Chapter 1: The Crossroads of Fate
The Unwanted Fate Arc I
The exhausted heroes stood at the foot of the twelve Olympian gods.
The throne room of Olympus radiated with the tangible presence of ancient power. High above, the ceiling stretched into an illusion of infinity, where the swirling heavens played out a celestial dance. The stars above were twinkling, including the newest constellation: Zoe the Huntress, making her way across the heavens with her bow drawn.
In the splendor of the throne room, among the gods' discourse, Thalia stood awash in the turmoil of her own thoughts, her attention ensnared by the echo of her recent fight. The gravity of the gods' words became a distant murmur against the roar of battle still resounding in her ears. She had just faced Luke, her once friend, on Mount Othrys. The image of him falling, a consequence of her own actions, played before her eyes in relentless repetition. His face, a blend of betrayal and sorrow, haunted her, piercing through the counsel's debates and resolutions. Guilt clasped her heart with a cold grip, causing the voices of deities to fade into a haze. Their words about the Ophiotaurus and the impending weight of prophecy were as elusive to her grasp as the stars that flickered overhead.
Thalia struggled to anchor herself back to the present. She caught the briefest glance from Zeus, her father, as he spoke with words meant for her ears. She strained to wrap her mind around his words, but they slipped through her thoughts like water. All she could muster was a smile, an unspoken plea for the gods to carry on, while she remained adrift in her own haze of contemplation.
As Thalia's uneasy thoughts swirled within, Artemis addressed the assembled demigods. Her voice cut through Thalia's fog of distraction. Thalia's gaze followed Artemis as the goddess stepped off her throne and spoke softly to Zeus. He listened intently and nodded his head ever so slightly. When Artemis returned to the forefront, Thalia's attention briefly sharpened. In that same moment, out of the corner of her eye she noticed Percy's color drain, leaving his face ghostly pale.
His complexion had completely changed, the color seemingly drained away by some inner dread. Percy leaned towards Annabeth, his voice barely a whisper through tight lips, "Annabeth," he murmured, "Don't."
Annabeth's brow furrowed, her expression a mirror of confusion. "What?"
The words tripped over themselves as Percy attempted to articulate his unease. "Look, I need to tell you something," he said, the urgency clear in his quiet voice.
"I couldn't stand it if… I don't want you to—"
Annabeth's concern deepened, reading the torment written across his features. "Percy?" she interjected. "You look like you're going to be sick."
"I shall have a new lieutenant," Artemis announced. "If she will accept it."
"No," Percy murmured.
"Annabeth, daughter of Athena. Will you join the Hunt?"
Annabeth stood, as time seemed to stop, amid the grandeur of the offer which echoed in her ears: a call to eternal life, free from the entanglements of affection that had so complicated her past. Her thoughts drifted to Luke. The pain of his betrayal burned into her soul as she remembered their battle with him not hours ago. The allure of the Hunters was not just immortality. It was the promise of detachment, an escape from the inevitable heartache that seemed to follow her like a shadow.
She looked at Percy with a heavy heart. Even as her affection for him had already begun to surface, she feared the cost of love and friendship. Fears of what more she might lose or who else might betray her pushed her into the sanctuary Artemis offered. She imagined a future free from the agony of watching another friend walk a darker path, free from the terror that she might, once more, be forced to stand against someone she cared for.
This moment of contemplation seemed to stretch on. Each tick of her heart was a heavy thud in the stillness of the throne room. The reaction from the gathered Olympians was immediate and palpable. The gods exchanged surprised and nervous glances, a silent acknowledgment rippling through their ranks. It was Thalia, the daughter of Zeus, standing on the brink of a destiny defined by prophecy, who they had assumed would be Artemis's chosen. But here, it was Annabeth choosing the path of the solitary moon. The gods' astonishment was clear in the sudden shuffle of movement.
Amidst this immortal inquiry, Annabeth's voice finally broke free, softer than she intended, "Yes," she whispered first to Percy, a silent apology in her gaze. Then louder, to the waiting goddess, "I will join the Hunt." Her decision was not a rejection of what she and Percy might have had, but a protective measure, a preemptive severing of ties still forming. It was her safeguard against future heartbreak.
Her acceptance rang out, striking a somber note that resounded through the throne room. Amid the silent chorus of surprise, Athena's composed face betrayed a hint of satisfaction. There was a subtle relaxation in her posture, a small yet significant signal of approval, while Percy's expression crumpled with a quiet devastation.
"I'm sorry Percy," Annabeth said. Her voice carried a quiet strength, but her eyes confessed the turmoil hidden beneath ."I can't risk more of this pain. This is the way I need to protect myself, and maybe by doing this I can protect all of you as well." Her words were decisive, yet a faint shadow of hesitation lingered.
Thalia, her body still reverberating with the aftermath of battle and heart heavy with recent loss, watched as Annabeth moved towards Artemis with resolute steps. As Annabeth began to recite the ancient oath that would bind her to the Hunt, a cold realization crept over Thalia like the onset of winter. This was it. The final door closing on her chance to sidestep the weighty prophecy that had long cast its shadow upon her future.
As Thalia listened to Annabeth recite the oath, she could almost feel the heavy cloak of the prophecy settle firmly on her shoulders, each word of the oath a weight, each pause a tightening knot. She stood rooted to the ground as she realized that she was to be the child of the prophecy, the one upon whose decisions the future of Olympus would hinge.
Thalia's gaze shifted to Percy, and in his eyes she recognized a reflection of her own inner turmoil. Percy, who had always rushed headfirst into danger with the confidence of the seas at his back, now seemed adrift and unmoored. Thalia could see it. The immense understanding crashing over him, wave after wave, leaving him to grapple with the stark reality that his future would not include Annabeth the way he had hoped.
Percy stood frozen in time, stilled by the gravity of the moment. The same shock that tightened Thalia's chest, constricting her breath as she fully absorbed the weight of being the one destined to either save or destroy Olympus, now mirrored in Percy's stance. They were both blindsided, her by the inescapable pull of destiny and him by the silent severing of possibilities of what could have been.
For a fleeting moment, Thalia felt an unexpected yet profound connection with Percy in their shared sense of shock. Their eyes met, and the unspoken message between them was as clear as the sky over Mount Olympus: they were both entering the unknown, pushed by the tides of fate into futures they hadn't chosen.
Percy turned away, his gaze falling to the marble stone beneath his feet. Thalia watched him closely, her heart aching for the friend who had stood by her side through storm and monster alike.
Artemis's voice rose, welcoming Annabeth to the Hunt and bringing Thalia's attention back to reality. Thalia's eyes observed Annabeth. A silver radiance seemed to enshroud her. Her friend, now sister to the moon was forever changed.
The resonance of Annabeth's oath lingered like a haunting melody in the great hall, her words binding her to a fate beyond mortality, and binding the fate of Olympus to Thalia. As Artemis returned to her throne, a subtle but definite shift occurred among the Olympians, their immortal attention tuned now to Thalia, whose very existence had become synonymous with the foretold time of conflict.
Athena's calculated voice pierced the quiet of the throne room. "We should reconsider the prior counsel Ares offered," she declared, her words were deliberate. "Removing Thalia may spare us from the destruction that the prophecy may bring. Her continued existence is a threat to us all."
Her assertion did not fall on deaf ears. In fact, it seemed to hang in the charged air of the throne room, a suggestion as dangerous as it was clear.
Before any of the other gods could say anything, Ares spoke up. "We've waited long enough with this girl. The fix is easy, remove the cause, remove the effect. We can stop the prophecy before it even starts."
Many gods, with their own divine sovereignty as well as the continuity of Olympus weighing heavily on their eternal shoulders, gave faint nods of concurrence with Athena's stark logic. They were beginning to realize that the time to act was now or never. Their quiet agreement was like an unseen frost spreading across the throne room, one that reached deep, sowing seeds of icy dread within Thalia.
Her heartbeat began to thunder in her ears, a relentless drumming that matched the growing fear in her chest. Panic, sinister and stealthy, began to worm its way into her. Unconsciously, she began to slowly retreat, each cautious step away from the thrones a silent plea for escape.
She felt Percy's presence closing the gap between them. His movements were subtle but unyielding. His hand slipped into his pocket, a covert but decisive gesture, as his fingers brushed against Riptide. Their eyes met across the chasm of dread that threatened to engulf Thalia. His eyes carried a profound and unspoken assurance that he would stand beside her, even against the overwhelming power of the twelve Olympic gods. Percy's nearness brought Thalia a measure of comfort as the growing fervor of the divine council inched towards Thalia's fate.
"Enough!" Zeus's voice was a clap of thunder, shaking the foundations of Olympus itself. He rose from his throne, no longer the sophisticated patriarch in a suit but now the God of the Sky in all his warlike glory. His Greek battle armor glistened with the sheen of countless battles, and the master bolt, a twenty-foot-long weapon of divine retribution, crackled with pure energy in his grasp. The brilliance of his eyes, glowing with the power of a thousand storms, cast stark shadows across the vast hall.
His command reverberated with the authority of his dominion over sky and kingship, leaving no room for debate or dissent. "We will not spill the blood of my daughter to forestall destiny," he decreed with irrefutable finality. "The prophecy will unfold as it must."
The assembled deities absorbed the immensity of his words. Their earlier concurrences diminished into a chastened quiet. The formidable master bolt, crackling with the potential to raze mountains and sear the skies, vanished from Zeus's hand as quietly as a whisper on the wind, signifying the end of his wrathful display. The brief tempest that had gripped the throne room at the notion of bloodshed against his lineage gave way to a serene but potent authority.
Zeus continued standing as his voice resonated throughout the throne room with the power of rolling thunder. "Perseus, Thalia," he began, fixing his gaze upon the two demigods who seemed to hold the weight of the impending prophecy on their young shoulders. "You must return to Camp Half-Blood without delay. The time to prepare is now; you are to ready the demigods for what is to come. Go forth with blessings of Olympus." He then turned, his eyes softening as they fell upon the Ophiotaurus, a silent figure amidst the tapestry of divinity. "As for this creature of prophecy," Zeus continued, "it shall remain under the watchful guard of Olympus, where it will be safe from harm. Here it will stay, under the protection of the gods." His decree left no room for doubt.
Zeus's attention shifted, his gaze coming to rest upon Grover, who stood with bated breath among the demigods. "Grover," he commanded, his voice a resonant decree, "You shall remain on Olympus for now, and assist us with the Ophiotaurus."
Zeus then turned towards the assembled gods, his expression resolute and commanding. "The hour draws near. Harden your defenses, marshal your followers, and secure your domains. Tomorrow, Thalia reaches the age foretold by the prophecy. Each of you has a role; see to it that you are ready. This counsel is adjourned."
The gods nodded in collective agreement, their faces filled with both determination and somber acceptance of what the future held. As the moment to depart arrived, each deity shimmered, their forms dissolving into luminous arrays of light, dispersing in a sequence as ancient as time itself, each bound for their own realm to carry out Zeus's orders.
Thalia raised her arms, shielding her eyes from the blinding brilliance that engulfed the throne room. It was as if the very essence of Olympus had ignited as an incandescent display of divine departure. Amidst the fading luminescence, as the chamber dimmed to its normal gleam, Thalia watch Percy as his searching gaze found Annabeth, already steps away but hesitating in her stride beside Artemis. She was moving away from the heart of the throne room, as if each step she took was a question rather than a decision.
Thalia's gaze lingered on Percy and Annabeth, witnessing the final exchange between them. From where she stood, she could see Annabeth pausing, turning back to lock eyes with Percy. In Annabeth's lingering look, Thalia could sense a torrent of unsaid words, a desperate wish to convey messages the swift tide of time wouldn't allow. When Annabeth turned away and disappeared from the throne room, Thalia felt a silent pain deep within herself as she realized that her closest friend would no longer be in her company. It all happened so fast that she didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.
Thalia and Percy turned to each other, the air around them charged with an unspoken tension that went beyond the uncertainty of prophecy. Their eyes met, and something unidentifiable flickered between them: a hint of mutual understanding, or perhaps the ember of a deeper connection being kindled by shared adversity.
Neither of them could find the words. They both looked defeated, vulnerable in a way that heroes seldom allowed themselves to be. It was Thalia who finally found a whisper of strength, "I guess we should get back to camp now." There was a lingering note in her voice, a quiet acknowledgement of the bond that was forming between them amidst the chaos.
As they turned to leave, their shoulders brushed lightly, a fleeting touch that sent a ripple of something that felt a bit like hope through the relentless march of duty and prophecy.
So. . . who else has wondered what would've happened if Artemis had asked Annabeth to join the Hunt instead of Thalia? I've always been super curious about that twist, and well, one think led to another, and now we're diving headfirst into that very scenario!
Just a little heads-up: Percy and Thalia are gearing up for a deep chat soon, I can't wait to see what unfolds and, honestly, I'm just as much on this wild ride as you are. As always, thanks for reading and see you again soon.
- pjowriter27