Hey everyone, welcome to my new story. This is a re-write of the original chapter. But, this will be the first story in the three story series, Percy x Calypso. Before we begin all credits goes to Rick, the only things I own are the non-canon plot and the OC. Down below is a table of contents which contains all the arcs that will occur in the story for the first time readers to understand the plot and for returning readers who want to re-read a specific part of the story, I will continue to update this as the story progresses:
Arc 1: Beginnings (Chapters 1-X)
This arc mostly covers the basic plot of the story and sets up the trilogy. It mostly introduces 90% of the characters in the entire story and goes over the basic changes that deviate from canon.
Arc 2: The Prophecy of the Abyss (Chapters X-Present)
The prophecy (chX) goes over a major piece of story that can make or break the fate of Olympus.. (Current arc)
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Chapter 1: Shackles and Storms
Percy POV
The darkness has weight. A crushing, suffocating presence pressing against my skin, sinking into my bones. It is not the kind of darkness that offers comfort or rest. No, this darkness is alive, whispering with the memories of agony I have suffered. The walls around me are damp and rough, but I can barely feel them anymore. I have been here for so long, I have forgotten the sensation of warmth, of freedom, of the sky stretching endlessly above me.
I am bound, wrists shackled to the cold stone behind me. The metal bites into my skin, though I barely feel the pain. Pain has long since become a companion. My body, once strong and unyielding, is battered and scarred, a living testament to the horrors inflicted upon me. The wounds may heal, but the memory of them remains, etched into my very essence.
The silence of the dungeon is deafening. It is broken only by the slow, rhythmic drip of water from the ceiling, a cruel mockery of the ocean I once belonged to. My father's domain—so vast, so powerful—feels like nothing more than a dream in this forsaken place.
Then, something changes.
A vibration hums through the stone beneath me. Subtle, at first, but growing stronger. My instincts, dulled though they are by years of torment, stir. My breath catches as the sound reaches me—distant, muffled at first, but unmistakable.
Battle.
The walls tremble with the force of combat. I hear the clash of weapons, the roars of beasts, the cries of warriors. The fortress of Othrys, my prison, is under siege. My heart, which has known only the steady rhythm of suffering, stirs with something foreign.
Hope.
Heavy footfalls echo in the corridors above. Shouts—orders barked in desperation—ring out. I strain against my shackles, muscles screaming in protest, but my body is too weak to break free. My head falls back against the stone wall, frustration seething beneath my skin. I have spent fifteen years in this place, and now, when salvation is so close, I am still powerless.
The air shifts. A presence.
Footsteps descend the stairs—measured, determined. A different kind of power fills the space, rolling off the approaching figures like a gathering storm. The heavy iron door groans as it is wrenched open, spilling golden light into the abyss. I squint against the sudden brightness, my vision swimming.
A silhouette stands at the threshold, wreathed in crackling energy. Power thrums through the air, making my weakened body shudder under its weight. The scent of ozone fills my lungs. A voice, deep and commanding, cuts through the haze.
"Perseus."
The chains on my wrists suddenly snap, and I collapse forward, caught by strong hands before I hit the ground. My breath shudders out of me as my eyes finally adjust. Standing before me, his presence undeniable, is Zeus.
And behind him, the gods who would become my family.
For the first time in fifteen years, I am free.
Freedom. The word feels foreign, unnatural. For fifteen years, my world has been nothing but chains and torment, pain and darkness. Now, as I am held upright by strong hands, my body trembling from weakness, I find it hard to believe that this moment is real. My breaths come in ragged gasps, my lungs struggling to remember how to expand without the weight of despair pressing down on them.
Zeus' grip is firm, steady. His presence alone radiates power, like standing beneath an approaching storm. His face is set in an expression I cannot decipher—anger, concern, determination, perhaps all of them. I do not know him, not truly, yet he looks at me with an intensity that makes me uneasy.
"Can you stand?" His voice is rough but not unkind.
I try. My legs, unaccustomed to bearing weight, tremble violently. The world tilts as I stagger, and for a moment, I think I will fall. But another set of hands grips my arm, steadier, surer.
Poseidon.
I know him at once. Not by sight, but by something deeper, something unspoken. His presence feels different from the others—calm, powerful, familiar. The way he looks at me, with something close to sorrow and rage warring in his sea-green eyes, makes my chest tighten.
"I've got you," he murmurs.
The words should not mean anything. But they do.
With their support, I manage to stand, though my legs threaten to give out at any moment. My body is wrecked, starved and weakened beyond recognition. I should not be alive. By all rights, I should have faded into nothingness long ago. And yet, here I am.
Zeus steps back, his sharp gaze scanning the cell, his expression darkening. "We must move. Kronos will not allow this insult to go unpunished."
I do not have the strength to ask questions, but I do not need to. The fortress above is a battlefield, and the war that has raged for years is nearing its climax. I have missed so much, and yet, I will have to fight again before I have even drawn my first real breath of freedom.
Poseidon and Zeus exchange a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them. The others—Hades, Hestia, Demeter, and Hera—stand behind them, watching me with expressions I cannot read. Some with pity, some with silent fury at what was done to me. But none of them look away. None of them turn their backs on me.
I was alone in this prison for so long. But now, I am not.
The air is thick with the promise of war, but for the first time, I do not feel like a prisoner.
My legs tremble as I take another step. The cold stone beneath my feet feels foreign, unnatural, as if I am learning to walk all over again. My body, once strong and unyielding, is now a hollow shell of what it once was. Every movement is a battle, every breath a struggle. And yet, I force myself forward. I refuse to be weak. Not now. Not when I am finally free.
The air is thick with tension. The sounds of battle above rumble through the walls, distant but undeniable. My heart pounds in my chest, not from fear, but from something else—anticipation. For years, I have been nothing more than a prisoner, a shadow of who I was meant to be. But now, with my shackles broken and my captors defeated, I have a chance to reclaim what was stolen from me.
Poseidon stays close to my side, his grip firm but not overbearing. He is watching me, assessing me, his expression unreadable. I do not know him, not truly, but I can feel something between us—a connection, an understanding that transcends words. He is my father. That alone should mean something, yet I find myself hesitant to embrace it.
Zeus leads the way, his presence an unrelenting force of power. The air crackles around him, the scent of ozone lingering with every step he takes. He does not speak, but he does not need to. His focus is absolute, his determination unwavering. This is his war, his rebellion. And now, I am a part of it.
A set of heavy iron doors looms ahead, the final barrier between me and the outside world. Hades moves forward, his dark eyes scanning the area, his hand resting on the hilt of his sickle. He does not trust this moment, does not trust that we are truly safe yet. I cannot blame him.
Hestia steps beside me, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold air that surrounds us. Her presence is steady, comforting, and for the first time in years, I feel something close to peace. "You are strong, Perseus," she says softly, her voice carrying a certainty that I do not yet feel. "Stronger than even you know."
I do not respond. I am not sure if I believe her.
Zeus raises his hand, and with a surge of power, the doors burst open. A flood of golden light spills into the chamber, momentarily blinding me. I stagger, my body recoiling from the sudden shift, but Poseidon's hand on my arm keeps me upright. The scent of blood and smoke fills my lungs, and as my vision clears, I see the battlefield beyond.
Chaos.
Titans and monsters clash against godly warriors, their battle cries echoing across the crumbling landscape. The ground is scorched, the sky thick with storm clouds and fire. Olympus is at war, and I am stepping into the heart of it.
A wave of energy surges through me. The weight of my past, the pain of my suffering—it all fuels the fire burning in my chest. I was forged in torment, sharpened by agony. And now, I will carve my name into the bones of those who sought to break me.
I take a breath, steadying myself. This is not the end.
This is only the beginning.
The battle still rages behind us as we ascend. The wind roars in my ears, cold and sharp, as Zeus leads us through the sky. Mount Olympus looms in the distance, its peak shrouded in golden mist, an ethereal beacon in the heavens. My body is weak, every motion an effort, yet I cling to the strength within me, the same strength that carried me through fifteen years of torment.
I do not look back. I do not need to. The war is not over, but for now, I am free.
Hades flies beside us, his dark cloak billowing as he watches the battlefield below. He is silent, calculating. Poseidon remains close, his presence an anchor against the chaos I still feel thrumming beneath my skin. I glance at him, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes—relief, perhaps, or maybe regret. He does not speak, but he does not need to.
Olympus nears, its towering structures gleaming in the sunlight. As we descend onto the marble steps of the throne room, I feel the weight of countless eyes upon me. Gods and goddesses, warriors, and attendants—all have gathered, their expressions unreadable. Some look upon me with curiosity, others with uncertainty.
And then there is Hestia.
She is the first to step forward, her warmth washing over me like a flame in the cold. "Welcome home, Perseus," she says, her voice steady and kind. Home. The word feels foreign, and yet, I grasp onto it like a lifeline.
Zeus strides to the center of the room, his gaze sweeping over those assembled. "The war is not yet won," he declares, his voice echoing against the marble pillars. "But today, we reclaim what was stolen. Olympus will not fall."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, but my focus drifts. The grandeur of this place, the sheer presence of it—it is so different from the cell I have known for so long. My fingers clench at my sides.
I feel out of place.
Poseidon moves beside me, his voice low. "You are one of us, Perseus. No matter what you feel now, that will not change."
I do not respond. I do not know how to.
The meeting continues, but my mind is elsewhere. I have been rescued, yet I am still searching for something—my place, my purpose. The battle may have freed me from my chains, but I know that my war is far from over.
For now, I wait. I listen.
And I prepare for what is to come.
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The air in Olympus feels different—thicker, charged with the presence of divine power. I can feel the weight of it pressing against my skin, a stark contrast to the damp, suffocating walls of Othrys. Here, the marble floors shine like polished starlight, the great columns reaching towards a sky that glows with the golden radiance of eternity.
And yet, despite the grandeur, I feel out of place.
The murmurs of the gathered gods still hum in my ears. Their eyes—curious, skeptical, even wary—trace my every move. I was a shadow to them before today, a name whispered in fear and pity, a prisoner lost to the depths of Kronos's cruelty. Now, I stand among them, free but not yet whole.
Zeus stands at the center of the throne room, his presence demanding attention. His thunderous voice commands silence as he raises a hand. "We have reclaimed one of our own, a god wrongfully taken from us before he had a chance to rise." His gaze flickers toward me, unreadable. "Perseus will take his place among us. He will be given time to regain his strength, but make no mistake—he is one of Olympus."
There is no applause, no grand gestures of welcome. Only silence. The kind that carries the weight of unspoken thoughts.
Hestia is the only one to step forward. Her warmth surrounds me, a quiet anchor in this sea of uncertainty. "You are not alone, Perseus," she says softly, a truth I struggle to accept.
Poseidon stands nearby, his expression unreadable but his presence solid. He has not left my side since we arrived. I wonder if it is guilt that keeps him close, or something else. I do not ask. I do not have the strength to know.
Hades, ever the observer, meets my gaze with something akin to understanding. He knows what it means to be an outsider, even among family.
"Come," Zeus commands. "There is much to discuss."
I hesitate, then follow, my steps steady despite the storm raging within me. I was freed from my chains, but the weight of expectation is something I must now bear.
And I do not yet know if I am strong enough to carry it.
The chamber where we convene is vast, built of gleaming celestial stone, its ceiling arching high above us. Each step I take echoes against the polished floors. The thrones of Olympus—grand, imposing—line the circular chamber, the gods settling into their seats with expressions ranging from interest to indifference.
I stand at the center, feeling exposed beneath their gazes. The last time I stood before gods in such a manner, it was not as a member of their pantheon, but as a prisoner awaiting punishment.
"You will need time to regain your strength," Poseidon says, his voice steady but carrying something unspoken beneath it. "Olympus will aid you in this."
I glance at him, but my focus is pulled back to Zeus, whose electric gaze holds mine. "We did not bring you back simply to rest, Perseus. There is still a war to be won."
The war. The thought of it makes my hands clench at my sides. I have been freed, but I am not yet whole. I am expected to take up arms again, to fight beside them, though my mind and body still reel from years of torment.
"What do you expect of me?" My voice is hoarse, the weight of my exhaustion pressing into each word.
Zeus's gaze does not waver. "To be what you were meant to be."
A god. A warrior. A leader.
The discussion continues around me—tactics, reinforcements, the state of the war against the Titans. I listen, but my mind drifts. The weight of Olympus settles on my shoulders, but I do not yet know if I can bear it.
As the meeting concludes, Hestia approaches, her presence once again a quiet balm against the storm inside me. "There is time, Perseus," she assures me. "You do not have to find all the answers today."
I nod, though I do not believe her.
For though my chains have been broken, I still feel their weight.
The weight of the past fifteen years lingers in my bones, a phantom pain that refuses to fade. Though I am free, I still feel the chains in the way my body aches, in the way exhaustion clouds my thoughts. My limbs are stiff, my strength a fraction of what it once was. Olympus may welcome me as a god, but I feel like a broken man.
Poseidon sees it. I can tell by the way he watches me, his expression unreadable yet undeniably concerned. He does not say much, but then, he does not have to. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, calm, and yet I can hear the hesitation beneath it.
"Come with me," he says.
I do not question him. I follow, my steps slow but determined, through the gleaming halls of Olympus. The air is thick with divine power, but beneath it, I can still feel the essence of the sea—my father's domain, my birthright.
We reach a secluded terrace, where a massive golden basin sits, its surface rippling with shimmering liquid. The water glows softly, imbued with divine energy. I do not need to be told what it is.
"It will help you heal," Poseidon says, gesturing toward the pool. "The water is infused with my power—it will not work instantly, but it will soothe your body and restore your strength over time."
I hesitate. Not because I do not trust him, but because I have spent too long in suffering to believe relief could come so easily. Still, my body aches for respite, and so, without a word, I step forward and lower myself into the water.
The effect is immediate. Warmth envelops me, wrapping around my muscles like a comforting embrace. The golden liquid pulses with energy, soaking into my skin, dulling the pain that has become second nature to me. I exhale a breath I did not realize I had been holding, my head tipping back as tension melts away from my shoulders.
Poseidon steps forward, watching me carefully. "I should have found you sooner."
I open my eyes, studying him. There is something raw in his voice, something almost vulnerable.
"You didn't know," I say simply. "No one did."
"That does not change what happened." His jaw tightens. "You are my son. My blood. I should have done more."
I am not sure what to say to that. I have spent so long without family, without the concept of a father, that the idea of one carrying guilt on my behalf is foreign. So I do not offer meaningless reassurances. Instead, I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the water carry away my thoughts.
"I will do better," Poseidon says after a long silence. "For you."
I do not know if he expects an answer. I do not have one.
Time passes, and the exhaustion pulls at me again. My body, though recovering, is still weak, and the warmth of the water lulls me toward sleep. Poseidon notices, and without another word, he steps back.
"Rest. When you are ready, your chambers have been prepared."
I nod, though I do not open my eyes. I let myself drift, if only for a little while, letting the sea heal what it can.
When I finally leave the golden waters, I feel lighter, my pain eased, my body not quite whole, but no longer a prisoner to its wounds. I return to my chambers, a temporary palace built for my recovery, and for the first time in years, I lay down in a bed that is mine.
And I sleep, without fear.
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Warmth greets me as I wake. Not the searing heat of pain or the suffocating weight of exhaustion, but something lighter—comforting. The soreness that had settled deep into my bones is still there, but it no longer controls me. The golden healing waters have done their work. I feel stronger, more centered, though I know my body still has a long way to go before it is truly whole again.
I push myself up from the bed, my muscles stiff but responsive. The palace chambers around me are grand, more luxurious than anything I have ever known, yet they do not feel like mine. They are temporary, a place of healing, not home. I let out a slow breath and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet touching the cool marble floor. My body may have spent years in captivity, but I refuse to let it remain weak any longer.
A knock at the door breaks my thoughts. Before I can respond, the doors open, and an attendant enters, carrying a tray lined with goblets of nectar and plates of ambrosia. The scent alone is enough to make my stomach clench with hunger.
"Lord Perseus," the attendant says with a respectful nod, placing the tray down on a nearby table. "Your father insisted you replenish your strength."
Poseidon.
I nod, wasting no time in reaching for the nearest goblet of nectar. The first sip is a shock to my system—warmth spreads through my limbs like liquid fire, invigorating, intoxicating. My fingers tighten around the cup as I drink deeply, my depleted body greedily absorbing the divine sustenance. When I set the goblet down, the haze of exhaustion that had clung to me has lifted slightly.
I move on to the ambrosia, taking measured bites, feeling the divine energy knit together the last lingering wounds within me. The strength I lost over fifteen years cannot be regained in a single morning, but this—this is a start.
A second knock at the door signals another arrival. This time, it is Poseidon himself who steps through. His eyes scan me carefully, assessing. "You look better."
I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth, nodding. "I feel better."
"Good," he says. "Because Zeus has called a council meeting, and you are expected to attend."
A flicker of something twists in my gut. The idea of facing the Olympians so soon unsettles me, though I do not allow my expression to betray it. I set my goblet down and meet Poseidon's gaze evenly. "Then I suppose I shouldn't keep them waiting."
He studies me for a moment longer, then nods. "Come. Let us see how the gods welcome back their long-lost brother."
The throne room of Olympus is as vast and imposing as I remember. Pillars of celestial stone stretch toward the heavens, bathed in divine light. At the center, the Olympian thrones stand in a grand semicircle, each seat carved with symbols of the god it belongs to. At the far end, Zeus sits upon his throne, his gaze unreadable as he watches me approach.
The murmur of conversation stills as Poseidon and I step forward. Every god in attendance turns to look at me. Some with curiosity, others with quiet skepticism. The last time I was before them, I was nothing but a whisper of existence, a prisoner hidden away in the depths of Kronos's cruelty. Now, I stand before them, no longer bound, but not yet whole.
To my surprise, an additional throne has been placed among the others. It is unlike the rest—crafted of dark marble with a layer of gold, its surface shifting as though mimicking the ocean's waves. My temporary seat among the gods. My place, for now.
"Perseus," Zeus finally speaks, his voice steady, carrying the weight of authority. "You are stronger than when last we saw you."
I incline my head slightly, acknowledging the words but offering nothing in return. My place here is still uncertain, and I do not yet know if these gods—my supposed family—will welcome me or see me as an outsider.
Hestia, seated at the heart of the circle, offers me a small, reassuring smile. "He is here now, and that is what matters."
Hades, ever the silent observer, meets my gaze with something akin to understanding. "Strength is not just physical, Perseus. You endured where most would have broken. That is enough."
Demeter shifts in her seat, watching me with quiet calculation, but she says nothing.
Zeus leans forward, his presence alone commanding attention. "The war continues, and Olympus must stand united. Perseus, you have returned at a crucial time. Do you stand with us?"
There is no hesitation. "Yes."
A silence follows, but I do not falter. This is only the beginning.
The council continues, discussions of war strategies, alliances, and looming threats filling the chamber. Though I sit among them, I feel the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Who am I now? What role will I play?
I do not yet have the answers. But for the first time in fifteen years, I have a place to find them.
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Time Skip: 1 Year, Percy POV
Part 8: A Year of Growth
The year passes in a blur of training, healing, and discovery. At first, my body resists the change—fifteen years of suffering do not vanish in days—but with each passing sunrise, I feel the weight of my past loosening its grip.
Olympus is not a place of idleness. The gods thrive on power, responsibility, and preparation for the battles yet to come. And so, I train. Relentlessly. My body, still weak from captivity, is reforged into something stronger than before. I spar with my uncles, pushing my limits against Zeus's thunderous strikes, against Hades's calculated precision, against Poseidon's relentless tides. I am no longer the broken prisoner they rescued—I am their equal, their kin, and I make sure they know it.
Hestia ensures that my soul heals alongside my body. She does not demand, does not push. She simply offers warmth—a quiet place at her hearth, a constant reminder that I am no longer alone. She becomes the first god whose presence I truly find peace in, a bond formed not through blood, but through understanding.
Demeter and Hera, though distant at first, begin to open up. Hera, ever the perfectionist, finds a kindred spirit in my unyielding drive to prove myself. She watches over my growth with a sharp eye, offering praise in small doses, but meaningful nonetheless. Demeter, softer in her approach, simply ensures that I do not forget the importance of rest and nourishment. She feeds me well, often arriving unannounced with divine meals, the warmth of fresh bread and ripe fruits grounding me in ways I never realized I needed.
Poseidon stays close, a guardian in ways I never expected. He trains with me often, but more than that, he watches. Not with wariness, but with something that resembles pride. The gap between us—one I did not realize had always been there—narrows with each shared moment. He speaks to me not as a god to a subject, but as a father to his son.
Hades, ever the enigma, does not speak much, but his presence is felt. He has seen suffering, has endured isolation in ways I can understand. There are moments, late at night, when we sit in silence at the edge of Olympus, watching the stars, finding solace in the quiet understanding between two beings who have known darkness too intimately.
Zeus, ever the leader, does not offer warmth so easily. But he respects strength. And so, I earn his respect, not through words, but through battle. Each sparring session is a war of wills, lightning clashing against the tides, power colliding in ways that shake the heavens. He does not say it aloud, but I see it in the way he watches me, the way he no longer underestimates my presence.
The Fates themselves watch my growth with careful interest. I do not know what they see when they look at me, but their whispers do not hold the weight of doom they once did.
And so, I change. I am no longer the broken god they found in the depths of Othrys. My body, once gaunt from starvation, is now honed into something divine, stronger than even the Big Three. My power no longer simmers beneath the surface—it rages, untamed, an ocean vast and limitless. My sea-green eyes hold the weight of storms, shifting from gentle tides to hurricanes with the force of my will alone. When I speak, the very air bends to listen.
My power is undeniable.
The gods no longer look at me with pity. They look at me with reverence.
I am not just a god of Olympus—I am its storm, its tide, its balance.
By the time the year ends, I stand at the peak of Olympus, no longer the lost son, no longer the prisoner, but something more.
I am Perseus, and I am ready for what comes next.
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The air in the Olympian council chamber is thick with tension, though it is not the uncertainty that once plagued my presence here. It is the anticipation of war. The gods sit in their thrones, their presence filling the vast chamber with raw, divine energy. My own throne, dark marble layered with gold, flows like waves beneath my fingers as I lean forward, listening intently.
Zeus stands at the center, his gaze sweeping across those gathered. "The Titans are preparing for their next assault," he says, his voice thunderous yet steady. "Their forces rally under Atlas, and our scouts have reported movements near Mount Othrys."
A murmur runs through the room, but none of us are surprised. We have been preparing for this, waiting for the moment Kronos's forces would make their move.
Poseidon folds his arms across his chest, his sea-green eyes sharp. "We should strike first. Take the fight to them before they gather their full strength."
Hades, ever the tactician, exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "A direct assault on Othrys would be playing into their hands. Atlas commands their army now. He will anticipate recklessness."
I listen, absorbing every word. The gods around me no longer see me as an uncertain presence. I have trained, fought, and earned my place at this table. They respect me now. They listen.
Hestia, seated at the heart of the council, watches the discussion unfold with quiet contemplation. "War is inevitable," she says softly, her voice a calm counterbalance to the charged atmosphere. "But strategy must guide our hand. We cannot let vengeance dictate our course."
Demeter nods, her brow furrowed. "What of the mortals caught between? If the battle reaches their cities, the losses will be severe."
I tap my fingers against the armrest of my throne, considering. "Then we ensure the battle does not reach them," I say. The chamber quiets as I continue. "We set the field ourselves. We choose the place, the time, and we make sure that when the Titans march, they walk into a war of our making."
Zeus studies me, his expression unreadable. "You propose a trap."
"A battlefield on our terms," I correct. "We control the terrain, the defenses. We make sure that when the fighting begins, we hold the advantage."
Hades leans forward, considering my words. "You speak like a general."
The words settle over the chamber, and though I do not acknowledge them outright, I do not deny them either.
Poseidon nods approvingly. "And where would you propose we lead them?"
I meet his gaze. "The Fields of Thessaly. Open land, favorable positioning. We can set our forces along the ridges and force them into a bottleneck."
A murmur of agreement ripples through the room. Even Zeus seems impressed.
Hera speaks, her voice measured. "And what of our forces? Who leads which division?"
Zeus turns to me before anyone else. "Perseus. You know the battlefield, you have studied our enemy. Where do you stand?"
I take a breath, feeling the weight of the question. "I will lead from the front," I say. "Atlas will be there. He will not sit back and watch the battle unfold—he will be in the thick of it. That is where I will be."
Poseidon's expression tightens, but he does not argue. He knows I will not be swayed.
Zeus nods. "Then it is decided. Perseus will lead the vanguard. Hades, you will command the flanking units and ensure no escape routes remain. Poseidon, you will reinforce from the sea, cutting off their supply lines."
The gods exchange glances, acknowledging their roles. The pieces are falling into place. The trap is being set.
Hestia leans forward slightly. "Then there is one last matter. What of the Titans who surrender?"
The question hangs in the air. We all know there will be some who yield, who see the writing on the wall and do not wish to be destroyed.
Zeus's gaze darkens. "We take no prisoners."
There is silence. A cold, brutal truth. This is war, and mercy is a luxury we may not afford.
Hades is the first to break it. "Then let it be so."
Poseidon clears his throat. "There is one more factor we cannot ignore. Atlas is no ordinary Titan. He is among the strongest of Kronos's forces, his right hand. Only one of the four of us—Zeus, Hades, myself, or Perseus—can match him in battle."
Zeus's expression is grim. "Then he will not be left unchecked. We prepare accordingly."
The meeting continues, battle plans unfolding before us. Yet beneath the strategies and tactics, there is something else—something unspoken.
The gods no longer look at me as an outsider. Not a prisoner. Not a mere son of Poseidon.
I have earned my place.
And soon, the world will see it too.
x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~
That's a wrap to the first chapter of my story. These chapters will remain between 5-7k words and have a slow pace but still have action in between every scene. I just wanted to set the stage for the book as it will slowly get more intense. Updates still every week! Constructive criticism is appreciated, leave a review down below!
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Link here: discord . gg / KYGHq67HKF (Remove Spaces Please).
Also, I'm currently in the process of looking for beta-readers. I want to establish a mini team (3-4) people who can beta read chapters before I publish them. If you are interested, shoot me a DM on Discord (jayvee100) and I'll get back to you. I only ask that you can be available to beta-read often and that you are willing to actually give out a helping hand. This is done to maintain quality and make sure that each chapter is the best it can be.
Thanks,
Jv.
Original Version:
Prologue
Fighting echoed throughout the vast expanse of the mountainous region as four figures loomed over the chaos unfolding before them.
The mysterious figure on the far right stood cloaked in flowing black robes that shimmered with obsidian and violet, emanating an aura of death and malice. His pale skin contrasted sharply with glowing, piercing eyes, and jet-black hair cascaded like liquid shadow. A helm rested on his head, exuding a chilling presence that dwarfed all nearby. In his hand, he gripped a staff crowned with a skeletal motif, its centerpiece a skull encased in eerie blue flames. The air grew heavy with an icy chill, carrying the faint scent of earth and decay.
Next to him, a figure radiated celestial power, clad in radiant armor of gold and silver adorned with lightning motifs that crackled with energy. His piercing blue eyes glowed with commanding authority, while his white hair, streaked with storm-gray, flowed with the winds. In his grasp, he held a scepter shaped like a thunderbolt, its surface pulsating with arcs of lightning that illuminated the battlefield.
Beside him, another figure stood tall, his muscular frame draped in deep blue robes adorned with seafoam patterns that shimmered with silver and turquoise. His long, dark hair mirrored the sea's movements, and his sea-green eyes held immense, calming power. He wielded a trident carved from ancient coral, glowing with a watery, otherworldly light.
At the end of the line, a figure of immense power stood, his muscular yet lean body radiating energy. In one hand, he held a three-foot xiphos, its blade glowing brilliantly, while his sea-green eyes burned with hurricane-like intensity, suffocating all in his presence. His white robes, paired with armor that fit like a second skin, enhanced his godly presence.
"It was time," the figure on the left had echoed. The other three had held confident demeanors, ready to begin the fight of their lives.
"Indeed it was, Perseus," the man with blue eyes had said as a sense of duty washed over the four.
"It was time for them to take over this land and turn it into a prosperous place," the man in sea-green robes had added.
"Hades, Poseidon, go help our siblings. I will take on our father," the blue-eyed man had commanded. "Perseus, fight any Titan you see and work to diminish their morale."
The three brothers had departed from the mountain, leaving Perseus alone. He had stood there, observing the battlefield like a hunter searching for prey.
He had scanned the chaos below, watching as hordes of monstrous creatures, thousands strong, clashed against humanoid warriors. The scene had been horrific, but after ten years of war, Perseus had been used to it. His gaze had fallen on a woman, appearing about thirty, burning like an inferno and lighting up the battlefield with her clash against a Titan he recognized—Hyperion, the Titan of heavenly light and watchfulness. The woman, too, had been familiar: his aunt, the eldest of Kronos's six children. She had struggled against her opponent, her lack of combat skill evident.
Perseus had disappeared from his overlook, choosing his first target. "HYPERION!" he had bellowed. The Titan had turned, only to be sent flying by a lethal uppercut that would have killed any mortal being.
"I'll take care of him, Aunt Hestia. Go help the wounded," Perseus had commanded. She had given a swift nod before vanishing in a column of fire.
Hyperion had reappeared in a flash of blinding light, attempting to catch Perseus off guard, but Perseus had anticipated the move. Quickly repositioning, he had engaged Hyperion with a slash of his glowing xiphos, its power humming through the air. Hyperion had blocked the attack with his sword and countered with a strike meant to cleave Perseus in half.
Perseus had sidestepped and retaliated, using the hilt of his blade to knock Hyperion to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, Perseus had unleashed a relentless barrage of attacks, giving the Titan no time to recover. When Hyperion had slipped, leaving an opening in his guard, Perseus's blade had struck true, piercing his chest.
The Titan had fallen to his knees, coughing up ichor as he had clutched his maimed body. Without hesitation, Perseus had swiftly decapitated him. Hyperion's body had dissolved into golden specks, vanishing into the ether.
"One down, two more to go," Perseus had muttered to himself. He had summoned a square of ambrosia, demolishing the godly food. He had instantly felt his energy levels back up.
Perseus had flashed to his next target, appearing in a mist of water, and he had completely caught his target off guard. With one swift slice intended to cleave his enemy in two, Perses, the unsuspecting Titan, had disintegrated into golden flecks like his uncle moments earlier.
Perseus' assault had continued for multiple hours, and he had been described as an arc of destruction, earning himself the nickname "The Destroyer".
He had made his way through thousands of monsters, hordes of monsters falling to his blade at a time. Dozens of Minor Titans had fallen to his blade as well, the fights lasting however long Perseus had wished them to last.
Perseus had observed Zeus and Kronos' fight. The air had vibrated with the ferocity of their clash. Thunder had rumbled across the battlefield, a sound so powerful it had shaken the mountains themselves. High above, the god of the sky and the lord of time had battled in a violent dance of energy and might.
Zeus had stood firm, his radiant form a beacon of divine light as he had wielded his thunderbolt with unmatched skill. His eyes, glowing with the fury of the storm, had locked onto his father's massive frame. Kronos, towering and menacing, had swung his enormous sickle with terrifying precision, the jagged blade cutting through the air in a deadly arc.
"You're weak, son," Kronos had growled, his voice like the grinding of mountains. "The time for gods is over. You cannot defeat me. I am time itself."
Zeus's jaw had tightened, but he had not flinched. He had raised his thunderbolt high and hurled it with the force of a collapsing star, the lightning illuminating the sky in a blinding flash. Kronos had blocked it with a wave of his sickle, but the strike had still sent shockwaves through the air, sending ripples of power cascading over the battlefield.
Kronos's lips had curled into a cruel smile. "Is that all you have, Zeus? You were always so naïve."
The ground had trembled under Kronos's immense presence as he had advanced with unnatural speed, despite his massive size. His sickle had swung downward, cleaving the air with a horrific shriek. Zeus had barely managed to dodge, but the edge of the blade had grazed his side, leaving a deep, bloody gash. Ichor—radiant, divine ichor—had spilled from the wound, sizzling as it had hit the ground. Zeus had staggered back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his strength visibly waning.
Kronos had seized the moment, his sickle a blur of motion as he had swung again with brutal precision. This time, the blade had caught Zeus's leg, sending the god of the sky crashing to the ground with a thunderous thud. The air around them had crackled with tension, the storm flickering erratically as the balance of power had shifted.
Hestia had screamed from a distance, her voice filled with concern. "Zeus, no!"
Zeus had struggled to rise, his wound throbbing with agony, but Kronos had not given him a moment's respite. The Titan had brought down his sickle in a devastating arc, aiming to end the fight once and for all. Zeus had barely managed to roll out of the way, but the shockwave from the sickle's strike had sent him skidding across the rocky ground, ichor spilling from his body in a steady stream. His once-mighty form had begun to falter, his divine energy fading under the onslaught of his father's power.
In the distance, Perseus had watched in dismay. He had seen the toll that Kronos's relentless assault had taken on Zeus.
Perseus had descended from the heavens like a comet, his heart roaring with the fury of a thousand storms. His eyes had locked onto Kronos's massive form, burning with divine resolve. He had seen the pain in Zeus's eyes—Perseus had known what needed to be done.
Zeus, struggling but still conscious, had turned his gaze toward Perseus. For a fleeting moment, the older god's tired eyes had held a sense of relief. "Perseus…" he had rasped, his voice weak but filled with pride. "Help me…"
Perseus had nodded, his expression darkening as he had gripped his xiphos. "You've done enough, Uncle."
With a mighty roar, Perseus had sprinted toward Kronos, his xiphos gleaming with divine energy. Kronos had grinned, ready to squash this new threat like a fly.
The two had collided in a thunderous clash, Perseus's blade meeting Kronos's sickle in a brilliant burst of divine light. The force of the impact had created shockwaves that sent tremors through the land. Kronos had countered with a swift, overwhelming blow, his sickle cutting through the air with inhuman speed.
But Perseus had been a blur, his body moving with unnatural agility, dodging Kronos's strikes as if he had anticipated them all along. He had ducked under one swing, leaping into the air and bringing his xiphos down with godly might.
The battle had been a brutal exchange—Perseus striking with the power of the storm itself, Kronos swinging with the unstoppable force of time. Each blow from Kronos had shattered the earth beneath them, while each strike from Perseus had caused the sky to crackle with lightning.
Kronos had sneered as he had swung his sickle with relentless fury. "You think you can defeat me with these pathetic storms, boy?"
But Perseus had not been deterred. The storm within him had stirred, his divine blood burning as the winds had begun to howl.
"Time to end this," Perseus had muttered, his voice steady and cold.
The ground had trembled as Perseus had summoned the full power of the storm within him. He had raised his hand to the heavens, and the skies had darkened, lightning crackling in response.
The winds had howled like a beast unleashed, and Perseus had charged forward, his speed a blur. He had delivered a series of strikes so fast that Kronos had struggled to keep up.
With each slash, the storm had intensified, the clouds above them swirling in a vortex of raw energy. Perseus had summoned the fury of the heavens, each strike imbued with the power of the storm. Kronos had fought back, his sickle moving like a great force of nature itself, but Perseus had been relentless, his movements fluid and unstoppable.
As Kronos had staggered back, his sickle wavering in his grip, Perseus had raised his xiphos one final time.
"This ends now," Perseus had growled.
The storm had reached its peak, the winds and lightning converging above them in a swirling maelstrom. Perseus had thrust his hand forward, channeling the full might of the storm through his blade. A bolt of pure, unrelenting lightning had shot from the sky, striking Kronos with the force of a collapsing star.
Kronos had screamed in agony as the lightning had torn through his massive form, his body convulsing under the intense energy. The sky itself had seemed to fracture as the storm had continued to rage, tearing Kronos apart from the inside out.
In a final, devastating strike, Perseus had swung his xiphos down, cleaving through Kronos's body like a hot knife through butter. The Titan's form had shattered, his body unraveling into a mass of golden light, which had slowly faded into nothingness.
The battlefield had fallen silent.
Perseus had stood victorious, his body crackling with divine energy, as the forces of the Titans had faltered. The storm had raged on, but Kronos, the lord of time, had been no more.
The heavens had sung in triumph, and the world had changed forever.
The storm that had raged across the battlefield slowly began to dissipate, its wrathful winds finally calming as the blood of the Titans faded from the earth. Kronos's mighty form had been erased from existence, leaving nothing but scattered particles of golden light in his wake. The Titans' defeat, though absolute, had not come without great sacrifice, for the gods and their armies had fought relentlessly to end the reign of the ancient beings. But now, with the dust settling, a new era was about to begin.
A single ripple disturbed the calm of the great sea beneath the cliffs of Mount Olympus, a subtle shift, yet its significance would echo through eternity. It was as if the world had sighed, its weight shifting ever so slightly as the last remnants of the Titan War faded into history.
Perseus stood tall, overlooking the tranquil waters, the winds around him still crackling with the power of the storm that had once consumed him. His once white robes were now drenched in the divine ichor of his enemies, his xiphos still gleaming with the residue of battle. Despite the enormity of his victory, a weight lingered within him, a hollow quiet that only the gods would understand.
The aftermath of the war had left Olympus in flux. The mountain had been transformed into something far greater than the peak it had once been—its stones now gleamed with celestial radiance, and the air hummed with divine energy. But above all, this was the place where the future of the gods would be determined.
On the summit of Mount Olympus, the gods had gathered. The stone pillars of the mountain were now encased in marble, but they had been left untouched in their majesty, standing tall and steadfast as the winds of fate swirled around them. At the center of the mountain, a great golden dais had been erected, where the Fates themselves would deliver their judgments on the domains of the newly crowned gods.
Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, and Perseus stood at the front, each of them regal, powerful, and silent. The presence of the Fates was undeniable—their very existence wove the fabric of the universe itself. At that moment, they had appeared, cloaked in their robes of unearthly white, their faces obscured by shadows. They stood in silence, their eternal loom spinning the threads of destiny. The three sisters looked at the gods before them, their eyes seeing into the very depths of their beings.
The first Fate spoke in a voice that echoed like the winds themselves: "Zeus, son of Kronos, Lord of the Sky, we bestow upon you dominion over the heavens and the thunder. As the ruler of the gods, your reign shall echo in the thunderclaps and the storms that shape the world. From this moment onward, the heavens will bow to your will."
A flash of lightning had split the sky above, and with a single wave of his hand, Zeus had claimed his domain, the power of the storm coursing through his veins.
The second Fate, her voice like the lapping of waves against a shore, spoke next: "Poseidon, son of Kronos, Lord of the Sea, you shall rule over the oceans and the depths of the earth. The oceans shall be your kingdom, and the tides shall rise and fall at your command. From this moment, the waters shall obey you as they do the very heartbeat of the world."
The oceans had roared in response, the waves crashing violently against the cliffs of Olympus. Poseidon had raised his trident high, the very sea itself answering his call as the domain of the deep became his.
The third Fate, her voice like the whisper of the wind in the trees, had turned her attention to Hades: "Hades, son of Kronos, Lord of the Underworld, you shall govern the realm of the dead. The souls of the departed shall pass through your gates, and you shall wield the power of death itself. Your domain shall be eternal, and all who walk upon the earth shall one day kneel before your throne."
The ground had trembled as if responding to her words. Hades had clenched his fists, his eyes glowing with the power of the Underworld. Shadows had begun to swirl around him, pulling at the edges of the mountain as his dominion over the dead took shape.
The Fates' gaze turned to the eldest of Kronos's daughters.
"Hestia," the first Fate spoke, her voice warm yet resolute, like the steady flame of a hearth, "daughter of Kronos, you shall be the eternal guardian of the flame that warms the heart of the world. Your dominion shall be the Hearth, the fire that sustains life, as well as the Home, where families gather in safety and unity. Your presence shall bring peace to the restless and shelter to the wandering, your flame never fading, your warmth ever constant."
The Fates then turned to Demeter, the goddess whose strength lay in the earth's bounty.
"Demeter," the second Fate's voice rang clear, as soothing and deep as the fertile earth itself, "daughter of Kronos, you shall command the forces of Agriculture, the seed that grows into life and the harvest that nourishes all. You shall hold dominion over Fertility, the life force that brings abundance, and the Seasons, the cyclical changes that define the passage of time. The earth shall yield to your will, and all things shall flourish under your gaze."
The Fates' gaze turned to Hera, the regal and unyielding.
"Hera," the first Fate spoke, her voice as commanding and pure as a sacred vow, "daughter of Kronos, you shall be the embodiment of Marriage, the sacred union that binds mortals and gods alike. Your dominion shall stretch across the fabric of Family, the foundation of all creation, where love, loyalty, and commitment thrive. You shall be the protector of the bond between husband and wife, the guardian of Fidelity, and the enforcer of the sacred oaths that bind souls together. Your influence shall ensure that the ties of family endure, even in the face of the most trying of trials."
Finally, the Fates had turned their gaze to Perseus.
"Perseus," the first Fate spoke, her voice as steady and enduring as the tides, "son of Poseidon, born from the union of divine might and mortal resolve, you shall be a god of profound balance. Your dominion shall be vast and far-reaching, but tempered by the harmony of all things. You will command Time, shaping its flow, both in the mortal world and beyond. Your will shall govern the Tides, guiding their rise and fall with unwavering authority. As the god of Balance, you shall restore equilibrium between forces both light and dark. Your mastery of Swordsmanship will guide warriors to victory, ensuring their strength in battle, while your unwavering Loyalty shall bind allies together, protecting them through even the darkest of trials."
Perseus's heart had thundered in his chest as the words of the Fates had washed over him. This was his place now—The very forces of nature would answer to him. Yet even as the power surged within him, there had been something more beneath it—a deeper current of sorrow and purpose.
"The world has changed," Perseus had thought to himself, feeling the weight of the storm. "But will I change with it?"
With the domains claimed, the Fates had turned to the remaining Titans who were not sent to Tartarus. The ones who had survived the war faced their own form of punishment, for the gods were not merciful, even in victory.
The first Titan, Atlas, had been condemned to carry the heavens on his shoulders for all eternity. His punishment had been one of isolation, bound to the very fabric of the universe itself, forced to bear the weight of the world for his rebellion. His once-powerful form had been reduced to a shell of agony, forever struggling beneath the crushing weight of the heavens.
Prometheus, the Titan who had defied Zeus and given fire to humanity, had been bound to a mountain in the farthest reaches of the earth, his liver torn out daily by an eagle sent by Zeus. His punishment had been endless suffering, yet even in his torment, there had been a spark of defiance in his eyes.
Epimetheus, his brother, had not been so fortunate. Condemned to roam the earth as an eternal wanderer, he had been cursed to witness the rise and fall of civilizations, never able to rest, forever alone in the world he had once helped create.
The other Titans, those who had fought against the gods, had been cast into the void, their forms shattered and their minds broken, left to drift in the timeless darkness, forever imprisoned by their own pride and arrogance.
As the Fates withdrew, their task complete, the gods remained on Olympus, silent and contemplative. The world had changed, and they—Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, and Perseus—stood at the center of it all.
Yet Perseus had felt something within him stir—a longing, perhaps, or a question yet unanswered. His domains were vast, powerful, and unyielding, but they were not his true calling.
The first ripple in the waters had been small, but its significance had been immense.
As the gods watched the horizon, Perseus stood at the edge of Olympus, staring out at the world below. He was no longer the son of Poseidon, no longer the mere warrior of the Titans' fall. Perseus was a god of change, of storm, of protection. He could feel the weight of his new identity, the responsibility that came with it.
But above all, Perseus had known this—he was not simply the son of a god, nor a player in the eternal dance of Olympus. He was the one who would reshape it.
And in his heart, Perseus had known the world had just begun to tremble under his feet.
The air is thick with the whispers of time. Four thousand years have passed since the great clash between the gods and the Titans, and the world is forever changed. Where once Olympus stood as a battle-worn refuge, now it gleams like a beacon of divine light, a city of marble and gold suspended above the earth. The heavens have woven themselves into a tapestry of gods who rule not just with power, but with a complex web of alliances and betrayals, each thread intricately placed.
Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Perseus, and the rest of the old gods have long since etched their rule into the very fabric of existence. Yet, for all their victories, something stirs beneath the surface—an undercurrent of unease. Perseus, now a god in his own right, watches this world from the highest of thrones. Time, balance, swordsmanship, loyalty, and the tides. His domains spread across the very essence of existence, each one a weight on his shoulders. But there are moments when even the mightiest of gods cannot escape the shifting currents of fate.
The throne room of Olympus is as vast as it is ancient, a place where the very air crackles with the weight of time and power. The thrones loom like giants, twenty feet high and carved from marble older than the gods themselves. Each one is a testament to the god it represents—pristine, imposing, and unyielding. Perseus' throne stands out for its intricate waves, with towering sea creatures wrapped around the base. The strings of time itself are visible around the sides and back. It is beautiful, even for something that feels like a constant reminder of how long they have been ruling this world.
But none of that matters now. Not as the council convenes.
Perseus sits next to his father, his throne representing all of his vast domains. The throne room stretches on forever, the vaulted ceilings arching so high they seem to vanish into the clouds. Light filters down through massive windows, the sky outside as turbulent as the sea. It's a perfect reflection of what's about to happen—chaos with just the hint of something grand.
His gaze flicks over the thrones, each god perched on their seat, towering over the room. Their presence alone is enough to make most mortals quiver in fear. But Perseus? He's used to it. He's their general, their eldest second-gen Olympian, the one who fought the Titans, the one who helped bind Kronos to the pit of the earth. And while Zeus may be king of the heavens, Perseus' title carries its own weight.
A ripple of unease runs through him, but he pushes it aside. He's never been one to back down from what's coming.
He turns his gaze to the back of the room, where Artemis and Apollo stand, the two youngest gods—barely twenty years old. They may be young, but they carry the air of legends already.
Perseus sighs and rolls his shoulders back, ignoring the cold gaze of Hera from across the room. She's already staring down the twins, a storm of resentment swirling around her. She's never forgiven Leto for what happened long ago—when Zeus had the gall to love an inferior woman. It doesn't matter how many wars they've fought or how many times they've proven themselves since then. To Hera, Leto is a reminder of Zeus's flaws. And that makes Artemis and Apollo, her children, a problem.
Zeus finally speaks, breaking the silence, his voice booming like thunder but not as harsh as it used to be. He's different now. Maybe he's finally getting tired of the endless tension that comes with being the ruler of Olympus.
"I've called this meeting to address the matter of Artemis and Apollo," Zeus says, his gaze sweeping over the room. "They have proven their strength in battle and their loyalty to the family. It is time for them to take their place as Olympians."
Murmurs ripple through the room. It's not an easy decision.
Perseus leans back in his throne, resting one hand on the hilt of Storm Rider, his symbol of power, the three-foot xiphos—the blade forged in the depths of Chaos, a weapon unlike any other in existence. The one thing even Zeus's master bolt and Poseidon's trident can't match. The power of this blade radiates through him, an extension of the storm that rages in his chest. He doesn't often wield it in front of the gods—it's not necessary. But right now, he needs to feel its weight. It centers him. Reminds him that he's earned his place here.
Hera's voice cuts through the room, laced with venom. "I would not allow these children to sit at the table of true gods. They are the children of a titan, and they are inferior. I will not allow this blasphemy."
Perseus looks at her with neutral eyes. Hera never holds back, but her arguments are weak. It's a predictable play, one that shows just how little she understands the weight of the council and what it means to lead.
He shrinks to his mortal size, walking to the center of the vast room, towering over the others, his height at six-foot-four making him an imposing figure in a room full of giants. His black hair falls messily over his forehead, darker than the night itself, but his eyes—they're what command attention. Sea green, swirling with a power that mirrors the hurricane of emotions inside him. When he looks at them, they see his strength, his resolve, and his fury, tempered only by the warmth that Hestia's blessing provides.
He lets the silence hang for a moment before he speaks, his voice carrying effortlessly through the massive hall.
"My vote is yes," he says. The gods turn their heads toward him, a few of them caught off guard. He's not the one they expect to side with Zeus—at least, not so easily. But he's always been a man of loyalty. And he will stand by his family. No matter what.
Poseidon, his father, gives him a small nod of approval, though he remains quiet. He knows what this means. Perseus knows, too.
The gods around the room begin to voice their opinions one by one, the votes pouring in.
"I vote yes," Poseidon's deep voice rumbles.
"Yes," Hestia chimes in, her eyes warm and proud as always. She's always stood by him.
Athena, as expected, abstains—always the strategist, always watching from the shadows.
"I vote yes," Hades says from the opposite side of the room.
Ares also votes on the affirmative, with a glint in his eyes.
Demeter, on the other hand, votes no.
Finally, Hera glares at the twins, but even she knows better than to argue further. She turns her gaze away, muttering something under her breath.
The decision is made. Artemis and Apollo are Olympians. They'll join the council.
Perseus looks at them, his expression softer than the storm inside him. Artemis meets his eyes, a small nod of gratitude passing between them, and he thinks, in this moment, she knows she has his loyalty. Apollo, ever the charmer, offers him a quick grin, and he gives him a nod in return. The cocky kid is going to make his mark—whether he realizes it or not.
The council is silent for a long moment. The twins, now officially declared Olympians, stand before them, the weight of their new titles heavy in the air. There's a tension here, thick as a storm about to break. Perseus can feel it in the way the gods around him shift.
At the center of the grand U-shaped arrangement, Zeus stands, his presence as commanding as ever, but there's a softness in his eyes when he looks at the twins. He raises his hand, and the room falls into a reverent silence. The gods around the edges of the circle—Hera on one side, Hestia beside her, Demeter, and Athena flanking her—watch with barely contained anticipation. Artemis, as the future member of this side, looks on, her silver eyes quietly observant, though there's a hint of nervousness in her stance.
Zeus speaks, his voice a boom that rumbles in Perseus's chest, shaking the room even with the echoes of time behind it. "It is time," he says, the words vibrating through the stones beneath them. "To claim the domains of our newest Olympians."
The gods chant in Ancient Greek, their voices rising together in a rhythmic chant, as old as time itself, reverberating off the walls of the grand throne room. There's an energy in the air, a pulse of magic that seems to shimmer, a thin thread tying them all together. As the chant grows louder, Perseus can feel it—an ancient power awakening. It's the ceremony that makes them Olympians, that binds them to the very fabric of existence.
The Moirai—Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos—appear in the center of the room, their presence like a shadow falling over the council. These three ancient goddesses are the weavers of fate, the arbiters of destiny. Their robes shimmer with the threads of time, their faces ageless, unreadable. They move forward, each carrying an aura of inevitability.
The three sisters approach Artemis and Apollo, standing on either side of the twins. As they do, the threads of fate in their hands spin and twirl, weaving themselves into the forms of their new domains.
"Phoebe Artemis," Clotho intones, her voice like the slow turning of a wheel. "You shall be the goddess of the moon, the hunt, maidens, archery, and the protector of the wilds. Your domain shall be the untamed beauty of the night and the huntress's bow."
Lachesis steps forward, raising her hand toward Apollo. "Phoebus Apollo, you shall be the god of the sun, music, healing, and prophecy. Your light shall shine across the world, illuminating paths where none are visible, and your voice will inspire both the divine and the mortal."
Atropos raises her hand, and with a single motion, the threads of fate settle into place. "The domains are yours, as they have always been meant to be. You are now true Olympians."
With Moirai's final words, the room fills with a quiet hum of energy. The twins glow with an ethereal light as their powers settle into them. The change is subtle but unmistakable—the aura of the gods strengthens, the power in the room more tangible than it was moments ago. They stand taller, more formidable, their divine power newly awakened.
Zeus looks at them now, a proud smile on his face. "Rise, Artemis, Apollo. You are now Olympians. Your roles are given, your powers unleashed."
The gods of Olympus chant again, this time in a more triumphant cadence, as if celebrating the birth of two new legends. There is a sense of finality in the moment, an understanding that this is no ordinary ascension. These twins will change the course of history, even if they don't fully realize it yet.
The air is thick with the weight of their transformation, and Perseus feels it settle in his chest, like the calm before a storm. The gods of Olympus are many, but in this moment, he's reminded that none of them are ever truly in control of what happens next. They are only players in the hands of fate.
As the ceremony winds down, and the gods begin to disperse, the tension in the room gradually subsides. There's a soft murmur of conversation, but Perseus's thoughts drift elsewhere. He knows what's coming. The twins have now claimed their places, but for him, the real work starts after this.
As the gods start to make their way out, I rise from my throne. The room has a weight to it, as though it's been saturated with centuries of power and ancient rituals, and it still hums with the presence of the Moirai. The gods scatter, some leaving without a word, others stopping to speak in hushed tones.
And that's when I see her. Artemis.
She's standing off to the side, a little unsure of herself. She looks almost out of place among all of us—small, though in reality, she's just as godly as the rest of us. There's an air of nervousness about her that I didn't expect, her shoulders tense, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.
I approach, my boots clicking softly on the stone as I walk over to her. She turns to face me, and for a moment, she looks almost startled.
"General Perseus," she says quietly, her voice a soft echo in the now quieter throne room. "Thank you. For... making this possible."
I tilt my head, giving her a smile that's softer than most. "You don't need to thank me. It was the council's decision, not just mine."
She fidgets a little, her gaze dropping to the ground before meeting mine again. "Still... you were the one to make the call. You've been around long enough to know how things work."
I shrug, nonchalantly leaning against the base of my throne. "I suppose. But this was nothing compared to some of the decisions we've had to make. And trust me, you'll be fine. You'll fit in here like you were born for it."
Her lips twitch, unsure whether to smile or not. "I… I don't know if I'm ready," she admits, her voice a little shaky now. "This is a lot to take in."
I chuckle, my deep voice making her glance up in surprise. "I'll be honest, none of us are ever truly ready for this. But you'll find your place. We all do, in the end."
She takes a deep breath, but there's still a hesitation in her eyes. Despite all the strength I know she has, there's something vulnerable in her at this moment. I can sense it—the weight of her new responsibilities, the uncertainty of it all.
"Thanks, Perseus," she says softly, as if she's trying to convince herself as much as me. "You don't know what this means."
I nod, my green orbs locking onto her silver. "I think I do. You'll do great, Artemis. Just remember—you don't have to be perfect. You just have to be you."
She offers me a small, shy smile, and I can tell there's more she wants to say, but the words don't come. Instead, she turns and walks away, a quiet weight in the air around her as she moves toward her new place in the council.
A few weeks had passed since Artemis and Apollo had ascended to their new roles on Olympus. Life had found a steady rhythm again, the chaos of their ascension settling like waves after a storm. For Percy, however, the days were never truly calm. Sitting in the throne room of Olympus, his gaze swept over the enchanted strings of time, his domains visible in his mind, he could feel the intricate feel of time all around. The ocean's currents hummed in harmony, a reflection of the order he maintained.
His Storm Rider rested against the arm of his throne, radiating a subtle hum of power. Percy closed his eyes, letting his senses expand through the vast expanse of his territories. From the smallest guppy swimming in a reef to the mighty currents shaping the tides, he felt everything. It was a moment of peace—rare and fleeting.
A subtle shift in the air disturbed the tranquility. Percy opened his eyes to find Artemis standing at the entrance of the throne room. Her silvery eyes framed her face, and her usual confidence seemed replaced with something else: unease. Her eyes darted around the room before settling on him.
"Artemis," Percy greeted, his voice steady. He gestured for her to approach. "What brings you here?"
Artemis's POV
Artemis hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, her boots echoing softly against the marble floor. She hated feeling vulnerable, yet here she was, seeking help from someone she barely knew beyond his reputation. Percy's calm, commanding presence was both reassuring and intimidating.
"I… needed to talk to someone," she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. As she reached the base of his throne, she forced herself to meet his gaze. "There's been… an issue."
Percy raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. His patience was unnerving, but it gave her space to find her words.
"Since my ascension, there's been no shortage of… attention from certain gods and even mortals." She crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Most of it is harmless, but there are those who don't take no for an answer."
Percy's expression darkened, his sea-green eyes swirling like a hurricane.
"Yesterday, I was walking through the streets of Olympus, trying to clear my head. A minor god approached me—bold, arrogant. He didn't even bother with pretense." Her voice shook slightly as she recounted the memory. "When I turned him down, he tried to…" She swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat. "He tried to ambush me. I barely managed to flash back to my palace before he could lay a hand on me."
The air around them grew heavier, charged with an unseen force. Artemis dared a glance at Percy and immediately regretted it. His eyes were no longer calm; they churned like a tempest, radiating an intensity that made her step back involuntarily.
"Who was it?" Percy's voice was low, almost a growl. The sheer weight of his presence made the room feel smaller.
"I… I don't know his name," Artemis stammered, her confidence faltering under his stormy gaze. "But I can describe him."
Percy's grip on the armrest of his throne tightened, the marble cracking under his hand. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he reopened them, the storm had subsided, leaving behind a calmer but no less determined expression.
"I'll handle it," he said, his voice steady again. "But that's not all, is it?"
Artemis shook her head. "No. That incident made me realize something. I need to take control of my own fate. I want to take an oath of maidenhood—to dedicate myself fully to my duties and to ensure no one can claim me as their own."
Percy nodded, his expression softening. "If that's what you want, I'll support you. But you'll need the council's approval. Are you ready for that?"
Artemis hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. I have to be."
Percy's POV
Later that evening, the council gathered in the grand hall of Olympus. The air was thick with anticipation, the gods seated in their respective thrones as murmurs filled the room. Percy sat on his throne, near Poseidon, his expression unreadable as he observed the others.
Artemis stepped forward, her chin held high despite the tension in the room. "I have called this meeting to declare my intention to take an oath of maidenhood," she began, her voice clear and resolute. "I will dedicate myself entirely to my duties and ensure that no man, mortal or god, can lay claim to me."
The room erupted into a cacophony of voices. Ares leaned forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "Why the dramatics, Artemis? Surely you don't need an oath to stay independent. Or is this just an excuse to avoid… certain suitors?"
Artemis's eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Percy stood. The room fell silent as his presence washed over them like a tidal wave.
"She doesn't owe anyone an explanation," Percy said, his voice cold and authoritative. He fixed Ares with a glare that could freeze magma. "If this is her choice, it will be respected. Or would you like to discuss your objections with me personally?"
Ares opened his mouth, then closed it, his confidence faltering under Percy's gaze.
Hestia rose next, her warm presence diffusing some of the tension. "I support Artemis in her decision," she said gently. "In fact, I would like to take the same oath. My place has always been at the hearth, tending to the home of the gods. This will formalize what has always been true."
Zeus leaned back in his throne, his expression thoughtful. "Two oaths sworn on the Styx in one night. This is unprecedented."
"Unprecedented, perhaps," Poseidon said, "but not unreasonable. Let them swear their oaths if it brings them peace."
After more debate, the council finally agreed. Artemis and Hestia stepped forward, raising their hands as they spoke the ancient words that bound them to their promises. The air shimmered with the power of the Styx, sealing their oaths.
Days Later: Percy's POV
Percy was in the throne room when he felt the mental tug. Artemis's voice echoed in his mind, laced with panic.
Percy! I'm trapped! It's a minor god—he lured me into a trap. Please, hurry!
Without hesitation, Percy gripped his Storm Rider and flashed to her location. He materialized in a dimly lit courtyard, on the edges of Olympus away from the prying eyes of the Gods. The air was thick with malice. Artemis was bound in chains of celestial bronze, her struggles futile against the enchanted restraints. The minor god stood over her, a cruel grin on his face.
"Let her go," Percy commanded, his voice resonating with the weight of the ocean.
The minor god sneered. "And who are you to order me?"
Percy's eyes darkened, the xiphos in his hand glowing with raw power. "I am Perseus, General of Olympus. And you've made a grave mistake."
The minor god lunged, but Percy was faster. He deflected the attack with his xiphos, the clash of their powers sending shockwaves through the courtyard. The fight was brutal and swift, Percy's mastery of combat leaving no room for error. He summoned a torrent of water, drowning the courtyard in a miniature hurricane. The minor god's defiance turned to fear as Percy's Storm Rider pierced his chest, causing him to fall to his knees.
The god looked at him with fear evident in his eyes, "What are you?"
Percy's gaze was one of power, his eyes swirling with power glowing in the dim light, his xiphos was glowing with power, in a swift slice, Percy cut off the head from the body. The sheer force and power from the strike caused the god to fade into the realm of Chaos.
With the threat eliminated, Percy turned to Artemis. He shattered the chains with a swipe of his Storm Rider and caught her as she collapsed into his arms. She clung to him, her body trembling with sobs.
"It's over," Percy murmured, his voice gentle. "You're safe now."
Artemis buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. For the first time in her immortal life, she allowed herself to be vulnerable. And for the first time, she felt truly protected.