Percy POV:
I stepped into the throne room quietly, the soft echo of my footsteps swallowed by the low hum of voices. The air was electric, alive with a tension that thrummed like the strings of a harp pulled taut. At the center of it all stood Rhea, her presence commanding, with Gaia at her side. Her children surrounded her, their movements jittery, eyes wide and filled with unrestrained excitement.
As I moved closer, Gaia's gaze locked onto me. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, but the tightening of her jaw spoke volumes. Her expression flickered—anger, perhaps embarrassment, tangled into something sharp enough to prick at my nerves. I hesitated, my own unease bubbling up under her heavy stare.
Before I could linger too long in her shadow, Hestia broke from the cluster and hurried toward me, her arms outstretched. She pulled me into a warm embrace that smelled of marshmallows and smoke, her mousey brown hair brushing against my cheek. "You smell of hope, dear," she murmured, her voice soft but brimming with warmth. "I think our domains will overlap."
Her words carried a quiet excitement, and as she held me, a calm settled over me—a warmth that spread like the glow of embers on a cold night. The tension in my shoulders eased, an invisible weight slipping away. For the first time, I felt like I could breathe. My throat tightened, and a stinging heat rose behind my eyes. I blinked hard, drawing in a steadying breath before stepping back from her embrace.
"Your children are safe," I said, my voice steady though my heart still raced. "The war is over, Uncle. We've won."
Zeus turned to me, his expression caught somewhere between awe and calculation. His bright eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, flickered as his mind shifted gears. The words seemed to gather on his tongue, sharp and ready. "How were—"
A burst of light interrupted him, blinding and absolute. The room fell silent, the air thickening with a weight that pressed against my chest. When my vision cleared, I saw them. The Fates.
Their forms shimmered with an unearthly brilliance, and their eyes burned with fury. They didn't speak, but their presence was deafening. All their attention—sharp as knives—was fixed on Gaia. The weight of their silent wrath hung in the air, and even the gods seemed to shrink beneath it.
"Why does she live, Chosen of Grandmother?" one of the Fates demanded, their voices resonating in a thunderous harmony that reverberated through my very bones.
I shook my head, my breath unsteady as I struggled to meet their gaze. "Too much blood has already been spilled. I felt..." I began, but my words crumbled under the weight of their power. It surged through the room like a tidal wave, pressing against my chest, threatening to crush the air from my lungs.
Gaia's expression darkened, her presence swelling in response. The ground beneath us groaned and trembled, cracks spidering outward like veins of molten rage. Her eyes burned with an ancient fury, her essence rising as though she intended to smother the room in her dominion. Tension crackled in the air, sharp as lightning, poised to erupt into chaos.
And then it hit me. A tingling sensation at the edge of my spirit, faint but insistent, pulling at something deep within me. I staggered under the sudden weight of it, a terrible, all-consuming realization flooding through me. I was more now—so many parts, so much power fused into a single fragile vessel. It hurt just to exist, my body groaning under the strain.
My form wavered, caught between substance and the freedom of pure energy. Every fragment of power within me screamed for release, begged to escape the confines of flesh and bone. Only my will held me together, barely keeping the storm at bay, my determination the lone thread stopping me from unleashing destruction on everything around me.
I reached for the hum resonating within me, and the world shifted. The vibrant colors of the throne room dimmed, fading to muted shades as though reality itself recoiled. Time quivered, trembling on the edge of breaking, every heartbeat stretching into an eternity.
My aura erupted without warning, a tidal wave of raw energy rippling outward, shaking the very foundation of the room. I felt it then—my uncles and father lending their power to mine, bolstering my control. Yet their discomfort was palpable. They flinched at the edges of my domain, their skin crawling, their expressions tightening in subtle but unmistakable pain.
It was then that I understood what I had become. Chronos. The power Kronos had stolen, the infinite, unrelenting force of time itself, now solely mine.
Rhea's face drained of color, her expression a mask of horror and grief. The other three of the original six shrank back, revulsion and fear flickering across their features. Even my uncles and father, mighty as they were, struggled not to recoil. The weight of my domain and what it represented hung over them like a stormcloud they couldn't escape.
But the Fates... they were different. They did not flinch. They did not resist. Instead, their eyes softened, their power retreating into a quiet reverence. One of them whispered a single word: patér.
Their faces shifted, serene, their postures relaxing as though they had been cradled by a long-lost father. A radiant contentment, an unmistakable sense of safety, emanated from them.
Gaia stood rooted, her expression carefully neutral, but her eyes betrayed her. Pain. Regret. The weight of endless mistakes carved into her gaze.
The Fates stepped back, their earlier fury extinguished. They turned their attention to me, their voices steady yet tinged with something new—respect, perhaps even awe.
"Mother is displeased," they intoned, their voices resonating in perfect harmony, though softened with caution. "But she does not blame you for your good heart. She sends her congratulations on your ascension and expresses her wish to work… very closely with you in the days to come."
Their pause was deliberate, the weight of their words lingering in the air like a veiled invitation, one layered with meaning.
Their eyes swept the room, pausing on Gaia with a measured intensity before returning to me. "We are here to answer your questions," they continued, their voices steady, yet carrying an edge of finality, "and to proclaim the new gods and their domains. The divine world will be reshaped, its balance remapped to reflect the changes wrought by this war. After all, to the victors go the spoils, as they say."
Their words hung heavy, the implications rippling through the room like the aftershock of an earthquake.
Gaia:
So, the boy who killed my son has inherited the mantle of time? His power is considerable—frighteningly so. Depending on where he stands, he could be the most powerful being in existence. Yet here, in this place, he is merely an equal to my three grandsons and myself. This will be interesting. The wheeling and dealing to come... I almost feel grateful to be awake again.
"How could he fight for the demigods?" Zeus's voice cut through the tension, his tone heavy with disbelief and indignation. "How could he involve himself with mortals? He is of our lineage! The oath that has bound us since Troy should have stopped him, punished him. He should be—"
I couldn't help but smile, the expression creeping onto my face before I could suppress it. Rhea shot me a warning look, her silent message clear: Behave. But I ignored her, the temptation far too great.
"How can he be bound by an oath sworn upon himself?" I asked, my voice laced with deliberate amusement. "Swear to me on the heavens that you'll do something, and I'd laugh in your face and name you both liar and trickster. The heavens cannot bind you, and neither can an oath sworn on Mother bind him—doubly so, if what I'm sensing is true."
My words hung in the air, a quiet challenge wrapped in a thin veil of jest.
To my surprise, my grandson did not lash out or scowl, nor did he appear fearful or paranoid. Instead, his eyes gleamed with something unexpected: excitement. The corner of his mouth twitched, and there was a hunger in his gaze—a spark that spoke of ambition and the thrill of what was to come.
The Fates noticed it too, though their reproachful glances didn't waver from me. "We told you he would usher in much change," they said, their voices calm but resolute, as if the weight of their words had already settled on the room long ago.
"So…" Zeus began again, his voice still wary, but the Fates interrupted him before he could continue.
"First, we must declare the fifteenth Olympian and his domains," they intoned, their harmony absolute, leaving no room for argument.
Zeus nodded. For the second time, I found myself surprised. There was no outburst, no rebuttal. He simply nodded, his expression neutral, calculating. What is he playing at?
I glanced at him, a thousand possibilities swirling in my mind, but I could see no clear answer. Whatever his game, this was only the beginning.
Percy's PoV:
The gods took their seats, the air heavy with expectation. My gaze drifted across the room, catching silver more than once. Each time, she looked away, her pale cheeks dusted with a faint, golden blush.
"Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, step forward," Zeus commanded, his voice resonating through the chamber like a roll of distant thunder.
I moved without hesitation, each step measured, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on me. The Fates stepped forward, their presence both oppressive and strangely serene. They circled me like silent sentinels, their eyes piercing through my physical form, peeling back layers to gaze at the soul beneath.
"Mmm, easy ones first," Clotho murmured, her voice almost playful, yet it carried a gravity that made the air shiver.
"Primogenai of Change," Atropos said, her tone firm, reverent. "The path taken to necessity."
"Heir to the Primogenai of Time," Lachesis continued, her gaze sharp as if she could see through time itself. "The new and sole master of our father's realm. The parchment on which fate is written. Two-thirds of Fate's will."
Their words hung heavy in the air, ripples of power radiating outward. They paused, their heads tilting in unison, as if sensing something deeper, something hidden.
"Patron of the swordsman, protector and guide of heroes," Lachesis intoned, her voice softening ever so slightly.
"God of the Tides," Clotho declared, her words rolling like waves.
"Stormbringer," Lachesis followed, her tone carrying the crackle of distant thunder.
"The Hunter of Monsters," Atropos said, her voice sharp and precise, like the cut of a blade.
They hesitated, a collective stillness falling over them before Lachesis spoke again, her voice low, resonating with finality:
"The Harbinger of Destruction. He who will be the final end."
A chill ran through the room, the weight of the declaration pressing down on even the gods.
The pause stretched, and then Atropos spoke once more, her voice tinged with something that felt almost like awe:
"Secret Finder, Bearer of Truth, God of Defiance and Loyalty, the kindler of hope and Heir to the knowledge and deep vaults of the Primordials, as decreed by the Mistress of Oblivion."
The room seemed to darken, the weight of the pronouncements thickening the air. And then, from everywhere and nowhere, a voice cut through, ancient and unyielding, carrying a presence that defied comprehension.
"King of the Primordial Sea. Heir and God of Lady Chaos. Lord of the rivers her sea feeds. The Lord of Oaths, he who brings judgment to those who break their word upon Styx's bank."
It was Ananke. Her voice echoed through the chamber, binding her final pronouncement into the very fabric of existence.
I stood there, the echoes of their words still vibrating in the space around me. The weight of what I had become pressed down on me, and yet, somewhere deep within, I felt a strange calm. My path was no longer a question—it had been etched into the very bones of creation.
The room hung in a heavy silence, the weight of the pronouncements pressing on everyone present. Then, breaking through the tension, a certain blonde god's voice rang out with an easy, almost mischievous tone.
"Dude, and I thought I had a mixed bag," he said, his grin radiant, cutting through the somber atmosphere like sunlight piercing storm clouds. "Looks like we're brothers now—both stuck with a laundry list of powers and way too many responsibilities. Seriously, half of your titles? Work!"
His laughter was infectious, a sharp contrast to the solemnity of the moment. For a brief second, the room felt lighter, as if even the gods could appreciate the absurdity of it all.
The heavy silence lingered for only a moment longer before I couldn't help myself. "Για όνομα του θεού!" I muttered under my breath, the exasperated Greek slipping out before I could stop it.
I turned to Apollo, leveling him with a look. "Thanks, Apollo," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I really needed someone to sum up my impending existential crisis with a smile and a joke. Truly, you're the light of Olympus."
His grin only widened, and I swear the room got brighter, as if he took my sarcasm as a compliment. Typical.