(Credit Rick Riordan for PJ&O and Heroes of Olympus)
Prologue
Power is more than a tool or a blade, it is a fulcrum in which the smallest choice can shift the weight of history. A moment of hesitation, a single act of defiance, can fracture the timeline into something unrecognizable. Fate may chart a course, but it is the hand of the one who holds the reins that determines whether the road ahead will be followed, broken, or rebuilt entirely.
True authority is not claimed by words or titles but proven in action—by the choices that forge kingdoms and the sacrifices that sustain them. It is in the power to defy inevitability, to forge new beginnings where only endings were written, that a leader transcends mere destiny. And it is there, in the space between what was foretold and what is chosen, that true legacy is born.
Chapter 1 - The Fall
(POV: Percy Jackson)
I had fought monsters before. Faced death more times than I could count. But nothing—nothing—could prepare me for the sheer, unrelenting terror of falling into Tartarus.
It happened so fast. One moment I was gripping Annabeth's wrist, her fingers left dangling like a lifeline, her terrified voice screaming my name. I could feel the weight of the terrible spider pulling myself and Annabeth down the chasm. There was no time to think. With all my might, I forced Annabeth's hand up and it caught the edge. I promised her I would do anything to protect her.
I jumped off the cliff into the face of Arachne who was trying to force Annabeth down with her. With one swipe of my sword, I cut the web connecting us to the surface, and thus Arachne and I fell.
"PERCY!"
The world tilted. The pit yawned wider, swallowing me whole. There was no time to think, no chance to process. I just fell, hurtling downward into an endless abyss.
The air was heavy, like molasses, dragging me deeper into the void. My ears filled with a terrible rushing sound, like a thousand whispers all screaming at once. My heart pounded as my surroundings dimmed into pure blackness, the only thing grounding me being the burning ache of guilt in my chest.
I didn't know how long I fell—minutes? Hours? Time didn't exist here. My instincts screamed at me to summon water, to cushion my descent, but there was no water here. Just an overwhelming sense of wrongness. This isn't how I thought it would go!
The air grew colder. Thick, suffocating fumes clawed at my lungs. I fell from the chasm, the hole I went through, and now I emerged into the open air of Tartarus. I face downwards, with the air ripping through my hair. I began to make out the ground so far away, a pure hellscape for as far as the eye could see. I was headed straight into what looked like a river. I braced myself and prayed to Poseidon for all the help that I could get.
When I slammed into the black, churning waters, the impact knocked the breath out of me. I tried to cry out, but my mouth filled with the vile, brackish water. It tasted like every regret, every failure, every fear I'd ever buried deep.
My first instinct was to swim up—toward air, toward light, toward anything—but the water had other plans. The currents wrapped around me, dragging me deeper into the darkness. My limbs felt heavy, like they were tied to anchors. Voices whispered in my ears, their words too faint to make out but sharp enough to cut through me. I knew what they meant: Give up. You don't belong here. You were never enough.
I thrashed against the water, trying to push back the despair crawling into my mind. It wasn't just cold; it was soul-crushing. Every moment I'd ever doubted myself surged forward. Failing to save Bianca di Angelo. The betrayal of Luke. Every demigod who'd fallen in battle while I survived. The weight of it all pressed down on me, and I thought my lungs would collapse.
No. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to focus. This wasn't how I was going to go out. I'd faced impossible odds before, and I wasn't about to let some river claim me. I latched onto Annabeth's face in my mind, her voice calling my name, her gray eyes filled with determination. She was somewhere above me. I had to get back to her.
The water fought me, slamming into me like storm waves, but I wasn't just a kid from New York. I was the son of Poseidon. This water wasn't part of the sea, but water was water. I dug deep, pulling on my power, imagining the currents parting for me. Slowly, agonizingly, the pressure around me eased, and I pushed upward.
Breaking the surface was like being reborn. I gasped for air, choking and sputtering as the oppressive whispers faded to a dull murmur. The landscape around me was a waking nightmare. The river stretched endlessly in both directions, bordered by jagged, black rocks that looked like broken teeth. The sky churned with ash and fire, casting an eerie red glow over everything.
I swam toward the nearest rock, every stroke a battle against the water that clung to me like oil. My muscles screamed in protest, but I hauled myself onto the jagged surface and collapsed. The rocks bit into my skin, but I barely noticed. I lay there, panting, every inch of me aching. But I was alive. Somehow, I'd survived.
"Okay," I rasped, my voice hoarse. "That sucked."
As I sat there, shivering, a memory flickered in my mind like a match struck in the dark. Annabeth's voice, calm and certain, as we sat in the Big House at Camp Half-Blood. She had been explaining the Rivers of the Underworld, pointing to a map with that look she got when she was teaching. The River Cocytus, she had said, is the River of Lamentation. It preys on your pain, your regrets. If you're not careful, it can break you.
The memory slipped away as quickly as it had come, leaving a hollow ache in its place. Cocytus. That was what this was. The knowledge didn't make it any easier to bear, but at least I understood now why the water had felt like it was trying to drown my soul.
I forced myself to sit up, scanning my surroundings. The air here was thick, syrupy, and every breath felt like a chore. I couldn't stay here. Tartarus was alive, and it wouldn't take long for this place to notice me.
The river's whispers grew louder, taunting me. I clenched my fists and forced myself to stand. I was soaked, freezing, and exhausted, but I wasn't giving up. I'd promised Annabeth I wouldn't let go. Even if we were separated now, I intended to keep that promise.
I spotted a narrow path winding along the riverbank. It was treacherous, lined with jagged stones and shrouded in mist, but it was better than nothing. Gathering what strength I had left, I started moving, each step a battle against the pull of the Cocytus and the memories it tried to drag out of me. I didn't know where the path led, but I had to keep going.
Annabeth. Hold on. I'm coming.
As I walked away from that damned river, the environment began to shift. The ground, it wasn't just like earth or rock. It looked like… flesh. The ground rippled like a living thing, groaning beneath me as I struggled to sit up. I coughed, my chest heaving, and realized the air itself tasted foul, like rotten meat and sulfur. This was Tartarus.
The ground pulsed faintly beneath me, oozing a dark, viscous liquid that stuck to my hands and clothes. It took me a moment to register that it was alive. Everything here was alive—or dying. It was impossible to tell.
Above me, the sky wasn't a sky. It was a swirling mass of black and red, bleeding into each other like an open wound. There was no sun, no stars, just an oppressive gloom that weighed down on my shoulders.
"Annabeth…" I croaked, my voice barely audible. But she wasn't here. Of course she wasn't. She was still up there, on the surface, fighting to survive without me.
My heart twisted at the thought. I'd give anything to be with her. Instead, I was alone.
Or so I thought.
A dry, raspy sound echoed from the shadows—a laugh.
"Well, well," a familiar voice hissed. "The sea spawn. How poetic."
My grip tightened on Riptide as I rose shakily to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to stay upright, scanning the darkness for the source of the voice.
"Show yourself, Arachne," I growled.
Her laughter came again, closer this time. A figure emerged from the shadows, her grotesque spider form even more horrifying in the dim light of Tartarus. Her multiple eyes gleamed with malice, her fangs bared in a twisted grin.
"You thought you'd defeated me," she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "But now you're in my domain, demigod. Welcome to Tartarus. You won't last long."
I raised my sword, my knuckles white. "Yeah? Let's see who goes down first."
She lunged, faster than I expected, her legs skittering over the pulsating ground. I barely had time to dodge, rolling to the side as her fangs snapped where my head had been moments ago.
The fight was a blur of movement—slashes, dodges, and snarls. Arachne was faster here, stronger, fueled by the dark energy of Tartarus itself. And me? I was already exhausted, my body screaming in protest with every move.
Finally, with a desperate swing of Riptide, I managed to sever one of her legs. She screeched in pain, retreating into the shadows, her venomous voice echoing as she disappeared.
"This is only the beginning," she hissed. "You'll wish you'd never come here."
I stood there, panting, my chest heaving as the realization of my situation sank in. I was alone in Tartarus, with no way out.
Monsters here could not die, at least not like they did on the surface. They could be disfigured, sure, just like Arachne, but within hours she will have healed and will return to end me. I began to run the other directions, looking for a sign, looking for anything that pointed towards refuge. But in this hell, there is no safety.
And the monsters were already circling.
I'd always prided myself on my ability to escape impossible situations. I'd outrun monsters, outwitted gods, and somehow survived every quest thrown my way. But Tartarus wasn't like the mortal world. It was alive, breathing, watching my every move. And it wanted me to stay.
The ground shifted beneath my feet, swelling and sinking like quicksand. The air thickened until I could barely breathe. Shapes loomed in the distance, massive forms that I prayed wouldn't notice me. And always, always, there were the whispers—soft and insidious, reminding me that I was alone, that I'd failed Annabeth, that I'd never escape.
But I kept going, fueled by desperation and pure stubbornness. I clutched Riptide tightly in my hand, the only thing keeping me grounded.
I didn't get far before they found me.
It started with shadows, slithering along the edges of my vision. Then came the laughter—low and guttural, echoing all around me. I spun in a circle, Riptide drawn, but I couldn't pinpoint the source.
And then they struck.
They came from every direction at once—monsters I couldn't even name, creatures that defied logic and description. They were made of darkness and sharp edges, their glowing eyes fixed on me like I was a prize.
I fought like hell, slashing and stabbing, but for every one I cut down, two more took its place. They overwhelmed me, their claws tearing at my arms and legs until I couldn't stand.
One of them struck me in the head, and everything went black.
