The aftermath of the brawl with Ares left me hollowed out. Every muscle screamed a silent protest, my very bones felt like they were filled with lead. The clash of steel, the roar of his chariot, the brutal swings of his hammer, it was all a blur of furious red and the metallic tang of divine ichor – even mine, unfortunately. Plunging into the Pacific's chill embrace had offered a fleeting, deceptive revival as the saltwater shocked my system, but the weariness was a stubborn beast clinging to my soul. I knew collapsing onto the sand to sleep would be sweet oblivion, yet utterly counterproductive. Olympus awaited, and the urgency of my mission was a dull throb beneath the exhaustion. Asking Khione, daughter of Boreas, for a swift ride on the north wind flickered in my mind as a tempting shortcut. But the cost… the gods would notice a demigod hitching a ride on a minor goddess's breeze. And notice meant questions, scrutiny, and potential divine interference. Delivering the master bolt to Zeus was already a tightrope walk; inviting divine attention was a tightrope walk over a chasm of fire. It was a complication I couldn't afford, not now.
Water travel. It's a fickle, volatile magic. For demigods like me, it's a gift from Poseidon, but one that comes with a strange and unnerving price. Essentially, I can dissolve into water, become one with the element, and then rematerialize somewhere else, usually a body of water, instantly traversing vast distances. But misuse, overuse... it felt like it was tearing at the fabric of me. Each jump was a little more jarring, a little less cohesive. After the last surge through the Hudson, near New York, a chilling sensation permeated me - a feeling of unraveling. Not emotionally, no existential dread, but a creeping physical dissolution. It was like the water was claiming pieces of me, atom by atom, threatening to not just transport, but to transform me permanently. To cease being me and become just… water. A terrifying, abstract fear solidified into a visceral dread. I vowed, with a shiver that wasn't just from the damp air, to never push it that far again. Not if I wanted to stay… whole.
So, here I was, a ghost dragging its weary form through the grimy veins of New York City. The air hung heavy and damp, pregnant with the promise of a downpour that was already beginning to break. Fat raindrops splattered onto the cracked pavement. A constant rumble echoed through the city canyons, not of traffic, but of thunder, distant yet growing, rolling across the state like Zeus's displeasure made audible. Perfect. Just perfect. I hunched deeper into myself, pulling my dirt-matted hair forward, trying to mask my face in the deepening gloom. The narrow alleys were slick with rainwater and smelled of stale refuse and something vaguely metallic. Crowds bustled past, a blur of faces and hurried steps. No one spared me a second glance, or if they did, they quickly averted their eyes. Good. Invisible was the goal. I probably looked like just another runaway kid, lost and forgotten in the urban sprawl. My clothes were ripped, stained with dirt and sea salt – tattered denim shorts and nothing else above the waist. Shameful, but I had lost my shirt back with Ares. The scars, old and new, crisscrossed my skin, a roadmap of past battles. Even in the fading light, the star-shaped brand seared into my side, a legacy of some long-forgotten monster, pulsed with a faint, ghostly luminescence, a silent beacon I prayed no one noticed.
Thirty minutes of shuffling, head down, dodging hurried pedestrians and overflowing trash cans, and I finally reached it. The Empire State Building. From the outside, looming against the stormy sky, it possessed a certain cold grandeur, a monument to human ambition. Stepping inside, however, the lobby felt surprisingly ordinary. Not the soaring, awe-inspiring hall I'd imagined. It was smaller, functional, even a bit dated. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the polished marble floor. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and printer ink. A low murmur of conversations and the clatter of keyboards filled the space. The front desk, a long, curved counter of dark wood, was manned by a bored-looking security guard. He was a stout man in a navy uniform, face buried in a broadsheet newspaper, completely oblivious to my approach. To get his attention, I rapped my knuckles sharply on the polished wood in front of him, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet lobby. "Hey, uh, excuse me," I began, my voice raspy and strained. "I'm here to see the big guy upstairs. You know, up on the – what is it? – the 600th floor." What else could I say? Could I just announce, "I'm here to see Zeus, King of the Gods, on Mount Olympus?" Probably not.
He didn't even bother to lift his gaze from the newsprint. "Sorry, kid. I don't know what you mean." His voice was flat, uninterested, the words mumbled around a half-chewed toothpick. Clearly, he thought I was some street urchin trying to pull a prank. Patience, already frayed thin, snapped. "I don't have time for your act," I growled, my weariness making me sharper than intended. "Just let me go up. And I won't have to use the master bolt on you." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken threat. Master bolt. It was a gamble, but I was out of options and out of energy for charades. I reached behind my back, faking the motion of drawing the stolen weapon – even though it was hidden securely in Riptide's disguised form in my pocket. It worked. His eyes snapped up, widening with a jolt of stark terror. The newspaper crumpled in his suddenly trembling hands. His face, previously impassive, became a mask of panicked understanding. He stumbled back from the desk almost tripping over his own feet, eyes darting around as if expecting divine wrath to materialize in the lobby. He fumbled beneath the counter, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "N-nonono! J-just… just insert this card into the slot. Elevator three. Be… be alone." He thrust a key card towards me, his hand shaking so badly he almost dropped it. I snatched it, the plastic cold and slick against my sweaty palm. Without another word, I turned and strode towards the bank of elevators, my heart hammering against my ribs with a mixture of relief and trepidation. The elevator doors hissed open, beckoning me into their metallic maw. I stepped inside, alone as instructed, and let the doors slide shut behind me. Inserting the key card into the indicated slot, it vanished with a soft click. On the console, where there had been only numbered floors, a new button shimmered into existence. Crimson red. And emblazoned upon it, a stark white number: 600. Of course. I jabbed the button. A faint hum resonated through the elevator, a low thrum of power beneath my feet. And then, with a barely perceptible lurch, we began to ascend. Upwards. Towards Olympus. Almost there. I leaned back against the cool steel wall, closed my eyes, and just… waited. Waited. And waited. And waited. And waited a little more, every second stretching into an eternity of anticipation and bone-deep fatigue.
Once the elevator doors dinged open, a wave of pure sonic assault crashed over me. It wasn't music; it was some cacophonous, screeching, synthesized garbage, amplified to ear-splitting levels. My teeth ached. I couldn't get out of there fast enough, practically sprinting from the confines of the metal box. Form of torture if you ask me, and a particularly effective one at that. Then, my panicked rush slowed to a stunned halt. I registered where I stood. I stood impossibly high above Manhattan, the sprawling city a miniature tapestry of lights and noise far below. Beneath my feet was a narrow, pristine white stone walkway, impossibly suspended in the very middle of the sky. It floated there, defying gravity, an ethereal bridge to somewhere unknown. I was completely, utterly astonished.
The marble steps gleamed with an inner light, leading upwards, beckoning me towards a glorious city that seemed plucked straight from ancient myths – the city of the gods. Directly in front of me rose the top half of a mountain, its peak capped with a gleaming summit of fresh snow that sparkled in the celestial light. My eyes wandered, pulled in every direction by the breathtaking panorama. Scattered across the mountainside were multilevel palaces, each more magnificent than the last, sprouting from the rock like radiant blossoms. Each building was not just a palace, but a mansion, larger than any building I'd ever seen in New York, worthy only of a god's residence. I could make out the details even from afar – white columned porticos casting elegant shadows, gilded terraces glinting in the sun, and bronze braziers stationed at intervals, each holding a thousand flickering flames that danced in the gentle breeze. Roads, paved with what looked like polished ivory, turned every which way, winding paths that snaked all the way up to the snow-dusted peak. And woven between the buildings and roads were magnificent gardens, riotous with colors - flowers of every imaginable hue bloomed in profusion, ancient trees with silver leaves rustled softly, and fountains depicting gods and goddesses in heroic and playful poses sent shimmering arcs of water into the air. It was without a doubt a full-on ancient Greek city, vibrant and alive, glowing with an otherworldly light and floating serenely above a city that was bustling and noisy and none the wiser to its celestial neighbor. In a word, perfect. And I was caught in the center of it, utterly speechless.
My stroll across the city was just as dazzling, maybe even more so, than the initial view from the walkway. The air itself felt different here – cleaner, lighter, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and something akin to ozone. Soon, a small group of nymphs, their laughter like wind chimes, noticed me and decided to flirt with me with playful smiles and light touches on my arm. They offered to show me the market, and how could I refuse? The marketplace was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds. Stalls overflowed with an amazing assortment of goods, far more diverse than anything on earth. Heaps of exotic fruits I'd never seen before sat next to gleaming piles of gold coins. There were weapons crafted with celestial bronze and shimmering stygian iron, armor polished to a mirror sheen, and even surprisingly accurate mortal world replicas of everyday objects, seemingly for the gods' amusement. The air hummed with the bartering voices of the gods and nymphs and the tantalizing smells of roasting meats, sweet pastries, and potent, unknown spices. I didn't buy anything, feeling decidedly out of place with my mortal clothes and empty pockets, but I gladly tagged along with the nymphs, enjoying their lighthearted company for a moment. Then, with a slight bow and mischievous grins, they invited me to see the nine muses play their instruments in the grand Odeion. The thought was tempting, but I reluctantly declined. They were genuinely disappointed, their smiles faltering for a second, and I quickly explained that I had somewhere important to be. Which was the absolute truth, even if I wasn't exactly looking forward to it.
Everyone in Olympus seemed to be in a constantly festive and joyful mood. Of course they would be. It's not like they had to worry about a civil war breaking out – not anymore, anyway. They were in one of the safest places imaginable, suspended in the heavens, shielded from mortal troubles. They didn't need the luxury of worry when they were on Olympus. The city of the gods and goddesses. No worries etched on any faces. No wars to fear. No taxes to pay. A paradise in the sky, where even the air hummed with contentment.
As I continued my steady climb towards the giant palace that dominated the peak, I kept receiving curious stares and hushed whispers. Gods, goddesses, nymphs, satyrs, and other mythical beings paused in their conversations or activities to glance my way. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were saying and thinking. A mortal in Olympus? It was probably the most exciting thing to happen all week. Some were openly curious, their golden eyes wide with wonder. Others were more discreet, subtly pointing and nudging each other as I passed, their murmurs like the rustling of silk. I even caught a few amused smirks. It was like walking through a museum, except I was the exhibit.
Reaching the summit and the entrance to the palace, I was nearly blinded. The palace was an exact, deliberate opposite of Hades' gloomy, obsidian realm. Everything here was blindingly white and gleaming silver, with accents of rich gold strategically placed to catch and amplify the light. The walls were made of polished white marble that reflected the sky, the columns were of pure silver, and even the roof seemed to shimmer with a pearlescent sheen. The person, or rather, god, who designed this place really wanted to make an emphatic statement. It was a declaration of light and power, a visual shout of glory.
I walked past the expansive central courtyard, fragrant with the scent of roses and lilies from the surrounding gardens, and entered into the throne room. The sheer scale of it was staggering. Massive columns of polished white marble, thicker than redwoods, climbed upwards, disappearing into the height of the domed ceiling far, far above. And that ceiling… it was one of my favorite things in the world come to life – constellations. But not still and painted; these constellations moved in a glorious, slow motion dance, stars twinkling and shimmering against the deep indigo of the dome, mimicking the night sky but somehow even more magnificent. Below, in a semi-circle, were the twelve thrones, placed in the same authoritative arrangement as back at Camp Half-Blood, but infinitely grander. Each throne was uniquely designed, crafted from precious metals and adorned with symbols that spoke to the specific god or goddess it belonged to. And in the very center of the vast room, a massive hearth pit crackled with a warm, golden fire. A small figure sat quietly by the edge of the hearth, a little girl with kind eyes and a serene expression, gently tending to the flames – Hestia herself. The gods were already gathered, a vibrant, energetic assembly, deeply engrossed in some spirited discussion, their booming voices echoing around the massive space. They were so distracted by their own Olympian affairs that they didn't even realize I had, in fact, finally shown up.
With my head tilted back, trying to catch every single detail of the awe-inspiring room, drinking in the celestial beauty, I barely noticed that Annabeth and Grover were already here. They stood anxiously off to the side, near a silver brazier, talking to each other in hushed whispers. Grover gripped his reed pipes tightly, his knuckles white, and Annabeth clutched the backpack, her knuckles also strained, like it was some fragile, vital thing about to run away and leave them stranded. I guess I had taken longer than expected exploring Olympus, and they, true to their nature, had waited for me, choosing a less confrontational spot away from the Olympian drama. I walked over to them, a small smile playing on my lips, "I see you guys got here alright." I told them, my voice quiet in the vast hall, catching their attention.
"Percy!" The two of them shouted my name in unison, relief coloring their voices, and rushed forward to engulf me in a hug. It was a welcome embrace, but to say it didn't hurt would be a blatant lie. My body was still screaming with soreness and exhaustion from the journey up, and their enthusiastic bear hug did nothing to alleviate the aches. They immediately broke into a rapid-fire barrage of questions, their words tumbling over each other in their eagerness to know everything, and for the life of me, I couldn't catch a single coherent sentence.
That's when the silence hit me. A sudden, profound silence that fell like a heavy curtain across the throne room. The gods, mid-sentence, mid-gesture, had stopped talking. All eyes, golden, silver, stormy gray, and every shade imaginable, were now fixed upon the three of us. Grover and Annabeth visibly trembled, their bodies stiffening beside me. I didn't. Inside, a knot of nervous energy tightened in my stomach, but on the outside, I remained calm, resolute. "Let's do this," I murmured to my friends, my voice low but steady. I gently grabbed the backpack from Annabeth, the weight of it familiar and somehow comforting. Then, with a deep breath, I started pushing them forward, towards the very center of the throne room, towards the expectant, judging gazes of the twelve Olympians. With every step we took on the polished marble floor, the smell of ozone and crackling lightning, emanating from Zeus's throne, only grew stronger, filling the air with an electric tension. Once we were in the exact center of the room, a small island of mortals surrounded by divine power, I let go of their arms. All eyes were still on us. The tension in the room was as thick and suffocating as a barreling fog, pressing down on me. I suddenly felt incredibly small, dwarfed not just by the immense scale of the throne room, but by the sheer power radiating from the assembled deities. Maybe it's also because they were, in fact, over ten feet tall in their godly forms.
A rebellious spark ignited within me. I decided to do something unexpected, something that would, hopefully, shock the assembled gods and goddesses gathered in their majestic glory. I wondered, with a flicker of dark humor, how that would turn out.
Instead of approaching Zeus's imposing throne, I turned and started to walk towards the little girl quietly tending to the hearth fire. With every ounce of respect I could muster, I knelt at her feet, the cool marble pressing against my knees, and bowed my head low. A collective gasp rippled through the throne room, followed by a chorus of shocked hollers and murmurs that didn't escape my ears. But I didn't falter, didn't stop there. Whispering in an almost absolute silent voice, a voice meant only for her ears, I prayed to Hestia, the gentle goddess of the hearth, asking her to keep my family and my home, the small apartment in New York, safe and warm and protected. Then, rising to my feet, I moved slowly, deliberately, and went to each of the gods and goddesses, one by one, offering a silent prayer to each. Leaving my father, Zeus, and Hera for last. Once I reached Hera's ornate throne, crafted from peacock feathers and ivory, I knelt again and prayed, this time not just for my immediate family, but for all mothers, for all homes, asking for her divine grace and care to be extended to them.
Then came the moment I had been both anticipating and dreading. I finally walked up to my father's throne – Poseidon, King of the Seas, Lord of the Ocean. At first, I looked directly into his eyes. They were the purest, most luminous sea-green emeralds, mirroring the depths of the ocean, and in their depths, reflected his own complex emotions. To my surprise, I could tell he wasn't upset, wasn't angered that I hadn't come to him first. He actually looked… pleased. A flicker of pride, maybe even fondness, softened the stern lines of his face. Taking in every detail of his appearance for the first time, I saw with a jolt that my features were nearly a carbon copy of his. The same strong jawline, the same unruly black hair that constantly fell into our eyes, right down to the faint crinkles around his eyes that hinted he usually smiled a lot, a lot more than he probably did as king of the gods. I bowed, kneeling before him, lowering my gaze respectfully. "Father," I said, the word feeling unfamiliar yet strangely right as it left my lips. Then, a soft, warm chuckle rumbled from Poseidon, a sound that resonated deep within my chest, filling a hollow space I hadn't even known was there. I honestly didn't know what to say to him. This was the first time in my life, in my existence, that I had truly seen him, been in his presence. What words could possibly bridge the gap of years, of ignorance, of longing? What could I even say to the god who was, undeniably, my father?
"I've had enough of this!" Zeus's booming voice shattered the fragile moment, echoing like thunder across the Olympian heights. Outrage contorted his face, turning it a shade of furious purple. "I am the King of the gods! The ruler of Olympus! Why bow before them first!? In my house!" I sighed, the sound of frustration escaping my lips, and pushed myself off my knee. Turning from my father, I walked with deliberate steps towards Zeus's massive, lightning-bolt adorned throne. Reaching the foot of the dais, I paused, then dropped into a sarcastic curtsy, my movements exaggerated, dripping with mock deference. A few suppressed snorts and coughs rippled through the assembled deities. No one dared to laugh outright in Zeus's presence, but beneath the surface of forced solemnity, I could sense amusement bubbling.
"You dare to be so disrespectful to me!? The almighty Zeus!" Zeus roared, his voice laced with thunderous indignation.
"I dare," I retorted, meeting his furious gaze unflinchingly. "Because you tried to kill me on multiple occasions! Even though – and let's not forget this – I brought back your stupid bolt!" A ripple of shock went through the gathered gods. Their eyes widened, turning towards Zeus with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. My father's own calm demeanor shifted, the sea-green of his eyes darkening, churning with a silent storm. "Oh, he didn't tell you? I guess I will." I took a deep breath and began to tell them the entire story, from start to finish, detailing every harrowing moment – the Fury attack on the bus, the Minotaur, the Erinyes at the Parthenon, the pit ambush, the Ares encounter – I didn't leave a single detail out. As I recounted the battle with Ares on the beach, I felt every eye in the hall fixed on the god of war. Not with disgust, surprisingly, but with a strange mixture of shock and something that bordered on amusement. It was as if Ares, the perpetually enraged and volatile god, being outsmarted and outfought by a mortal child was not entirely unexpected, perhaps even a source of grim humor. Even more so, it was something to laugh at. Hermes and Apollo, the twin tricksters, were practically doubled over, hooting and hollering, gasping for breath between fits of laughter. The idea of Ares getting beaten by a kid was apparently not only plausible but considered an everyday occurrence among the Olympians. "That isn't all," I continued, allowing a dramatic pause to hang in the air. "Ares was controlled."
A sudden, explosive outburst erupted in the throne room. Everywhere I looked, gods and goddesses were gesticulating wildly, shouting questions and accusations over the din. "Controlled? Who could possibly control a god!?" "Was it you, Zeus? Punishment for not enough ambrosia this morning!?" "Impossible! A god cannot be controlled!" The shouting match escalated, a chaotic symphony of godly voices all clamoring at once. It was clear this wasn't going to resolve itself anytime soon. I sighed again, a weary sound in the midst of the Olympian uproar, and deliberately sat down on the hard marble floor. Nodding towards Grover and Annabeth, who stood awkwardly beside me, I requested, "Join me?" Reluctantly, looking bewildered but trusting, they sank down beside me.
Sitting around completely still was never my strong suit. My ADHD brain thrived on constant motion, on sensory input, on doing. I always had to be fidgeting with something, twiddling with a stray piece of wood or grass, constantly tapping my fingers, playing with anything within reach. Or, if I was feeling particularly wound up, I would play something on my flute. Music, strangely, always seemed to calm the anxious buzz in my brain, soothe the restless energy that thrummed beneath my skin. So, reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the enchanted piece of wood, the same pocket that inexplicably also held Riptide – its depths seemingly bottomless. Funny enough, that pocket, despite all the monsters, fights, and demigod adventures, never wore out, never tore. I brought the piece of wood to my lips and began to blow a soft, lilting melody. It was a simple tune, something I'd hummed absentmindedly for years, but it was enough to calm the jumpy nerves of Grover and Annabeth beside me as we waited for the Olympian pandemonium to subside.
After a few minutes of playing, I stopped. Not because the powerful beings had decided to cease their chaotic argument, but because their shouting was starting to mess with my rhythm, clashing discordantly with the flute's delicate notes. "Oh, for the love of – it isn't that hard to figure out who!" My voice, though not raised, cut through the Olympian clamor with surprising clarity. The sudden silence that descended was almost as loud as the preceding uproar. Every eye in the throne room, divine and otherwise, swiveled to focus on me. I took advantage of their stunned attention and explained about the recurring dreams, the disturbing visions that had plagued me, always somehow tying back to the shadowy presence in the pit. I described the oppressive, suffocating dread that had washed over the coast of California, a tangible darkness that had chilled the air and sent shivers down my spine. "It is none other than Kronos. Your father…" The temperature in the room plummeted perceptibly as soon as his name, his true name, was uttered. A palpable wave of dread seemed to roll through the assembled gods.
"Don't blatantly say such names!" Zeus roared again, his voice tinged with an undercurrent of fear now, not just anger.
"Or what?" I challenged, my voice calm despite the sudden chill that had permeated the air, despite the palpable shift in the Olympian mood.
"Names are powerful things, Perseus," Athena chimed in, her voice surprisingly measured, almost gentle. "To utter the name of a being of primordial chaos…"
"They are no different than the nicknames we use now," I countered, gesturing dismissively at the pantheon. "The Crooked One, Storm-bringer, even the Kindly Ones – euphemisms and nicknames. They know we use such names, and to think otherwise would be ignorant. Monsters are not stupid. If they were, we wouldn't be constantly needing to do such quests, being sent to the Underworld because of it. If he is rising, then–"
"Enough!" Zeus's voice brooked no further argument. "We will speak of this matter no further. Now… my bolt." He extended his hand, his imperious gesture demanding immediate compliance. From inside my backpack, the master bolt, encased in its protective cylinder of heavenly bronze, began to hum violently, a low, resonant thrumming that vibrated through my very bones. I reached into the pack, retrieved the cylinder, and looked at it carefully, the sleek, polished bronze cool to the touch, feeling the latent power contained within.
"Are you just gonna drop this discussion like it never happened? Willing to bet that it was just a fluke? Willing to risk lives?" My voice echoed in the vast throne room, the words aimed at the towering figure of Zeus, king of the gods. I stood my ground, despite the tremors of fear that threatened to shake my resolve. "After what happened, are you just going to pretend it was nothing? Are you willing to gamble with the mortal world on a whim?"
"My bolt. Boy." Zeus's voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder, and his eyes, the color of a stormy sky, flashed with dangerous electricity. The air around him crackled with barely contained power. I got the message loud and clear – back down. His hand tightened on the master bolt, gleaming ominously in the ethereal light of Olympus. Doesn't mean I'll listen though. This wasn't about me anymore; it was about preventing something far worse.
"Are you stupid!?" The question burst from me, laced with frustration and desperation. In that moment, I forgot who I was talking to, forgot the raw power he wielded. My hand, clenched around the cylinder containing the stolen master bolt replica, spasmed. Before I could react, the metal cylinder flew from my grasp, arcing across the polished marble floor of the throne room and straight into the hands of the king of the gods. Zeus snatched it from the air with impossible speed. In a heartbeat, he had it in his grasp, the lethal weapon pointed directly at my throat. The air crackled, and the raw electricity emanating from the bolt stung my skin from mere proximity, raising goosebumps on my arms. My bravado faltered. I tried to put on a strong face, to meet his furious gaze unflinchingly, but inside, a cold terror gripped me. A sudden, overwhelming longing washed over me. I just wanted to go home, hug my parents and tell them I loved them. My breath hitched in my throat. I closed my eyes, the scent of ozone filling my nostrils, and waited for the searing pain, the oblivion.
"Get that away from my son. Zeus." The voice, deep and resonant, cut through the tense silence like a crashing wave. I snapped my eyes open. There, stepping out from behind a towering marble pillar, was Poseidon. My father. He was no longer seated on his own throne, but standing tall, trident in hand. The prongs of the mighty weapon were pointed directly at Zeus himself, the sea-green metal glowing faintly, humming slightly with raw, oceanic power. The air thrummed with the clashing energies of two Olympian gods.
"He has disrespected us for the last time brother! I will not let him go unpunished!" Zeus roared, his face contorted with rage, spittle flying from his lips. He didn't even glance at the deadly weapon leveled at him. His focus was locked on me, the master bolt unwavering. I glanced around the vast hall of Olympus. The other gods and goddesses, arrayed on their thrones, were a tableau of indecision. Some, like Ares and Aphrodite, looked like they were ready to leap into the fray, a dangerous glint in their eyes. Others, like Dionysus and Demeter, looked bored, or perhaps simply didn't care about this familial squabble. Athena watched with a calculating gaze, her expression unreadable.
"You will not take my son away from me! You did what you had to, brother, to save Thalia all those years ago. And I'm doing exactly that now, protecting my own child. Now get your bolt away from him, Zeus." Poseidon's voice was a low growl, filled with protective fury. He tightened his grip on his trident, the symbol of his dominion over the seas, the green glow intensifying. The air grew heavy with the smell of salt and ozone, a storm brewing in the throne room itself.
"So, you still claim this brat as your own? Even after the pact we made? The pact that you broke, Poseidon." Zeus spat the words, his voice laced with scorn. Oh, for the love of all that is holy. They were going to bring up that again, right now? In the middle of this mess?
"Let me remind you, brother, that you were the first to break the pact we made! So don't go acting all high and mighty on me now." Poseidon shot back, his trident never wavering from its aim. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"For the last time, Poseidon, I won't let this brat's actions against us go unpunished! First, he has the audacity to send Medusa's head to our doorstep, dripping ichor and venom, with a message etched in stone, practically taunting us, saying he'll be seeing us soon. Who does he think he is? He thinks he can trifle with the Olympians? I should have killed him then and there, vaporized him into nothingness and be done with his insufferable ignorance. Every single step he took, every breath he drew, has been an act of disrespect to me, to all of us!" At the last word, fueled by his escalating rage, Zeus moved. The tip of the master bolt, still humming with barely suppressed power, moved forward, and a searing pain tore through my neck. I gasped, my hand flying to the sudden wound. Warm blood welled up, slowly crawling down my skin, staining my shirt crimson. My vision swam for a moment.
"One more move and I won't hesitate to—" Poseidon began to roar, preparing to unleash the full fury of the seas upon his brother, but I couldn't let it go further.
"Stop!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, my voice raw with pain and desperation. The word ripped through the rising tension, snatching the immediate scrutiny of the two vastly powerful beings. Both Zeus and Poseidon turned their incandescent gazes on me. "This is exactly what I'm trying to prevent!" I gasped, clutching my neck, the blood still flowing. "Another Olympian World War, another devastating conflict, and for what? And bringing back the master bolt - the fake one, I may add - did nothing! It proved nothing except that you are all as paranoid as ever! Father," I pleaded, turning to Poseidon, my voice shaking slightly. "I love what you're trying to do for me, I really do. But a lot more is at stake here than just my life." Zeus's face remained a mask of cold fury, a smug, self-righteous grin playing on his lips. I almost rolled my eyes at the sheer arrogance emanating from him, even as blood dripped onto the marble floor.
"Why not put it to a vote?" A calm, measured voice cut through the air. Athena, goddess of wisdom, voiced her opinion, her grey eyes sharp and assessing. I never would have thought she'd intervene, especially not on my behalf. "Clearly," she continued, her gaze sweeping over me, "he has to be punished for speaking against us, for this… audacity."
"Athena, I swear, if you so much as try—" Poseidon's voice was a low rumble, the threat clear, but Athena cut him off again with a raised hand.
"I'm not suggesting sending him back to Hades, Poseidon. I actually had a different idea in mind." A different idea? Was that a good thing? With Athena, it was always hard to tell. My heart pounded in my chest.
"So, daughter, what do you propose?" Zeus acknowledged, his eyes narrowing with interest, but a hint of calculation in their depths. He finally lowered the master bolt, retracting the lethal electricity, and with a dismissive flick of his wrist, the weapon vanished. Then, as if trying to downplay the attempted murder, he made his way back to his majestic throne, settling onto it as though nothing had happened. I was going to have to seriously thank Athena for this. I was pretty sure I owed her a monumental favor now. Not that I liked owing super-powered beings anything, but hey, I did like living. Seeing that the immediate threat was gone, Poseidon slowly lowered his trident, though his eyes remained fixed on Zeus with simmering resentment. He made his way back to his own throne, the green glow of his weapon fading.
"...Banishment from camp." Athena began to lay out her plan. "No support, contact, or anything of the matter from any former encounters. Home or camp. He is to be removed from Long Island immediately and live on his own for the rest of his days. Or until the situation changes. Not like that will happen to begin with." The first part, banishment from Camp Half-Blood, didn't sound so bad. I didn't mind it, actually. I could go back to living the way I had for years before camp, before all of this. Relatively normal. Not bad at all. Until she finished that is. Now I couldn't talk to my friends, to Annabeth, to Grover, to Chiron, to anyone at camp? Because of Zeus's bruised ego? "Adding to that," Athena continued, her voice cold and precise, "the fact that his scent will only grow stronger with each passing year, monsters will swarm him endlessly. Only increasing his damnation all the more. He will be constantly hunted, alone, and without any aid from the Olympian world." I looked around the throne room, my stomach sinking like a stone. A silent, almost imperceptible discussion seemed to be passing between many of the gods. This was starting to turn out very, very badly. Just how far were they going to go?
Zeus looked utterly pleased, a cruel spark in his eyes. I was willing to bet he wanted nothing more than to watch me suffer, torn apart by monsters, a living example of what happens when you defy the gods. I didn't know what else to do here. A wave of despair washed over me. I looked towards my father, seeking some sign of hope, some reassurance. He had a tiny, almost imperceptible smile on his face, directed at me. Why? Confused, I snapped my head towards Athena. The goddess of wisdom winked at me. What is she planning? Really? My gaze darted to my two best friends, Grover and Annabeth, who stood near the edge of the Olympian council, having been permitted to stay as witnesses. To say they weren't happy would be a colossal understatement. Grover looked like he wanted to brawl with every god in the room, his furry legs shifting restlessly. Annabeth's face was pale, her grey eyes wide and stricken, holding a look of such profound loss, like she had lost someone all over again. What was I going to do?
"What a lovely idea, daughter. And coming from my own Athena nonetheless. Practical, just, and… entertaining." Zeus stated, his voice dripping with false praise. "Let's put it to a vote, shall we? A formal consensus." Nearly every god's head nodded in agreement to this absurd proposition, this formalized cruelty. Even Dad's nod was slow and reluctant, but he nodded nonetheless. The only one who didn't react was Hestia, goddess of the hearth, who remained silently tending to the eternal flames, her face serene and unreadable. "All in favor!" Zeus announced, his voice booming through the throne room. My heart plummeted, a sickening lurch in my chest. No matter which direction I frantically looked, all hands were raised, slowly, deliberately, in favor of my utter ruin. Not a single hand hesitated. Twelve hands, raised high, up in favor. Falling to my knees, the polished marble cold beneath my skin, I felt utterly lost. For the first time in my life, true, profound despair washed over me. I was genuinely and utterly lost, adrift in a sea of divine indifference and wrath. I don't think this feeling, this complete and utter helplessness, had ever truly happened to me before. Not in all of history, I felt, had someone been so completely abandoned by the gods who were supposed to be their protectors. And here I was, in the center of it, facing it head-on. "You have three days to gather your belongings and leave Camp Half-Blood… Now that that is settled and dealt with mercifully, I might add, I must go rid my bolt of its… taint." Zeus declared the verdict, his voice laced with theatrical magnanimity. With a dramatic flourish, he zapped out of the throne room in a flash of blinding lightning, followed closely by half of the council, flashing away in bursts of light and color.
Artemis, her silver eyes narrowed into slits of pure animosity, lingered just a moment longer, her glare burning into me like ice before she too dissipated in a silvery shimmer. Clearly, the goddess of the hunt hadn't forgotten my past… indiscretions.
Leaving behind Poseidon, Athena, Artemis, Hera, and of course, Hestia. I could understand Poseidon staying, because, you know, the whole father-son thing going on. But why would the others remain? Hera, who usually sided with Zeus. And Athena… why was she still here? Hestia continued to tend to the hearth, her presence a silent, comforting warmth in the suddenly empty space. My bewilderment deepened. Something was definitely going on, something I wasn't understanding.
"Percy, a word if you don't mind. Alone." Poseidon said sternly, his voice cutting through the silence that had fallen after Zeus's departure. His sea-green eyes, usually full of mirth, were now shadowed with a serious, almost sad, expression. I nodded my head, a lump forming in my throat, and turned to my friends, Grover and Annabeth, who stood beside me, their faces etched with worry and confusion.
"It's ok guys. I'll see you at camp. Promise." I tried reassuring them, forcing a smile that felt brittle and fake even to me.
"But Percy-" Grover started, his voice thick with emotion, his brow furrowed and his curly hair falling over his face. His hooves shifted nervously on the marble floor.
"I know," I interrupted gently, squeezing Grover's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, everything will turn out ok. I have three days after all. No matter what they say," I lowered my voice slightly, a spark of defiance flickering in my eyes, "it won't be forever. I still have a promise to keep about a certain someone." They clearly got to who I was referring to... Thalia. Her name was a silent vow between us. I'd be damned if I wasn't gonna follow through with it. I swore on it, a sacred promise between friends. Saying our quiet goodbyes, filled with unspoken anxieties, and brief, tight hugs. They walked out of the throne room, their shoulders slumped, their eyes constantly looking back, searching mine for some reassurance, some hope, until they were finally out of sight, disappearing through the enormous bronze doors. The smile I put up for them vanished the moment they were gone, now it's just emotionless, a blank mask. After three days, I won't be able to talk or see them until Elysium, a chilling thought that sent a cold wave through him.
"Percy." The goddesses and god called me back to them, their voices soft but firm. On my way back towards them, the divine aura around them seemed to lessen, and they subtly shifted forms, their towering figures shrinking and now stood before me like normal mortals, albeit mortals with an undeniable air of power and majesty. Good, I was getting a pain in my neck from looking up all the time.
Here stood I, a scrawny twelve-year-old demigod, in front of four of the most powerful gods. The same figures from the old myths and legends, wanting a personal conversation with me. Ugh! Why does everything have to get so difficult? I'm only twelve! Couldn't I just go back to camp and play capture the flag?
"Mind if we go first? It shouldn't take long." Hera, the queen, still radiating regal authority even in mortal form, asked, a hint of something unreadable in her eyes. Does a queen even have to ask? Percy thought wryly, but kept the thought to himself.
"Not at all, what's a few more minutes?" Poseidon answered, his voice laced with a weary sigh, and with a curt nod to the goddesses, he walked away, his sandals echoing softly on the marble floor as he disappeared out of the throne room and into the golden corridors of Olympus. Athena, with a barely perceptible flicker of movement, flashed away as well, her departure silent and efficient, lacking the dramatic flair of her father.
"Now, we have something to say to you. Hestia and I." Hera stated, her gaze softening as she looked at Percy, and she placed a gentle hand on Hestia's shoulder. I gulped, my heart pounding a little faster in my chest. "Thank you," Hera began, her voice surprisingly warm and sincere. "We mean it. It feels good to know that someone out there thinks about us. Not in fear, but in gratitude." She held a light smile, a genuine, radiant smile, along with her sister, Hestia, who offered a soft, comforting smile of her own. Oh my gods! Percy's mind blanked for a moment, overwhelmed by the unexpected kindness. I tried to form words yet, I couldn't. Gratitude for them? It was a foreign concept, but as he looked into their sincere eyes, he understood. Without saying anything else, no grand gestures or pronouncements, the two goddesses simply flashed away, leaving Percy alone in the echoing throne room.
I plopped onto the ground, the cool marble surprisingly soothing against my skin, and rubbed my throbbing head with my hands. The weight of the pronouncement, the confusing conversation with the goddesses, and the looming banishment all crashed down at once. And of course, that was when Olympus's two greatest rivals decided to come back. Poseidon and Athena reappeared in a swirl of sea mist and shimmering wisdom. "Perseus, why do you look so glum?" Athena asked, her tone deceptively calm, a flicker of amusement playing at the corner of her lips. Was she joking? Did she not understand what was happening?
"Oh I don't know," Percy retorted, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Maybe it's the fact that I can't see my family ever again! What exactly do you want from me!?" I snarled when I spoke, the words ripped from his throat, raw with anger and pain. I ran my hand through my wild, cropped, black hair three times in quick succession, the gesture nervous and agitated, and fixed Athena in a stare that could have frozen the Pacific, a storm brewing in his sea-green eyes. Burning rage hissed through my body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence, a destructive force threatening to erupt. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off me like ferocious waves, consuming everything in its path. The wrath consumed me like fire, engulfing my moralities, scorching my reason, and destroying the boundaries of loyalty. Loyalty. A sudden, chilling realization dawned upon him. I know what my heroic flaw is. It was as clear as day, reflected in the burning anger that consumed him.
"Percy, stop this! It's not as bad as you think!" Poseidon shouted, his voice booming with divine authority, yet laced with concern, through the winds that suddenly began forming from within the throne room, swirling around them in a miniature tempest. The air crackled with uncontrolled energy.
"Not as bad as I think!?" I shouted back, my voice echoing in the vast space, my arms spread out wide in a gesture of exasperated despair. "Then explain it! Go on! Tell me what I'm missing!" Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision, tears born of frustration and fear.
"What did I exactly say Percy? Word for Word?" Athena asked calmly, her voice cutting through his emotional turmoil like a sharp blade, grounding him, forcing him to focus. I ran her words through my head, over and over and over again, replaying the memory of her precise, deliberate phrasing. My rage, which had been burning so fiercely just moments ago, began to die out with every silent repetition, like a fire slowly starved of oxygen.
"Former. You said former. Meaning that..." Understanding dawned, slow and hesitant at first, then flooding through him like a tidal wave.
"That's right my boy." Poseidon stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on Percy's shoulder, his sea-green eyes filled with warmth and affection. "From now on you're going to be staying with me, in my palace under the sea. Until we can figure out a way to lift your banishment." The moment I truly realized I'd misinterpreted their actions, their words, their confusing expressions... as if they've been speaking a language I couldn't understand, and I had been deaf to it... that moment my words stopped, choked in my throat by a rush of emotion, was the moment my heart broke open... yet it was a good breaking... the type that leads to healing and new ways onward; sometimes, the loss of words says more than any spoken explanation. Relief washed over him in a powerful wave, so intense it almost buckled his knees.
It felt like it was the kind of day even a feather would fall without drifting one way or the other. The grass was straight and silent, if there had been any grass in this marble hall, the leaves dangled more as if they had been painted there, motionless against a backdrop of serene sky. Should a person be able to feel the beating of the birds' wings - that would have been the only breeze, a whisper of movement in the stillness. It was still, utterly still, the calm after the storm within him.
I felt happy. As happy as a rat with Roquefort. As happy as a dragon in a princess parade. As happy as a tornado in a trailer park. As happy as a rabbit in a carrot field. As happy as a fire imp in an inferno. Yet sad at the same time, a bittersweet ache in his chest. A new beginning with new adventures and an end to something I cherish with my very being, the familiar comfort of camp, my friends, my life above the waves. But for now, for this moment, under the watchful, understanding gaze of my father, I allowed myself to simply feel… happy.