By the time Percy, Clarisse, and Charles finally made it back to Camp Half-Blood, they were barely holding on. They might have used the Golden Fleece to heal their wounds, but their makeshift ship wasn't exactly a pleasure cruise. The journey back was long, grueling, and punctuated by moments of tense silence as they all grappled with the aftermath of what they'd been through. The storm, Ares, Polyphemus—each of them had left their mark, and despite their survival, the victory felt hollow.

The camp was in sight now, the familiar landmarks coming into view as they approached the shore. But instead of the usual rush of relief that came with returning to the only place that ever felt like home, Percy felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. They'd retrieved the Golden Fleece, sure, but the cost had been high. Luke was still out there, more dangerous than ever, and the looming threat of Kronos was growing with each passing day. The Fleece might save Thalia's tree, but it wouldn't solve the bigger problems.

Percy cast a glance at Clarisse, who was leaning against the ship's railing, staring out at the camp with a hard look in her eyes. There was a tension in her that hadn't been there before, a weight that seemed to be pressing down on her shoulders. She'd always been tough, but after everything they'd been through, Percy could see that the quest had taken its toll on her too.

"You, okay?" Percy asked, his voice low as he stepped up beside her.

Clarisse didn't look at him right away. When she finally did, there was a grudging respect in her gaze—something that hadn't been there before. "I'll live," she muttered, her tone gruff as usual, but there was no venom in it. "You?"

Percy shrugged, though the exhaustion was starting to seep into his bones. "I'm still standing, so that's something."

They stood there in silence for a moment, the rivalry that had always simmered between them now replaced by something else. They'd been through Hades and back together, fought side by side against gods and monsters, and somehow made it out alive. There was no denying that they'd earned each other's respect—begrudging as it might be—but that didn't mean the rivalry was gone. It was just… different now.

"Don't think this means I'm going to start liking you or anything, Jackson," Clarisse added, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You're still an annoying, arrogant seaweed brain."

Percy snorted, a tired grin breaking through his exhaustion. "Right back at you, La Rue. You're still a stubborn, hot-headed war machine."

Clarisse's smirk widened slightly, and for a brief moment, it almost felt like things were normal. Almost.

As the ship finally bumped against the shore, they disembarked, the Golden Fleece safely in hand. The camp was buzzing with activity as the campers rushed to greet them, their faces a mix of relief and awe. Chiron was there too, his eyes warm with pride as he saw them return victorious.

"You did it," Chiron said, his voice full of quiet admiration. "You brought the Fleece back. You've saved the camp."

Percy handed the Fleece over to Chiron, feeling a strange mix of emotions as he did. "Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "We did."

But despite the smiles and cheers from the other campers, the victory felt hollow. The shadow of what they'd been through—and what was still to come—hung over Percy like a storm cloud. The Fleece might heal Thalia's tree, but it wouldn't stop Luke. It wouldn't stop Kronos. And Percy knew that as long as those threats were out there, none of them were truly safe.

As the crowd began to disperse, Percy found himself standing alone near the edge of the camp, staring out at the sea. The familiar smell of saltwater and pine filled the air, but it didn't bring him the comfort it usually did. Instead, it reminded him of how much was at stake—how much he still had to lose.

"Percy."

The voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Annabeth standing a few feet away, her expression unusually hesitant. She looked different—less confident, almost vulnerable. It wasn't a look he was used to seeing on her.

"Annabeth," Percy said, his voice wary. After everything that had happened, the tension between them had been at an all-time high. He wasn't sure what to expect from her now.

But to his surprise, Annabeth didn't snap at him or give him one of her trademark scowls. Instead, she took a deep breath, looking him square in the eye. "I… I owe you an apology."

Percy blinked, not sure he'd heard her right. "Wait, what?"

Annabeth bit her lip, clearly struggling with the words. "I was wrong, okay? About… about everything. The quest, you, the Elysium Prep students. I was so caught up in my own pride and jealousy that I couldn't see what was really important. I put my feelings before the mission, and it nearly cost us everything. I'm sorry, Percy."

Percy stared at her, stunned. Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, apologizing? To him? He felt like he'd stepped into an alternate universe. For a moment, he didn't know what to say, but then he saw the sincerity in her eyes—the genuine regret—and the knot of tension in his chest loosened just a bit.

"Uh… thanks," Percy said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, it's okay. We've all been through a lot. And, you know… I wasn't exactly perfect either."

Annabeth smiled faintly, a flicker of the old confidence returning. "Yeah, well… maybe we both have some stuff to work on."

Percy nodded, feeling a bit of the weight lift from his shoulders. "Yeah. Maybe we do."

Just then, as Clarisse and Charles regrouped with Percy, Ethan and Alabaster appeared, grinning like they'd just heard the juiciest gossip of the century. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Charles said, laughing. "Did Annabeth Chase just apologize to you, Percy? I must be dreaming."

"Pinch me, I might be in a nightmare," Clarisse added, her eyes wide with horror. "What did we miss? Did the world end while we were gone?"

Percy turned to them, still reeling from the conversation with Annabeth. "Guys, seriously, what happened while we were away? Did I miss a whole other quest or something?"

Ethan laughed, slapping Percy on the back. "You missed a lot, Percy. Let's just say Camp Half-Blood's been going through some changes."

"Big changes," Alabaster agreed, nodding sagely. "But don't worry, we'll catch you up. You're gonna love it."

Percy shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. He then followed Chiron and the campers towards what started all of this, Thalia's Pine Tree. Clarisse stood at the front, as she was the quest's leader, watching as Chiron gently laid the Golden Fleece over its dying branches. The powerful artifact shimmered with an otherworldly glow, and even before it had fully settled, the tree began to respond. The sickly brown needles gradually turned green, vibrant life spreading through the bark like wildfire. It was as if the tree itself was sighing in relief, its roots drinking in the Fleece's healing power.

For a moment, there was a collective hush around the camp. Every demigod present seemed to hold their breath, watching in awe as the barrier surrounding Camp Half-Blood flickered back to life. The soft, golden light of the barrier began to spread from the tree, weaving through the air like a protective net, growing stronger with every passing second. By tomorrow, the camp would be fully protected again—safe from the monsters and dangers that lurked beyond its borders.

Chiron turned to Clarisse, his wise eyes filled with pride. "Well done, Clarisse. You have done more than simply complete a quest—you've saved this camp and all who live within it. Your actions today will be remembered for a long time."

Clarisse's initial instinct was to bask in the praise, to let it wash over her like the warm sunlight that now bathed the camp. But as she stood there, something inside her shifted. This was what she'd always wanted, right? Recognition, respect, the acknowledgment that she was a true daughter of Ares. But now, after everything she'd been through, after standing toe-to-toe with her father and seeing the madness that came with his influence, it didn't feel as satisfying as she'd imagined.

Clarisse glanced at the Golden Fleece, watching as it continued to heal the tree, and for the first time, she didn't think about what her father would say. She didn't care if he was proud or disappointed. What mattered now was what she wanted, who she was going to be.

"Thanks, Chiron," she said, her voice steadier than she expected. "But I didn't do this alone. Percy and Charles—they were with me the whole way. We did this together."

Chiron nodded, his expression knowing. "True strength lies not just in physical power, but in recognizing the value of others. You've grown, Clarisse. More than you realize."

Clarisse felt a strange sense of calm settle over her. The anger, the desperation to prove herself—it was still there, but it didn't burn as hot as it used to. She was still a warrior, still the daughter of Ares, but maybe she didn't have to be exactly like him. Maybe she could be something more. Something better.

She turned away from Thalia's tree, the Fleece glowing brightly against the darkening sky, and caught sight of Charles and Percy standing a little way off. Percy was still covered in grime, but there was a lightness in his posture that hadn't been there before. He looked at Clarisse with something close to respect, and for once, she didn't feel the need to prove herself to him.

Charles, meanwhile, was leaning against a tree, clearly trying to ignore the pain from his sore muscles. His injuries might have been healed, but that did nothing for the soreness of a month of travel through the Sea of Monsters. But he was still standing, still managing a small, proud smile as he watched the camp around him.

Clarisse walked over to them, giving Charles a once-over. "You look like you've been run over by a minotaur," she said, but there was no bite to her words, only a grudging sort of admiration.

Charles chuckled, though it turned into a wince as the movement pulled at his muscles. "Yeah, well, I feel like it too. But I'd say it was worth it."

"You were amazing out there," Percy added, clapping Charles on the back—carefully, so as not to aggravate any wounds. "We couldn't have made it without you."

Clarisse nodded in agreement. "I might've thought you were just the quiet, nerdy type, but you proved you've got more guts than half the campers here. You've earned your place."

Charles ducked his head, a bit embarrassed by the praise. "Thanks, guys. I just did what I had to do. We all did."

Before Percy could say anything else, a familiar figure appeared at the edge of the clearing—Selina Beauregard, her face flushed from running. She zeroed in on Charles immediately, worry etched across her features as she hurried over to him. "Charlie! What happened to you?"

Charles gave her a sheepish smile. "Just a little scuffle with a cyclops and some ghosts, no big deal."

Selina's eyes narrowed, but there was relief there too. "No big deal? I will be the one deciding that!" She fussed over him, gently touching his arms as if to reassure herself that he was really okay.

"I, uh, did want to apologize. I had to use your necklace to save Percy and Clarisse from the Sirens. It got destroyed in the process… I'm really sorry." Charles said, his voice softening as he looked at her.

Selina's stern expression softened, and she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Charlie, it's okay. That necklace was meant to protect you, and it did. If it saved your life, then it did its job. I'll just have to make sure you get another one, something even stronger."

Charles blinked, clearly touched. "You're really not mad?"

Selina leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Not even a little bit. Just… promise me you'll be more careful next time, okay?"

Charles grinned, his cheeks turning pink. "I promise."

As they stood there, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the camp, Percy couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. The quest had been brutal, the journey harrowing, but they'd come out on the other side stronger, closer. Clarisse had changed, maybe even more than she realized, and Charles had proven himself to be an invaluable ally, someone Percy knew he could trust in the battles to come.

Later that night, the camp buzzed with excitement as a grand banquet was prepared in honor of the returning heroes. The tables in the pavilion groaned under the weight of the feast, piled high with everything from fresh fruit and roasted meats to nectar and ambrosia. The air was filled with the mouthwatering scent of the food, mingled with the crackling warmth of the campfires and the hum of joyful conversation.

After their ordeal, Percy, Clarisse, and Charles had been checked over by the children of Apollo, who took their jobs as camp healers very seriously. They'd been fussed over and given generous helpings of ambrosia to speed up their recovery, though there was not much for them to do after the Golden Fleece had done its job. Now, with their injuries mostly healed and their spirits lifted by the return to camp, the three heroes were finally able to relax—at least as much as any demigod could.

Charles sat at one of the long tables, his hand comfortably entwined with Selina's. The tension of the past few days had melted away, replaced by a soft, contented glow as he talked quietly with his girlfriend. Jake, Charles's half-brother from the Hephaestus cabin, was beside him, regaling anyone who would listen with exaggerated tales of Charles's bravery during the quest. Charles blushed at the attention, but there was no mistaking the pride in his eyes as Jake went on.

Clarisse, meanwhile, was surrounded by her siblings from the Ares cabin, who were practically tripping over themselves to praise her. She accepted their admiration with a mix of pride and embarrassment, rolling her eyes whenever one of them got too enthusiastic. Still, there was no denying that she'd earned their respect—standing up to their father, the God of War himself, had made her a legend among them. Clarisse's usual scowl had softened into something almost resembling a smile, though she still couldn't resist the occasional gruff comment.

And then there was Percy, who was soaking in the attention of one particularly intense demigod. Nico di Angelo, the Ghost King himself, was hovering over Percy with a look of fierce determination, his dark eyes scanning every inch of Percy's body for signs of injury. Nico's concern was so palpable that it bordered on overprotective, and Percy couldn't help but be amused by it.

"I'm fine, Nico," Percy said for what felt like the hundredth time, though there was a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Really, you don't have to worry so much. The Golden Fleece patched me up good and the Apollo kids finished the job."

Nico huffed, clearly not convinced. "Yeah, well, I'm not taking any chances. You have a habit of getting into trouble, and someone's gotta make sure you don't get yourself killed."

Percy chuckled, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at one of his still-healing wounds. "You know, if you keep this up, people are gonna start thinking you care about me or something."

Nico shot him a withering glare, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the blush creeping up his neck. "Shut up, Percy."

"Make me," Percy shot back, grinning.

Before Nico could come up with a suitably snarky reply, their attention was drawn to the head of the pavilion, where Mr. D—Dionysus, God of wine, madness, and general indifference—was making his way toward them with an air of barely restrained glee. The campers fell silent as he approached, his purple tunic gleaming in the firelight, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that put everyone on edge.

"Ah, my dear, dear heroes," Mr. D said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked over Percy, Clarisse, and Charles. "You've all done so well, haven't you? Risking life and limb for that ridiculous sheep blanket."

Percy exchanged a glance with Clarisse, who looked like she was about two seconds away from telling Mr. D exactly what he could do with his sarcastic praise. Charles, ever the diplomat, just smiled politely, clearly not wanting to provoke the God of Madness.

But then, to everyone's surprise, Mr. D reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out three scrolls of parchment, each one sealed with a golden stamp. "As much as it pains me to say this," he continued, with what could only be described as a maniacal grin, "you've all earned these."

Percy took the scroll that was handed to him, raising an eyebrow as he unfurled it. The parchment was a formal letter of recommendation, written in flowing, elegant script. But what really caught Percy's attention was the signature at the bottom: Hephaestus.

"Uh, Mr. D?" Percy began, looking up from the scroll. "Why is this letter of recommendation from Hephaestus? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but wasn't it Ares who sent us on this quest?"

Mr. D's grin widened, and he let out a laugh that sent shivers down Percy's spine. It was the kind of laugh that reminded everyone in the room why Dionysus was the God of Madness. "Ah, yes, our dear Ares. It seems the war god was less than thrilled about being humiliated by demigods—again. So, rather than face the shame of acknowledging your victory, he decided to forgo giving you any recognition at all. Poor sport, that one."

Clarisse's face darkened at the mention of her father, and she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. "Typical. He can dish it out, but he can't take it. Not surprised he'd try to weasel out of giving us credit."

Charles, on the other hand, was beaming. He held his scroll up with pride, the Hephaestus seal gleaming in the firelight. "But since Father also sent me on this quest, he decided to step in and make sure you all got the recognition you deserved. Consider it a co-hosted mission by two Olympians—one of whom actually knows how to show some gratitude."

Percy snorted, rolling up his scroll and tucking it into his pocket. "Honestly? I wouldn't want a letter of recommendation from an asshole like Ares anyway. This one's way better."

Clarisse muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like agreement, though she would never admit it out loud. Instead, she shrugged and said, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. If I want anything done right, I'll have to do it myself."

Selina, who had been listening quietly from beside Charles, smiled warmly at him. "Well, I think Hephaestus knows just how important you were to this mission, Charlie. You deserve this."

Charles blushed again, ducking his head as he squeezed Selina's hand. "Thanks, Selina. It means a lot."

Mr. D, apparently satisfied that he'd done his duty, waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, congratulations all around. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a very important can of coke waiting for me back at the Big House. Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone."

With that, he sauntered off, leaving the campers to their celebrations. The mood in the pavilion lightened immediately, the tension dissipating as the banquet resumed in full swing. Laughter and conversation filled the air once more, and the fire crackled merrily as the night wore on.

Percy found himself sitting beside Nico, who was still fussing over him despite Percy's repeated assurances that he was fine. Clarisse was back with her siblings, though Percy noticed she was a little less standoffish than usual, even cracking a joke or two that had the Ares cabin howling with laughter. And Charles… Charles was surrounded by his girlfriend and half-siblings, his smile wide and genuine as he basked in their warmth.

While the demigods at Camp Half-Blood reveled in their victory, Olympus was far from peaceful. The sky above the mountain crackled with electricity, thunder booming in the distance as Zeus's fury shook the very foundations of the divine realm. The Gods had gathered in the grand throne room, a place usually filled with the chaotic energy of immortal beings, but tonight it was filled with an oppressive tension.

Zeus sat on his throne, his eyes blazing with anger, his grip on his lightning bolt tight enough to make it hum with power. "Ares," he thundered, his voice echoing off the marble walls, "you have crossed the line once too often."

Ares, usually the picture of bravado and arrogance, stood before his father, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with defiance. "I did what needed to be done, Father," Ares snapped, his voice low but filled with venom. "These demigods need to be toughened up, not coddled. They need to be warriors."

Zeus's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You broke the sacred laws, Ares. Twice now, you've meddled in the affairs of demigods, tipping the scales in ways that were not yours to tip. The first time, I was lenient. This time, you went too far."

Ares sneered, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "You call it meddling, I call it strategy. They need to be ready for war, for what's coming. They're weak, all of them."

Zeus's rage flared, his voice rising like a storm. "Weak? You dare call them weak after you were bested by them not once, but twice? Your pride has blinded you, Ares, and I will not allow your arrogance to put the balance of the world at risk. You will learn humility, whether you wish to or not."

Ares's eyes widened as he began to realize what was coming. "Father—"

But Zeus cut him off, his voice ringing with finality. "You will live as a mortal until you learn the meaning of humility. Until you understand what it means to be human, to live with their struggles, their limitations, and their pain. And you will not set foot in the realm of gods until you have proven yourself worthy again."

Ares's face twisted with fury, his fists clenched at his sides. "You can't do this!"

"I can and I will," Zeus said, his voice cold as the winds of the North. "Not even Hera will protect you from this punishment, Ares. You attacked her favored demigod, her plan to unite the camps, and you did so out of nothing more than pride and spite. For that, you will pay."

Ares looked desperately at Hera, expecting her to come to his defense. But Hera's gaze was steely, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had never been one to coddle her children, especially when they crossed her. And Ares had done more than cross her—he had jeopardized the safety of Olympus, of everything she had worked to protect. Especially, since he had dared to touch a demigod who she had laid claim over and given him her favor.

"You brought this upon yourself, Ares," Hera said quietly, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Perhaps a taste of mortality will teach you what you have forgotten."

Ares roared in frustration, cursing the heavens, but no one moved to stop Zeus as he raised his hand. With a blinding flash of light, Ares was gone, banished from Olympus to live among the mortals he so despised. His presence vanished like a gust of wind, leaving the throne room in a stunned silence.

It was Hades who finally broke the silence, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "There is another matter to address." All eyes turned to the god of the Underworld, who sat with a calm that belied the storm of thoughts behind his dark eyes. "The souls of those who lost a war… they do not belong to Ares. They never did."

Zeus's gaze snapped to Hades, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. "What are you saying, Hades?"

Hades leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. "For centuries, Ares has claimed the souls of warriors who fell in battle, particularly those who were on the losing side. This was never his domain—it was mine. These souls belong in the Underworld, not lingering in some limbo where they are used for Ares's amusement. This affront cannot continue."

Zeus's frown deepened, but his rage had cooled enough for him to listen. The truth was, he had never been comfortable with Ares's claim over the fallen souls. It had always felt like a violation of the natural order, a twisting of what was meant to be. And now, with Ares out of the way, this was an issue he could address.

"I agree," Zeus said slowly, each word deliberate. "The souls of the dead belong to you, Hades. They always have. Ares will no longer have any claim over them."

There was a ripple of surprise around the room. It wasn't often that Zeus admitted to a mistake, let alone corrected it so openly. But the thunder god was in no mood to tolerate further disruptions, especially not from his own children.

Hades inclined his head, a rare gesture of respect. "Thank you, brother. This will restore balance to the realms of the living and the dead."

The room fell silent again, the tension slowly dissipating. But before anyone could speak, Hera stood, her eyes sharp as they swept across the assembled Gods. "There is one more matter to discuss."

Zeus groaned internally, already anticipating what was coming, but he motioned for Hera to continue.

"Luke Castellan," Hera said, her voice carrying the weight of the accusation. "He has allied himself with Kronos, and this latest quest proves it. He nearly succeeded in delivering the Golden Fleece to the Titan. This threat cannot be ignored any longer."

"Hera," Zeus began, already feeling the headache forming, "we've discussed this—"

"We've discussed it," Hera interrupted, her tone unyielding, "but we have not acted. I have proposed, more than once, that Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter be united—at least in knowledge, if not in proximity. The children of the gods are stronger together. And if Kronos is truly rising, if Luke continues his efforts, we will need all the strength we can muster."

Zeus clenched his jaw, the stubborn streak that defined him flaring up. He hated being told what to do, even by Hera. But the truth was, she had a point. The idea of the camps working together had merit, and with the threat of Kronos growing more real by the day, they couldn't afford to ignore any potential advantages.

"I will… consider it," Zeus finally said, though his tone was reluctant. "But it is not a decision to be made lightly."

Hera allowed herself a small smile. It wasn't the full victory she'd hoped for, but it was progress. Zeus had previously refused to even entertain the idea, and now he was willing to think about it. For Hera, that was a win.

"There is still hope," she said, her voice softer now, "for the Olympians to stand united. But that will only happen if we do what is best for all, not just for ourselves."

Zeus didn't respond, but he didn't dismiss her words either. The meeting continued, but the mood had shifted. As the meeting came to a close, the Gods began to disperse, each lost in their own thoughts. But the image of Ares's defeat, of his banishment to the mortal realm, lingered in their minds—a reminder that even the mightiest could fall when they let their arrogance cloud their judgment.

And somewhere in the Underworld, a certain Ghost King was undoubtedly smirking at the news, knowing that justice, in its own twisted way, had been served.

- END OF ACT III -