will be made to see."

"No," Anastasia protested, taking another step backward. "Lord, have mercy on your child!"

"I am the universal father," he declared, the roar of his voice crashing through Percy yet again. "I have sired countless rivers, nymphs, and titans. Wherever there is water, my children can be found. Why should I not be the one to command them?"

He raised his staff, and for an instant, the glow was blinding. Percy shielded his eyes. When he looked again, the staff had been replaced with a real snake, probably about ten feet long, and as thick around as a person. It stared at Anastasia, flicking its tongue.

"Your mother, pitiful creature though she is, understood," he said. "I accept her offering."

He spoke a command in a language so ancient, Percy could not comprehend it, and the snake hissed in acknowledgment. Then, it lunged toward Anastasia.

Percy tried to run toward her, but he found he could not. Looking down, he saw that his feet were frozen over, encased in ice. He tried to yell to her, but he had no voice. Helpless, he watched.

Anastasia floated backward reactively and hissed at the snake. Percy knotted his forehead in confusion. No, not quite a hiss–it was as if she were speaking to it. The snake slowed its approach, raising its head as if listening to her. Tentatively, she reached out a hand toward it and continued speaking. The snake stretched toward her hand, and its tongue flickered across her palm. It then shook itself in a strange sort of wiggle and coiled around her body, but Anastasia wasn't squeezed. The snake, having wrapped itself around its new friend, nuzzled its large head against her neck. Anastasia laughed out in relief.

"Interesting," her father said, crossing his arms. If he were disappointed, he didn't seem like it. He held out his hand, and in a flash, the snake darted back into his open palm, becoming once more a staff. "Take her and show her to her new chambers," he said flippantly, turning to sit down on his throne.

Seemingly out of nowhere, mermen materialized from the shadows at the edge of the room on all sides and advanced toward Anastasia, spears in hand. She cried out in shock.

"Stay back!" she warned.

They didn't listen.

Looking around her desperately and seeing nowhere to run, she raised her arms and began to sing. Her voice, hauntingly beautiful, echoed throughout the chamber. As if bewitched, the mermen slowed to a halt and lowered their weapons, their eyes glazing over, jaws hung slack. One by one, their spears floated to the ground. Anastasia gesticulated as if she were conducting a symphony, singing even louder. The mermen turned toward each other and, pairing off, began to waltz together around the throne room.

Her father chuckled. "Impressive, young halfling. Your mother has taught you well." He stood once more and began to swim slowly toward her, as if he had all the time in the world. "I look forward to seeing what else you are capable of."

Anastasia continued singing, but the tone of her voice was growing frantic. The mermen danced faster and choppier, twisting and turning in between her and her father. As Oceanus advanced, the dancing mermen passed right through him, as if waltzing through a waterfall.

Desperate, Anastasia turned her attention to her father and sang louder. He stopped and stared at her in outrage, his eyes growing wide.

"You dare attempt to bewitch me, child?" he roared. "Your Siren powers do not work on me. I am grandfather of the Sirens! They bow to me!" He raised his hand toward her.

Instinctively, she shielded herself with her arms, and Oceanus flew backward, slamming into his throne and toppling backwards. The mermen ceased dancing, the song having stopped, and looked around in confusion. Anastasia, breathing heavily, didn't wait for them to put it all together.

The water in the room began to swirl, and the pressure in the room grew. Then, the water began to condense, forcing all of the mermen toward the throne. Her father rose from the ground. Anastasia inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. The swirling water lunged at each individual person and froze around them, encasing her father and his courtiers in blocks of ice, leaving only their heads unfrozen.

Her father's eyes glinted murderously. "How dare you," he seethed.

"I will not harm you," she said, the firmness she was attempting to project undercut by the smallness of her voice. "Nor will I fight. I do not believe in violence, and I would die before being party to it. Simply let me leave in peace, and I will never disturb you again."

"Oh, you will leave," her father hissed, cracks beginning to form in the ice encasing him, "but you will never again know peace. You have brought traitorous disrespect to my domain, and now my curse shall torment your every waking moment. You shall love freely but never be loved; you shall wander the seas and the land equally as a vagabond, with no home and no family; you shall be plagued by visions of my conquests whenever you close your eyes until you are forced to accept your nature. And when you have finally had your fill of suffering, you will find me again. Mark my words: I will not forget this insult."

With a great yell, he struggled against the ice, and his encasing began to break off in shards. His form began to glow. Terror in her eyes, Anastasia turned and hastily exited as her father's deafening roar and blinding light filled the chamber.

"Hey. Hey!" she was saying, shaking his shoulder.

Percy's eyes snapped open. Groggily, he lifted his head from the hippocampus's neck and looked around. It was still dark, but the first few rays of daylight were beginning to peek over the horizon. He looked at Anastasia. She was exhausted; she hadn't slept much all night. He could sense her thoughts once again, and he saw that she was replaying his dream over and over again in her mind's eye.

"Whoa," he said, then cleared his throat, still thick with sleep. "You could see–"

"Yes," she said.

"Huh." He shook his head. "That's so weird."

She was picking at her nails. "I did not love reliving that." She glanced at him from the side of her eyes. "How did you know all of that?"

He shrugged. "I didn't. Demigods just have dreams like that. They show us things–the past, the present, the future. It happens more often when we're in danger."

"I suppose we will be in danger very soon," she said, jutting her chin out ahead of them. In the distance, he could make out the forms of Scylla and Charybdis, guarding the entrance to the Sea of Monsters.

He studied her face. He felt like he should say something to her about what she had seen–about her dad.

She glanced at him again, and her lip curled in disgust. "Do not pity me, dog."

Through her eyes, he could see that he really did have pity written all over his face. He shrugged yet again, brushing off her indignation.

"Whatever," he said. "So, this pathway through the Sea of Monsters–when do we–"

"We might as well send these beasts away now," she interrupted. "We can go the rest of the way ourselves."

Percy and Anastasia slipped off the backs of their hippocampi steeds and into the water, Anastasia giving them a wide berth. Percy scratched behind their ears and thanked them, and they whinnied and nuzzled his neck with affection. Laughing, he sent them off, taking his time and ignoring Anastasia's irritation.

Finally, he turned to her. "It wouldn't kill you to be friendlier, you know."

"It might."

With that, she turned and plunged below the surface of the water. Sighing deeply, he followed.