A Different Legend

by Jecka76

Sally did everything she could to save Percy, but didn't make it. Raised by those who witnessed the tragedy Percy grew up with abundant knowledge. But not all is well. The legend of Percy Jackson is about to change. (Disclaimer: Rick Riordan owns all his characters.) Being rewritten. Done up to Chapter 9

10. I almost died again

Percy's POV:

Spending the night in her monster trap cottage was surprisingly decent. Initially, the place reeked of stale grease and despair, but after a thorough rummage, we unearthed a few crumpled dollars from the dusty till, a surprisingly soft stack of old blankets, and a battered backpack. Enough to make a meager camp.

Dinner was an exercise in silent chewing. Overcooked fries, lukewarm burgers, and thick milkshakes were all we could afford at the greasy diner attached to the warehouse. Everyone raved about American food; I'd been told these were the best burgers in the state. Frankly, I'd rather have a decent campfire meal. The shakes were good, though.

As the last of the sticky sweetness slid down my throat, we decided on an early night. Morning would bring… well, we'd figure that out in the morning. Annabeth, ever practical, spotted a surprisingly intact couch tucked away in the back of the warehouse and promptly claimed it, already half asleep. Grover looked between a lumpy armchair and the gritty concrete floor.

"Chair's yours," I offered. "Definitely more comfortable."

He hesitated, brown eyes searching mine for a moment, then nodded gratefully, sinking into the worn cushions. Silence settled, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic and Annabeth's soft snores.

Then Grover whispered, almost to himself, "It's quite sad."

"What is?"

"Humans. All this…" He gestured vaguely around the cavernous, trash-strewn warehouse. "The pollution. You can't even see the stars properly. It's a terrible time to be a satyr." His voice was laced with genuine sorrow.

I leaned back against the cool wall, considering. "Remember when I told you I've traveled around a bit?"

He nodded, his gaze wistful.

"Well," I continued, a memory sparking to life, "There was this place… high up in the Rocky Mountains. I camped out on a ledge, ready to crash, when I looked up." I paused, trying to recapture the feeling. "It was… breathtaking. The night sky was so clear, so clean. Stars everywhere, stretching forever. If I could've flown, I wouldn't have wanted to come back down. Just… infinite light." I tilted my head back as if I could see them now, the memory vivid. "You weren't just looking at stars. You were in them."

A tiny spark flickered in Grover's eyes, a fragile light banishing the gloom. A small, shy smile touched his lips. We sat in comfortable quietness for a while longer, until Grover's breathing evened out, a soft, contented sound.

Carefully, I slipped out the back, leaving them to sleep. The cool night air was a welcome change from the greasy warehouse. I passed row after row of stone figures, petrified victims of the warehouse's hidden inhabitant, Medusa. My mind churned. This whole mess, this quest… it felt like a celestial overreaction. Why were the gods always so trigger-happy with punishment? Zeus was already steaming mad at me for existing, for defying fate. Hades, too, probably wasn't thrilled. He was the only one who could unleash the Furies. But who had summoned the Chimera? That fiery beast wasn't typical monster fare. The gods could be behind it, but it felt… petty, even for them.

Subconsciously, my fingers drifted to the star-shaped scar on my side, tracing its jagged edges. A nervous habit, an unconscious soothing gesture whenever I was troubled. I didn't even remember getting it, or when the habit started. It was just… there.

Beyond the statues, I found it – a hidden garden. A riot of green within the concrete jungle. Thick, unruly grass bordered by tangled shrubs, taller than my head. Walnut trees, ancient sentinels, towered at the back, their branches a dark, lacey canopy against the cloudy sky. Rows of flowers, faded but tenacious, clung to life, attracting a few brave, nocturnal butterflies. Stepping stones, moss-covered and uneven, snaked through the overgrown paradise, promising hidden corners and secret blooms. The walnut trees, majestic and demanding, stole the show, yet ironically highlighted the vibrant, tenacious life clinging to their roots. Hidden beauty nurtured within the monstrous domain of Medusa. And someone, monster or not, was clearly tending to it, however haphazardly.

Remembering my self-imposed watch duty, I retraced my steps and settled onto a low-hanging branch of one of the walnut trees overlooking the warehouse entrance. Another bank of clouds rolled in, swallowing the last vestiges of twilight, as if darkness itself was impatient. The air hung heavy and humid, pressing down, a grey blanket suffocating the stars. Claustrophobic. All you could do was wait it out, hope for rain to break the tension.

Hours blurred. The night seeped into the early morning without me noticing. Lost in thought and the strange peace of the secret garden, I'd completely forgotten about the watch.

"Percy! What in Hades!?" Annabeth's sharp voice jolted me awake. "I told you to wake me for my shift!"

I scrambled down from the branch, landing awkwardly. "Whoops."

"Whoops?" she repeated, incredulous.

"Sorry!" I yelled, a little too loudly. "Seriously, I lost track of time, totally spaced."

"Uh-huh." Her tone was flat, unconvinced.

"Come on, it was an accident! And now you guys are super rested, ready for anything."

"What about you?" she challenged, hands on her hips. "What if we run into trouble and you're exhausted?"

"One night without sleep? Relax. I've gone days without sleep before, no problem." Maybe not no problem, exactly, but survivable. She still glared, unconvinced. "Look, I'm really sorry, okay? Annabeth…"

She turned abruptly and stalked back inside. What was her deal? Following her in, I found breakfast laid out – or at least, food. Grover was happily munching on napkins and some metallic-looking tin he'd scavenged, predictably. Annabeth, being Annabeth, had managed to rustle up a plate of semi-scrambled eggs and some surprisingly fresh bread. I grabbed a plate, piling on a reasonable portion, and then discreetly slid the best cut of bread and a generous helping of eggs onto her plate. Maybe food would appease the storm brewing in her grey eyes.

Ignoring the lingering tension radiating from Annabeth, I grabbed a plate. A reasonable portion of eggs went on mine, followed by a carefully selected thick slice of bread. Then, with practiced nonchalance, I slid the best cut of bread and a generous mound of eggs into the fire.

Grover, bless his inquisitive heart, broke the silence. Mouth full of questionable breakfast, he mumbled, "Why do you do that? All the food sacrifices, I mean. It's…plentiful."

I shrugged, picking at my eggs. "I have a lot of people to thank. Not just my dad."

Annabeth's grey eyes, though still shadowed with irritation, flickered with curiosity. "Like who?"

"Well…Hera for my family," I started, listing them off on my fingers, "Artemis for hunting skills," I added with a wry smile only I understood, "Athena for… well, wits, I guess," I grinned at Annabeth. "And loads of minor gods and goddesses, the ones who keep the streams flowing and the trees growing. They go mostly unnoticed." I paused, deciding to steer away from the more personal deities for now. "I could go on, but I think we should get moving –"

"Do you not trust us?" Annabeth's voice cut through my attempt to change the subject, sharper than broken glass. I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden accusation. "You wouldn't wake us for watch last night, you're still being cryptic about your sister, and you're dropping hints about some mysterious past you won't elaborate on!" Her voice rose with each point, the tension finally erupting. Grover, mid-munch on a particularly suspect piece of tin, froze, his mouth agape.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Look, it's not about trust exactly. It's just…I don't really know you guys. I'm not used to travelling with anyone, especially not friends. It's just a habit, a kind of…lone wolf thing. And about my past," I continued, my voice softening, "no one ever really asks. When they do…it's complicated."

"How complicated can it be?" Annabeth challenged, her arms crossed, skeptical but now less furious.

"Complicated enough that 'complicated' is an understatement." I hesitated, then decided to offer a glimpse. "Here's a taste. I failed to save someone very close to me, a long time ago." The words felt heavy on my tongue, a leaden weight dragged from the depths of memory. "My past isn't all sunshine and rainbows, despite how I try to play it off. Also," I added, forcing a lighter tone, "I was presumed dead for a long time, back at camp. Nobody, not even the gods, knew I existed until I had a rather…unpleasant run-in with Artemis." I winced, remembering the icy glare of the goddess. "I'm actually still technically on the run from her. Honestly, I'm surprised I'm not a jackalope by now, being hunted for sport."

"Bwahahaha!" Grover exploded, his laughter echoing in the small cabin. "Like you could outrun Artemis! As if I'd believe that!" He doubled over, wheezing with mirth. Annabeth, however, studied me with those piercing grey eyes, a flicker of something other than anger in their depths.

"It's true," I insisted, glancing towards the window, a prickle of unease creeping up my spine. "I even have proof –" I started to turn, reaching inside my jacket for the arrow I'd…acquired… from the goddess herself, when a flash of movement outside caught my eye. It was too fast, too deliberate to be an animal. "Run." The single word was low, urgent.

"Run? Like you're running from the goddess of the hunt?" Grover, still chuckling, was now rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach. Annabeth, though, seemed to sense the shift in my demeanor. Her laughter died in her throat, her eyes narrowing.

"I said RUN, Grover!" I grabbed the satyr by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him to his feet and shoving him towards the door. Annabeth, instantly alert, snatched up the small backpack we'd hastily assembled the night before and was right behind him. Even before we cleared the doorway, I could hear the heavy, rhythmic thumps closing in, the sound of something large and relentless gaining on us.

We burst out of the cabin and into the pre-dawn gloom, sprinting blindly. Grover and Annabeth, surprisingly, were in the lead. Somehow, they had a better sense of direction, instinct guiding them towards our intended destination. I stayed a few paces behind, scanning the treeline, trying to catch sight of whatever was pursuing us. I couldn't yet see it clearly, but the sheer force of its pursuit, the raw power in those thudding footfalls, sent shivers down my spine. This wasn't just some monster; this was something significant, something powerful.

We pounded through the overgrown weeds, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and pine needles. Then, cutting through the sounds of our ragged breaths and pounding feet, came a sound that was music to my ears: the long, mournful whistle of a train. A train on the move. Our lifeline. Hope surged through me, adrenaline flooding my veins.

I sprinted to catch up with Grover and Annabeth, pointing ahead. No words were needed. We exchanged a quick, breathless nod, understanding passing between us like a current. We veered sharply off the path, charging towards the invisible train tracks, guided only by the growing rumble and the rising crescendo of the whistle.

Bursting through the last screen of trees, we saw it – the train, a long, snaking behemoth of steel and iron, already halfway past. Panic clawed at my throat. We were running out of track, out of time, and the thumps behind us were growing closer, louder, faster. Whatever was chasing us was almost upon us.

We raced alongside the train, the ground vibrating beneath our feet. Near the rear, near the very end of the seemingly endless line of cars, I spotted it – an open cargo container, the door slightly ajar. Perfect, or as perfect as it was going to get. As it drew level, Grover leaped, a surprisingly agile jump for a satyr, and swung himself up and in. He turned back instantly, bracing himself, arms outstretched to grab Annabeth. She launched herself, a small, determined figure against the backdrop of the roaring train, grasped Grover's hand, and was hauled inside.

My turn. I ran, pushing every ounce of strength into my legs, and leaped. Stretching, straining, my fingertips brushed Grover's. Hope flared. My fingers curled, tightening around his hand, then Annabeth's. Yes! Home free.

Then, a sudden, violent jerk ripped me backwards. The train roared on without me, the wind whipping my hair, and for a split second, I saw their faces – Grover and Annabeth, framed in the open doorway of the cargo container, their expressions contorted in sheer terror and fear, for me.

I slammed onto the ground, the air knocked from my lungs, the wind rushing past. The train, my escape, was gone. I looked up, dazed, and saw them poised to jump out, their faces pale and resolute. "NO!" I roared, my voice hoarse, desperate. "Keep going!" Their faces screamed protest, but I yelled again, with every last bit of breath I had, "GOOOOO!"

Then, it landed on me.

Weight slammed onto my back, crushing the air from my lungs again. Agonizing, searing pain exploded through my spine, radiating outward in waves of white-hot agony. Panic, raw and primal, threatened to consume me. Endless pain. The thought echoed in my mind, a chilling premonition. Would this agonizing stabbing never stop?

But beneath the panic, a thread of stubborn defiance ignited. No. There had to be an answer, a way to stop this. I focused, forcing my mind to clear through the fog of pain, desperately searching for a solution. Moans and grunts escaped my clenched teeth. Exhaustion, bone-deep and soul-wearying, threatened to overwhelm me. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. But I refused to surrender. Stubbornness, raw and unyielding, was all I had left.

I endured. Each searing thrust of pain ripped through me, but I bit back the scream that clawed at my throat. It – whatever it was – was relishing my suffering. It didn't want to kill me quickly; it wanted to savor this. It wanted me to break.

"-ercy!"

Suddenly, a strange lightness bloomed through the pain. Not relief, not yet, but a shift. The searing agony was still there, pulsating, but…different. Thick, warm liquid welled in my mouth. Blood. My blood. The metallic tang filled my senses. Irony. Not just in my mouth. A shallow pool of it was spreading beneath me, staining the ground crimson. I might be dying. A choked chuckle escaped me. Dying, and I didn't even really know what was killing me. Demigods living past twelve really was a miracle.

Something shifted. A strange disembodied sensation, like floating. Then, the jarring thud of impact. Ground. I was on the ground again.

"-ercy!"

He thought I was dead. Yet he still called my name. He hadn't given up on me, so why did it feel like I was giving up on myself? No! I wouldn't give up. I wasn't dying. Not today. Dragging my trembling hands to my sides, I pushed. The hardest, most agonizing push-up of my life. A strange, gritty sensation, like soft dirt, cascaded off my back. My spine screamed in protest, each vertebra a raw nerve. But I pushed again, placing my knees on the ground for leverage, and collapsed, my body shuddering, hands splayed beside me.

Weakly, I looked down. And saw it. The telltale golden dust, shimmering even in the dim light. Monster dust. Scattered all around me, shimmering and fading like dying embers. Blurry vision, world tilting, but unmistakable.

"Percy!" Who was calling my name? "Percy! Can – hear me!?" Annabeth's voice, frantic, laced with fear. I heard her. But the pain… it was too much. Darkness swirled at the edges of my vision, pulling me down, down…and I succumbed. I passed out.

---

Third POV:

They hadn't even reached the train car when the sickening crunch echoed behind them. Ignoring Percy's shouted command to leave, Annabeth and Grover exchanged a frantic glance. Something was terribly wrong. Launching themselves back towards the tracks, the scene that unfolded stole their breath and planted ice in their veins. Four monstrous shapes dwarfed Percy, each the size of a draft horse. But these were no horses. From the beasts' ridged skulls erupted jagged, bony protuberances, like grotesque antlers tipped with saw-toothed edges that dripped with something viscous and black. These horrifying growths were not just for show; they were instruments of torture, pinning Percy to the ground. Thick claws, like rusty scimitars, tore into his back, ripping through flesh and sinew with horrifying ease. Strips of his skin peeled away, revealing layers of raw, crimson muscle beneath. Blood gushed, coating Percy in a slick, scarlet shroud, painting the dusty ground a horrifying tableau.

Annabeth reacted instantly. Her hand flew to her hip, drawing her dagger with practiced speed and deadly accuracy. With all her strength, she hurled the celestial bronze blade. It spun through the air, a silver flash against the gore, and sunk deep into the lung of the nearest beast. A guttural roar ripped from its throat, abruptly cut short as the monster collapsed in a heap of dust and fur. The sudden death of their companion snapped the attention of the remaining Aeternae towards the new threats. It was a fatal mistake. Even pinned and ravaged, pure instinct and years of battle memory surged in Percy. With a roar torn from his own pain, he twisted, his celestial bronze sword appearing as if summoned from thin air. In a blur of motion, he slashed upwards, the enchanted metal ripping through the surprisingly soft underbellies of two of the beasts. Gouts of dark blood and steaming entrails spilled onto the ground as they staggered back, mortally wounded. Percy, his brief burst of adrenaline spent, crashed back down, his own wounds screaming in protest. The last Aeternae stood momentarily frozen, its bizarre, bony head swiveling between its fallen packmates and the two smaller figures who dared challenge it. Before it could decide, Annabeth was upon it. She lunged, her dagger flashing again, this time aimed true at the creature's skull. With a sickening crunch of bone, the celestial bronze found its mark, and the last Aeternae crumpled into dust, joining its companions in a gruesome pile.

These were Aeternae, creatures whispered about in hushed tones even among monsters. Not inherently aggressive, they were normally docile grazers in remote plains, unless provoked or, as legend had it, attracted to the scent of immense power. They were ancient, rumored to have clashed with Alexander the Great's armies, leaving trails of butchered soldiers in their wake. Aeternae traveled in herds, their numbers often overwhelming. Their hunting method was brutally efficient: surround their prey, pin it with their bony protrusions, and then systematically shred it apart with their claws until nothing remained but a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. Encounters were rare, thankfully, as their raw power and pack mentality made them devastatingly lethal. To find four of them here, attacking Percy… it was a terrifying anomaly.

"Percy!" Annabeth and Grover screamed in unison, their voices thick with panic and relief. They rushed to his side, their breath catching in their throats as they saw him struggling, impossibly, to sit up amidst the carnage. Even ravaged, bleeding, and near death, the sheer force of his will, the stubborn spark of his spirit, pushed him to fight against oblivion. It was both awe-inspiring and heartbreaking to witness.

Tears blurred their vision as they took in the full horror of his condition. Flesh was mangled and split, hanging in ribbons, barely clinging to the muscle beneath. Every breath seemed to send a fresh wave of crimson welling from the butchered wounds. It was a sight that twisted their stomachs and clawed at their hearts. Annabeth, ever practical, snapped into action. "Grover, water! Now!" While Grover frantically searched for any source of moisture, Annabeth began to assess the damage, her movements precise despite the tremble in her hands. They worked with desperate haste, tearing strips from Grover's shirt to try and staunch the bleeding. When Grover returned with a trickle of water from a miraculously unfrozen puddle by the tracks, they mixed it sparingly with nectar and ambrosia pulled from Annabeth's pack. They dabbed the diluted mixture onto his most grievous wounds, whispering ancient Greek prayers under their breath. Time blurred into a frantic eternity as they labored over him, the light fading from the sky, replaced by the chill of the approaching night. Slowly, agonizingly, the torrent of blood began to subside, easing to a sticky trickle, then finally, blessedly, ceasing altogether. Yet, Percy remained motionless, lost in unconsciousness. They watched with rapt, uneasy fascination as the ravaged flesh seemed to knit itself back together with unnatural speed. Raw, angry lines of scar tissue bloomed in the wake of the healing, a testament to the brutality he'd endured.

Only then, as the immediate crisis receded, did they truly see the tapestry of scars that decorated his body. Estranged white lines, a road map of past battles, crisscrossed his skin. Some were faded and silvery, ghosting across his torso like old memories. Others were newer, stark white against his tanned skin, raw and fresh looking even now. It became chillingly clear that these recent wounds were not unique, merely the latest additions to a collection accumulated over years of fighting gods, monsters, and titans. Slash marks scored his arms and legs in haphazard patterns; small, circular scars marked where monsters' barbs or fangs had pierced his flesh; and a long, puckered gash tracked a brutal path from his back, curving around his ribs towards his chest – undoubtedly the mark of a blade. And then there was the star-shaped scar on his shoulder, a permanent reminder of a venomous hydra and a god's hasty intervention. He was a walking testament to survival, a living canvas painted with the scars of a life far beyond his years.

As darkness deepened, Annabeth declared, her voice firm despite the tremor of exhaustion, "We can't stay here. He needs proper healing, and we're exposed." Her mind raced, already formulating a plan. With Grover's help, they managed to drag Percy, still limp and unresponsive, to the railway tracks. Annabeth, with her uncanny ability to predict patterns, calculated the train schedule and devised a way to flag down the next freight train. Using flares from her emergency kit, they managed to halt the lumbering behemoth and, explaining a fabricated story of a "hiking accident" to the bewildered brakeman, they carefully loaded Percy into an empty boxcar, cushioning him with their meager supplies. For the next two days, the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels became a constant backdrop to their worry. Percy would jolt awake sporadically, his eyes wide and disoriented, only to slip back into a restless slumber. Annabeth watched him with growing anxiety, her brow furrowed with concern. Grover, his empathic abilities amplified in Percy's presence, could barely stand to be near him for more than a few moments at a time.

Beyond the physical torment, Percy was haunted by nightmares. He thrashed and moaned in his sleep, trapped in some unseen, internal battle. Annabeth and Grover huddled close, their own weariness forgotten in their concern for him. In his fevered dreams, Percy found himself once more at the edge of a bottomless pit, the oppressive darkness radiating an ancient, malevolent power. And always, the voice echoed in his mind, insidious and seductive, cutting through the chaos of his pain. It urged him to awaken, not just to consciousness, but to his true nature. To embrace the destiny that awaited him. To cast off the shackles of Olympus and become what he was meant to be – a force of destruction, the destroyer of the Olympian gods themselves.

---

Percy's POV:

My foot slipped, and a jolt of pure terror shot through me as I plummeted into darkness. A hand, cold and impossibly strong, clamped around my ankle. It pulled, relentlessly, dragging me deeper into the abyss. My fingers scrabbled against rough, unforgiving stone, the only anchors I had left. "You're all alone…" a voice rasped, a whisper that seemed to seep into my very bones. "You're in this alone… Join me… and you won't be." My grip gave way. The world dissolved into black as I fell.

I gasped, bolting upright, heart hammering against my ribs. Disorientation clung to me like a shroud. Rough fabric pressed against my back, and the rhythmic clatter and sway told me I was on a train. How? The last thing I remembered... the fall, the voice... it felt so real. Looking around, I spotted Annabeth and Grover slumped against each other, fast asleep, right next to me. Midday sun streamed through the train window, bathing the carriage in a warm glow, a stark contrast to the chilling dream.

"Hey," I murmured, nudging Annabeth's shoulder. "Wake up." They didn't stir. I shook them harder, my voice rising to a louder whisper, the residual soreness from my dream still aching in my muscles. Nothing. Exasperated, I clapped my hands sharply, "Hey!" They both jolted awake, eyes wide and unfocused, then snapped to attention, recognizing me. A small chuckle escaped me at their comical jumpiness.

"Percy!" Grover bleated, scrambling to his knees in front of me, relief flooding his features. Annabeth, ever composed, stood beside him, a faint smile gracing her lips. "We didn't know when you'd wake up… or if you were… gonna…" Grover trailed off, muttering the last part under his breath.

"Well," I shrugged, trying to downplay the lingering dread from the dream, "it wouldn't be the first time." They exchanged a puzzled look. "Let's just say I've had a few close calls. The Fates seem to have a morbid sense of humor where I'm concerned. If only I could reach out and slap them, I swear I would." I forced a light chuckle, but the unease remained, coiling in my stomach.

Grover tilted his head, brow furrowed. "But… I thought you grew up with a loving family, the kind who taught you everything?"

My smile faltered. "I only told you the good parts, G-man. Even when I was younger, I learned to bury the bad stuff, focus on the light. You only know what I've let you see." Sadness clouded his eyes. "I'm sorry, but… it's still too hard to talk about it."

"That's fair," Annabeth conceded softly. "We all have our secrets… Though," she turned her sharp grey eyes on me, a hint of curiosity in her gaze, "who exactly were you saying 'no' to in your sleep? You kept muttering about not helping." I was mortified. I mumbled in my sleep? Great.

"I… I can't say," I whispered, the image of the grasping hand flashing in my mind.

"How come?" Annabeth pressed, a subtle edge creeping into her voice, the daughter of Athena's analytical mind already picking at the threads of mystery.

"Because I'm scared of the answer," I admitted, the words barely audible. The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken questions and shared anxieties as the train rattled onward. I gazed out the window, watching the blurred landscape rush by. The mist clung to the edges of fields and towns, obscuring the mundane world of mortals from the fantastical reality we inhabited. What would their lives be like if they knew?

The train began to slow, screeching as it approached a station. Before it had even shuddered to a complete stop, Annabeth was on her feet, bounding towards the exit. Grover and I exchanged bewildered glances before scrambling to follow her. "Hey! What are we doing?" I called after her, completely lost.

"Sightseeing!" she declared, a sudden burst of enthusiasm lighting up her face. Grover looked as confused as I felt. "Come on, slowpokes!" She hopped off the train and took off, leaving us no choice but to jog after her. We followed her through the city, past bustling streets and towering buildings, finally reaching the edge of a wide, muddy river. My eyes scanned the horizon, still trying to decipher the point of this impromptu excursion. We walked through echoing tunnels, across a soaring bridge, and finally into a sprawling park, the afternoon sun now slanting low in the sky, probably close to four.

Distracted by the scenery, I didn't notice Annabeth stop abruptly. I walked right into her, stumbling and landing unceremoniously on my backside. "Oof!"

"The St. Louis Arch," Annabeth breathed, oblivious to my minor collision. She didn't even seem to notice I'd run into her. We stood directly beneath an immense, gleaming curve of steel that soared into the sky, an improbable monument arching over our heads. It was undeniably impressive. "Come on, let's go to the top," she said, already heading towards the entrance.

"What's so fascinating about this thing?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"The architecture, Percy! Haven't you ever wanted to build something that lasts? Something… timeless?" Her eyes shone with an almost feverish intensity. "As a daughter of Athena, I want to leave my mark on this world. Something permanent, beautiful, strong. I want to be an architect. It's always been my dream."

"Not me," Grover piped up, fiddling with his tin-can lid again. "I just want to find Pan and restore his domain. Well, I guess that could be something permanent. A wild place, untainted by humans. Yeah," he nodded, conviction growing, "I guess I do want to build something lasting too, in a way." He paused, turning to me. "What's your dream, Percy?"

I shrugged. "I usually just take things one crisis at a time. Lately, there's never been a time without one. I haven't really thought about what I wanted... beyond just surviving to the next day." As we approached the arch entrance, a prickle of unease ran down my spine. Grover, usually oblivious, was also on edge, his ears twitching nervously. Something felt… wrong. We were ushered through security and onto a small, cramped tram that would take us to the top. No questions asked, no raised eyebrows about my ripped shorts and lacking of normal people clothes. Too easy. Why would they let a scruffy, possibly homeless-looking kid on board without a second glance?

We squeezed into the capsule-like elevator, the air thick and stale. A heavy woman, whose bulk seemed to consume half the tiny space, wheezed beside me, clutching a trembling chihuahua in a sparkly pink carrier. The distinct odor of unwashed bodies hung in the confined space. I wanted out.

When the doors hissed open at the top, I practically shoved my way out, desperate for fresh air. But stepping onto the observation deck, a wave of nausea washed over me. Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh. I wanted to get off. I spun around, heading back towards the elevator, bumping into the fat woman. "Is someone scared of heights?" she chuckled, her voice surprisingly deep. The chihuahua in her carrier snarled, tiny, needle-sharp teeth bared at me. I wasn't afraid of heights, not normally. But this place… it felt wrong, like standing directly in the crosshairs of someone who had it out for me, and this high up… it felt like their domain.

"Nooo," I stammered, trying to squeeze past her. "I just… forgot something downstairs." She remained planted, an immovable obstacle.

"Ahh, come on," she drawled, her eyes, surprisingly sharp, fixed on mine. "The view is great this time of day. You wouldn't want to miss it, would you?" She was in no way relenting. Giving up, I sighed and reluctantly rejoined Annabeth and Grover, the knot of dread in my stomach tightening.

"We're six hundred feet up," I grumbled, gesturing back towards the elevator, "and Ms. Rat Owner over there won't let me past." Grover and Annabeth glanced over my shoulder, their expressions mirroring my unease. Mortals milled around us, oblivious, their cameras flashing, their voices a dull hum. Trapped. We were trapped. Annabeth, ever the pragmatist, launched into a detailed explanation of the arch's construction, rattling off facts about the materials and engineering marvels, trying to distract me, or maybe herself. I feigned interest, but my eyes kept flicking back to the woman. Something about her… I couldn't shake the feeling that we were in danger. Suddenly, I grabbed Annabeth and Grover, pulling them forcefully toward the elevator. "Let's go," I muttered, shoving them into the waiting car.

I was about to step inside myself when a park ranger, a burly man with a stern face, placed a hand firmly on my shoulder. "Sorry, sir," he said, his voice flat and uncompromising. "No room. Please wait for the next car." I stared at him, a cold dread creeping up my spine. Wait for the next car? No! I didn't want to wait. I wanted to live!

The heavy doors hissed shut, sealing me in with the dregs. "We'll wait for you at the bottom," Annabeth's voice echoed faintly from the receding elevator car. Wonderful. Abandoned in a glorified tin can hundreds of feet in the air. My mood plummeted faster than the express lift just had. All that remained in this cramped space were a handful of oblivious tourists and… her. The woman cradling the trembling chihuahua. I loathed Chihuahuas. They were glorified rodents in dog costumes. As if summoned by my disdain, the woman turned, her gaze sharp and reptilian. A fleshy smile stretched across her face, but her eyes remained cold. And was that… yes, definitely a flicker of a forked tongue. Wonderful.

Trapped. Suspended in the sky. With a monster, and a buffet of oblivious mortals. Just my luck. The chihuahua, nestled in her arms, erupted in a series of high-pitched yaps that grated on my nerves. "Sonny, darling, must you?" she cooed, her voice unnaturally sweet. "Not with such lovely people around." Sonny, or whatever unholy creature it was, intensified its yapping, growing increasingly frantic. "Well, if you insist, son." Son? Great. My elevator buddy was cooing at a rat like it was her child. A kid behind her, no older than ten, piped up, "Mommy, look at the cute doggy!" Cute? This thing looked like it was perpetually on the verge of exploding.

"Heh," I couldn't help myself, sarcasm dripping like venom. "Cute? You call that… thing your son? Man, I'd pay to see that family tree." Her eyes narrowed, the sweet façade crumbling.

"I see your reputation for sarcasm precedes you, Perseus."

Wait. Reputation? "Hold up. Am I famous now? Look, if you're after an autograph, sorry to disappoint, didn't bring any parchment." I patted my chest theatrically, shrugging. But as I spoke, Sonny's yapping deepened, morphing into a guttural growl that vibrated in the elevator's metal shell. The chihuahua… changed. Its yapping became a lion's roar. Its fur thickened into tawny mane. Its body swelled, stretching, contorting, until a creature of nightmare proportions filled the small space. Chimera. Ten feet of lion-headed, goat-bodied, serpent-tailed monstrosity, its fur matted with what looked chillingly like dried blood. Only a mother could love that… thing.

Instinct took over. Riptide was uncapped, Celestial bronze gleaming in the elevator's harsh light. The Chimera loomed, its shadow swallowing the mortals cowering behind it. They were trapped too. "Honored, Percy?" Echidna – it had to be her – purred.

"Definitely not feeling the honor," I snarled, adrenaline surging.

"Zeus himself granted me this pleasure. To test a hero with my own blood. Let's see how you fare against my Sonny!" Echidna! Zeus? Oh gods, don't tell me… "Please, please don't tell me Zeus is the father! I mean, I know he… gets around, but seriously? If Hera finds out about…!"

"Enough!" Echidna shrieked, her eyes blazing. "Kill him, Sonny! Die! Die! Die!" The Chimera lunged, claws extended, raking through the air where I'd just been. I dove to the side, the stench of sulfur and burnt fur filling my nostrils as the monster's claws clipped my shoulder, tearing fabric and drawing a thin line of fire-hot pain. Mortals behind me, defenseless. No way was I letting them become collateral damage. "Hey, fur-ball!" I taunted, drawing its attention. "Missed me, you overgrown house cat!" It roared, a blast of fetid breath hitting me like a physical blow, rancid and thick with decay. Then came the heat. Raw, searing heat. Flames erupted from its lion's maw, engulfing the space before me. I sprinted forward, adrenaline pumping, and slid under its belly as the Chimera unleashed a torrent of fire at the ground I'd just vacated. The heat licked at my skin, singeing my hair, the air shimmering and thick with smoke. Looking back, I saw a gaping, molten hole blasted through the observation deck floor, steel dripping like candle wax, a choking cloud of smoke billowing upwards. Insane damage. I scrambled to my feet, circling to its rear, and launched myself, a jump kick connecting with its goat haunches. Teetering precariously at the edge of the ruined observation deck, the Chimera, massive and off-balance, toppled. My own momentum carried me with it.

I knew the tail would strike. Inevitable. As we plummeted, the serpent tail lashed out, fangs sinking deep into my thigh. Poison coursed through my veins, icy fire spreading fast, amplified by the adrenaline. Water. Thank the gods, we were falling into water. If I ever survived this, elevators were officially off my list.

We crashed into the river with bone-jarring force, the world dissolving into a white chaos of swirling bubbles. My lungs burned, but the water, Poseidon's domain, soothed the worst of the pain. Had the Chimera… ? Willing the water to clear, I saw golden dust shimmering, dissipating downstream. Good. Gone.

You did well, Percy. A voice, gentle and familiar, echoed in my mind. You're making your father proud. I spun around, heart hammering, and saw her. A Naiad, shimmering and ethereal, with eyes the color of the Aegean Sea. She looked… like she could be related to me? Dad? The thought sparked, a strange warmth in my chest.

"Who are you?" I croaked, my voice raspy.

"Merely a messenger." Her voice was like the murmur of waves. "I'm to tell you to head to Santa Monica. Please. I cann–"

"I know," I interrupted, "I hate this river too. Thank you." She extended a hand, translucent and graceful. As her fingers brushed against mine, I felt a surge of power, the river currents themselves swirling around me.

"Whatever you do, don't trust –" Her warning was abruptly cut short. A monstrous chunk of debris, likely ripped from the monument, slammed into the river, throwing up a wave that obscured everything. When the murky water cleared, she was gone. Vanished. Don't trust who? I shoved the question aside for later, scrambling out of the river and onto the bank. Panic reigned. Sirens wailed, helicopters chopped the air overhead, flashing red and blue lights painting the chaotic scene. People screamed, parents dragged terrified children away, firefighters battled flames licking at the monument's base. I was the least of their concerns right now.

Standing at the water's edge, still dripping, I watched the pandemonium unfold. Echidna… gone? The mortals in the elevator… ? "PER-RCY!" I was engulfed in a furry, goat-smelling hug. Grover. "We thought – we thought you'd taken a shortcut to Hades!" He babbled, practically vibrating with relief. Annabeth stood behind him, a subtle smile tugging at her lips despite her attempt at a stern expression. "What in Olympus happened?! We just got off the elevator, the whole monument shook, then BOOM! Hole in the side, and two somethings falling out!"

"Heh, well," I began, "long story short, Echidna made a surprise guest appearance, and…"

"Echidna!" Annabeth exclaimed, disbelief etched on her face. "Percy, how are you this unlucky?"

"Tell me about it!" I threw my hands up. "I'm still trying to figure out how I'm still alive!" Seriously, luck was the only explanation. I recounted the elevator ride of doom, the Chimera, the fall, and the cryptic message from the Naiad about Santa Monica.

Without wasting another second, we started walking, leaving the chaos behind. As we passed a knot of reporters, a TV screen flickered to life. "—child terrorist is believed to be linked to several other recent incidents. We have an eyewitness sketch…" On the monitor flashed a crudely drawn image. Me.

"That's some serious bull," I muttered, glancing at Annabeth and Grover. They just exchanged weary, knowing glances. Another day, another monster, another attempt to pin it all on Percy. Just another Tuesday.

---

Percy's POV:

Getting out of St. Louis was absolute. Apparently, vaporizing the Gateway Arch – collateral damage in a Chimera fight, naturally – tended to trigger a nationwide manhunt. And guess who the nation decided was public enemy number one? Yours truly. They even linked me to a string of… incidents across the country. 'Most Wanted' lists were being thrown around. It wasn't my fault fire-breathing monsters had a knack for ambushing me in landmark locations.

Despite the 'Wanted' posters I was sure were already plastered across every police station, Grover and Annabeth insisted on train travel. My preferred method of escape – anything involving water – was apparently "nauseating" and "mind-numbing." Honestly, the insults stung more than the phantom pains from Chimera bites. As if I wasn't obvious enough! A well toned twelve year old, perpetually damp, shirtless , crispy, (thanks, Chimera), and plastered all over the evening news, I practically screamed "SUSPECT!"

So here I was, crammed into a train compartment, my two demigod companions beside me, a week left on some insane quest deadline, and Annabeth suggesting we call Chiron. Like that wouldn't attract even more unwanted attention. Still, desperation breeds questionable decisions. I ducked into the cramped, frankly disgusting, train bathroom. Cupping my hands under the lukewarm faucet, I willed a shimmer of mist into existence. "Hey Iris," I muttered, "Percy here. Solid favor – Camp Half-Blood, please." Grover and Annabeth exchanged bewildered glances. "Iris and I go way back," I mumbled by way of explanation. They still looked confused, but thankfully dropped it. The mist shimmered, cleared, and solidified into an image. And there, staring dramatically out across the familiar strawberry fields, was Luke.

"Luke!" Annabeth shrieked, nearly deafening me in the tiny space. He snapped around, eyes widening in surprise and relief.

"Annabeth? Gods, you're alright! Percy, Grover – you too! Is everything okay?" His voice was laced with genuine concern, and a flicker of something else… anxiety?

"Just peachy," I said drily. "Nothing like blowing up a national monument to start the day. Anyway, we need to talk to-"

"Chiron!" Annabeth cut in, finally snapping out of her initial shock. She was practically tripping over her words. "We need to speak with Chiron, Luke!"

"Uh, he's down by the cabins. Things are… tense. He had to break up a brawl between the Ares and Athena cabins just now. It's been like this since word leaked about the, you know…" Luke trailed off, glancing around as if the mist might be bugged. "The Zeus and Poseidon… disagreement." He lowered his voice further. "Everyone's on edge, taking sides. We think… we think someone at camp might be behind the Chimera. It's chaos, guys. You need to get back here. Soon." A muffled crash from the train hallway made my stomach churn.

"Go check it out," I urged, gesturing to the door. "I can't be seen, remember?" They nodded, Annabeth's hand instinctively moving towards her dagger, and slipped out of the cramped bathroom.

Luke leaned closer to the mist, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Percy, listen… I have a bad feeling. I think I know who might have stolen the master bolt. Hades."

That stopped me cold. Hades? "He hates Olympus," Luke continued, his gaze intense. "He was there at the winter solstice, cloaked in shadows. He holds the biggest grudge of all. And with his Helm of Darkness… he could walk right into Zeus's throne room, unseen. I can't think of any other way it could be done. It has to be Hades."

A sharp clang echoed from the hallway, followed by Grover's yelp. "You guys better check that out," Luke said urgently. Then, a lighter note crept into his voice. "Oh, and how are the flying shoes-"

I swiped my hand through the mist, cutting the connection. No time for shoe updates. Something was happening out there. Riptide was already uncapped in my hand.

I burst out of the bathroom, sword at the ready, only to find… utter chaos involving a toppled dinner cart and a very flustered Grover sprawled on the floor amidst scattered sandwiches and spilled juice. Annabeth was profusely apologizing to a train attendant – a middle-aged woman with a strained smile. As the woman's gaze flickered to me, her smile froze. Her eyes widened, and the forced pleasantness vanished, replaced by raw fear. "It's… quite alright, dears," she stammered, backing away with jerky movements. "If you'll excuse me." She practically sprinted down the aisle, leaving the wreckage of the dinner cart behind.

"Good news, free food," Annabeth sighed, gesturing to the mess. "Bad news, she definitely recognized you." Just then, the train conductor's voice crackled over the intercom. "Now approaching Denver Union Station."

Denver. Perfect. An opportunity to get off this rolling metal tube of paranoia and escape the ever-tightening net. We grabbed what salvageable snacks we could from the cart and bolted.

My lungs burned, and my legs screamed in protest as we pounded the Denver pavement. The initial burst of adrenaline had long since faded, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. Grover's usually bouncy gait had devolved into a weary shuffle, his eyes glazed over.

We needed to stop. Food. Water. A moment to breathe. As if summoned by our desperation, a retro-looking diner materialized on the corner, neon sign buzzing invitingly. We stumbled inside, looking about as appealing as a trio of stray dogs in a poodle convention.

"C-can we get a table, please?" Grover croaked, his voice raspy.

The waitress, a heavyset woman with tired eyes, sized us up. "Can you pay for it?" Her tone was blunt, bordering on hostile. Before I could even fumble for my wallet – assuming I even had money anymore – a sound ripped through the air, a low, guttural roar that vibrated through the floorboards. Mortals froze mid-sentence, conversations dying in their tracks.

A motorcycle pulled up outside, something out of a nightmare. It was a Harley, but monstrously modified – chrome skull ornaments, leather fringe that looked like shredded skin, and flames painted everywhere, not just paint flames, but actual dancing, flickering fire licking at the exhaust pipes. The rider dismounted. He was colossal, muscles bulging under a sleeveless leather vest, scars crisscrossing every inch of exposed skin. An aura of pure aggression radiated off him in waves, thick with violence and the scent of ozone. It was like standing next to a live wire, crackling with barely contained power. He moved with the swagger of a god, because, of course, he probably was.

He strode into the diner, the doors swinging shut behind him with a heavy thud. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the frozen mortals blinked back to life, resuming their conversations as if a demigod's entrance was perfectly normal. The waitress repeated her question, her voice trembling slightly. But I wasn't paying attention to her. My eyes were locked on the biker god heading straight for us.

"It's on me," he rumbled, his voice a gravelly growl. He gestured towards a booth way too small for his frame, let alone ours. "Still here?" he barked at the waitress. She swallowed hard and scurried away.

The biker god slid into the booth opposite me, the stench of motor oil and something else, something ancient and metallic, filling my nostrils. He pushed up his mirrored shades, revealing eyes the color of molten steel, narrowed and predatory. His aura slammed into me, a wave of raw, unchecked aggression. It was a physical force, urging me to fight, to lash out, to embrace the simmering rage he embodied.

"So," he drawled, fixing me with that burning gaze. "You're the big news all over Olympus, sea spawn, huh? Blew up an arch, started a war? Impressive for a rookie."

"Wouldn't know," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, to push back against the oppressive force of his presence. "Never been to Olympus."

"Don't play coy with me, kid. Word is, you're the one who started this whole mess."

"Is that right?" I shrugged, forcing a casual tone I didn't feel. "Fascinating. Listen, I'm just trying to fix it. So, tell me, why is a god hanging out in a Denver greasy spoon?"

"Percy!" Annabeth hissed, aghast. "Do you even know who you're talking to?!"

"Of course I do," I said, meeting Ares's fiery gaze head-on. "It's Ares. Right?" This was going to be interesting.

"Oh, you got spunk, kid." His voice rumbled. The man in front of me didn't seem bothered, just amused. "Heard you were in town. Got a proposition for ya."

Right then, the waitress returned with a mountain of food. Burgers, fries, onion rings – the whole diner special. We stared, momentarily stunned by the sheer volume. Then, hunger took over. We dove in, chewing and gulping down sodas like we hadn't eaten in days.

Between bites, Ares continued, "I'm asking for a favor."

Mouth full of burger, I mumbled, "Pass."

The man's eyebrows shot up. "What was that, punk?"

I swallowed, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and looked him straight in the eye. "I said pass. Didn't you notice I'm busy trying to stop World War III?" I went back to my fries, acting like talking to a random stranger was the most normal thing in the world.

"You don't pass on a favor from a god, punk!" He slammed his hand on the table, making the plates jump. "I should turn you into a prairie dog and use you for target practice!"

Okay, maybe that was a bit much. "Whoops," slipped out.

He sighed dramatically, the anger fading into annoyance. "But I don't have time for that. Which is why I came to you." He leaned closer. "Fetch my shield from a water park nearby, and I'll give you a ride. A proper one. My girl and I were having a nice time, romantic tunnel-of-love thing, but it got interrupted. And you should be thanking me, actually."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" I asked, taking a swig of soda.

"Out of all the gods sent to find the missing lightning bolt, I was one of them. Thankfully, as a war expert, I figured out the game fast. Framing someone to start a war? Oldest trick. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be on this dumb quest, chasing 'death breath'."

"Fine," I conceded, picking at my burger again. "But I expect a good ride back. My legs are killing me."

He smirked, a flash of white teeth in his rough face. He gave us hurried directions – something about a "love ride" at "Waterland" – and then, poof, he was gone. Just like that. Ares, God of War, vanished from the greasy diner booth.

Grover, who'd been mostly silent throughout the encounter, pushed aside his empty plate, unease in his eyes. "Percy, this isn't good. A god seeking you out personally... this feels really wrong." He picked a stray lettuce bit from his teeth.

We paid for the food (somehow) and stepped back out into the afternoon sun. I had a way of walking fast, like I was always rushing. My steps were quick and short, making me seem like I was speed-walking, but without the weird hip wiggle.

"Hey," I said, "you wanna know something?" Annabeth and Grover looked at me, curious. "You ever wonder why I asked you two to come with me?"

They both nodded.

"I could've gone alone. Seriously considered it. Figured less chance of anyone getting hurt that way. But I picked you guys." I turned to Grover. "Grover, I know you're beating yourself up about Thalia. But drowning in guilt doesn't help anyone. The more you stay stuck in fear, the more it controls you. Think I haven't noticed monsters slipping past you lately? You, the guy who sniffed out a daughter of Zeus and two other demigods, and kept them alive till camp?"

Grover's ears drooped.

"Yeah, you're scared now. But if you keep living like this, you'll never find Pan, never make any real difference. Tough truth, but there it is. I brought you because you're one of my best friends. I'm looking out for you."

"Percy, I—" Grover started, voice shaky.

I cut him off. "Grover, snap out of it. Do it for the wild. For Pan." He just stared, speechless.

Then I turned to Annabeth. "And you, wise girl. You dream of seeing the world, but you're half-blind. Daughter of Athena, right? One of the most versatile goddesses ever, but you only use your brain. Always gotta think of every angle before acting."

"And what's wrong with that?" Annabeth asked, defensive.

"Depends. On this quest? Yeah, it's a problem. I've done most of the fighting so far. Time for you both to step up. Sometimes you have to think fast, make a split-second decision, or you're toast. I grew up hearing 'think before you act'. But if I'd done that in every fight, I'd be monster chow by now. Overthinking slows you down, stops you from using everything Athena gave you. You're way more than just brains. Another tough truth. Frozen equals dead—not just in fights, but in your abilities, everything. These monsters, they learn. They adapt. They're not stupid." Maybe I was laying it on thick, but they needed to hear it. "I'm not here to babysit. We have a quest to finish." I emphasized "we" to make sure they got the point.

Silence hung in the air for the next few minutes as we walked, heading towards Waterland.

We reached the water park as the sun dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. It looked deserted, like any other closed-for-the-season water park, with colorful slides twisting and turning in the fading light. Except, this one had barbed wire glinting on top of the main gate fence. Abandoned, but locked up tight.

Drawing Riptide, I sliced through the padlock like it was butter. The heavy gate creaked open, and we stepped inside. "We should be careful," Annabeth whispered. "Something that worried a god… it should definitely worry us." I nodded, suddenly realizing Ares being here on a date with Aphrodite was even weirder than I first thought.

We moved through the silent park together, searching every corner. Annabeth and Grover ducked into a gift shop, grabbing some dry clothes and a few snacks. I didn't need anything. We searched and searched, but no shield.

Finally, we reached the Tunnel of Love ride. It was in the middle of a drained pool, surrounded by cheesy bronze statues of Cupid, frozen mid-flight, arrows aimed nowhere. Of course, the goddess of love would have a date here. In a deserted water park, with a muscle-head god. Actually, knowing Ares, this was probably his idea. Aphrodite had way better taste than this.

Grover sniffed the air, his nose twitching. "No monster smell. Or any sign they were here recently," he said, voice sounding steadier than before. Good.

"You sure?" I asked, just to double-check.

He gave me a firm look. "Absolutely." I grinned back. "Good work, G-man. So, wise girl, plan?" Annabeth was already by the base of one of the Cupid statues, running her fingers along the bronze. She seemed to be examining something, a thoughtful frown on her face.

Annabeth's fingers traced the Cupid's base, brushing against the metal like she was reading braille. She was definitely examining something, her usual thoughtful frown deepening. "Eta... Okay," she began, not even glancing up, "Grover, since you have the flying shoes, you should stay up here. Keep watch." She finally looked at me. "Percy and I will go retrieve the shield. It's down by the tunnel of love."

Tunnel of love. Right. That sounded about as appealing as swimming in the Styx. Annabeth didn't seem thrilled about the romantic detour either, but the shield was the mission. Can't say I blamed her for the lack of enthusiasm about a love boat ride with me.

Getting down to the little boat dock was easy enough. The "love boat" was exactly as cheesy as you'd imagine, bobbing gently in a small, heart-shaped pool - faded white and pink paint slathered across it, with even tackier painted hearts everywhere else. There it was, Ares' shield, resting innocently in one of the seats, gleaming even in the dim light. And next to it, a ridiculous looking silk scarf, the color of bubblegum.

I glanced back at Grover, perched nervously on the edge of the diner roof. Then I noticed the mirrors. Not just any mirrors, but dozens of them, polished and strategically placed all around the rim of the pool, angled directly at the little boat. My stomach did a flip. Were they seriously setting up some kind of… surveillance? It felt invasive, wrong. On impulse, I snatched the gaudy scarf and shoved it into my pocket. A favor from Aphrodite, even an unintentional one, might be useful later.

"Oh no, you don't, Seaweed Brain." Annabeth's hand shot out to grab the scarf, her voice sharp.

"Don't worry," I said, pulling away, "I don't plan on falling for any love magic." She still looked doubtful, but she let it go. I reached for the shield, my fingers closing around the cool metal rim. And then my pinky snagged on something thin and sharp. "Uh-oh."

A fine, almost invisible metal filament. Trip wire. "I should have seen this coming," I muttered, kicking myself mentally. Traps. Of course.

"Trap?" Annabeth's eyes widened, her hand already instinctively reaching for her bronze knife.

"Trap." Right on cue, noise erupted around us. Not a bang, but a mechanical whirring, like gears grinding against each other deep within the cheesy façade of the love tunnel. It was the whole attraction, coming alive, and it wasn't welcoming guests.

Grover, bless him, tried to swoop down to us, his winged sneakers buzzing. But then the Cupid statues – I swear their painted eyes gleamed – began firing. Not arrows, thankfully. But streams of thin, metallic thread shot across the pool, weaving and crisscrossing in the air. In seconds, a glittering, dangerous net formed over the water, trapping us within the heart-shaped pool. I sometimes really hated magic. Especially when employed by Hephaestus, god of traps and… well, everything mechanical and annoying.

Grabbing the shield, I and Annabeth scrambled to climb up the slick, fake-rock sides of the pool. Above us, Grover desperately tried to tear an opening in the net, but as soon as his hand touched a thread, it shimmered and seemed to grip him, sticky and strong.

Then, the real show began. The Cupid statues' heads clicked open, like grotesque flower buds blooming metal. Out popped video cameras, whirring lenses and blinding spotlights clicking to life, each casting an irritating blue dot in my eyes. A distorted voice boomed from hidden speakers, laced with a metallic clang I recognized instantly. Hephaestus. "Live to Olympus in one minute…" A countdown timer, glowing red numbers, flashed on the mirrors around the pool rim.

"We are going to broadcast to Olympus!" Annabeth yelled, horror tightening her features as we almost reached the top of the pool wall. Just as we thought we could scramble out, every single mirror around the pool flipped open, like hatches springing wide. And from behind them, pouring out in a metallic wave, came thousands of tiny, spider-like robots. Annabeth screamed. A high-pitched, genuinely terrified sound. Spiders. Athena's kids really, really hated spiders.

I didn't hesitate. I grabbed Annabeth, yanking her back down with me, and we slid back into the cheesy love boat with a splash. "Forty…" the countdown continued. We were inside a pool. A heart-shaped pool. I was a son of Poseidon. My mind raced. Grover, still tangled in the net above, flapped around frantically, looking just as panicked as Annabeth.

I focused, reaching out with my senses to the pipes that fed the silly water ride. They were still trickling water into the pool. "Thirty…" No time for finesse. I tugged on the water within the pipes, pulling, commanding, calling it to me with the force of a sudden storm. "Twenty…" A couple of the pipes buckled and burst, then a torrent of water erupted, surging towards us with the force of a mini-tidal wave. It slammed into the love boat, rocking it violently. I willed the water to surge forward, to blast us out of this watery trap, out of the tunnel, and to crush every single one of those metallic spiders in its path. "Ten…"

The boat lurched forward, propelled by the sudden flood, surging through the tunnel of love. Past plastic cherubs, papier-mâché hearts, and sickly sweet-smelling fake roses, we sped along, the water roaring around us, flattening the spider robots against the tunnel walls. I was laughing, actually enjoying the chaotic ride, hands in the air like I was on a roller coaster. Annabeth, on the other hand, was still screaming, though I suspected now it was more from adrenaline and the sheer terror of the spider robots than anything else.

"Five… Four…" As we neared the end of the ride, I concentrated again, willing the water to slow, to ease us into the exit. The boat shuddered, the water pressure lessening. Annabeth practically leaped out as soon as we bumped to a stop, stumbling onto solid ground and colliding straight into Grover, who'd managed to free himself from the metallic net and fluttered down. Relief washed over her face as she hugged him tightly.

At the exit stall, a single video camera on a tripod was still whirring, red light blinking. I walked straight up to it, ignoring Grover and Annabeth disentangling themselves. "Hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did, Olympus," I said directly into the lens, a smirk playing on my lips. "Now it's time to say goodnight." And because I really didn't have the patience to find a power button, I simply sliced the camera in half with Riptide. Problem solved.

No wonder Ares had been so oddly cooperative. He wasn't worried about us at all. Hephaestus had been using us as bait, setting up some elaborate prank to humiliate Ares on live Olympian TV. The gods. All they cared about was one-upping each other.

---

Back at the greasy diner, Ares was right where we'd left him, slumped in the same booth. "Oh, so you're not crispy critters," he drawled, not even looking up from polishing his fingernails with a knife. I flung his shield at him. He caught it one-handed, a smirk finally flickering across his lips. As we watched, the bronze shield shimmered and morphed, the metal reshaping itself, until it solidified into a sleek, black bulletproof vest.

"Who knew you looked so good on TV?" Ares chuckled, more to himself than to us. "Eh, who cares. Your ride's out front. Be grateful you got this much. Goes straight to L.A. with a single stop."

We followed his vague gesture and looked out the window. A massive eighteen-wheeler truck was parked at the curb, gleaming chrome in the dim light. Ares snapped his fingers and the back of the trailer unlatched with a loud clang. I didn't even bother thanking him, just walked out of the diner, Annabeth and Grover trailing behind.

Before I reached the door, Ares' voice boomed after me, "Hey, kid! A little something for your troubles!" He tossed something blue towards me. It landed in a heap on the sticky floor - a bright blue hiking backpack, brand new, still with tags. He didn't even bother waiting for me to pick it up.

"Who knew the god of war was scared of a mechanic?" I called back over my shoulder, pausing in the doorway. I met his gaze directly, and knew I'd hit a nerve by the way his eyes narrowed.

"Watch yourself, punk," Ares growled, rising to his feet, muscles bunching under his leather jacket. "Or you're in for a fight."

"Try me." I leaned back against the doorframe, a defiant grin spreading across my face.

"That's it! I'm tired of your insolence! Next time we meet, you're dead!" Ares roared, his face flushing red. Then, in a swirl of smoke and sulfur, he vanished.

I glanced around. The waitress from before was back, quickly snapping a photo with her phone from behind the counter before disappearing again. Great. Just great. Paparazzi. I ignored the questions bubbling up from Grover and Annabeth. I knew what I was getting into, or at least, I had a feeling.

I stormed out of the roadside diner, salty fry smell clinging to my clothes. Grover and Annabeth scrambled after me, our hurried lunch clearly cut short. "Percy, wait up!" Annabeth called, but I was already heading towards the back of a huge eighteen-wheeler parked out back.

Then I froze. The trailer doors were slightly ajar. I pulled them open wider, expecting boxes or cargo. Instead, my jaw dropped. The trailer wasn't filled with stuff. It was filled with animals.

Crates and cages were stacked against the metal walls. Goats bleated nervously, skinny chickens pecked at nothing, and two big cows stared out with wide, confused eyes. The smell was awful, cooped up and dusty. A red-hot fury exploded inside me. These poor creatures, crammed into this metal box like they were… things.

I slammed the trailer doors shut with a BANG that echoed off the diner walls. Turning on my heel, I marched to the truck's cab. The driver, a greasy-haired guy with a beer belly, was lounging in his seat, whistling. I ripped open his door, grabbed the front of his shirt, and yanked him out. He landed on the dusty sidewalk with a surprised yelp. His buddy, who'd been dozing in the passenger seat, started to say something, but I gave him a look that shut him up fast. I grabbed his shirt too and tossed him out next to his friend. They both just sat there, blinking, like they couldn't believe what just happened.

"Woah, Percy! What the heck?" Grover gasped, clutching the backpack tighter.

"Trust me," I growled, still fuming. "They deserved worse." I pointed at the truck. "We're driving this to L.A., non-stop as much as possible. Grover, think you can check on the animals in the back? Make sure they're okay while we find a safe place to let them go?"

Grover's eyes widened, but he nodded seriously and hurried to the trailer.

Annabeth watched me, arms crossed, her grey eyes sharp. "Do you even know how to drive this thing?"

Honestly? I didn't have a clue. But Annabeth did. "Uh, yeah," she said, looking a little embarrassed. "When Luke, Thalia, and I were on the run, we sometimes... borrowed cars. We took turns driving." Borrowed cars probably meant stolen, but I didn't push it.

She climbed into the driver's seat. It was ridiculous. A twelve-year-old, barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel, about to drive an eighteen-wheeler. I almost laughed, but then she started messing with the controls, her hands moving with surprising confidence. She actually knew what she was doing. My amusement died out, replaced by surprise.

Just then, a voice popped into my head, cool and clear. 'You know, I wouldn't trust Ares.'

It was Khione. "And where have you been?" I thought back, a little annoyed. "Usually, you're all up in my head. What gives?" It wasn't like her to be quiet.

'For your information,' she replied tartly, 'I was notifying your family of your… situation.'

"Do you have to say it like that?" I thought back. "Sounds like I went MIA or something."

'Oh, haven't you?' I could practically hear her smirk.

"Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, you've been quiet since I got to camp."

'The gods just realized you're a son of Poseidon and… alive. It was hardly the moment to make myself known! So I kept watch, dealt with my normal duties as a goddess.'

"Right! You're a goddess. I keep forgetting."

'What was that?!' Suddenly, a sharp chill went through my brain. Brain freeze? Seriously? What kind of goddess power was that?

"Just kidding! Jeez… Hey, do you know anything that could help me out here? With the prophecy, I mean."

'I wouldn't worry too much about it. Prophecies often have double meanings.'

"Yeah? How many meanings can there be for 'You shall fail to save what's most important'?" I asked, frustrated. "Because that sounds pretty straightforwardly bad to me. You're a goddess, you have any clue?"

'Just because I'm a goddess doesn't mean I know everything. And trust me, when a god admits that, we really don't know. You'll just have to be patient.'

"I know…" I sighed. "Can you do one last thing for me?"

'I don't see why not.'

"You know the letters I send to Piper?"

'Yes…?'

"Can you send them for me now?"

'It's a little early, isn't it?'

"Yeah, but… I almost died a few times already on this quest. Don't want to push my luck too far, you know?"

'If you say so. Damn it! I forgot to tell you, she wrote back. I've been holding onto them for a couple weeks now.'

"HAH, it's alright." I thought, trying to sound cheerful. "I'll read them when I get back. Okay?"

'Uh, sure. You should try and rest while you can. Best be prepared instead of passing out when you're needed.'

"I know. It's just… the nightmares are getting worse. Something big is coming."

'We'll talk more later. Just get some rest. Goodnight, Percy.'

'Goodnight, Khione.'

I blinked, back in the real world. I hadn't thought about Piper in ages, not since her last letter. It was nice we could still write sometimes, even if it was through a goddess. It was a little normal in my crazy life.

"What's with the faces?" Annabeth's voice startled me.

"What?"

"You've been making faces for the last few minutes, like you were talking to someone."

"Well…" I admitted, a little embarrassed. "I kinda was."

"Are you serious?"

"Yup. Lovely chat with my sister."

"The goddess sister?" Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow. I nodded. "Sorry for being so pushy before about… you keeping secrets. We all have things we don't talk about."

"You're fine," I said, honestly. "You're a daughter of Athena, it's natural to be curious, and to want to know things."

For the next few hours, we drove. Annabeth was surprisingly good at handling the huge truck. We talked about silly stuff, school, camp – anything to distract us from the animals in the back and the crazy quest we were on.

When we stopped for gas, Grover and I switched places. It was my turn to check on the animals. Grover had already done what he could, placing a blessing on them in his gentle way. I laid a hand on the crates, feeling their fear and confusion. I pulled out my reed pipes and played a soft, calming tune, like a lullaby. The bleating quieted, the chickens seemed to relax a little. Hopefully, they felt a bit more peace as we sped through the night.

We drove towards the bright, gaudy lights of Las Vegas, and I finally drifted off to sleep in the passenger seat. But sleep didn't bring rest. It brought nightmares, the worst I'd had yet, full of shadows and a cold, creeping dread that felt more real than any dream. Something major was definitely coming, and I had a terrible feeling it wasn't going to be good.

Sitting at the edge of my porch, the wooden planks warm beneath the late afternoon sun, it was like any other day. The familiar scent of pine and damp earth hung in the air. I was just resting up after training - my muscles still humming a dull ache from the morning's sparring session - when I looked out towards the treeline and saw shadows rush by the brush in the distance. I remember this... My body felt heavy, limbs leaden. I didn't have the strength to move, not physically, not then. Curiosity, sharp and insistent, was the only thing that forced me to peel myself off the porch step and go check out what was going on. Hurry up damn it! But I can't... It's only a memory. In this nature's hug of ever open arms of brown earth and decaying leaves, cozy beneath the dense canopy of greens and golds, there is a welcoming spirit that calls. It is as if there is something in me the trees can feel – a resonance, a shared energy – and they chatter to it, my intuition perhaps, rustling their leaves like whispered secrets. There is a softness to the woodland floor, to the thick carpet of moss that supports and springs back underfoot, releasing a musty fragrance. The woodland is the birdsong, a symphony of trills and chirps, it is the playful light filtering through the leaves in shifting mosaics, and it is the serenity of time that flows without the clocks of man, a slow, patient pulse. That was how it usually felt anyway.

Today however, despite the gentle breeze whispering through the leaves, despite the sun warming my skin, everything and everyone – the reassuring nods from my companions, the casual banter around camp - shows me that all will be okay, but I'm anxious. A deep, unsettling dread that claws at the edges of my calm. It comes as an electrical storm in my brain, a furious buzzing behind my eyes that, quite honestly, is painful. It's different from a headache, sharper, more invasive, and it feels the same as intense sorrow, a grief that hasn't yet taken form, perhaps as a sort of frozen panic with nowhere to go, trapped and echoing. So though I appear calm, my posture relaxed, my sad eyes, reflecting the storm inside, are saying far more than "Help me," they are saying that my soul is in such unbearable pain and all for the lack of real, tangible loss in this present moment, a phantom ache for something not yet gone but feared lost nonetheless. I stepped over a fallen log, its bark rough and cool against my worn leather boot, and...

Out of complete silence, a silence so profound it felt like the earth itself was holding its breath, the cry arose. Out of complete reverence, as if in acknowledgement of something sacred and terrible, the things of the world stilled to listen. The birdsong ceased abruptly, the breeze died down, even the rustling leaves held their peace. Like a budding flower, hesitant at first, it started. Slow and gentle, a soft whimper barely audible, but it rose inexorably, gaining strength, volume, and intensity, evolving into a wail that tore at my heart; my voice felt as though tens of thousands of voices were crying out together in total sorrow, a collective lament woven into a single thread. To the ends of the world the cry traveled, an invisible wave of despair. Over lands and seas, through forests and valleys, across deserts and mountains. Every ear in the universe stilled to listen, every heart broke, so heavy, so profoundly miserable was their song. When it hit the peak of its anguish, a raw, visceral sound that vibrated the air itself, I fell to my knees. I felt a crushing weight of sorrow, an invisible hand, press me into the damp dirt in which I knelt, the cold seeping through my trousers. My mind clouded with pain, thoughts scattering like leaves in a gale, my heart grew cold and numb with pent up emotion, a frozen block in my chest. I felt clogged with pain and anger, hurt, and fear – a toxic cocktail brewing inside. All I could do was continue the cry, let the sound pour out of me, a desperate release. So I let it out in one long mournful yell to the heavens, a primal scream that ripped through the unnatural stillness. Within my heart of hearts, in the deepest, most broken parts of my soul, I longed for my cry to be loud enough to reach the ear of Chaos itself, to make even the uncaring void take notice.

The vision fractured, the woodland dissolving like smoke, and I sat perched precariously above the edge of a dark, bottomless pit. The air here was cold, still, and carried the faint, metallic scent of blood. "How pathetic," a voice sneered from the darkness below, laced with contempt, each word a lash. "You couldn't even save her."

"It-it wasn't-" My voice was a choked whisper, the cry still raw in my throat.

"Your fault? But of course it was." The voice rose in pitch, dripping with mockery. "If not for yo-"

"Stop it!" I yelled, the word echoing hollowly in the vast emptiness.

"Hahahaha..." A chilling laugh, devoid of warmth or humor, resonated from the depths. "...Join me and together no loss will become meaningless. We will make it matter, every single tear, every pang of suffering."

"It wasn't meaningless!" My voice was stronger now, defiance flickering in the face of despair. "Her life, her sacrifice, it meant everything!"

"But a loss nonetheless." The voice hissed, the word heavy with significance. "Continue down this path of weakness, of hope, and more suffering will follow. You will see it again and again."

"Not if I have anything to say about it..." A grim resolve hardened my features. The voice didn't respond, fading into the oppressive silence, and suddenly, I was violently thrown back into camp, the stench of woodsmoke and anxious sweat replacing the cold emptiness.

Everyone stood clustered around the dying campfire, their silhouettes stark against the encroaching twilight, but there weren't any songs being sung, no comforting melodies to break the strained silence. I pushed past people, a sea of somber faces, finally able to control my own actions, to move with purpose, and made my way towards the center of the huddled group. Every face was etched with sorrow and misery, eyes downcast or staring blankly into the embers. The mood was reflected by the fire itself, which was hunched low, spitting weakly, and barely gave off any light, casting long, distorted shadows that danced like specters. A child, no older than seven, sat huddled by the very edge of the fire pit, desperately trying to tend to the dwindling coals with a broken twig, as if it was her only lifeline to warmth, to hope. A rough-hewn coffin, constructed from unfinished planks and carried in by fellow campers, their movements slow and heavy, gave no indication of who might lay inside. No decorations, patterns, nor family symbols to show, no flowers or comforting words adorning its plain surface. This was a raw, unadorned memorial service for a loss too profound for ceremony. I looked around, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and scanned every face, desperately searching to see who was missing, whose absence had cast this pall over the camp, but... nothing. Their faces smudged and clouded, indistinct, like figures in a fading photograph. Color drained from my face, leaving it as white as a slice of bread, white as a ghost, white as a sheet laid out for a corpse, rigid, rooted to the spot, frozen in place, clammy, cold sweat slicking my skin, shaking uncontrollably, stammering, unable to speak, wide eyed in terror, edging backwards instinctively, hands clenched into fists, white knuckles standing out against pale skin, the metallic taste of vomit rising in my throat, adrenaline rushing through my veins like ice water, heart in his throat, heart pounding a deafening roar in his ears, too scared to comprehend, mind incapacitated with fear, logic and reason failing in the face of pure, primal dread. Nothing made any sense, the faces blurring, the scene distorting, the loss intangible yet overwhelming.

Then their piercing gazes, each one a sharp, accusatory point, fell upon me, and I felt physically constricted, as if invisible ropes were tightening around my chest. Every single eye, previously unfocused, now locked onto my cowering figure, burning with accusation. I shut my eyes against the onslaught, unable to bear the weight of their silent condemnation, and crumpled to the ground, my knees giving way. "Why couldn't you have done more?" A voice, chillingly familiar, a voice that sounded like her voice, spoke up from the crowd. One after another, as if a dam had broken, everyone began chanting it, the question echoing in unison, and reaching out hesitant hands to grab me, their fingers brushing against my clothes, my skin. Soon every voice, a chorus of sorrow and blame, numbed my ears, a cacophony that drowned out all other sound. I just want it to stop. Please make it stop. I covered my ears with my hands, pressing them tightly against my head, and shut my eyes tighter still, wishing myself away, out of this nightmare.

I felt multiple hands clutch my wrists, strong, unforgiving grips, and my feet lifting me above theirs heads, the ground disappearing beneath me. I squirmed and wrestled, thrashing wildly, but they held firmly, their fingers like vises. I screamed, a desperate, strangled cry for release...

Snapping my eyes open, my body jerking upright, I looked around wildly, heart still hammering, and was back inside the familiar, cramped space of the truck. Still with the animals, their warm bodies radiating a comforting presence in the dim morning light. I brought trembling hands to my face and realized... I was crying. Hot tears pouring down my face like cascading waterfalls, leaving wet trails on my skin. Damn it... why now? Why did I have to relive that now?

Emotional pain has a biological purpose, to teach, to educate us away from unhealthy patterns and relationships, to guide us towards growth. I've been pushing back against this pain for so long, medicating with fleeting friendship, with comforting but ultimately hollow notions, yet it returns in my weaker moments, like a persistent shadow, devastating my mind, leaving me raw and vulnerable. To keep repeating this pattern, this avoidance, will only prolong it, keep the pain simmering underneath the surface, when in truth it must rise, be faced, and understood. Today I make a new choice, a conscious decision, one to welcome it as a friend, albeit an unwelcome one, to let it teach me what it must, to listen to its harsh lessons. Though I will be weaker in the moment, exposed and vulnerable to its sting, I will be stronger afterward, tempered by its fire. I will let it in through my doors, invite it to sit at my table, talk with it until I am wiser, until its lessons are learned, even though each word it speaks is a silver blade, cutting through the illusions I've built around myself. They say only the strongest of warriors truly choose their battles, this is mine, the battle within, let me face it, let me endure it, let me learn from it, and finally, let me earn my name.