(Credit Rick Riordan for PJ and Heroes of Olympus)

Chapter 8 - It's Good to Be Alive

I drifted in and out of consciousness, the world a hazy blur of sounds and sensations. Voices murmured around me, distant and muffled, like they were coming from underwater. Sometimes I thought I heard Annabeth's voice, sharp with worry, or Jason's calm reassurances. Other times, I felt the cool press of a damp cloth against my forehead or the faint hum of the Argo II's engines beneath me.

But it all slipped away just as quickly as it came, dragging me back into the fog of exhaustion and pain. My dreams were a chaotic mess—flashes of Tartarus, the pit, Bob's final words. Kronos' presence still loomed inside me, like a storm raging deep in my soul.

Then, one day—or maybe night—I opened my eyes, and for the first time, the haze lifted.

The soft glow of magical lanterns filled the room, and the gentle sway of the ship beneath me confirmed I was on the Argo II. My eyes burned as the light hit them, and I winced, turning my head to the side.

"Percy?"

Annabeth's voice broke through the fog, sharp and clear. She was at my side in an instant.

"Turn the lights down," she ordered, her voice urgent but steady. Someone—maybe Jason—murmured an agreement, and the room dimmed. The relief was immediate, though my eyes still struggled to adjust.

Annabeth's hands hovered over me for a moment before she leaned down and wrapped her arms around me. Her warmth was overwhelming, her grip almost crushing, but I didn't care. I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my chest loosening just a fraction as I felt her close.

"Hey, Wise Girl," I croaked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her stormy gray eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. "You're awake," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and relief. "You're actually awake."

I managed a weak smile, though even that small motion felt like lifting a mountain. "How long?"

"Four days," she said, her fingers brushing against my cheek. "You've been out for four days. We didn't know if you'd wake up."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Four days. On the Argo II, it had been four days. But for me, Tartarus had stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Almost a year. A lump formed in my throat, and I looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

Jason, Piper, and Leo filed into the room, their expressions a mix of amazement and relief. Jason's blue eyes widened as he took in my frail appearance. "You look like you've been through... I don't even know how to describe it," he said quietly.

Leo scratched the back of his head, forcing an awkward grin. "Yeah, man. You look like you went one-on-one with a blender. And lost."

"Thanks, Valdez," I muttered weakly, earning a small laugh from the others.

Jason stepped closer, his expression serious. "We've been looking for you for a month. Nico told us where you were, but... Tartarus? How did you survive?"

A month. For them, it had been a month. For me, it had been nearly a year of choking on poisonous air, fighting monsters, and holding onto the barest shred of hope. My chest tightened, and my hands trembled as memories I wasn't ready to face flooded my mind.

"I... I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely audible. It was the truth, but it felt so inadequate.

Annabeth's hand found mine, her grip firm and grounding. "You don't have to talk about it now," she said gently. "Just rest, Seaweed Brain. You're safe."

Her words were a lifeline, and I clung to them. Safe. For the first time in so long, I didn't have to run, didn't have to fight. But the weight of everything I'd been through, everything I'd lost, pressed down on me.

The others stayed for a while, asking small questions and cracking awkward jokes to lighten the mood. But eventually, Annabeth ushered them out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I stared at the ceiling, the dim lantern light casting shadows that seemed too much like those from Tartarus. I closed my eyes, trying to block them out, but the memories were relentless. Bob's sacrifice, the endless battles, the suffocating darkness.

And Kronos.

I couldn't tell them. I couldn't tell Annabeth, Jason, any of them. If they knew what I had done—what I had taken into myself—they wouldn't understand. They'd look at me differently, maybe even see me as a threat. And maybe they'd be right.

My fingers twitched at my sides as the weight of Kronos' lingering presence pulsed within me. It was quiet now, barely a whisper, but I knew it wouldn't stay that way. I had absorbed a part of him, his essence, his soul, and that was something none of them could know.

I swallowed hard, forcing the panic back down. I had to keep it hidden. For now, it was my burden to bear, my secret to guard.

The ship creaked gently as it sailed, the rhythm steady and comforting. But inside, I felt anything but steady. The gods might not know yet, and my friends might not suspect, but deep down, I knew this wasn't over. Whatever I had done in Tartarus, whatever I had become, was only the beginning.

Night fell slowly, the soft hum of the Argo II's engines blending with the distant crash of waves against the hull. The rhythm was soothing in a way that almost felt unnatural after the chaos of Tartarus. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my body heavy and sore. Every movement felt like dragging myself through wet sand.

But I couldn't stay still.

The walls of the cabin pressed in on me, and the silence, though comforting at first, began to feel suffocating. My body protested as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my muscles weak and trembling. It took everything I had just to stand, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I leaned heavily on the wall for support.

Step by step, I made my way out of the cabin and up to the deck, the cool night air hitting me like a wave. It carried the faint tang of salt, the kind of scent that used to feel like home. Now, it just reminded me of how far I'd fallen.

The Argo II glided smoothly above the waves, the ocean stretching out endlessly beneath us, dark and glistening under the light of the stars. For a moment, I felt like I could breathe again. The sea was my father's domain, my domain in a way, and it was the closest thing to safety I'd felt in a long time. But in a weird way, it felt foreign now, like I was no longer welcome there.

I leaned heavily against the railing, my fingers gripping the cool metal for support as I stared down at the water. Somewhere out there, Reyna, Nico, and Coach Hedge were on their way back to Camp Half-Blood, carrying the Athena Parthenos. It was their last, best hope of stopping the war between the Roman and Greek demigods.

A war I had almost forgotten about while I was in Tartarus.

The thought made my chest tighten. I'd fought so hard to make it back, but now that I was here, I didn't feel victorious. The war was still raging, Gaia was still a threat, and every step I took felt heavier than the last.

The quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps behind me, light and deliberate. I didn't have to turn to know who it was.

"You shouldn't be out here."

Annabeth's voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern that cut through the night air. She stopped a few steps away, hesitating as if unsure whether to approach.

"I couldn't stay in there," I said, my voice hoarse and low. "The walls were closing in."

She stepped closer, her hand brushing against my arm as she moved to stand beside me. Her eyes scanned me, and I could feel her worry radiating off her like heat.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," she said, her brow furrowed. "You just woke up. You're still healing."

"I don't feel like I'm healing," I admitted, my gaze fixed on the waves. "I feel... broken."

She didn't answer right away, and the silence stretched between us. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "What happened down there, Percy? In Tartarus?"

My grip on the railing tightened, my knuckles turning white. The memories were still too fresh, too raw. The weight of Kronos' presence within me stirred like a dark shadow, and for a moment, I thought I might collapse again.

"I—" The words caught in my throat. I couldn't tell her. Not about Kronos, not about what I'd done. "It was... bad. Worse than anything I've ever faced."

She nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "You don't have to tell me everything," she said after a moment. "But you don't have to carry it alone, either."

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I had to bite down on the lump rising in my throat. She reached out and took my hand, her fingers warm and steady against mine.

"I'm here," she said simply.

I looked at her, and for a moment, the weight lifted just enough for me to breathe. The darkness inside me, the lingering echoes of Tartarus, didn't go away, but Annabeth's presence made it bearable.

We stood there in silence, the stars above and the sea below, her hand in mine. For the first time since I'd escaped Tartarus, I felt a flicker of hope. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me standing.

The next few days passed in a blur, a mix of restless sleep, fragmented conversations, and the steady hum of the Argo II cutting through the skies. Time seemed to warp, and every moment felt stretched thin. My body was too frail, my mind too heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. Every so often, I would catch snippets of plans and discussions, but I couldn't quite focus.

Annabeth, Jason, Leo, and the others were planning their approach to Greece. There was no question about it—they were heading to Athens, to the Acropolis, to stop Gaia before she could carry out her devastating assault.

I could hear them strategizing below deck, the map of Greece sprawled out on the table in front of them, Leo's quick hands moving over it, marking potential routes and threats. I was half-conscious during most of it, my body still recovering, my mind swirling with the aftermath of my own personal battle. But I could make out enough to understand what was at stake.

"Gaia's army is already moving," Jason said one morning, his voice filled with the weight of what was ahead. "We have to get there before she does. The Acropolis is the symbol of Greek power. If she takes it, it could signal the end of everything."

Annabeth's voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a sense of urgency. "We'll need all the help we can get. The gods are too distracted with their own issues. We're on our own for this one."

I tried to focus, tried to push myself into the conversation, but each time my mind wandered back to Tartarus, back to the war inside my body, the echo of Kronos' soul clawing at the edges of my thoughts. It was a constant struggle to stay grounded in the present.

"Percy, you need to rest," Annabeth would say, always looking out for me, as if she could sense my mind drifting. "We need you at your best when we reach Athens."

But I knew better than anyone what was at stake.

In the evenings, I'd sit on the deck, watching the landscape change as we neared the Greek coast. The waves crashing below were a constant reminder of the calm before the storm. Every night, the stars seemed closer, as if they, too, were waiting for something to happen. I could feel it in the air—the tension, the uncertainty. Gaia was gathering her forces, and we didn't know how much time we had left.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Leo said one afternoon, staring at the horizon. "Something tells me we're walking into a trap."

"We don't have a choice," Jason replied, his voice grim. "We have to stop her, or everything we've fought for will be lost."

The crew of the Argo II knew what they had to do, even if it scared them. It was a fight they couldn't afford to lose. But none of them seemed to realize that the battle ahead wasn't just against Gaia and her monsters. It was against something far older, far more dangerous—the very force of time itself.

And that, I wasn't sure how to fight.

The nightmares started small, just flashes at first—quick images of a dark, crumbling landscape. I could see the silhouette of a city, massive and sprawling, but somehow… empty. It felt ancient, oppressive. I could hear the distant echo of wind, the sound of broken stone grinding against stone. The sky was an unnatural gray, as though the sun had forgotten how to shine.

In one dream, I saw what looked like a tower, but it wasn't right. The proportions were off, as if the whole thing was twisted in time. The stone seemed to pulse, and I could swear I felt the weight of a thousand years bearing down on me. It felt like something was watching me from the top of the tower—something ancient, something I should be afraid of. But I couldn't remember who or why.

I woke up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, but the details slipped away as quickly as they'd come. I tried to shake it off, but the feeling lingered.

The next night, the dream came again, but this time, I could see a shadowed figure standing at the top of the tower. A figure with eyes that seemed to burn with the light of distant stars. It whispered my name, and I woke up with a jolt, my body shaking.

As the days passed, the dreams grew stronger, clearer. I began to recognize the city—the jagged ruins that stretched into the horizon were from Mount Othrys. I'd seen it before. The place where the Titans had once ruled, the place where Kronos had been defeated. But now, it felt like it was still alive. The stones were soaked in a kind of twisted history, an energy that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

Each time I drifted off, I could feel the weight of the place pressing in on me, like the whole world was crumbling under the weight of time itself. The whispers were louder now, coming from the depths of that broken city, urging me to remember. I had to face what was coming. I had to understand.

And then, one night, the figure became clearer. A tall, imposing figure—his face both familiar and foreign. It was Kronos, but not as I had seen him before. This was a form that seemed to reach beyond the physical, something made of time itself, a shadow that bled into everything. His eyes were the cold, endless expanse of the future, and when he spoke, it was like the universe itself was speaking to me.

"You cannot escape what I am, Percy Jackson," he said, his voice like the echo of a thousand ticking clocks. "You cannot escape time. I am the beginning and the end. The ruler of all that moves forward."

I wanted to scream, to fight, but I was paralyzed, unable to move.

"Fight me, and you will only prolong the inevitable."

And just like that, the vision faded. But the words stayed with me. And they were terrifying.

I was no longer sure if I was battling my own mind or something else entirely. The power of Kronos, his soul, still fought for control of me, and it seemed to grow stronger every day.

Despite the nightmares, I kept myself together, focusing on what was at hand. But I couldn't shake the feeling that the real battle wasn't just in Athens. It was within me. The nightmares were warnings, and I couldn't ignore them any longer. They were pointing to something bigger—something I had to face, and soon.

That night was quiet, almost too quiet, as I sat on a low bale of hay in the Argo II's stables. The glass doors, which usually swung open to let in pegasuses and other creatures, were now shut tight, offering no view of the ocean below. The stables felt empty, the stillness inside contrasting sharply with the gentle hum of the ship above.

I leaned back against the cool stone wall, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind wander in a spiral of thoughts I couldn't quite untangle. The dreams, the vision of Othrys, the pull that seemed to grow stronger every day—it was all too much. I had to understand what was happening to me before it was too late, but part of me was afraid of the answer.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever, but I didn't mind. It was easier to think this way, away from the chaos of the others, away from the noise of the world.

I didn't notice Annabeth until she was already standing in the doorway. Her presence was a sudden, grounding weight that pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. She hesitated, her eyes scanning the room, before she stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her.

"Percy?"

Her voice was soft, hesitant, but it drew my attention. I looked up at her, offering a small, quiet smile.

"Hey," I said, my voice rough from too much silence. I motioned to the space next to me. "You can sit if you want."

She didn't hesitate. Without a word, she sat beside me, not too close but close enough that I could feel her warmth. She didn't press me to talk, but I could tell she was waiting for me to open up. And as much as I wanted to, I couldn't—at least not about everything.

Instead, the words tumbled out, strange and uninvited.

"Annabeth," I began, playing with a loose strand of hay between my fingers, "what do you know about Othrys? About the Titans?"

She blinked at me, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. "Othrys?" she echoed. "It's where the Titans ruled before the Olympians defeated them. But… why do you ask?"

I didn't answer right away. I wasn't sure how to explain what I was feeling—how the broken city kept haunting my thoughts, pulling at me like an invisible string. Instead, I let another question spill out.

"And what about cycles?" I asked, my voice quieter now. "Do you think things are destined to repeat? Like… everything falls, and then it rises again, and then it falls again?"

She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching my face as though she were looking for something she couldn't quite find. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady.

"I think…" She hesitated. "I think sometimes it feels like that. Like the world is stuck in a loop, repeating itself over and over. The gods fight the Titans, the monsters keep coming, the heroes fight on. But that's not fate, Percy. It's just how things are for now. We can change it. We get to choose how we fight. How we move forward."

I nodded slowly, but her words didn't settle me. They didn't quiet the storm inside me. I still couldn't shake the feeling that something much darker was coming, something that I couldn't control. The pull toward Othrys was undeniable.

"Do you think it's possible," I asked, voice tight, "to break the cycle? To end it completely? Or are we just stuck in it, forever?"

Annabeth turned toward me, her brow furrowing with concern. "What do you mean by 'break it,' Percy?"

I didn't know how to explain it. How could I tell her that I was starting to feel like I had no choice but to take the throne of the Titans? How could I ask if it was possible to change the course of history when I wasn't sure I wanted to?

"I don't know," I said finally, my voice a little rougher now. "I just… I feel like we're all fighting against something bigger than us. Like no matter what we do, it all comes back. Over and over."

There was a long silence. Then, Annabeth reached over, her hand resting lightly on mine. The warmth of her touch grounded me, but it wasn't enough to shake the dark thoughts swirling in my head.

"Percy," she said softly, "whatever happens, we're not alone. We're in this together. We're not trapped. As long as we keep choosing to fight, we get to decide how it ends."

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But the truth was, I wasn't sure if I could escape what was inside me. The connection to Othrys, to Kronos, was growing stronger every day. And no matter what Annabeth said, part of me wondered if I was already too far gone.

"Thanks, Annabeth," I said quietly, squeezing her hand before pulling mine away. "I needed to hear that."

But even as I said it, I wasn't sure I believed it. The pull to Othrys was undeniable, and I wasn't sure I could escape it, no matter how hard I tried.

(POV: Annabeth Chase)

Annabeth's heart gave a painful twist as Percy whispered, "I needed to hear that."

For a moment, she just sat there, her hand still resting on his, trying to process the weight of his words. It was so rare for Percy to admit he needed help, to show any vulnerability beyond what was necessary in a fight. He had always been the strong one, the one who led them through the impossible with humor and determination, even when the odds were stacked against them. But now—now she saw something in his eyes, a fatigue she didn't recognize, a darkness that had seeped in during his time in Tartarus.

And it terrified her.

But she didn't let it show. Instead, she squeezed his hand gently, trying to offer whatever comfort she could. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he still seemed so distant, like there was something inside him he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.

"Percy…" She started, but her voice faltered for a moment. She didn't know what to say. How could she possibly put into words what she felt? The worry, the fear, the helplessness that gnawed at her every time she saw him struggle.

But then she realized something—she wasn't alone in this. Neither of them were. They had always been stronger together. If he could just let her in, let her help, maybe he wouldn't have to carry all of this by himself.

"I know," she said quietly, her voice steady, though her heart was racing. "I'm always here for you, you know that. Whatever this is, whatever you're going through—I'm not going anywhere."

He turned his head, his eyes softening for just a moment before he pulled his hand back, though not in a harsh way. It was as if he needed space, as if he needed to retreat into himself for a moment. It made her stomach drop, but she respected it. She wouldn't push him.

"Thanks," he said again, but this time, his voice was distant. "I don't know what's happening to me. Everything feels... wrong."

Annabeth's heart ached. She could see it, the way he was fighting against something deep inside, something he couldn't control. The nightmares, the battles with Kronos' soul—they were wearing him down. She knew that, but it still didn't make it easier to watch.

"You don't have to understand it all right now," she said softly, her voice low and reassuring. "You're not alone in this, Percy. You're not weak for feeling this way. You're allowed to feel whatever it is you're feeling. We'll figure it out together."

For a moment, there was silence, a heavy stillness that hung between them. She could feel him retreating again, pulling further away. But she wasn't going to let him go this time—not entirely.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and then moved closer. "You don't have to carry this by yourself, Percy. You're not alone."

But even as she said it, a part of her was afraid. She wasn't sure how to help him. She wasn't sure what to do or say. Percy had always been the one who kept them moving forward, the one who kept them grounded. But now, she was watching him struggle, and she didn't know if there was anything she could do to fix it.

His eyes met hers for a moment, and something flickered there—an emotion she couldn't quite place. But then he looked away again, back at the stable doors, and she knew that whatever was going on inside him, he wasn't ready to share it with her yet. And that, perhaps, was the hardest thing of all.

"I'll be fine," he muttered, but there was no conviction behind it. Annabeth knew he was lying.

And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she could believe him.

She didn't say anything. Instead, she just stayed there, sitting beside him, her hand resting on his again. Even if he wasn't ready to face whatever was eating at him, she would be here, right beside him, waiting for him to let her in when he was ready.

For now, that was all she could do.

Over the past couple of days, the crew began to speak more openly about their concerns. I had pulled Percy aside during a meal, her brow furrowed in worry. "Percy," she said softly, "I know you've been through a lot, but something's not right. You're not the same. You're getting weaker. And that aura around you—it's not just your normal power. It's like... you're carrying something else."

He couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm fine," and he gave what looked like a forced smile. "Just tired. It'll pass."

But even I didn't believe it. I'm scared of what that place - Tartarus - did to Percy. Who, or what, emerged from that pit just a couple of days ago?

(POV: Third person)

The following night was silent on the Argo II, the hum of the engines barely audible beneath the soft lapping of waves against the ship's hull. The stars overhead twinkled, distant and cold, a reminder of how far they still had to go before reaching Greece. Everyone was asleep, the ship quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood as it sailed through the darkness. Percy lay in his bunk, the faint glow of the lantern beside him casting a warm circle of light on the floor.

But for Percy, there was no warmth to be found. The weight of Kronos' soul in his chest had become unbearable. It was no longer just a burden—it was a ticking time bomb. Every day, he felt himself slip further away from who he once was. His body grew weaker. His mind was clouded with dark thoughts. And the call of Mount Othrys—of the power that awaited him there—grew louder with every passing hour.

Percy knew what he had to do.

He couldn't tell Annabeth. He couldn't tell anyone. They would try to stop him, and if they knew the truth about what he'd done—about how Kronos was still alive within him—they would never let him go. The gods would never let him survive this. He couldn't risk their wrath, not when he was so weak, not when his very essence was hanging by a thread. He needed to go alone.

He had to go to Mount Othrys.

Slowly, carefully, Percy swung his legs over the side of his bunk, the wooden floor cold beneath his bare feet. His eyes flicked to Annabeth's bunk across the room. She was asleep, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her. He didn't want to leave her. He never did. But he couldn't stay. Not like this.

With a final glance at the room—at the crew that had become his family—Percy moved quietly to the desk in the corner. He pulled a piece of parchment from his bag, dipping a quill in ink. His hand shook as he wrote, the words flowing out quickly, each stroke carrying more weight than the last.


Annabeth,

I don't know how to say this, but I can't stay. I've made a decision. It's not one I can explain, but it's the only way to make sure I don't drag the others down with me. I know you won't understand, but I need to do this alone.

The gods will need all of you. I'm not sure when or if I'll be back, but when you need me, I'll be there.

Keep fighting. You're the strongest person I know, and I trust you to keep everyone together. I'll be watching over you. I always will.

I'm sorry.

Percy.


He read the letter over and over, his throat tightening with each word. There was no other way. He couldn't burden Annabeth with the truth—not when she would fight him on it. Not when she would try to save him, and in doing so, risk the entire mission.

With a deep breath, he folded the letter and set it on the desk, making sure it was in plain view. He had to leave. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Percy glanced once more at Annabeth and the others, the crew that had become his closest friends. He wasn't sure if he would ever see them again. He wasn't sure if he would survive what he was about to do. But he knew this was the only way to stop the darkness from consuming him—and to stop Kronos from ever rising again.

The Argo II was passing the Greek coast now, near Preveza, its silhouette casting long shadows over the waters as it flew smoothly through the night. His connection to the sea had always been one of his greatest strengths—his lifeblood, his safety net. But tonight, as he stood on the deck, staring down at the waves, he felt something unsettling in the air. The sea didn't feel like home anymore. It felt distant, foreign, as though even the ocean itself was shifting in response to whatever force was brewing.

But there was no time to waste.

Percy took a deep breath and, without looking back, jumped into the water.

The cold hit him hard, shocking his system, and he gasped as the water closed over him. Normally, he would have felt a rush of power, a sense of peace in the waves, but tonight there was only a deep, unsettling silence. The ocean seemed muted, its usual roar replaced with an eerie calm, as though it, too, was holding its breath. As he swam, he felt the strain on his body, the weight of his fatigue, the war with Kronos' soul taking its toll. His strokes felt sluggish, his limbs heavier than they should have been. It was as though the sea was pushing against him, resisting his every movement.

But he pressed on, his goal clear.

The shore was closer now, and with it came the land—stark and unfamiliar, the Greek countryside stretching out before him. Percy's muscles burned as he pulled himself from the water, coughing up saltwater as he collapsed onto the rocky shore. For a moment, he lay there, gasping for breath, the weight of his body pressing him down into the earth.

He didn't belong to the sea. Not anymore.

But he couldn't afford to dwell on that now. He had a purpose, a destination, and it was miles ahead of him.

Rising to his feet, Percy started to make his way inland, his senses alert to the strange quiet around him. The usual sounds of the countryside—chirping insects, rustling leaves—were absent, replaced by an unsettling silence. The air felt thick, charged with something darker than it should be. There was a tension in the atmosphere, a sense that something was wrong, something he couldn't yet name. The further he walked, the more the landscape seemed to change. The once vibrant fields were overgrown, the crops withered and dying. The trees were bare, their branches twisted and brittle, as though the land itself was decaying.

The apocalypse was coming. He could feel it in his bones.

But there was no turning back now.

Percy pressed on, his determination unwavering. He didn't know how much time he had, but he knew that every second counted. His legs felt like lead, but he kept moving, his breath ragged as he pushed himself forward.

After a few miles, the landscape shifted once more, and Percy found a small abandoned village ahead. In its dilapidated state, it mirrored the land—worn, crumbling, and eerily silent. It seemed as if even the buildings had been drained of their life. Percy's eyes scanned the area, trying to get his bearings. He had to get to Othrys, and fast.

With no other means of transport in sight, Percy pushed forward, tapping into the very core of his essence. He felt the air shift, like an invisible hand guiding him, urging him forward. And then, without warning, the world around him seemed to bend.

The mountain had felt distant before, an imposing silhouette on the horizon. But now, as Percy moved, the land beneath him seemed to shift in acknowledgment of his presence. With each step, the earth responded. Percy moved faster than he ever thought possible, his feet barely touching the ground, the wind at his back as the land itself seemed to push him toward his destination.

It was as if Othrys had called to him, and now he was answering.

But as he neared the foot of the mountain, the air grew colder, the ground beneath him more treacherous. The pull of Othrys seemed to intensify, as if the mountain were alive, its very essence reaching into his soul. Percy gritted his teeth, pushing through the growing weight in his chest, the tug-of-war between him and Kronos growing more intense.

He couldn't stop now.

He had to face whatever awaited him on that mountain.