Percy Jackson stared with absolute contempt at the Empire State Building elevator as the golden doors closed in front of him. The ambient music—"Dancing Queen" by ABBA in an instrumental version that seemed specifically composed to torture mortal souls—did nothing to improve his mood.
"Three days," he muttered to himself, pressing the button marked with the number 600 with more force than necessary. "Three miserable days of peace. It must be some kind of Olympian record."
The elevator began its supernatural ascent, leaving the mortal world behind to enter the realm of the gods. Percy ran a hand through his hair, trying unsuccessfully to fix it. Not that it really mattered; after all, the "urgent invitation" he had received that morning—delivered by a pigeon with the attitude of an aggressive executive—didn't specify a dress code.
Besides, Percy had discovered that his disheveled appearance was one of the few things he could control when interacting with the gods. If they were going to drag him to Olympus for another divine drama, at least they would do it on his terms: worn jeans, a slightly scorched Camp Half-Blood t-shirt from his last encounter with a teenage dragon, and the permanent air of "they woke me up on my day off for this."
As the digital counter jumped from floor 102 to 353 in the blink of an eye, Percy mentally reviewed the last three days. Hermes' letter had been clear: an invitation to his birthday party. And Percy, in a rare moment of preventive wisdom, had decided to ignore it completely. What could go wrong at a divine party? Absolutely everything.
"Well, what a surprise," he said to himself with bitter sarcasm. "Percy ignores an Olympian party and, as punishment, they summon him three days later to clean up the mess."
The digital indicator displayed "600 - OLYMPUS" with a soft ding that sounded too cheerful for the occasion. The doors opened, revealing the ethereal splendor of Mount Olympus, as majestic as ever thanks to Annabeth's reconstruction work. Percy felt a familiar pang at the thought of her, but quickly pushed it aside. This wasn't the time for romantic nostalgia.
As he advanced along the marble path toward the throne room, Percy immediately noticed that something was wrong. The atmosphere seemed charged with static electricity, like just before a colossal storm. The celestial gardens were unusually quiet; not even the singing of the muses could be heard in the distance. The nymphs, normally carefree and playful, were hiding behind columns and fountains, whispering among themselves with expressions that oscillated between panic and morbid excitement.
"Great," thought Percy. "It's one of those problems."
As he passed by a particularly nervous group of nymphs, he managed to catch fragments of their conversation:
"...the golden apple again..." "...worse than Troy, I tell you..." "...three of them, like last time, but now..."
Percy quickened his pace, although part of him wanted to turn around and jump off the edge of Olympus. With his luck, he would probably survive the six-hundred-floor fall only to have to climb back up.
Halfway to the throne room, Percy felt a familiar and disturbing sensation: he was being watched. It wasn't the usual divine gaze, that oppressive weight he felt when a god was openly watching him. This was different, more subtle, like ghostly fingers running down his neck. The same sensation he had experienced in his recent dreams.
Almost without thinking, Percy stopped and turned sharply to the right, where a small grove of silver olive trees extended between two minor buildings. For an instant—so brief that he might have imagined it—he thought he saw a silver flash among the leaves, like moonlight reflected in still water. The sensation of being watched disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.
"I'm becoming paranoid," he muttered, resuming his path.
The throne room of Olympus was a spectacle for any mortal, demigod, or magical creature who had the privilege (or bad luck) to enter it. Massive columns of white veined marble supported a ceiling so high that it seemed to blend with the clouds. The polished floor reflected the changing constellations of the night sky, and each step sent waves of starlight under one's feet.
But Percy barely noticed these details. His attention was completely captured by the scene before him: eleven of the twelve Olympian thrones were occupied, and the tension in the air was so dense it could have been cut with Riptide.
Zeus, seated on his central throne, seemed to be suffering from a monumental migraine. Small lightning bolts jumped from his temples, and his expression oscillated between supreme irritation and fatalistic resignation. To his right, Poseidon observed Percy with a mixture of paternal pride and barely concealed concern, as if he wanted to tell him "I'm sorry" and "good luck" simultaneously.
Most notable, however, were the three empty thrones: those of Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite. The air around these vacant seats crackled with residual divine energy, as if their occupants had departed in the midst of a heated argument.
"Perseus Jackson," thundered Zeus, though his voice sounded more tired than imposing. "At last you deign to appear."
Percy bowed in a carefully calculated reverence: respectful enough not to provoke Zeus's wrath, but not so deep as to appear obsequious.
"My Lord Zeus," he responded, maintaining a neutral tone. "I came as soon as I received the invitation. By 'invitation' I mean the pigeon that burst into my cabin at dawn, dropped a miniature lightning bolt on my pillow, and nearly electrocuted me."
Zeus had the decency to appear slightly embarrassed, though he quickly disguised it with a frown.
"The circumstances are... urgent," declared the king of the gods.
"What kind of urgent?" asked Percy, letting his gaze sweep over the empty thrones. "Urgent as in 'the world is about to end again' or urgent as in 'Olympian family drama'?"
"Both," intervened Apollo from his golden throne. The sun god looked unusually serious, though a mischievous gleam in his eyes suggested he was secretly enjoying the chaos. "Although, technically, the second could cause the first."
Percy then noticed that Apollo was absentmindedly playing with something: a golden apple that shone with its own light, tossing it in the air and catching it with one hand. Something about that fruit set off all of Percy's internal alarms. He had spent enough time among gods to recognize an object of power when he saw it.
"Let me guess," said Percy, connecting the pieces with growing horror. "Hermes gave a party, 'someone' forgot to invite Eris, and now we have another apple of discord."
The room fell silent. Ares, from his bloody throne, let out an appreciative laugh.
"The kid is smarter than he looks," commented the god of war, carelessly cleaning a dagger with his shirt. "And that's saying something, since he doesn't look very smart."
Percy ignored the comment, focusing on Zeus's expression, which confirmed his theory.
"Where's Hermes?" he asked, noticing the absence of the messenger god.
"Hiding," responded Hephaestus with a grunt, without looking up from a small bronze mechanism he was working on. "Smart coward."
Percy ran a hand over his face, trying to process the situation. The story of the golden apple was well-known: Eris, offended at not being invited to a wedding, threw an apple inscribed with "For the fairest" among the goddesses, unleashing a dispute that eventually led to the Trojan War. Paris, the Trojan prince chosen as judge, had made the mistake of choosing Aphrodite over Hera and Athena, thus earning the eternal hatred of the losers.
"Please tell me you didn't call me here for what I think," pleaded Percy, though he already knew the answer.
Apollo smiled broadly, tossing him the golden apple. Percy caught it reflexively and, upon looking at it closely, felt his stomach sink. Engraved on its surface, in ancient Greek letters that gleamed like miniature stars, was the phrase: "For the fairest."
"Oh, no," murmured Percy, trying to return the apple as if it burned. "No, no, no. No way. Find another idiot."
"We already have the perfect idiot," responded Dionysus with a lazy smile, taking a sip of his Diet Coke. "And he's holding the apple, Pedro Johnson."
Percy looked around, seeking support, but the male gods carefully avoided his gaze. Even his father suddenly seemed fascinated by the design of his trident.
"This is ridiculous," protested Percy. "Why me? And where are Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite?"
"Preparing," responded Hermes, suddenly materializing next to Percy in a golden flash. The messenger god seemed nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder. "And before you ask: yes, I lost some invitations; no, it wasn't on purpose; and yes, I'm totally sorry, although technically it wasn't my fault because someone," he cast an accusing glance toward a shadowy corner of the room, "altered my guest list."
Percy followed Hermes' gaze but saw nothing except shadows. Still, the sensation of being watched returned with greater intensity.
"As for why you..." continued Hermes, turning back to Percy. "Well, you're the logical choice. A demigod with enough status to be respected, but without the immortality that would make this an eternal problem. Plus, you've already proven to be immune to Aphrodite's... charms."
"What about Athena's charms?" intervened Poseidon with a tense voice. "Or worse yet, Hera's."
"I'm immune to the desires of hundreds of people, good and crazy," Percy grumbled. "Everything seems to run in the family, father. Being immune to female charm seems to be genetic."
Zeus cleared his throat, producing a miniature thunder.
"The point is, young hero, that we need an impartial judge for this contest, before the dispute escalates. They've already destroyed half of Olympus with their arguments."
Percy looked again at the apple in his hand, feeling its weight both physical and metaphorical. He remembered perfectly how the judgment of Paris had ended: with a city in ruins and thousands dead.
"What if I refuse?" he asked, though he knew it wasn't really an option.
Zeus opened his mouth to respond, probably with some veiled threat, but was interrupted by a soft, cold voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Then another will take your place, Percy Jackson."
The air in the center of the room condensed like silver mist, gradually materializing into the form of a young woman of extraordinary beauty. Artemis, goddess of the hunt, appeared wearing a simple silver tunic that contrasted with the elaborate attire of the other gods. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple braid, and her silver eyes shone with a disturbing intensity.
"My sister is right," confirmed Apollo, studying Artemis with a curious expression. "If you reject the role, Zeus will designate another judge. Probably some mortal with no connection to Olympus, who will be easily manipulated."
Percy looked at Artemis, noticing something strange in her posture. The goddess, normally distant and cold with men, observed him with an intensity that seemed disturbingly familiar. As if she had been watching him for a long time.
"And what guarantees that I won't be manipulated too?" asked Percy, without taking his eyes off Artemis. "What will prevent these three goddesses from doing to me what they did to Paris?"
"Your stubborn character, for starters," responded Artemis with a hint of a smile. "And the fact that you already know the story. Paris didn't know what he was getting into; you do."
Percy considered his options, aware that he really had none. If he rejected the role, some poor mortal would end up in the middle of a divine game they couldn't understand. At least he had experience dealing with capricious gods.
"Fine," he finally yielded, putting the apple in the pocket of his jeans. "I'll be your judge. But I have conditions."
Zeus arched an eyebrow, visibly surprised by the demigod's audacity.
"Conditions?" he thundered. "You dare impose conditions on the gods of Olympus?"
"Yes," responded Percy without flinching. "If you want to avoid another Trojan War, these are my terms: First, no bribes. I won't accept offerings of power, wisdom, love, or anything else. Second, the contest will have clear rules that I will establish myself. And third..." he paused, looking directly at Zeus, "I need a neutral place to stay while this lasts. I don't trust that any of the participants won't try to... influence me during the night."
The room fell silent. The gods exchanged glances, clearly disconcerted by the demigod's attitude. Finally, it was Artemis who spoke:
"You can stay in my temple."
Everyone present, including Percy, looked at her with amazement. The goddess of the hunt had never been known for her hospitality, especially toward men.
"Your temple is full of hunter maidens who hate me," Percy pointed out cautiously.
"My hunters are on a mission in the Rocky Mountains," responded Artemis naturally. "The temple is empty, except for my occasional presence. And, as befits my domain, it is the only place on Olympus where the other goddesses cannot enter without my explicit permission."
Percy looked at her suspiciously. There was something about the way Artemis had made this offer, almost as if she had prepared it in advance.
"Why would you help me?" he asked directly. "You're not participating in this contest."
Artemis's eyes shone with something indecipherable, and for a moment, Percy thought he saw a predatory smile on her lips.
"My temple is a refuge for those seeking to escape the manipulations of others," she responded in a neutral voice. "The Son of the Sea is welcome under my roof while this... competition lasts."
Zeus concluded the audience with another thunderclap, and the gods began to disperse. As Percy remained in the center of the room, still holding the golden apple and assimilating the magnitude of what he had just accepted, he felt a presence beside him. Artemis had appeared next to him, moving with the silent grace of a predator.
"Follow me, Perseus Jackson," said the goddess, her voice so soft it almost seemed a whisper. "Night falls, and there is much you must know before dawn."
Percy followed her out of the throne room, aware of the gazes of the other gods upon them. He particularly noticed that Apollo was watching them with an expression difficult to interpret, halfway between curiosity and concern.
They exited the throne room in an unsettling silence. Percy felt the weight of the golden apple in his pocket as if it were a grenade about to explode. But even more disturbing was the presence of Artemis walking beside him, so close that he could perceive the faint aroma of nocturnal forest and moonlight that emanated from her—though Percy had no idea how moonlight could have a smell.
Olympus at dusk was a spectacle that few mortals had contemplated. The marble streets gleamed with an inner silver light, as if they had absorbed the rays of the moon for millennia. Impossible buildings rose against a sky where the constellations seemed so close that Percy almost believed he could touch them by stretching out his hand.
"So..." began Percy, uncomfortable with the prolonged silence, "This is awkward."
Artemis glanced at him sideways, with an expression that Percy couldn't completely decipher. Amusement? Contempt? Something more disturbing?
"Which part exactly?" asked the goddess. "The fact that you've been made the judge of a divine beauty contest, or that you're walking beside a goddess who has sworn to eternally reject male company?"
"Both," responded Percy with honesty. "But mainly I wonder why you're helping me. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that... well, we're not exactly close friends."
Artemis suddenly stopped, turning to face him. Her silver eyes seemed to glow with their own light in the growing darkness.
"Years ago you held the sky for me, Percy Jackson," she said with an intensity that took him by surprise. "A debt is a debt, even for a goddess."
Percy blinked, surprised. So much time had passed since the incident on Mount Othrys that he had almost forgotten it. Well, not exactly forgotten—it was difficult to forget the crushing pain of holding up the firmament—but he didn't expect a goddess like Artemis to keep track of such things.
"That was a long time ago," he murmured, suddenly uncomfortable under her intense gaze. "Anyone would have done it."
"No," Artemis responded simply. "Not anyone."
They resumed walking in silence. Percy felt a strange tension between them, as if there were hidden currents in an apparently simple conversation. Finally, they reached a higher area of Olympus, where a temple of white marble and silver rose among a small forest of eternally silver trees. Unlike the other Olympian temples, this one seemed to blend with the natural surroundings, as if it had grown organically from the terrain.
"My temple," announced Artemis, gesturing toward the structure. "And your temporary home while this... farce lasts."
Percy observed the building with appreciation. It was beautiful in an austere and functional way, without the decorative excesses typical of Olympian architecture.
"It's... different from how I imagined it," he commented.
"What did you expect? Animal heads on the walls and maidens dressed in furs running around?" asked Artemis with a twisted smile.
"Something like that," admitted Percy. "With more bows and arrows, maybe."
"Stereotypes are for poets and simple-minded mortals," responded the goddess, leading Percy toward the entrance. "Reality is usually more complex."
As he crossed the threshold of the temple, Percy felt a strange sensation of calm invade him. The interior was cool and tranquil, illuminated by a soft silver light that seemed to have no defined source. The large central hall was dominated by a circular fountain where crystalline water flowed continuously, and around it were several divans and low tables of polished wood.
"The guest rooms are in the east wing," indicated Artemis. "Mine is in the west wing. The center of the temple is common territory." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Though I advise you not to venture into my wing without an explicit invitation. Some protection spells are... prejudiced against the male gender."
Percy swallowed, imagining what kind of "prejudices" those spells might have.
"Understood. This side good, that side bad." He tried to lighten the mood with a smile. "Are there any other rules I should know? Don't feed the wild beasts after midnight? Don't look directly at the full moon?"
Something like amusement crossed Artemis's face.
"There are no wild beasts here, except perhaps you," she responded. "And as for the full moon... you can look at it all you want. It's your soul that is exposed to its light, not mine."
With these cryptic words, Artemis pointed toward a hallway.
"Your room is the third door on the right. You'll find everything you need there. Rest, Percy Jackson. Tomorrow the trial begins, and you'll need all your cunning to navigate among divine ambitions."
Percy nodded, heading toward where she indicated. Before going too far, however, he stopped and turned toward the goddess.
"Artemis," he said, with sudden seriousness. "Why do I believe there's something more to all this? Something you're not telling me."
The goddess's eyes gleamed dangerously in the dimness of the temple.
"Because you're more perceptive than you appear, Son of the Sea," she responded with an enigmatic smile. "Sweet dreams, Percy Jackson. I hope they are... revealing."
With these words, Artemis vanished into the shadows of the temple, leaving Percy alone with his disturbing thoughts and a golden apple that weighed like the world in his pocket.
Somewhere in Olympus, three powerful goddesses prepared for a contest that, unbeknownst to them, was just a distraction within a much older and more personal hunt. And as night covered Olympus, the stars seemed to shine with renewed intensity, as if they recognized they were about to witness an event that would alter the course of divine history for eons to come.