Seventeen Summers and Falls
Annabeth's heart pounded furiously in her chest as she sat on the edge of her bed, lacing her boots with methodical precision. The harsh glare of the midmorning sun cast a warm light across her bedchamber, highlighting the tension in her shoulders. They had slipped back into the castle under the cover of dawn, the faint light just starting to creep over the horizon.
Now, with the sun fully risen and the shadows of the night receding, the weight of what was to come settled heavily on her, pressing down like a thousand-pound stone. She pulled the leather tight around her ankle, fingers working swiftly but her mind elsewhere.
Across the room, Percy stood by the window, silent and unmoving, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if the rolling fields could offer him answers. Or perhaps he was simply trying to calm the storm within himself. She couldn't tell.
A thousand worries fluttered across her mind, threatening to suffocate her and eat her whole. What if Triton didn't take the bait? What if her mother intervened? What if someone caught on? What if what if what if.
Warm hands found her shoulders, grounding her in the present. Percy's touch was reassuring as he gently braided her unkempt hair, his lips trailing soft, affectionate kisses along the marks he left on her neck last night. His calm presence was a balm to her turbulent thoughts, anchoring her to the moment.
"I know there's no use in asking you to remain here," Percy said softly, breaking the quiet.
Annabeth looked over her shoulder, eyes sharp but weary. "This is as much my fight as it is yours."
Percy's gaze softened, but he didn't argue. He knew better than to try and sway her when her mind was set.
As he adjusted his sword belt, Annabeth approached, helping him secure the final straps. Their movements were efficient, steady, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in their touch.
"Do you think Triton should agree?" Percy asked nervously.
Annabeth nodded, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. "He's too proud not to. Publicly rejecting you would tarnish his honor, and he values that above all else."
Percy's lips pressed into a thin line. "Good. That gives us the advantage."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the coming hours pressing down on them. Annabeth adjusted the clasps of Percy's armor, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
"If... if something goes wrong—" she began, but Percy cut her off with a firm shake of his head.
"Nothing will go wrong," he said, his voice resolute. "We've planned for this. I've watched him train. I know his weaknesses. Triton won't stand a chance."
Annabeth searched his face, finding a flicker of reassurance in his eyes. She nodded, swallowing the knot of fear that had settled in her throat.
"We'll see this through," she said, more to herself than to him. "Together."
Percy reached out, his hand finding hers. Their fingers intertwined, a silent promise exchanged between them.
"Together," he echoed.
He leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching, but a sharp knock at the door cut through the moment. Percy jerked back, his hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his sword.
"Wait." Annabeth's hand shot up, halting him. Her eyes narrowed as she listened intently.
The knocking came again, this time more deliberate. A familiar rhythm, precise and intentional. Annabeth exhaled, recognizing the coded signal. Without a second thought, she rushed to the door and flung it open.
"I received your letter," Malcolm said, stepping inside and shutting the door with a bang. His eyes scanned the room, ensuring their privacy before producing a satchel from his shoulder. "And I have what you asked for."
He moved with purpose, crossing the room to lay several parchments on the table. Among them, a familiar document—her wedding contract. Malcolm's finger traced a line of text.
"You were right," he said. "Look at this clause. Let it be known that the Royal Princess Annabeth Chase of House Chase, daughter of Her Highness Princess Athena of House Chase, is solemnly betrothed to the eldest male heir of the noble House of Celeanos. By this sacred union, the houses are bound in alliance, sealed by the oaths of their forebears and witnessed by the grace of the realm. The wording is precise, and it leaves just enough ambiguity. If played correctly, you might actually pull this off."
Annabeth scanned the parchment with a critical eye. The loophole gleamed like a beacon of hope, its implications rushing over her like a tide. Percy stepped closer, his hand resting on her shoulder as he too studied the document.
"My gratitude is with you, Malcolm," Annabeth finally said. "I know it was no easy feat to retrieve this, but I needed to be certain of what it said."
Malcolm shrugged, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I've pilfered far more guarded treasures from our mother's collection. Truthfully, I was surprised by how simple it was."
Annabeth snorted. "I'm sure she's all but forgotten about this little piece of parchment, being so consumed with preparations for the actual handfasting. She's only waited my entire life for this moment."
Percy leaned in, eyes flickering with concern. "And my mother?"
Malcolm nodded, his expression steady. "I delivered the map to her, along with a few days' worth of provisions. If things go south, she'll be safe at the cottage. She's already on her way."
A weight lifted from Annabeth's chest. At least Sally would be out of harm's reaches, far from the chaos that was about to unfold.
Malcolm's attention shifted to another parchment, its edges frayed with age. "Look what else I found," he said, his tone grave as he unfolded the document. "This is the law that governs trials by combat—an ancient decree. It doesn't matter who you are or where you come from. Anyone can challenge anyone, regardless of rank or bloodline. The gods alone decide who is guilty, and they alone determine the outcome."
He met Percy's gaze, the gravity of the words sinking in. "If you challenge him, it's beyond the court's control. The gods will settle it, and no one else."
Annabeth's mind raced as she read the scrawling handwriting. "Not only that," she murmured. "It says here that trials are always held in the labyrinth. The gods chose it as the arena because it represents the complexity of fate itself—no one can predict the outcome. It's a test of strategy, wit, and will. Whoever emerges from the labyrinth is the one the gods deem worthy."
"The labyrinth?" Percy echoed.
"A charming bit of architecture crafted by one of Mother's old friends," Malcolm said, unfolding another scroll and presenting it to Percy. The map revealed a jagged sketch of the underground tunnels. "There are only two entrances—one to enter, one to exit. It runs beneath the entire castle, and some say it's cursed."
"Cursed?"
"It's riddled with all sorts of traps and lethal devices, you see. Trap doors, hidden rooms, tripwires, spikes that spring from the walls… and some say even worse. Monsters and ghosts, things best left unnamed. Prisoners and criminals used to be tossed in there, but that stopped with our great grandfather. Now the maze stands vacant, unless a trial by combat is required."
"And why can't these trials take place elsewhere?"
Annabeth looked at Percy, her pulse quickening. "To invoke the will of the gods, of course. It's not just a battle of strength; it's a battle of fate."
Percy paled. "Is there, perhaps, another labyrinth I might fight in? No? Well, that's a real shame."
"I will not ask you to do this for me—" Annabeth began.
"But I will," Malcolm interrupted gently, squeezing her hand, his grip firm and assuring. "You deserve this small bit of happiness, sister."
He turned to Percy. "Fight for her."
"With all my breath," Percy swore. "With all that I am."
Malcolm gave a quick nod. "Then I shall see that everyone's gathered in the Great Hall. We'll be waiting for you."
He missed Annabeth on the cheek and slipped away, leaving the door to close behind him with a quiet click. The room felt emptier in his absence, but the weight of the situation had not lifted. The tension in the air seemed to cling to them both as they stood there, their shoulders heavy with the gravity of what lay ahead.
Annabeth's gaze swept across the chamber, a place that held all the echoes of her childhood, where she'd taken her first steps, spoken her first words, and made decisions that had shaped her path—some good, some dark. Her thoughts were a tangled knot, each memory a reminder of how far she'd come, and how far she still had to go.
The great hall was teeming with powerful people, their voices a low murmur of anticipation. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing these kings and queens, gods on earth, legends in the making, confined like sheep in a pen. Their furrowed brows and crossed arms betrayed a shared irritation, casting a tense, simmering energy over the room.
At the far end, at the base of the dais stood the Celaenos. Triton's demeanor was cool and unyielding, untouched by the palpable anxiety that rippled through the room. Beside him, Amphitrite held an air of regal composure, though her furrowed brow betrayed a flicker of confusion. Poseidon stood with a commanding presence, his broad shoulders tense, his expression a blend of curiosity and silent authority.
On the dais sat the queen with the royal family fanned out around her. Annabeth kept her gaze steady and unwavering, her hands clenched in her skirts. She knew she had to appear just as perplexed as everyone else, to play the part, to blend seamlessly into the crowd. No one could suspect her involvement in what was about to unfold.
"What's happening?" Frederick murmured. His tunic was slightly wrinkled, and his circlet was conspicuously absent. The twins clung to his arms, their eyes wide. Athena, however, merely surveyed the room, undoubtedly calculating the quickest escape should this escalate into bloodshed. "Has someone been hurt? Killed?"
"I know not," Athena responded through gritted teeth.
"Who called this convention to order?" Frederick pressed.
"I. Know. Not," Athena snapped. Annabeth was impressed she was able to keep a pleasant, calm expression on her face.
From the depths of the crowd, a single figure moved. Percy, ever the embodiment of resolve, stepped forward. The murmur of the crowd quieted as he moved, all eyes trained on him now. His gaze locked onto Triton and his voice rang clear across the hall, the silence amplifying each word.
"Triton of the House of Celeano." Percy's voice echoed, commanding the attention of every single person present. "I challenge you to a trial by combat." The words were simple but carried with them the weight of centuries of tradition.
The words hung in the air, as if the room itself was holding its breath. A ripple of whispers spread like wildfire among the courtiers. Some exchanged wary glances, others looked on with open curiosity, but all knew the consequences of this challenge.
The crowd hushed as Poseidon surged forward, the sea of onlookers parting in his wake. His stormy eyes burned with fury, and his hands clenched at his sides, as if itching to seize Percy by the tunic. "What is the meaning of this?" he thundered. "After everything I've done for you—after all I've given?"
"Apologies, my lord," Percy said dutifully. "I am grateful for the honors and gifts you've bestowed upon my mother and I."
Before Poseidon could respond, Amphitrite appeared, face contorted in rage. Without warning, her jeweled hand struck Percy across the face, the sharp crack reverberating through the tense air. Percy's head snapped to the side.
Before she could strike again, Poseidon's hand shot out, catching Amphitrite's wrist mid-air. "That's enough," he growled, seeming to remember the gathered crowd watching intently. His gaze shifted back to Percy. "What are you doing?"
Percy straightened. "Something I should've done a long time ago," he said, a bright patch of red blooming on his cheek. "I'm righting a long ago wrong."
All eyes fell on Triton, and Annabeth half expected him to turn red with rage, to draw his sword and strike at Percy right then and there.
"What wrong?" Triton asked, as if the very thought of the kingdom's golden boy could do no wrong.
From his cloak pocket, Percy retrieved a small, wooden ball, its surface worn smooth from countless hands. Triton's face went white as Percy held it high. "Five summers and falls past, you took a boy's eye. It is for him that I fight. For his honor, his pride, and his innocence."
Triton's laughter echoed, sharp and shrill.
He needs to care, Annabeth thought as the crowd tittered anxiously.
Triton's smirk widened. "Ah, now I remember. The idiot fell upon a dagger while playing in the labyrinth Or was it a sword? I can't remember. It was dreadful, it really was. So much mess. I recall personally delivering him to the court physician."
Percy's eyes narrowed, his jaw setting into a hard line.
Malcolm stepped forward. "Is there any soul who can vouch for this claim?"
"You'd accept such an outrageous allegation over the word of a Prince?" Amphitrite spat.
"The law binds everyone," Malcolm reminded her coldly. "From the humble and to the high." He turned his attention to Triton.
"The court physician," Triton snapped.
Malcolm's brow knitted in confusion. "Chiron?"
"He's away." All eyes turned sharply toward the queen, who sat poised on her throne, an air of indifference about her.
"Away," Poseidon echoed suspiciously.
"For the next fortnight," Athena clarified smoothly.
A muscle twitched in Poseidon's jaw, mirrored by the tick in Triton's left eye.
"You cannot allow this!" Amphitrite's wail pierced the great hall, causing the crowd to jump in fright. She turned to her lord husband, her fury palpable. "I warned you!" she hissed, spittle frothing at the corners of her mouth. "I told you he was nothing but trouble! Yet you brought him into our house, defying all counsel. You had to sow your seed recklessly, let that common whore bear your bastard, and now look where we stand! He is here, and he will—"
"Can any soul on this earth vouch for this claim?" Poseidon thundered, his voice a resounding boom that echoed through the vaulted hall.
Triton's eyes gleamed with sudden interest. "The Princess!"
The word rippled through the room, every gaze shifting to her in unison. But Annabeth was ready.
She cast a practiced look of bewilderment, the act so flawless that even the most discerning eye could not detect the deception. "I was present... but the sight of the blood overcame me, and I remember nothing beyond that." Her gaze found Triton's, calm and unwavering, though a subtle glint of steel lay hidden beneath the surface. She knew well that with those words, she had sealed her own fate.
Triton's hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing the familiar grip. But he didn't draw it. He understood the weight of tradition—the unspoken laws that tethered him, the invisible chains that would bind him should he break them. He couldn't afford to back down, not without sacrificing everything—his reputation, his claim to the throne, the hard-earned power he had spent a lifetime consolidating. His only choice now was to accept.
"You dare challenge me?" Triton's voice was low, a dangerous growl that seemed to vibrate in the air. "You would question my birthright? You, who have but barely set foot in my father's court?"
Percy's gaze was unflinching, his voice just as steady. "You were given your position untried, untested. A station that filth such as yourself does not deserve."
A murmur spread throughout the room, but Triton's gaze didn't shift. "You think you can best me?" he said, his voice rising with a chilling edge. "You're nothing more than an impetuous boy. I will not be dragged into your games."
"I'm not playing," Percy said firmly. "I've come to settle a score that's long overdue."
Triton's nostrils flared. "I will not tolerate such insolence. I will not—"
"The challenge has been offered," Athena said flatly, her words carrying the weight of centuries. "And it must be accepted. To refuse is to forfeit life." She paused, her steely gaze cutting through the hall as Amphitrite's anguished wails echoed around her. Raising her voice to command the room, she continued, "If a trial is to commence, the terms must be established. The gods demand it."
"No!" Amphitrite shrieked. Poseidon's gaze darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes, yet he remained silent. He knew the ancient laws as well as anyone—tradition was unyielding, and it could not be bent, not even for him.
"Fine," Triton spat. "If you want a trial, you'll have one. But understand this, brother: I will break you."
Athena rose from her seat with the grace of a goddess, cutting through the heavy tension that hung in the air. "The trial shall take place in the Labyrinth," she declared. "Whoever emerges from its depths victorious shall be declared the gods' chosen victor."
The scant hours before the trial were ones of chaos. Servants dashed through the halls, polishing armor and sharpening blades, their movements frantic yet purposeful. Maids whispered hurriedly, the news of the duel spreading like wildfire through the kingdom. Royals and nobles retreated to their rooms, their murmurs laced with outrage, though their eyes betrayed the spark of intrigue. It had been years since the last trial by combat, and the Labyrinth, infamous for its dangers and darkness, was an ever-present shadow in their minds. As the bells rang, signaling the suspension of all work, the air thickened with anticipation. Workers, their faces tight with expectation, made their way toward the Labyrinth's entrance, where one would emerge victorious.
Annabeth and Percy stood in her chamber, the weight of the day pressing in. Somehow, they'd managed to slip back unnoticed, barricading the door, and Malcolm had agreed to distract their parents. How had everything changed so quickly, so completely, since that morning? She felt unanchored, adrift, as if the ground beneath her had vanished.
Her gaze lingered on Percy, watching the way his muscles flexed with each movement as he undressed, the light casting shadows across his tan back. When he finally shed his tunic, his hands found her face, cupping her cheek with a tenderness that contrasted the storm swirling in her chest. His fingers drifted to her hip, carefully unbuckling Tyson's dagger, and with a quiet motion, he placed it on the table, where papers from their morning plans still lay in disarray.
"What are you doing?" she whispered as he gently guided her backward, the backs of her knees brushing the edge of the bed. With a soft touch, he turned her gently and slowly slid her sleeve off her shoulder, his fingers delicate but sure against her skin.
"If I'm going to die, then let me leave with one final, good memory." His lips traced the curve of her neck, a kiss so gentle it stole the very breath from her chest. "May I?"
She pressed her hips back against him, her own breath hitching as she felt him moan. "How much time do we have?"
"Enough," he replied, his hands threading through her hair. His lips brushed against her forehead, his touch more intimate than any words they could speak. Every second was precious, and in those shared moments, she felt as though they were suspended outside time itself.
Then he was pushing her down onto the mattress, hands firm but kind as he hiked up her skirt, his movements hurried but tender. She felt the weight of their shared fear, their shared longing, and the quiet realization that this might be the last time they could make this memory together.
He slid his finger inside her, moving quicker, more urgently than the night before, his breath ragged against her skin.
"Okay?" he murmured in her hair.
She pulled him in for a bruising kiss, one of love and fear, of longing and loss. The taste of him, the touch of him—it was all she wanted to hold onto.
When he lined himself up and slid in, she winced, the pain sharp and raw, but she didn't pull away. She wasn't nearly as wet as last night, but she found that she didn't mind as he began to thrust into her. Every inch of him was a reminder of what she might lose, and she wanted to carry that memory with her, no matter what came next.
They finished swiftly, him buried deep within her, his body pressed close to hers, his breath hot against her skin. His face nestled into the curve of her neck as the world outside seemed to pause. She lay still, her eyes unfocused, gazing at the ceiling as he withdrew, the quiet aftermath of their union settling in the air.
In silence, they dressed. He secured his armor with practiced ease, the leather straps and metal pieces clicking into place. She fastened the final buckles, her fingers steady as she fitted his sword into its sheath.
"Wait," she said as he turned to go. From a pouch at her hip she produced a small ball of red string. "There's no use trying to remember your way down there. It's dark and ever shifting. Take this, and it will guide you through the maze. Let it be your compass in the shadows."
Gingerly, he accepted it, eyeing it with suspicion. "What happened to letting the gods decide? Isn't that the whole part of your blasted labyrinth?"
"I'm merely offering them a nudge," she said lightly, "To ensure you find your way."
A horn blew, its mournful sound cutting through the air. Such a forlorn sound, she thought, ears prickling at the noise. And such a pretty sound, too. A sound so full of longing and hope and loss.
For a moment, her mind wandered back to a time long past, to this very room, when she had heard the howling of a wolf. She had been so certain that if there was ever the sound of heartbreak, a wolf's howl would be it.
But now, as she stood there, she wasn't so sure.
"It's time."
With a calm precision, she smoothed the silver fabric of her dress, her hands gliding over it as if to steady herself. Her fingers instinctively reached for her dagger, only to remember it already placed carefully on the table by Percy. She grasped it, surprised at the steadiness of her own hand. As she moved, a few scattered papers slid off the table, drifting gently to the floor.
Cursing softly under her breath, she bent to retrieve them. As she gathered the papers, her attention was caught by one sheet, backlit by the afternoon sun filtering through the window. The light revealed something unusual—faint lines, almost imperceptible, traced across the page. They were lines that should have remained hidden.
Noticing her pause, Percy stilled. "What is it?"
Annabeth straightened, the paper held delicately between her fingers, and stepped closer to the window. She lifted it to the light, the faint lines becoming slightly more distinct. Her eyes scanned the markings, her pulse quickening.
"Look," she murmured. "A map within a map."
She had been so certain there were only two entrances to the Labyrinth. Yet here, etched in lines so faint they were almost lost to the parchment, was proof of another way. Her heart quickened, a flutter of realization and dread. She had been mistaken—there was a third entrance. It was cleverly concealed, as if someone had attempted to erase it by layering fresh markings over the original, but to the discerning eye, the hidden way remained visible.
"What does it mean?"
"It means," she said, her fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger, "that the gods have spoken." She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "And their favor rests upon our shoulders."
The third entrance lay in the shadows of the west wing, concealed behind weathered stone, leading to a passage that fed into the heart of the maze. The air was thick with dampness, the darkened tunnel cold and musty with age, yet she dared not bring forth a torch. The flickering flame would betray her presence, and the shadows in the Labyrinth were far more dangerous than the darkness itself.
Annabeth's hand brushed against the cold stone wall, feeling its rough surface, as if the very earth beneath her was alive, watching her every move. The air felt heavy, as though the stones themselves held their breath, waiting for her next step. She tightened her grip on the dagger at her side and silently trailed her oblivious prey.
Her boots made no sound as they met the damp ground, swallowed by the silence that clung to the tunnel like a shroud. Carefully, she made sure that each foot fell in previously made prints, concealing her presence. The world of light and life seemed distant, locked in the safety of daylight. She had no way of knowing how long she would be below, or what threats would arise from the darkness. But her objective was clear, and she couldn't afford to hesitate.
At last, they reached the base of the tunnel. The air shifted, a subtle change, like the very stones of the earth were breathing. Her prey paused, his breath ragged, before he turned sharply to the right.
She trailed him for what felt like eons, walking deeper and deeper beneath the earth. There were many traps, filled with rotting flesh or simply bones of their victims. Animal, monster, and man alike.
They turned a bend and she almost screamed.
The creature hung in the air before her, a grotesque hybrid of man and bull, its massive form nailed to the dirt wall. It was suspended like some twisted trophy of war, iron spikes driven deep into its flesh. One horn jutted from its head, gleaming like a shard of the sun even in the darkness, so bright that Annabeth was forced to press herself deeper into the shadows to avoid being seen. The other horn was gone, torn from its place, replaced by a gaping, blood-blackened wound, its skull exposed.
Numbly, Annabeth stared at its vacant, amber eyes, and wondered how long it had taken the creature to die and who had been the one to render it this fate.
Triton regarded the creature with suspicion, eyes narrowing. There was dirt on his chin and cobwebs in his hair, but he still looked like the sun.
For a fleeting moment, Annabeth thought Triton might retreat, but instead, he unsheathed his sword and approached. He stood on tiptoe, the creature so tall, to reach its mangled head. With grim deliberation, he began sawing away at the remaining horn.
The minotaur screamed.
Annabeth recoiled in horror. It's still alive, she thought as the creature's agonized howls echoed through the tunnels. It twisted and writhed, futilely straining against its spikes. Triton pressed on, unyielding, until with a swift strike, his sword pierced the beast's eye. The minotaur recoiled, shrieking in a final burst of pain before it fell still.
Triton stepped back, holding the severed horn, its light stretching long and bright. He raised his sword, positioning it above the creature's heart, as if to end its suffering for good. But he paused, a twisted smile curling upon his lips, before he turned away and strode off.
Annabeth stood frozen for a moment, her eyes locked on the monstrous creature. The silence in the wake of Triton's departure was suffocating, broken only by the creature's faint, labored breathing. The minotaur's form hung lifeless yet trapped, its hollow amber eyes flickering with pain and resentment.
She stepped closer, the creature's agonized cries still echoing in her mind, twisted and raw. Triton's fleeting smile haunted—mocking, cruel. He had simply left it there, broken, as if its suffering were some game, something to be savored. He was the same bully from when they were children, who stole Tyson's ball and took his eye. Now, though, he had donned the mantle of a prince, soon to be king, and his slaps and shoves had only evolved into this.
The air felt heavier with each step she took. She could hear the minotaur's ragged breaths growing weaker. It could not die with dignity, could not even hope for a swift end. It was a prisoner, a sacrifice to something darker.
She reached the creature's side, her heart heavy. Her hand gripped the dagger tightly, her knuckles white. It should not have to suffer like this.
Without a word, she raised the blade high. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into the creature's amber eyes, still holding that strange, almost human resentment in their depths.
In one swift motion, she thrust the dagger into the beast's heart, the metal sinking deep into its chest with a sickening finality. The minotaur's body jerked once, then fell still.
Annabeth staggered backward, breath labored, fingers clawing for purchase on the dirt walls for support, palms slick with sweat. The labyrinth felt colder now, its shadows pressing in from all sides, as if it was watching her, judging her. She had seen the monster's agony, heard its scream, and her hand, guided by some cold, detached instinct, had delivered the final blow. The death had been swift, disturbingly easy.
She closed her eyes, fighting against the rising tide of panic. Had she spared the creature from a lingering death, or had she merely sealed her own fate in darkness? The final breath of the beast, the fading light in its eyes, clung to her memory like a shroud. Had she freed it, or had she merely condemned herself?
Her chest constricted, and a laugh—brittle and hollow—spilled from her lips, an eerie sound that echoed throughout the maze. She despised it, despised the empty, foreign thing it had become.
Get ahold of yourself, she thought desperately. Focus.
She granted herself five fleeting, fragile minutes to unravel, to breathe through the tempest of emotions threatening to consume her. Then, with a shuddering breath, she steeled herself, drawing upon a composure that even Athena might have deemed worthy.
With considerable effort, she resumed her path, following the direction Triton had taken. The desire to bury the creature gnawed at her, but she couldn't risk lingering, not with Triton ahead.
It was harder to track him now. Before, they had both moved blindly through the darkness, her silent steps trailing him. But now, he carried the minotaur's horn, its light illuminating his way. He moved swiftly, the light guiding him, while she stumbled through the encroaching black.
She pressed on for what felt like miles, longing for a thread of her own to mark her path and prevent her from becoming hopelessly lost. The sketch lay crumpled in her pocket, a useless guide without any light to read it.
At last, she came upon another bend, a fork in the path. Her instincts urged caution, whispering for her to pause, to calculate and deliberate. Yet, driven by a surge of urgency, she cast aside her better judgment and plunged headlong into the passage on the right.
The passage widened as she moved forward, and a faint flicker of light grew steadily brighter, forcing her to shield her eyes from its sudden glare. It led into an expansive cavern, a vast chamber that defied reason, too immense to belong to a maze buried beneath the earth.
The heart of the labyrinth.
And in the center stood Triton, sword in hand, face twisted with fury. His cloak, once a proud banner of his house, now hung in tattered shreds, fluttering like a war-torn banner in the wind. Before him was Percy, half in shadow, battered and bruised. His face streaked with grime and blood, yet his eyes burned with an unyielding fire.
They circled each other, lions ready to pounce.
Triton lunged forward, his blade a blur of silver. Percy parried deftly, their swords sparking as they met. Percy spun away, heels brushing the dusty ground as he evaded Triton's powerful swings.
"You're too slow," Percy taunted. "You fight first with anger, not skill."
Triton roared in response, his muscles straining as he drove forward, his strikes heavier, more desperate. Each blow was meant to end it, to put Percy down for good. But Percy was a shadow, slipping through the cracks in Triton's defense, his movements precise and controlled.
The ground beneath them shook, the labyrinth itself seeming to awaken to the ferocity of their battle. Stalactites hung perilously above, their sharp points glistening with moisture, threatening to fall at any moment.
Percy seized the momentary distraction, darting in close. His sword found its mark, grazing Triton's side and drawing blood. Triton stumbled back, clutching his wound, but his eyes burned with renewed hatred.
"You will not take my crown," Triton spat, his voice laced with venom.
Percy's expression hardened. "You can keep your wretched crown."
With a burst of speed, Triton charged again, their swords meeting in a violent clash. They grappled, sweat and blood mingling on the dirt floor, the minotaur's horn flickering anxiously.
Percy twisted Triton's wrist, sending his sword clattering into the dark. He drove his knee into Triton's chest, forcing a grunt from his lips as he fell to his knees, gasping for air. Seizing the moment, Percy grabbed a fistful of Triton's blonde hair, yanking his head back with a swift, unrelenting force. His blade hovered just above Triton's throat, the sharp edge glinting in the dim light.
The brothers stood frozen, breaths ragged.
"It's over," Percy said. "Yield."
For a heartbeat, Triton wavered, reaching for a knife at his hip. Percy's grip on his sword, however, did not falter. With a growl of frustration, Triton let his knife slip from his grasp, the clang of metal against stone echoing in the cavern.
"Would you truly strike down your own family?" Triton sneered. In the flickering light, his face was hauntingly beautiful, a cruel angel cast in shadow.
Percy's fist tightened in Triton's hair. "You're no family of mine," he spat.
Triton's lips curled into a mocking smile. "What are you waiting for, then, dear brother? Aren't you going to kill me?"
"You'll die," Percy said, voice as hard as the blade he wielded. His gaze lifted, meeting Annabeth's steady stare across the gloom. "But not by my hand."
From the shadows, Annabeth emerged, her dagger gleaming. Sweat gathered on her brow, and the minotaur's blood streaked her arms, yet she moved with the grace of a queen, looking like a goddess.
Triton's face contorted in a flash of fear, his body tensing as if to rise, but the cold steel at his throat stilled him.
She approached with deliberate steps, her eyes never leaving his. She could see her reflection in his eyes, and with despair, she found that she couldn't recognize herself.
"I once asked you to answer a single question," she said, stopping before him. "I have it now."
His brow furrowed in confusion, in loathing, in fear as she unsheathed her dagger. With the tip of the blade, she lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"How do you want to die?" she whispered. "The dagger or the sword?"
Triton's lips curled into a snarl. "You little bitch," he hissed, fury and frustration radiating from him. He made a move to lunge at her, but Percy's blade stopped him cold. "If I am to die, it'll be by the hand of a man."
With the speed of a serpent and a flash of gold, a gaping red void replaced where his eye once sat. His scream tore through the cavern, sharp and shrill, echoing in her ears like the cry of a minotaur. She remained unmoved, her gaze unwavering. "That wasn't what I asked."
She felt hollow. She felt full. Percy was staring at her, but she couldn't read his expression.
Triton clutched his face, his face contorted in agony. The flicker of defiance was waning, replaced by the grim realization of his fate.
"None shall come to our aid," she told him. "And my patience wanes."
"The sword," he snarled, his lone eye darting desperately to the blade in Percy's hand. It was the particle choice. A sword would grant him a swift, honorable death, while the dagger would prolong his suffering—slower, bloodier, far more agonizing, messy.
Annabeth's lips curled into a red smile. "Fuck what you want."
With a swift, unyielding motion, she plunged the dagger into Triton's chest over and over, each strike steady and cold.
His breath became a tortured rasp, a gurgling gasp, as he crumpled to the ground, the light in his eye dimming with every agonizing breath.
Annabeth stood over him, breath shallow, heart numb, as the silence of the cavern pressed in, broken only by the sickening drip of blood dripping from her blade onto the cold dirt floor.
She left before the blood had time to dry. The stillness in the labyrinth was almost as suffocating as the weight of what had transpired settled over them.
Percy's hand shook slightly as he thrust the minotaur's horn toward her, the light from it casting fleeting shadows across his face. "Take this," he said, his voice hoarse. "It'll guide your journey back."
She accepted it wordlessly, her blood coated fingers brushing his in the briefest of contacts.
He stepped forward, gently cupping her chin with a tenderness that seemed out of place in the aftermath of a slaughter. His gaze was soft, searching.
"Speak to me."
Even as she shook her head, tears threatened to spill. "I'm fine."
A rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "A lie, if ever I heard one."
Her lips parted to say something more, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. "It's just… a lot to bear."
"I know," he murmured, stepping closer as if the space between them was too vast, too unbearable. She let him draw her into his arms, surrendering to the quiet comfort of his embrace. For a moment, despair hung between them, thick and heavy, as they both took in the cost of their victory. One dead prince, two damned souls, four hands bathed in red.
In the distance, faint but unmistakable, the sound of a horn echoed, signaling the end of the trial. Percy had to reach the exit before the final call, or both and Triton would be branded as failures.
"I must go," Annabeth said.
"But are we well?" he asked, his voice full of unspoken questions, his hands hesitant on her hips.
She placed her hand on his cheek, her touch a whisper against his skin. "Yes. Always."
Percy's breath caught in his throat as she turned away, the finality of her words cutting through the chaos. "Then go," he urged. "I'll come for you once this is all through."
With a lingering look, she stepped into the shadows, leaving Percy to make his way to the exit, to the light, to their future.
Annabeth hurried back through the Labyrinth, heart pounding, and flung herself through the hidden entrance. The castle halls were thick with the sounds of celebration, the clinking of goblets and the song of instruments. She took measures to hide herself from the servants, darting behind curtains, the blood staining her hands a cruel reminder of what she had just done. She knew the sight of them would raise alarm, but the castle, for once, seemed too consumed by Percy's victory to take notice of her haste. It seemed Triton had many enemies and all had been too eager to see him fall.
She made her way to her chamber, her steps silent but swift. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and she wasted no time in stripping off her soiled clothes, throwing them aside as though they were another life entirely. She pulled on the first thing she could find—a simple white dress—and let its softness settle around her like a fragile shield. She knew she ought to join the revelry below, but she couldn't face a crowd. Not yet. Not after everything that transpired beneath their feet.
Instead, she sank onto the edge of her bed, her hands resting in her lap. The minutes, then hours, passed in an agonizing crawl. The world outside grew dimmer as the sun gave way to twilight, a bruised, purple hue settling over the horizon.
Her thoughts, once a rush of clarity and purpose, had now turned to a gnawing anxiety. Where is he? Her fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap as worry turned to dread. Had something gone wrong? Had he been delayed? Or worse, had something happened to him? After everything they'd fought for, after everything they'd done? They were so close.
The hours dragged on like an eternity. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and with each passing moment, she grew tired of waiting and wondering if he was ever coming around. Her faith in him was fading.
As the last light of day disappeared behind the horizon, she could no longer hold the weight of her doubt. She had hoped—no, she had believed he would return to her. But now, in the silence of her room, alone with only the sound of her own breathing, she wondered if he would ever come at all.
Suddenly, everything felt too suffocating. Each inhale felt too shallow, too forced. The weight of everything—the blood, the violence, the victory—pressed down on her with the force of a mountain. Her hands trembled, a cold sweat slicking the back of her neck, her vision narrowing as the walls of the castle seemed to close in on her.
I need air. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, driven by a desperation she couldn't name, a need to escape, to flee from the walls that seemed to close in tighter with every passing second.
She ran.
Through the winding corridors, down the grand halls adorned with ancient tapestries, she ran, her footsteps echoing like a drumbeat in her ears. The air felt too thick, too suffocating, each breath a struggle, each step heavy, like lead pulling her down.
The cool evening air hit her like a shock when she finally burst through the door and into the open, the vast grounds of the castle sprawling out before her. She didn't stop. She couldn't. Her feet carried her across the grass, the crunch of earth beneath her boots grounding her, but only just.
She veered into the woods, the trees standing as silent sentinels, and emerged into that familiar empty field by the sea. Her breaths came faster now, shallow and frantic, each one scraping her lungs like flint. She clutched at her ribs, as though she could hold herself together, but it wasn't enough. The world spun around her, the clouds above blurring into streaks of light.
Suddenly, she collided with something solid. Someone. She stumbled back, heart pounding as she looked up.
"Percy," she breathed, his name escaping her lips like a prayer. "What are you doing?"
His face was of pure joy and relief as he steadied her, his hands firm on her shoulders. "Annabeth—"
"Where were you?" Frustration surged within her chest, and in that moment, they were no longer the adults they had become, but the eleven-year-olds who met so many summers and falls ago. "I was feeling so alone and I kept waiting for you but you never came. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think..."
The words died in her throat as Percy knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring.
"Marry me," he said, eyes shining. "You'll never have to be alone. I love you, and that's all I really know."
The princess gasped at him, at her best friend, her true love, her soul mate, her family, silently screaming for answers.
"I know the contract bound us to wed eventually, but I want us to begin with love, not law," he said, his smile broadening. "I spoke with your parents. That's what kept me, and for that I am sorry. I just couldn't wait another second."
"And?" she whispered, imagining her parents' unhappy faces as Percy asked for her hand.
His smile was triumphant, like a thousand blazing suns. "Go pick out a white dress." His gaze rose to meet hers as if she was his sun, his moon and all his stars. "It's a love story," he said softly, knowing just how much the weight of those words meant for both of them. "Darling, just say—"
"Yes!" Annabeth cried, She choked on a sob, joy and disbelief intertwining as she threw her arms around him. "Yes, yes, yes!"
The final traces of the sun smiled down as the happy couple embraced beneath the summer sky, bathed in golden light as they twirled, for it was the end of a decade and the start of an age.
The waves lapped gently against the cliff below as Annabeth approached the cottage, where Sally waited in the doorway, brown hair dancing on the wind. The air smelled of salt and jasmine, a peaceful respite from the storm that had consumed their lives just days before. Percy had gone to the harbor to oversee preparations for their journey to his father's kingdom, where he would be named heir apparent. There would be no burial for Triton, as those who fell in trial by combat were forsaken by the gods, their names erased and their deeds forgotten. Once the mourning period passed, Annabeth and Percy would be wed.
With Percy away, Annabeth seized the opportunity she had been waiting for.
She approached hesitantly, clutching a small bouquet of blue wildflowers she'd picked along the way. Sally turned and smiled, her warmth as familiar as the sun.
"Annabeth," she said, eyes twinkling at the ring on her finger. "I didn't expect to see you so early."
"I couldn't wait another moment without thanking you," Annabeth said, stepping forward and holding out the flowers. "For everything you've done. For Percy, for me. If it weren't for your foresight…" Her voice faltered, emotion thickening her words. "We wouldn't be free."
Sally accepted the bouquet with a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling."I only did what any mother would do for their child," she said, her fingers lightly grazing the delicate petals.
Anyone but mine, Annabeth thought bitterly.
"And much of it you achieved through your own courage," Sally continued. "Percy spoke of the Labyrinth, of the perils you faced. You both fought with bravery and unwavering resolve."
Annabeth's thoughts strayed to the restless nights since her return from that cursed hell, to nights filled with visions of gleaming horns and tormented cries. Each dawn found her drenched in sweat, her hand clutching at her throat, as if to claw the mangled heart from her chest.
"But you must understand," Sally said. "I played a modest part. It was neither my foresight nor my orchestration that set you free."
Gratitude collided with confusion in a dizzying clash. "Pray tell?"
A figure emerged from the depths of the cottage, draped in robes of silver with a cloak as red as blood. Her posture was regal, back straight and hands clasped behind her. The early morning sun painted the world in soft gold, yet her steel-gray eyes, sharp and calculating, stayed locked on the distant horizon, untouched by the warmth around her.
Annabeth's breath caught in her throat.
"Mother," she whispered.
Sally slipped quietly into the cottage as the Queen stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over Annabeth like a general assessing her troops.
"Sally Jackson is a formidable woman," Athena said with a voice as smooth and unyielding as polished steel. "Braver than a thousand of my finest soldiers. It was no small thing to plead for her son's legitimacy before the king of salt and sea."
"But she did," Annabeth said, the truth finally dawning. "At your command."
Athena gave the slightest of nods.
Blood rushed hot and thick in Annabeth's ears. "You planted the sketch of the Labyrinth with the contract and let Malcolm steal both from your chamber. You whispered in Sally's ear to ensure Percy's legitimization. The delayed handfasting..."
Zeus' passing had delayed it. Zeus, whose health never seemed to truly recover from that illness, despite being on the mend.
Perhaps they were more alike than Annabeth cared to admit. Perhaps they both had blood on their hands.
"Every move, every step, was part of your plan."
There was no trace of pride, no boast or sense of triumph, as if her mother's actions were mere whispers, carrying no weight or significance.
"Why?" The word came out low and fierce, heavy with something raw. Annabeth knew she ought to fall to her knees and kiss her lady mother's skirt, to let praise and gratitude fall from her lips, but instead, her blood boiled, a mix of fire and ice.
Athena's expression remained inscrutable, her voice measured and precise. "I saw an opportunity to shift the balance of power. Your marriage contract was ironclad on the surface, but every arrangement has its vulnerabilities."
"Why now?" She had years to change this story, to rewrite the contract, to revoke the vow.
"I had to be certain Perseus was his true born son," Athena said crisply. "Countless bastards are running around, claiming royal blood to anyone who'll listen. I needed time to know Sally, to trust her."
Annabeth's jaw tightened. "Then we're all just pieces on your board, to be moved as you wish"
"Don't flatter yourself," Athena snapped. "You're not a piece, Annabeth. You're a player. And a damn good one at that."
The unexpected compliment struck like an arrow, but Annabeth refused to let it show. "And what would've happened if it all fell apart? If they found a way to out maneuver us, if Triton emerged as champion? Then what?"
Athena's eyes narrowed. "You would've adapted."
"And if I couldn't?" Annabeth pressed, aware she was treading dangerous ground, daring to question Athena in this way. But she had to know— needed to know—whether her mother would have truly condemned her to such a fate. Would she have pawned her off, tossed her aside, discarded her like she did with that girl from her temple?
She is but a girl!
"Would you have turned away?
Do not do this, Athena.
"Would you have abandoned me?"
She is innocent.
Athena scoffed, as if the very idea was beneath her. "I would never have let that happen to you."
Spare her your wrath!
"But you did!" Annabeth's shout was sharp and unforgiving, making them both flinch, but she didn't retreat. She didn't cower. Her mother had always seen her as a wild, untamed thing. Fine. Let her mother believe that. Let her be the creature Athena thought her to be. "You've done it before! You've let it happen, to a maiden just like me. An innocent. "
Athena blinked slowly, her brow furrowing as Annabeth watched the realization spread across her face. "That… priestess wasn't you," she finally said.
"No?" Annabeth's voice cracked with emotion. "Then who is? Am I not just like every other girl? What makes me different? I have a heart and a mind, courage and fear, just like them. I have dreams to lose, love to gain—just like them. What makes me so different?"
Athena's hands clenched at her sides. "How did you learn of her?"
Loosen one nail and the whole barn comes crashing down. Today it's one maiden. Tomorrow it's five.
"I overheard you and the king."
In a week the whole damn kingdom will be expecting their demands to be accommodated, and in a fortnight there won't be a kingdom left.
Athena shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and confusion clouding her expression, as if the very idea that Annabeth remembered something from so long ago was impossible. "That girl…"
She did not want it. The fault is not hers.
"That girl had a name," Annabeth cut in, her voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. "She had a life. She had dreams and aspirations. Just like me. Just like all the other women and girls who suffer at the hands of those in power."
"And what was her name?" Athena lashed, words cracking like a whip. "Pray tell, daughter, what was her name?"
Annabeth parted her lips, willing the name to come. "I… I…" Her heart twisted in frustration as her memory betrayed her. What was her name? Why couldn't it come? All these years, the memory of her was so vivid, so close. She should've known it, she had to know it.
"You think you understand all there is to statecraft, to ruling a realm," Athena snapped. "But there are forces at play that you cannot grasp—and I pray you never will—that I must navigate. Sometimes, all you can do is choose the lesser of two evils, no matter how bitter the cost. I did what I had to do. I did the best I could. I will not apologize for that, nor will I stand by while my own daughter paints me as the villain for doing so."
Annabeth pressed a palm to her brow. She was so tired. Tired of it all. Tired of shrinking herself to avoid intimidating others. Tired of being told what to do by those with greater power but lesser minds. Tired of fearing a future that was supposed to be hers to shape. Tired of having a queen for a parent, instead of a mother.
How did it come to this? This constant warring between them? Even in their happiest moments, they could never just be, never just coexist. One always had to challenge the other. It was as though they didn't know how to be just mother and daughter without turning everything into a battle of wits and wars.
When did this stop? When did it end? When one of them was gone from this earth? She didn't want that, but she didn't know how to love her mother and be her mother's daughter in a world that was not made for both of them.
"I know you're not without fault, not without blame," Annabeth finally said. "But you're not the villain in this story."
Athena didn't respond immediately. The air between them felt thickened and charged, curdled but not spoiled, heavy but not suffocating.
Athena inhaled sharply. "I never knew you knew of this. That you've carried this for so long." It was the closest she would come to an apology.
"I never told you."
The silence settled between them like a heavy, suffocating cloak.
Finally, Annabeth spoke. "I'll remember this." It was the closest she would come to a thank you.
Athena nodded curtly and brushed past her, the sea breeze tugging at her cloak. Annabeth's throat tightened. She wanted to call out, to beg her to stay. This would be the last time they would speak like this. No more intimate moments, no more truths shared. The next time their paths crossed, it would be at formal affairs—weddings, funerals, coronations, births.
Annabeth's hand instinctively went to her belly, the weight of the silence pressing down on her. She wanted to say thank you. She wanted to scream. She wanted her mother to wrap her in her arms and tell her this world was finally their's, and that she would help steer them both.
Athena paused, as if hearing her daughter's unspoken wants. She glanced back, face unreadable, wind whipping through her long, brown hair. "Her name was Medusa. She died alone."
With that, she vanished into the mist, leaving Annabeth feeling heavier than before.
The princess stood on the windswept cliff, her cloak billowing as the sun dipped lower and the heavens shifted above. Time passed, marked only by the rhythmic crash of the waves against the rocky shore below. It was not until the faint rustle of footsteps that she realized Percy had joined her, his presence as steady as the tides.
"Did you get what you needed?" he asked gently.
Annabeth shook her head. "I don't know."
And maybe I never will.
She reached for his hand, their fingers intertwining as if to anchor each other against the weight of the world. Below, the fleet of ships swayed gently on the restless waters, their banners catching the dying light like whispers of a forgotten age.
"Let's go home," she said.
Together, they turned toward the sea, the horizon stretching before them like an uncharted map of their future. This was the golden age of something good and right and real, and it was theirs for the taking. Side by side, they began their descent along the ancient stone path, their footsteps a soft cadence against the whispering wind. As the twilight deepened, the fading light cast a golden glow over the waters, guiding them forward into the unknown.