Zoe PoV: We meet a God, or is it a Giant?
We froze, our eyes locked on him. His small frame belied the aura he carried—raw, untamed, and unsettling. It gnawed at something primal, like the low growl of a predator unseen but felt deep in your bones. He reminded me of our mistress in ways I didn't want to acknowledge: wild, sharp, and dangerously rigid. Bound to break before bend.
My sisters held steady, their bows drawn taut, arrows trained on his chest. That fragile sliver of control gave me the courage to step forward.
"Your name," I demanded, my voice firm despite the doubt curling in my chest. Was he truly a boy? Or was this something far older, wearing the face of a child?
A grin spread across his lips, sharp canines catching the dim light. His eyes—one frost white, the other sea green—seemed to shimmer with an unsettling amusement, mismatched yet eerily compelling. "You first," he replied smoothly, his voice tinged with insolence. "After all, you're in my realm."
The hairs on the back of my neck rose, a chill crawling down my spine. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stand tall. "Nice try, but that's not how this works," I snapped, though my voice was sharper than I intended. My stomach churned as his grin widened, almost playful. "Give us your name, or we'll give you silver!"
His chuckle rumbled low, almost like a growl. "Oh, don't be modest, Zoë Nightshade," he said, his voice dripping with mock courtesy. The sound of my name cut through me like a blade. "Daughter of Atlas."
My breath caught, faltering for just a moment. My grip on the bow loosened before I steadied it again. How did he know? How could he possibly know? Questions stormed through my mind, but before I could voice even one, he answered—as if plucking them straight from my thoughts.
"I've heard your legend," he said, his tone light, almost conversational. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for something at his side. The faint scrape of metal set my heart racing. "My father told me when he gave me this sword. He didn't stay long, though—the waters here are a bit too cold for him."
Bronze glinted as he drew the blade, and my heart plummeted at the sight: my old sword, Riptide. He didn't raise it, didn't wield it as a threat—he simply turned it in his hand, letting the dim light play along its edge as though it were an extension of himself. That casual ease was more unnerving than any overt show of aggression. Even in that moment of stillness, instinct flared within me—a hunter's warning.
I glanced at my sisters. Their bows remained taut, their arrows steady, but their eyes betrayed the same tension gripping me. They were poised, ready to strike, yet something in the air screamed caution. My gaze flicked to the wolves encircling us, silent and watchful. It wasn't just danger that pressed down on us—it was inevitability. The truth hit me like a blow: if we fired, if this fight began, there would be no victory. Diplomacy was our only hope. But that realization came far too late to stop what was already unfolding.
"No!" The word ripped from my throat, raw and desperate, but it was too late. My sisters released their arrows just as the bronze blade caught the light one last time.
Percy's PoV: I offer thee my Patronage… My power
The arrows flew toward me, faster than sight, but I was faster still. I dissolved into the air, a puff of winter mist scattering where I had stood. I became the cold breeze of my northern home, a Jotun trick Godfadir Lok had taught me. My form decentralized, the icy wind wrapping around the battlefield.
The huntresses didn't stop. They moved with the grace of predators, adjusting their stances, scanning the battlefield for a target that no longer stood before them. Another volley of arrows followed, each one slicing through the mist I had become. Clever, but futile.
From everywhere and nowhere, I gave the command. My wolves hesitated, their golden eyes gleaming in the storm's light, but they obeyed. They slunk back into the shadows, their forms disappearing into the snow. Though they had betrayed me and my mother by siding with that seditionist, their punishment was mine to deliver—not these huntresses'. The wolves vanished into the storm, leaving the huntresses, they were exposed, standing back to back. Their confusion was evident, but their resolve did not waver.
But I was everywhere and nowhere, appearing infront of one before dancing away, back into the cold embrace of my blizzard.
One of them lunged forward, Atalanta I believe, she lunged, her boots crunching against the frost-laden ground, blade gleaming as she closed the gap with terrifying precision. Her steps were soundless despite her speed, the kind of deadly grace only a true huntress could achieve. The blade's edge caught the faint light of the storm, flashing with every calculated slash through the mist.
I let her come, holding my ground until the very last moment. The chill of her blade brushed closer, closer—then I dissolved. The puff of winter mist swirled where I had stood, her blade slicing through empty air.
Her feet skidded slightly as she whirled, searching, recalibrating her aim. A sharp exhale escaped her lips, visible in the icy wind, but she didn't falter. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her blade as her eyes darted through the shifting mist, scanning for the faintest sign of me.
I materialized briefly, the grin already curling on my lips. Her blade snapped toward me, its arc flawless, deadly—but it carved through nothing as I vanished again.
Her frustration was palpable. She didn't cry out or curse, but the tightening of her jaw, the furrow of her brow, betrayed her growing impatience. She moved with purpose, each slash of her blade more aggressive than the last, the storm whipping her hair into her eyes as she fought to regain control.
"Stand still!" she growled, her voice low, her words weighted with both command and challenge.
I let the mist part behind her, enough for her to feel the cold whisper of air at her neck. She spun, blade striking with lethal intent—but again, it hit only emptiness.
"Is that what you want?" I teased, letting my voice swirl around her, coming from everywhere at once. "For me to stand still? That hardly seems fair."
"Bastard!" She screamed, fury radiating from her.
"Careful," I said, my voice drifting around her, carried by the swirling wind. "You'll tire yourself out before you ever land a hit."
Her shoulders stiffened, and her breath came heavier now, visible in short, angry bursts. Her stance shifted, and the deadly huntress returned. Atalanta's next step was slower, deliberate, as though she were baiting me. Clever.
I materialized just long enough to taunt her, my grin growing wider as her blade snapped forward, a perfect lunge. I let it pass inches from my chest before vanishing again.
The silence that followed was filled with the storm's howling winds and the quiet, unspoken frustration etched into her every movement. She was good—better than good—but she was human. And humans couldn't touch what they couldn't pin down.
"I must say..." my voice echoed from the swirling wind, carrying mock hurt, "that wasn't very nice. Here I am, a potential friend offering to help you save your mistress, and what do I get?"
"We don't need your help, boy!" snapped Phoebe, her voice cutting through the storm with sharp defiance. She notched another arrow, her movements swift and practiced, though the tension in her stance betrayed her growing frustration. Her gaze swept the swirling mist, searching for even the faintest flicker of my presence.
I smirked, hidden in the storm. For Olympus's best scouts, these huntresses weren't nearly as quiet—or as elusive—as their reputation suggested. The crunch of their boots on snow, the rustle of their gear, the faint crack of branches underfoot—they had no idea how much they revealed to someone who truly listened. I had been following them for weeks, watching their every move as they unknowingly trespassed across my mother's kingdom.
But my pursuit hadn't been aimless. Their presence had been more than a curiosity; it had been a tool. Shadowing their journey allowed me to observe the traitors within my own pack—those wolves who had aligned themselves with the seditionist's cause. I knew they would act, desperate to stop the huntresses from reaching their mistress and jeopardizing this foolish attempt to ignite a war with the Greeks.
Now, the huntresses had served their purpose, flushing the treachery from my ranks. For that, I owed them a debt, small though it was. But their usefulness had limits. I wasn't about to let their arrogance blind them to the dangers they faced—or to the offer I was making.
"Don't you?" I asked, my voice drifting on the wind, teasing them from every direction. "Where is Artemis? Who took her? And how do you plan to save her?" My questions hung in the air, each one pulling the color from their faces. I couldn't help but revel in their dawning realization. They were cornered. Outmatched. Yet they refused to admit it.
Phoebe growled, drawing her sisters into a tighter formation. "We'll find her without your tricks!" she spat, loosing another arrow into the swirling mist. This one came closer, grazing the edge of my materializing form before I dissipated once more.
"Not bad," I said, letting the compliment hang in the air. "But let's be honest—if you could find her on your own, you wouldn't be standing here, would you? Running about lost and desperate."
Another arrow shot past, and I let the winds shift, whipping snow into their eyes. One of them cursed, and I laughed. My wolves howled in response, their cries echoing through the storm like a haunting symphony. Augr and Eyrir swooped low, their dark feathers blending with the tempest as their sharp cries joined the cacophony. Above us, lightning split the sky, the thunder shaking the earth beneath our feet. The huntresses flinched, their weapons raised.
"That's enough!" Zoë shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She turned in a slow circle, her bow drawn, her eyes scanning the mist. "Show yourself, coward!"
"Who's the coward here?" I asked, materializing briefly behind her, just long enough for her to whirl and fire—straight into nothingness. "Is it me, or the ones who attack first and ask questions later?"
"Enough games!" Zoë's voice cracked, desperation seeping through her defiance. "Who took her? Who has Artemis?"
I let my voice grow cold, carrying the weight of what I knew. "Grendel," I said simply, "and his mother. They're in open revolt against my mother. Taking Artemis was a ploy to force a war between us and Olympus. And they're not alone. Someone on your side is working with them."
"Where?" Zoë shouted, the anguish in her voice unmistakable.
I smiled, though I knew she couldn't see it. "Your loyalty is admirable," I said, "but Grendel is no ordinary foe. To defeat him, you'll need the blessing of a god. One who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty."
"You?" Atalanta scoffed, her voice dripping with indignation. "We don't need your help!"
"Don't you?" I asked, letting the winds swirl around them again. The snow roared to life as my wolves circled the huntresses, their growls low and threatening. Augr and Eyrir cawed loudly overhead, their shadows swooping across the ground. Lightning flashed once more, illuminating the scene in stark, brilliant light.
I reappeared briefly, arms spread wide. "Wouldn't you like some of this power?" I asked, my voice carrying the storm's roar. The huntresses hesitated, their weapons still raised, their breaths visible in the frigid air.
"I offer you all of this," I declared, gesturing to the storm and the howling wolves. "Power to save your goddess, to win against an enemy who has already outmaneuvered you."
They didn't need to know how much I was bluffing. My powers were real enough, though not fully realized. For now, I had to work with the patronage of wolves and the fragments I'd inherited from my mother. Minor control over the hunt, winter, and the sea. It wasn't exactly OP like Mum, but it was enough to hold my own—and put on a show.
"Make your choice," I said, my voice softening, though the storm still raged around us. "I'm offering you a chance. Don't waste it."
Zoe's PoV: A Pact struck
We watched him, his eyes flickering like ghostly lights in the whipping winds of snow and ice. Those mismatched eyes—frost white and sea green—moved from place to place, each appearance followed by the hiss of my sisters' arrows slicing through the storm. They struck nothing but air. If I was being honest, a part of me was tempted by his offer—but first, I had to know the cost.
"What's the cost, huh?" I demanded, my voice sharp and bitter. "We sign some pact, and then what? We're your slaves? Consorts?" My mind spiraled through the worst scenarios, shame twisting in my chest as I realized I'd accept even the unthinkable if it meant saving my lady from such a fate.
"Yuck!" His voice cut through the tension, cracking with the indignation of a child. For the first time, it actually sounded his age. "I'm just going to bless you, that's it. All I ask is to tag along, help out, and maybe you stop trying to kill me. I'd prefer my cousin not hate me before I've even been south for the first time. Though, 'cousin' is a strong word. Godly relations are... complicated, so I'll just call her Artemis if you don't mind."
His words stopped me cold. What? Who is he?
"Who are you?" I yelled, anger boiling over as the storm churned around us.
"Perseus Jackson," he said simply, but there was a weight in his voice that silenced me. "Son of Sally Jackson, Goddess of the Hunt and the Sea, and Poseidon, God of the Sea and Earthshaker. Prince of Midgard."
"Oh," I muttered, the fire in me dimmed by the enormity of his lineage. Prince of Midgard? What kind of power had we stumbled upon?
"So..." His voice came again, softer now, almost hesitant. That bold confidence from earlier cracked, revealing something raw beneath—a quiet fear of rejection. "Partners?"
I snorted despite myself. "Fine," I said begrudgingly, then added with a wry smile, "but can you please quit this whole becoming a storm thing?"
The swirling mist shifted, and his eyes flickered once more. This time, we held our fire. He materialized in front of us, his grin returning, though the vulnerability still lingered just behind it. "Deal," he said. Without the storm to mask him, he looked like what he claimed to be: a child. Anxious, uncertain, yet trying to stand tall.
"How old are you?" I asked, curiosity outweighing my irritation.
"I'm two years old," he replied, his voice brightening with excitement. He sounded like a kid introducing himself at preschool. "How about you?"
"Never ask a woman her age," I said, shaking my head but smiling despite myself. "So, where are we heading?"
His demeanor shifted instantly. The fleeting joy disappeared, replaced by a grim seriousness. "We rest first," he said firmly. "My wolves and ravens will keep watch, so you can sleep. No point running off exhausted and getting yourselves killed. Even with my blessing, we're up against something old. Something powerful. Beyond imagination, actually."
I opened my mouth to argue, but his reasoning struck a chord. He was right. My pragmatism wrestled down the fear clawing at my heart for my lady's fate.
"Fine," I conceded, though I added a condition. "But only if you can assure me she's safe and not being mistreated."
"Augr and Eyrir assure me she hasn't been harmed in any way," he replied, his tone steady and honest. "She's being held by Grendel's mother, not that beast Grendel. Apparently, he's guarding the cave they're in."
It wasn't the answer I wanted, but it would have to do. I couldn't save her if I got myself killed.
"Fine," I said again, though the word carried more weight this time.
Atalanta's PoV:
We rested, but I kept my eyes open. I didn't trust this foreign god. Boy or not, all men were the same—untrustworthy, manipulative, dangerous. He didn't sleep; instead, he moved quietly among his wolves, their golden eyes glinting in the firelight. If he wished, he could order them to rip out our throats while we slept. No. I wouldn't fail my sisters. Not while I still had breath.
"Not very trusting, are you?" came a voice from behind me, low and smooth.
I whipped around, hand instinctively reaching for my blade. His mismatched eyes—one sea green, the other frost white—met mine. He sat casually on a stump, cleaning the edge of Riptide, Zoe's old blade, as though it were just another task. The sight of that cursed sword in his hands tightened the coil of distrust in my chest. Few knew the full story of our lieutenant's past, but I did. And if he had that sword, it was just another reason not to trust him.
"Not of you," I spat, letting venom drip into my words.
"Why?" he asked, tilting his head, the question simple yet earnest. It caught me off guard.
"You... you attacked us!" I stammered, the heat rising in my voice.
"Only after you attacked me," he replied smoothly, not a flicker of guilt crossing his face.
"Only after you mocked us," I shot back, the words spilling out like a flood, "and brandished that cursed blade like a trophy. You paraded Zoe's secret, flaunting it as if it were some proclamation of superiority—knowing things about her that others didn't. You knew the effect it would have and used it anyway, even if it caused her pain. She might overlook that, but I won't!"
"You're right," he said, so nonchalantly that my hand twitched, tempted to strike him.
His voice remained calm as he continued, "I also used you as bait to draw out the traitors in my ranks. And yes, I killed my second-in-command in front of everyone as a fear tactic—to get favorable responses from both you and my troops."
I stared at him, stunned by his brazenness. He admitted it all without hesitation, as though it were simply fact. My disbelief boiled into anger, but before I could speak, he raised a hand to stop me.
"But what choice did I have?" His voice hardened, carrying the weight of something deeper. "When you hunt, do you not trick your prey? You lay down scent, mimic their calls, lure them into the open. Do you not use fear tactics to chase off other predators? I am a hunter, Atalanta, and I understand your hatred for men. I know your story, though I won't repeat it out of respect."
His words pierced through my defenses, sharper than any blade.
"I apologize for the wrongs I've done to you and your sisters. I do. But ask yourself—what would you do to protect your mistress? To save her? I would do all of that and more to protect my mother. Not that she needs it," he added, flashing a dazzling smile that made my blood boil all over again.
Before I could respond, he stood, slipping Riptide back into its sheath with a practiced motion. "Get some rest," he said, his tone gentler now. "I swear on the great tree Yggdrasil, no harm will come to you or your sisters tonight."
Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the smirk that tugged at his lips.
"Oh, I'm going to get it for that one," he muttered, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You may have just gotten me in trouble with my Godfadir," he said, more to himself than to me, laughing softly as he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
I watched him go, the tension in my chest refusing to fade. Whether his words were truth or manipulation, I couldn't yet tell. But one thing was certain: he was unlike anyone I'd ever met. And that made him even more dangerous.