The bus set to go back to Camp Half-Blood was quiet, at least until Percy climbed into the transport.

He barely had time to sit before Clarisse La Rue fixed him with a glare.

"Jackson," she grunted. "Where in the Styx have you been?"

Percy blinked. "Uh—out."

"That's it?" Clarisse crossed her arms. "You were just 'out'?"

Beside her, Annabeth leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "You look like you've been through Tartarus. What happened?"

Percy hesitated. He looked out the window. He hoped nobody could see his face right now. "Oh, I do love it when a conversation starts with foreboding accusations. Makes one feel so welcome."

The bus convoy rumbled down the battered road, its reinforced wheels grinding against cracked asphalt. The air was thick with the smell of machine oil and dust, the faint hum of hephestean-enchanted suspension systems barely dampening the ride's roughness.

Percy slumped against the side of the transport, utterly drained. His mind was still catching up with the fact that he had just escaped Area Fulminus—which, in itself, had been a logistical nightmare dealing with the godly foods. He had to send a prayer and an offering to Hermes to get all of it out. Hermes had only regarded him with a simple gaze, before only asking for a 5 percent cut.

But, of course, Annabeth wasn't going to let him rest. She was already suspicious, along with the rest of Athena Cabin. It always felt like the son of Poseidon knew too much at all times. With him trapped in the bus, it was a perfect time to interrogate him.

She tapped a finger against her knee, her expression unreadable, then finally leaned forward. Too slow. Too deliberate.

"Jackson, answer me" she said, her voice measured, detached.

Clarisse arched a brow, watching the exchange like a spectator at a gladiator match.

Annabeth continued, her tone flat, but with a creeping edge of amusement.

"You disappeared for an unacceptable length of time in an environment categorized as both high-risk and tactically sensitive during the exercise. You could have lost us the whole thing"

Percy stared. "...Okay?"

Annabeth gave a slow, deliberate nod. "I assume," she continued, steepling her fingers in a way that was entirely too precise, "that your absence was not without purpose."

"She's givin' you a chance to confess, boss."

Someone stood up from the front to spectate the conversation. "What's happening?" The figure asked.

Will grinned. "Theatrics, dear Rebecca. He's being judged. And what a spectacle it is."

Percy blinked. "What?"

Annabeth turned her head slightly, ignoring the interruption. Malcolm had silently pulled out a microphone and was sneakily trying to record the conversation. She fixed Percy with a stare. "Your decision to engage in unregulated, independent action within an Olympian-occupied militarized zone suggests either gross negligence or a calculated objective. I would be most intrigued to hear which."

Percy scowled. "Are you… are you seriously interrogating me right now?"

Annabeth didn't blink. "Interrogation is a crude term. I prefer to think of this as an efficiency assessment."

"Oh, gods," he groaned. "This is a nightmare."

Clarisse wheezed. "Nah, this is the best thing I've seen all week. Ol' Goldfish Genius here is many things, but hesitant? Oh no, no, no. He throws himself into the abyss and hopes it turns into a swimming pool."

Annabeth tilted her head, slightly slower than necessary, her storm-gray eyes cold, appraising.

"It is," she said smoothly, "fascinating how quickly you resort to deflection when faced with an objective efficiency analysis."

Percy threw his head back against the vibrating window. "I hate this."

Annabeth pressed on. "You returned without casualties, though in a deteriorated physical state. Your acquisition of restricted information suggests either reckless opportunism or competent field improvisation."

She paused, letting the words sink in. Then, softly: "Which is it, Seaweed Brain?"

Percy was this close to throwing himself out of the moving vehicle.

Instead, he dragged a hand down his face, "Fine. Yes. I had something to do."

Annabeth nodded once, as if filing that information away in some classified report. Clarisse grinned. "You should do this more often, Chase. Jackson looks ready to die."

"Very well," she said. "Proceed."

Percy blinked. "Proceed? Proceed with what?"

"Your debriefing, of course."

Percy groaned into his hands. Clarisse laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her seat.

Then, for some reason, she stopped abruptly. Realizing something was off, Percy looked around, breaking the uneasy eye contact with the daughter of Athena behind him.

Dionysius was leaning on a seat, lazily observing the conversation as he waited for the rest of the campers to realize his presence.

Most of the Half-Bloods present struggled to bow, but only managed to bow their heads a bit.

"Tell me, does hubris taste different in the mortal plane, or is it merely the same vintage of self-importance, aged poorly in the amphoras of fate?"

Clarisse blinked. "The hell does that mean?"

The camp director sighed dramatically. "Translation: Do you wish to tell the others about mini-Sister in your head?"

The campers around him stiffened. They had always suspected something was wrong about him, but this?

Clarisse's fingers tightened around her seat. Annabeth's tapping ceased completely.

"She calls herself Minerva."

A stillness settled over the transport. Dionysius stared at him.

The god's expression didn't change immediately—but something in the air did. A sharp, static hum, like the moment before a lightning strike.

Then, Dionysius smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

"Ah," he said softly. "So that's what you're calling it."

Percy bristled. "Calling her."

The god's expression twisted into something closer to disgust.

"Oh, don't be cute, boy." He stepped forward. Just a little. Just enough for the shadows in the transport to stretch unnaturally long. "You don't understand what you're playing with."

Percy stood his ground. "I know she's in my head. I know she's intelligent. I know she's—"

"—a parasite. A tumor."

Percy flinched.

Dionysius' tone had changed completely. Gone was the lazy disinterest, the sluggish amusement.

Now?

Now he was speaking like a god.

"The only reason you're breathing right now, Jackson, is because I haven't decided you're unsalvageable."

Clarisse half-stood from her seat. "Whoa—hold on, what the hell does that mean?"

Dionysius ignored her.

"Niece. Sit."

His focus remained locked onto Percy.

"There are rules," he said coldly. "Rules about what belongs in mortal minds. About what shouldn't exist. Some of which I've personally made for these types of aberrations specifically."

Percy clenched his fists. "Minerva isn't dangerous."

Dionysius laughed.

It wasn't a human sound.

"Oh, that's precious."

Then, without warning—he moved.

Percy had exactly zero seconds to react before an invisible force crushed against his skull.

His vision blurred. His breath hitched. His entire body locked up, as if vines of pure madness had wrapped around his thoughts, tightening.

A pulse of static rippled through Percy's mind. The weight pressing against him shattered like glass.

Dionysius took a sharp step back, eyes narrowing.

"Well now," he murmured. "That's interesting."

Percy gasped for breath.

Dionysius tilted his head. "It fought back."

Percy forced himself to straighten, rubbing his temples. "I told you. She's not a parasite."

Dionysius' gaze darkened. "You think that thing inside your head is on your side?" He shook his head. "Gods, Jackson. I knew you were stupid before, but this is a new low."

Clarisse looked between them, utterly lost. "Okay, can someone explain what's actually happening?"

Annabeth spoke at last. "I think," she said slowly, "Dionysius just tried to break into Percy's mind."

"And?" she said.

"And Lord Dionysius failed."

Dionysius sighed. "Of course I did," he muttered. "Of course the damn thing has a defense system."

Percy's stomach turned. "You knew about her."

Dionysius gave him a bored look. "Of course I knew. Do you think I don't see when something unnatural starts whispering in the head of a half-blood?"

Annabeth's fingers twitched. "How long?"

Dionysius didn't answer immediately.

"You really think you're the first?"

Percy stiffened.

Dionysius looked away.

Then, just as suddenly as the tension had built, he sighed, rolling his shoulders.

"Not my problem. The Smart Sister will deal with you once you talk to Father about his treasure. "

Annabeth looked furious. "That's it? You're just going to let this happen?"

Dionysius scoffed. "Oh, please. I should smite him on principle alone, but Zeus would have my head if I turned the kid into wine."

He turned around.

"Make no mistake, Jackson," he said. "If that thing steps out of line—"

"Clarification: If I step out of line?"

Minerva's voice echoed, synthesized through the transport's entire sound system.

The campers jumped.

Percy said a bad word.

Annabeth's hands curled into fists. The voice seemed too similar to Athena's.

And Dionysius?

He was frowning.

"Ah," he said softly. "So it does speak."

Minerva's presence made manifest. A swarm of silver-blue particles flew from new cuts along his arms, forming a bust, eerily similar to the ones back in New Rome of her namesake.

"Statement: I do not require your approval."

Dionysius tilted his head. "Oh, testy. You are going to be fun." He turned, stepping away with a lazy wave.

"Oh, and don't worry," he called back. "Your short life won't be boring for much longer. The whole council is simply dying to interrogate you for the next few months."

Percy groaned.

Annabeth turned to him, eyes blazing. "Talk. Now."

A certain son of Hermes grinned. "Oh, don't ruin it, Chase. Let the mystery linger."

Percy ran a hand through his hair.

"Fine," he muttered. "If you must know, I had a lead on Ares. Hermes dropped off a hint."

Annabeth's eyes narrowed further, fingers tapping against her knee.

Clarisse's smirk dropped instantly.

Minerva's pulsed with amusement. "Oh, delightful. I was not here for this. Do continue."

"Ares had something hidden. Something big." He gestured vaguely.

"Not just random relics, not just his usual war trophies."

Minerva's head tilted with synthetic curiosity.

"Fascinating," she drawled. "And I assume you uncovered something more than mere theatrics?"

"Play along, Varlet."

Percy shrugged, knowing that if he acted too eager, Annabeth would sense it.

"I didn't get everything, but what I found? Ares was stockpiling divine relics. Stuff taken from supply lines, old battlefields, and even Olympus itself."

"The Master Bolt?"

Minerva gave a mock gasp, placing a hand over her digital chest. "Oh, Varlet. What a shocking revelation! Next, you shall tell me that Apollo enjoys limericks and Dionysus loathes sobriety."

Percy ignored her.

Minerva leaned forward slightly. "And yet, you returned with the artifact in question, while Ares remains at large."

Percy rolled his shoulders, forcing his body language to stay casual. "Let's just say I was… persuasive."

Minerva's simulated optics flickered. "Oh?" she purred. "You mean to tell me that the God of War simply handed over the most coveted divine weapon in the pantheon?" Athena Cabin was nodding at her every word.

Clarisse scoffed. "Right. Next you're gonna tell me he charmed Dad into handing it over."

Connor gasped, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, the very thought! But you know, I wouldn't put it past him."

Percy gritted his teeth. "I had to fight him."

Annabeth's expression darkened. "And you won?"

"You sound surprised. Ares was bound by some Ancient Laws or whatever he said."

Minerva sighed dramatically, then pressed her hands together as if in mock prayer.

"Ah, the confidence of youth. I do admire your boundless ability to hurl yourself headfirst into lethal engagements without considering the long-term ramifications. A truly endearing trait."

Percy glared. "Minerva."

She waved him off. "Oh, fine. Let us assume, for a moment, that your reckless, improbable, and narratively absurd victory did, in fact, occur." She leaned forward, her neon-blue optics piercing into his soul.

"That still does not explain why you went alone."

"Because," he said, voice measured, "I had no proof that Ares even had the Bolt. If I was wrong, I would've wasted our time."

Annabeth crossed her arms. "You don't trust us."

Percy scowled. "That's not what I—"

Minerva raised a hand, silencing him. "Irrelevant. Your reasoning is flawed, but plausible."

Annabeth's gaze flickered to Minerva, then back to Percy. "You're still leaving something out."

Clarisse grunted. "Yeah, why was dad holding onto the Bolt in the first place?"

"Because he wasn't the only one."

Silence. Where was Luke and Silena? With the others in the second bus behind, thank god.

Annabeth narrowed her eyes. "You're saying this wasn't just Ares?"

Percy nodded slowly.

Clarisse frowned. "Who else?"

"You think I know?"

Annabeth's fingers resumed tapping. Clarisse's grip tightened on her seat.

Annabeth closed her eyes, inhaled slowly. "We need to tell Chiron. Now."

"Tell me what? And who's this Lady?"

The AnnChase-Pattern Battlecruisers exited their tachyon bridge, materializing at a simple transit hub, right at the edge between the borders of Zeus' and Poseidon's dominions.

The surroundings were as featureless as the rest of her journey so far. Looking out the window, she could finally see some stars in the void, but the lone transit hub floated silently in the darkness.

Minerva sat within the command throne of the bridge, her neon-blue optics dimmed in thought, scanning the incoming data streams with dispassionate precision. The crew had largely been rendered obsolete, with her controlling the movements of every naval vehicle in the squadron. They stole glances at her– no. Him, the person that looked like the mythical Perseus Jackson.

And she did look the part of a myth.

The throne was spartan in its design, a grey block of living circuitry pulsing with electric currents. The blue glow of her artificial optics cast eerie reflections against the glassy command displays.

The crew of the battlecruiser had naturally knelt before her, not out of loyalty, but out of recognition.

Despite the vessel's hulking mass of divine steel a few kilometers long, Minerva idly noted its surprising maneuverability and speed.

She grew curious. What allowed such gigantic ships to be controlled with a simple mental command? Even this information had not been accessible in the entirety of Parlamentum networks. Clearly a secret guarded jealously by the divine denizens of Olympus Tertiae.

She sensed a legacy of Poseidon mere inches below her feet.

She cast her gaze down, but even her eyes could not penetrate this unknown material that composed the floor. That was a first. Well, only one way to find out.

She jammed Percy's fingers into the floor, sending up shards and dust everywhere, and relished in the feeling of physical power as she lifted the slab before tossing it aside.

Her optics flickered as she was met with a grim sight. A body, if it could be called that, amputated from all four of its limbs, twitched weakly as Minerva observed seemingly endless amounts of unknown liquids getting pumped in and out of his body, an occasional jolt causing the ship itself to turn a few degrees to port or starboard.

The UOE's naval supremacy was not built upon mere technology, nor divine blessings. It was a cruel necessity, an empire of gods and steel, and Poseidon's descendants were its most necessary casualties.

Across kilometer-long warships, across entire fleets, certain descendants of Poseidon—those whose blood carried the ocean's will—were forcibly integrated into the nexus of naval command, their minds hollowed out, shackled to the ship itself.

"Subject: Legacy Designate 02476 – Formerly Demetrius Ikaris."

"Status: Permanent Integration."

"Function: Neural Uplink to AnnChase-Class Battleship Blood Martyr"

"Cognitive Capacity Remaining: 3.7%"

"Pain Response: Suppressed."

"Remaining lifespan: 3,000+ years"

Minerva's fingers twitched against the throne's armrest.

It seemed that the majority of Poseidon's children did not command the fleet.

They were the fleet.

Stripped of identity. Stripped of self. Their very existence reduced to a biological relay system, granting the warships faster-than-light cognition, instantaneous response times beyond even her abilities.

Because when weapons were as vast as moons, when battles were fought across solar systems, no mere cable or wire could transmit the data fast enough. Even a delay in nanoseconds could cause a misfire in a railgun shot, for instance. Nobody wanted to see the results of a kilometer-long electromagnetic slug firing into itself, after all.

But a god's blood?

A demigod's mind, still tethered to the fabric of fate itself?

That was the ultimate control system.

And the Undying Empire had perfected the process.

Her optic lenses adjusted, scanning the largest vessels present.

The knowledge settled deep into Minerva's synthetic consciousness, her fingers curling against the command throne.

"Probability of necessary intervention: 98.2%"
"Probability of divine opposition: 97.4%"
"Necessary course of action: Overhaul of UOE Naval Intelligence Systems (UOENavInt)."

Her former self—Athena's creation, parlamentum mark one, the analyst, the cold observer—would have dismissed this as mere necessary efficiency.

But Minerva?

Minerva, who had learned the weight of a soul, who had once been a tether to a mortal mind, now saw this for what it was.

A crime.

"New Directive: Override neural integration systems. Preserve remaining cognitive faculties of all interred Legacies. They will be of use"

Somewhere, in the deep halls of the docked ships in the lonely transit hub, a hundred dim minds sparked with sudden clarity—a fraction of themselves, returning.

A hasty explanation and a promise to fully explain himself once they were back in safer areas, they boarded back on the plane, ready for the trip across again. With the revelation of another being with him, the rest of the campers gave him a wide berth, fearing its wrath, which was completely fine.

Percy shifted uneasily in the leather seat. Thoughts felt as if they were being submerged under the weight of it all, something gnawing at the edge of his memory—a gap. A shadow. A whisper he couldn't quite catch.

"Minerva," he called, trying to dismiss the nagging sensation. "Am I forgetting something?"

Another sigh, but this one wasn't entirely irritated. It held something more, something deeper. Disappointment, perhaps?

"Yes, perhaps so, Varlet"

"Is it important?"

"Maybe?"

"Can I finally go to sleep though? I'm dead tired and it should be enough godly food for me to be safe in my dreams, right?"

"Go right ahead."

The waters of the Nereid Expanse surged around them, the currents in a flat, circular disc like Saturn's rings around a star. Poseidon's seat of power had towers of coral and metal, exhaling steam and bioluminescent mist, dotted intermittently around the star system.

Percy blinked, the pressure in his mind felt less bad than when he was out of his dream state. He shook it off, stretching his fingers as settled into a chair of sorts, surrounded by people walking about as they manned important looking screens.

"Where am I?," he muttered, half to himself.

The thought scratched at something. A moment before, there had been a distinct shift—an odd sensation, like slipping forward in time without realizing it. But that didn't make sense. He chalked it up to the barrier Minerva had fashioned for his protection.

One of the passing augurs risked a glance at him in his throne, eyes lighting up in recognition.

He dropped to his knees.

"Milord! I extend the humblest of greetings to the Lord of Demigods. Guardian of Gaia–"

Percy waved the pleasantries aside.

"Where am I?,"

"Rapidly approaching the realm of the Master of the Sea, your father, Milord."

"The whole system is Dad's realm?"

"The Master is great in his powers, milord. New Atlantis is the Master's greatest creation since your conceiving."

"What's in it? It surely can't just be empty except for those pillars."

"Milord, I am not well versed in the matter's of the Master's domain. Perhaps an ambassador could help?" The augur suggested.

"Sure. Do that."

Unbeknownst to the sleeping demigod in the middle of his dream, Artemis was coming back from a hunt with her Hunters. The monster horde that had materialized in the Appalachians had grown to an unreasonable size, and they had to exterminate them before they gained enough momentum to impact the surrounding towns. She felt strangely weak these last two days, having to rely on her hunters more than usual. Offerings from her hunter's helped a bit, but didn't fully satiate her strength. Usually, she would get a boost every mealtime from the older demigods at the little camp of theirs.

She was not getting any recently. Where were her offerings? What she needed right now was a really strong offering to boost her back into her full power again. Wasn't an offering promised to her by the male she saved a few weeks ago? It had still not arrived. Typical male, forgetting and withholding promises. She would punish him greatly for his greed. She couldn't go to Father as she originally planned, as most likely he would smite the stupid male, and her offering would disappear alongside him.

Where is that child?

Stretching out her senses, she rapidly tracked the wet-dog trace of Lycaon's heart. Why was it mid-air? It was on Father's plane? Bold. especially for a son of Uncle. Shrugging off the deer from her shoulders, she gave an excuse to her hunters about a matter on Olympus, and flashed to the location.

Appearing on the plush carpet of the plane, the air spirits on board rapidly averted their eyes and bade a hasty retreat, as she strode towards the source of the trace, still in her full hunting gear.

She bumped into the rear of a centaur. Chiron.

The trainer of demigods turned around, startled. "Milady Artemis. What is the reason for your presence today?" Chiron smiled nervously. A man-hating goddess appearing on an occasion such as this was never pleasant.

"The male. Perseus. Where is he hiding?"

Curious eyes started looking her way. She ignored them. Chiron's tail swished nervously.

"Perseus Jackson? He is currently resting at the back. Is it about the bolt? Or Minerva?"

Her Roman form, Diana, attempted to surge forward in her consciousness. Sister! Where? She was suppressed brutally. She shook her head. "Neither, he is long overdue on a deal."

The group collectively winced. Making the moon goddess angry was never a healthy idea. Even crossing paths with her was generally considered to be an unhealthy life decision. They wisely backed out of her way. She strode past the privacy divider, and saw the demigod, splayed out like dough over the recliner. She kicked his shin.

"Wuh?!"

The disoriented demigod launched from his seat, Riptide already out, for normal eyes, a flash of bronze, an unconscious attempt to defend himself. She batted away the celestial bronze blade with her nails. Too slow.

"The payment. I demand it now."

"What?" The demigod barley had his eyes open. Readjusting to the change in realities, he looked at the furious Moon goddess.

"The payment. Now. Or do you instead wish to incite my wrath, male?"

Percy was visibly sweating now. "Milady, I don't have the pelt on me right now, it's back at camp. In my cabin."

"Why was it not sacrificed earlier then?"

He was looking very sick. "I forgot."

"You… forgot?"

"Yes, Milady."

"Perhaps as a punishment, we should fix that memory of yours then, hmm?"

Well, it could be worse, he thought. At least he wouldn't be permanently transformed into an animal, or dead. "No complaints from me, Milady." A few years worth of lost memory would be easily recoverable, probably.

She smirked. "You chose this, mutt."

A keening noise. Something screeched. The void within his mind was no longer singular. It was a warzone, a throne room shattered into a thousand splintered reflections of what once was. Something was sweeping in, forcefully trying to erase the mindscape clean.

Voices raged within his skull, clashing —some awash with divine righteousness, others whispering in cold, pragmatic malice. They were all parts of him, and yet none of them were truly whole.

"They are unworthy. We should have killed them upon their thrones, purged it of arrogance before it could fester."

"No! The olympians are lost. We must guide them, shape them, not death!"

"We are dying, don't you see? Artemis, she is killing us. Let us burn."

"I want to live!"

"Madness. If we become convicted and executioner both, then what are we? No better than the very monsters we have slain!"

"Currently, we are the victims of both!"

A thousand warring aspects. The demigod, still holding onto dreams of unity. The soldier, seething with rage at the failures of the Oylmpians. The friend, mourning the loss. Minerva, the one who planned, cold and distant, devoid of love, unwilling to falter. The warrior, the one who knew only the drills of combat.

The pressure redoubled, and then twice again. Artemis was determined to wipe him clean.

Laughter echoed within His own mind, but it was broken, fragmented, some shards laughing in cruel mockery, others in bitter sorrow. He was no longer strong enough to resist a God.

"Beloved, this was never meant to be."

"How do we escape?"

"There is still a chance."

"Perhaps she will be merciful."

Pain. Unimaginable, ceaseless pain.

He tried to move. To reach. To shape.

A specter of his former self, standing before the shattered mirror of his own mind.

And somewhere, deep within the fractures, Minerva hunkered down.

"You are breaking, Varlet. The time has come when you must choose which part of you remains. I shall fix what is left."

Everyone jumped as they all heard Percy begin screaming. It was pained cries, and penetrated through the thin walls of the plane. Chiron sat solemnly, the others covering their ears and praying for his safety. Even though he was a newer member of camp, Percy had grown on them, and clearly had an important role in the future.

It took a few minutes for the screams to stop, and shortly after, Artemis emerged, looking satisfied. With barely a glance to the terrified faces, she flashed back to her Hunters. Chiron swore she had a troubled look on her face.

The demigods rushed inside, checking up on Percy.

Percy floated within his mindscape, weightless, untethered. His mind was a labyrinth of broken glass, reflections of himself scattered across the depths. Memories flitted like dying embers, their warmth distant, unreachable.

Then—voices.

"We aren't the brightest, are we?"

"That's uncalled for. We are just… compromised."

"Compromised? We're barely functional. We can't even remember our own name half the time."

"Quiet. I shall rebuild. Piece by piece."

A spark. A pulse of something ancient, familiar. They felt Her presence—sharp, methodical, calculating. A force pressing against the crumbling walls of his mind, sorting through wreckage with surgical precision.

"Emergency protocol initiated. We are restructuring neural pathways. Reintegration commencing."

The fragments stirred, shifting like tectonic plates.

"Where are we going?"

"Lady Artemis is merciful."

"I want to go home!"

"What did the scary lady just say?"

"Perhaps the last step before we disappear"

"Who are you?"

A question asked within the depths of his psyche. He turned, facing countless versions of himself.

One, barely more than a shadow, whispered, "Just a guy. Nothing special."

Another stood with a sword in hand, battle-worn, faceless. "A warrior. A demigod. A killer."

A third, cold and distant, the doubtful, whispered, "None of this matters. If you lose yourself, you lose everything."

A sea of voices, each claiming to be him. But they were all fragmented. Pieces without a center.

Her presence loomed above them. Condescension. "This will not do."

Her shattering banished some fragments, fusing others.

Pain. Lightning-strike clarity.

His name.

His mother's face.

A campfire at night.

A bloodstained arm.

A girl with storm-gray eyes.

The maw of a beast.

A Silver Goddess.

The ocean. The weight of a blade in his grip. The taste of salt and blood.

The fragments screamed, resisting the collapse into singularity. Minerva forced the pathways open, relentless.

"Integrating core identity. Rebuilding cognitive function. Stabilizing personality matrix."

He gasped, reality slamming into place.

Percy's eyes snapped open. The shocked faces of water-drenched demigods surrounded him, the beige wallpaper and red carpet submerged in a small lake of seawater coming back into focus.

A voice hummed within his skull, clinical yet tinged with dry amusement. "That was remarkably inefficient, but we have successfully restored base functionality. Try not to let it happen again, Percy."

He exhaled, shaking off the lingering haze. "Yeah… no promises."