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Chapter Text

Not Even The Gods Above Can Separate The

Two Of Us

Sempiternal

Their love was a sempiternal tapestry woven with threads of love, pain, grief, joy, and stolen innocence.

-Kristy Evermore

Starring...

Helena Vasilisa Romanov

"Lena" "Hels" "Len" "Majesty" "Sapphire" "Camp Mom" "Feather"
( Daughter of Hera)
-As described

"You defeat the minotaur, go to the underworld, and fight a god but don't know how to make a friendship bracelet. You're something else aren't you sea-green eyes?"

Perseus  "Percy" Achilles Jackson
"Perce" "Sea-green eyes" "Seaweed Brain" "Waterboy" "Kelp Head" "Fishboy"
(Son of Poseidon)
-As described

"You have quite a temper don't you, Majesty?"

Featuring...

Annabeth Chase
"Wise Girl" "Annie" "Beth"
(Daughter of Athena)

"I swear to the Gods you two would destroy the world if left alone!"

Grover Underwood
"Grov" "Grovy" "Super G"
(Satyr)

"I had a feeling you and Lena would get along just fine."

AND...

The rest of the characters from Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Chapter Text

Helena Romanov wasn't your usual demigod. She was one of a kind - even for demigod standards - not only was her beauty one that would mesmerize anyone who came across her; with her long dark chocolate locks, porcelain skin, and sapphire blue eyes with emerald specks, but it was her heritage the one that made her stand out. Helena Romanov was the daughter of Hera, goddess of marriage, family, childbirth, and women, Queen of the sky, and patron of the stars of heaven.

And if that wasn't enough, Helena was raised in Olympus, at least during her first five years of life, where the Olympian gods became her mentors, the nymphs and spirits there became her company and the silent expectations from the world became her burden.

A burden where perfection was a must and failure couldn't exist.

A burden that had constant voices whispering in her head that she couldn't disappoint her mom, that she couldn't seem like a threat to Olympus, that she had to prove her existence wasn't a mistake, that she had the right to be referred to as "The Princess of Olympus", a burden that was slowly making her lose herself, making her forget the girl she was once.

Until a certain sea-green-eyed demigod with a unique charm and a bravery that matched his sass, freed her and showed that she didn't have to lose herself to be perfect. He allowed her to see that the true Helena Romanov was perfect in every sense of the way.

"Live for yourself, Feather, do things because you want to, not because the gods want you to. Be yourself, the carefree, sweet, and caring girl who is not afraid to fail and show her emotions. You told me it was okay to make mistakes because from them you learn. Follow your advice."

"That was surprisingly motivational, Fishboy, if the demigod thing doesn't work you can be a  motivational  coach."

"Lena..."

"Don't worry waterboy, I'm not going to lose myself, I'll be the Helena you saw during the quest."

"Good, 'cause she is pretty amazing."

"Of course. She's me. I'm amazing."

Chapter Text

Act I
The Lighting Thief

"You owe me 10 drachmas,Annabeth"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever"

"Has he always been this clueless?"

"No...Yeah"

"Even if my mom is on his side, I'll fight next to yours, Kelp Head. You're my friend and I don't go against my friends"

"Thanks, Sapphire"

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains of the cabin as a brunette lay tangled in the covers, a serene mess of warmth and peaceful dreams, a stuffed panda hugged tightly to her chest.

Helena wasn't a morning person and with Chiron being away to keep an eye on Zeus-knows-who, sleeping in was possible or well she thought it would be, Helena had forgotten about her best friend, who was currently knocking like a maniac on the door.

"No" Helena mumbled burying her face into the pillow "If I ignore it, it'll go away," she thought. Foolishly though.

Before she could lose herself completely in the warmth of the bed the covers were yanked from her. Helena yelped and sat up abruptly to glare at her best friend, Annabeth Chase, who had a smug smile. "You are lucky I'm too sleepy to throw something at you." The brunette said.

"It's already 7:30, you need to wake up, Lena."

"I don't need to wake up; I need to sleep. I'm a growing child; sleep is important." The blonde gave her an amused look. "Chiron is returning today," she said.

"Do you want me to organize a welcome-home party? If so, less than 10 hours' notice is not appropriate." Helena said and Annabeth gave her a disapproving look

"He will return with news from the kid he went to monitor. Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know why he did that or who the kid is?" Annabeth said, sitting down next to her best friend on the bed.

"Of course I do, but I also want to sleep," Helena whined "Besides Chiron isn't even back yet, we can't question a non-present person."

"No" Annabeth agreed "but we can prepare the questions."

Helena gave her a look "It's not an interview Annie, it's us being nosey, we don't need to prepare questions."

"One should always prepare things for them to go correctly," The daughter of Athena said "Now go shower, breakfast will start soon and it's your turn to take over Chiron's archery lesson"

Helena groaned "Stupid maledetto schedule. The Apollo kids should be the only ones covering that" she grumbled under her breath, the wind picked up inside the cabin and Helena knew that was her mom's way of saying "language".

Annabeth gave her an amused look "See you at breakfast" Helena hummed and watched her best friend leave. 

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Helena was in the middle of giving her last lesson of the day when Annabeth interrupted and dragged her away from the training grounds. 

"You know if you tell me where you want us to go, I'll walk there on my own," The brunette said to her best friend. "Chiron arrived" was the blonde's response. 

" Couldn't you have started with that?" Helena said as she snatched her wrist back and started rushing towards the Big House, Annabeth hot on her heels. 

Once the girls reached the Big House they didn't hesitate to enter - more like barge in - and they were met with the sight of the centaur talking with Mr. D, the god looking quite bored about what the centaur was saying. Helena cleared her throat loudly to make their presence known.

"Ah, the little queen arrives," he drawled, his tone half-mocking, half-affectionate,  lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he noticed Helena entering. He had a glass of Diet Coke in one hand, and his other gestured loosely to the two girls. "Anniebell, you're here too, I suppose."

"Good afternoon to you, too, Mr. D," Helena replied sweetly, though the teasing lilt in her voice didn't go unnoticed.

"Helena, Annabeth," Chiron greeted, his tone warm but with a slight edge of weariness. His eyes flicked to Helena briefly before shifting back to Mr. D. "I assume you're here because you've heard I've returned."

Annabeth nodded eagerly, but Helena crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You left camp to watch some mystery kid. So, naturally, we're curious. What's the deal, Chiron? Did you find another future hero, or was it a false alarm?"  

"Chiron, can we make this quick? I've got a riveting game of solitaire waiting for me." The god muttered before taking a sip of his soda

Annabeth frowned at his dismissive attitude, but Helena only rolled her eyes fondly. Somehow, she had managed to become one of the very few campers Mr. D tolerated, though she often suspected it was more about her ties to Hera than her sparkling personality. Still, she wasn't one to complain about preferential treatment

The girls' attention returned to Chiron as he started speaking "It's... complicated."

The daughter of Hera raised an eyebrow. "Complicated how? " She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly to the side, a gesture that resembled one her mother made. " Complicated as in monster bait, or complicated as in prophecy levels of trouble?"

Before Chiron could answer, Mr. D let out a dramatic sigh and set his can on the table. "Prophecies, prophecies, always with the prophecies. Why can't you demigods ever just... behave?" He waved a hand dismissively. "The boy's alive, isn't he? That's good enough for now. Let the rest play out as it may."

Annabeth's brow furrowed. "That's not exactly reassuring."

"I have the feeling that boy means trouble," Helena said

"You'll survive, my dear," Mr. D said, giving her a faint smirk. "You always do."

Annabeth shot him a glare before turning back to Chiron. "So? When is this boy coming to camp?"

Chiron hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking to the window. "Soon," he said quietly. "He doesn't know what he is yet, but the signs are becoming harder to ignore. When the time is right, he'll come."

Helena exchanged a look with Annabeth, her intrigue growing by the second. "And you think he's one of the Big Three," she guessed, her tone cautious. "That's why you've been watching him so closely."

Chiron's expression softened, though the concern lingered. "He'll arrive soon enough. For now, it's best we prepare for his arrival. Helena, I'd like you to keep an eye on him once he gets here. I believe your... diplomatic nature will help him adjust." 

Helena blinked, caught off guard. "Me? Why not Annabeth?"

"Because I'm not babysitting a newbie," Annabeth interjected, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. She seemed more preoccupied, staring at the floor in thought.

"You're the one dying to go on a quest," Helena shot back

Chiron's eyes twinkled slightly, as though he already anticipated Helena's reluctance. "You'll do fine, Helena. And it will give you a chance to..." He paused, searching for the right word, "...shape his perception of camp life."

"You mean make sure he doesn't run screaming back to Manhattan," Helena muttered.

"Precisely," Chiron said with a smile.

"Look I don't doubt Grover or anything, but are we even sure the kid will make it? I have no problem helping people adjust, but this is not a little kid who I can charm with a story or arts and crafts, and he is a possible child of the Big Three, that's dangerous."

"I have full confidence in Grover's abilities," Chiron said firmly, though there was a faint flicker of doubt in his eyes.

Mr. D let out a dramatic sigh, swirling his soda.  "What's the worst that could happen? The boy gets eaten by monsters? Saves us a headache if you ask me."

"Dionysus," Chiron said warningly, but Helena couldn't suppress a small laugh. Mr. D winked at her, and she shook her head, unable to believe she was even slightly charmed by the god's antics.

Chiron gave the brunette a disapproving look and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll add babysitting to my schedule," she said sweetly, earning a chuckle from Mr. D.

Annabeth, however, was laser-focused. "If he's as important as you're implying, we need to be ready for anything. What if monsters follow him here? Should we tighten security at the borders?"

"That won't be necessary for now," Chiron said gently. "But I would advise both of you to stay vigilant. We don't yet know the full extent of what we're dealing with."

Helena exchanged a look with Annabeth, who nodded, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Got it. We'll keep an eye out."

Helena leaned against the doorway of the Big House, arms crossed, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Chiron's words weighed on her, but it wasn't just the mention of a possible Big Three kid. It was the tone he used—the kind of careful, measured tone that said this wasn't just some run-of-the-mill new camper.

"Helena." Chiron's voice broke her out of her thoughts. She glanced up, realizing both Annabeth and Mr. D had already left the room, leaving her alone with the centaur.

"Yeah?" she said, straightening up slightly.

"I wasn't joking when I said I want you to keep an eye on Percy," Chiron said, his tone gentle but firm. "You have a gift for understanding people. And, more importantly, for guiding them."

Helena tilted her head, skeptical. "A gift, huh? I thought it was just my sparkling personality."

Chiron chuckled softly. "Call it what you will. But Percy is going to need someone who understands what it's like to... feel out of place. To be thrust into a world you didn't ask for."

That gave Helena pause. She hated to admit it, but he had a point. It hadn't been easy for her when she'd first arrived at camp, the fact she had lived in Olympus for a while, that she was the daughter of Hera, of all gods. The expectations. The whispers. The subtle—and not-so-subtle—judgments. She'd dealt with it all, but it hadn't been fun.

"Fine," she said after a moment, her tone reluctant. "I'll keep an eye on him. But if he's a total disaster, you owe me."

Chiron smiled knowingly. "I think you'll find he's more than he seems."

Helena raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Instead, she turned and headed out of the Big House, her thoughts still racing.

She had a feeling that Percy Jackson was going to bring quite the havoc with him.

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Chapter Text

Even though Helena agreed to guide Percy Jackson upon his arrival, she didn't expect to also to become his personal nurse. Sure she liked helping in the infirmary, it was nice, but she didn't necessarily enjoy taking care of a sleeping boy who drooled and sleep-talked. But, Chiron had agreed to free her from that week's chores if she took care of the Jackson boy, and well, Helena wouldn't say no to such a sweet offer, which is why she was currently sitting on a chair next to the sleeping boy as she sketched and listened to her best friend ramble on about theories on Percy Jackson and what was going on in Olympus. 

"Are you sure your mom hasn't mentioned anything about what is going on?" Athena's daughter questioned her best friend, who finally tore her gaze away from her sketchbook. Yet her hand never stopped moving as it continued to shade the drawing. 

"She hasn't even visited me in dreams, Annie; a horrible way of parenting that creates high possibilities of me developing mommy issues if you ask me, but no; no visits in dreams, no hidden messages in the wind, no info on my dearest stepdaddy's temper tantrum, nothing, niente, nada."  The brunette replied before turning her gaze to the dark-haired boy and reaching out to gently brush his hair away from his forehead with her free hand as her gaze moved to the cloth on the small bedside table, she cocked an eyebrow and suddenly the wind lifted it and with her gaze, she moved it to the bowl of water where is submerged slightly and lastly the wind took it in her direction. She grabbed the now damp cloth and placed it on the boy's forehead. 

Annabeth watched Helena's display of power with an impressed, albeit slightly envious, look. "You make it look so effortless," she muttered, folding her arms as she leaned against the wall. "If I had that ability, I wouldn't have to rely on actual effort to get things done."

"If you had this ability, you'd be the best demigod in camp," Helena replied, winking at Annabeth before returning to her drawing. 

Annabeth rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you stick around," Helena teased without looking up from the drawing 

"Impossible" Annabeth emphasized in a murmur, but there was an amused edge to her voice. She leaned forward, her gray eyes narrowing as she studied Percy's unconscious form. "He doesn't look like much. Doesn't seem like someone who could survive the Minotaur."

Helena glanced at her friend over the rim of her sketchbook. "Neither did us when we got here and look at us now. Your camp's star strategist, certified brainiac, and future quest leader."

Annabeth snorted. "Flattery won't distract me, Lena. I still think there's something off about this whole thing. Your mom says nothing, Chiron's being cryptic, and now we've got this kid—" she gestured to Percy, who let out a faint snore in response—"just showing up out of nowhere. There has to be a reason for all this."

"Maybe he's just unlucky," Helena offered with a shrug. "Or lucky, depending on how you look at it. Surviving the Minotaur and ending up here isn't exactly normal, even for us."

"Exactly my point," Annabeth said, her voice sharper now. "What makes him special? Why is he suddenly in the middle of everything? And why won't anyone give us answers?"

Helena didn't respond immediately. Instead, she leaned forward again, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of Percy's blanket as if she could glean some hidden truth from the boy by proximity alone. "He doesn't look dangerous," she said softly. "He looks... normal."

"Normal's a mask," Annabeth said, her tone matter-of-fact. "I've seen enough kids come through those camp borders to know appearances don't mean anything. You, of all people, should know that."

Helena shot her a playful glare. "Are you calling me dangerous, Chase?"

Annabeth smirked. "I'm calling you unpredictable. Big difference."

Before Helena could retort, Percy let out a low groan, his head shifting slightly on the pillow. Both girls immediately straightened, their attention snapping to him as his eyelids fluttered. For a moment, it seemed like he might wake up, but then he let out a soft mumble—something unintelligible—and stilled again.

"What do you think he's dreaming about?" Helena wondered aloud, her voice barely above a whisper.

Annabeth shook her head. "No idea. But if he's anything like the rest of us, it's probably not good."

Helena frowned, her hand reaching out to adjust the damp cloth on his forehead. "Poor guy. He didn't ask for this."

"None of us did," Annabeth said quietly, her tone unusually somber. "But we don't get a choice, do we? This life... it chooses us."

"You think Chiron is right, don't you?" The Romanov's voice remained soft and gentle. "About him being a kid of the Big Three."  

"You also think he is right" Was the blonde's only reply. 

Helena hummed in response "I've had my suspects since Grover was the one sent to protect him" 

Annabeth's brows furrowed "Why?"

 "He's been trying to get his license for years," Helena replied "especially after... well we both know. The point is, if Chiron sent Grover to look over Mr. Sleep Talker here is because he knew that if Grover succeeded in bringing him to camp he would get his license."

Annabeth crossed her arms, her sharp mind already piecing the puzzle together. "So, you're saying Chiron knew Percy was important. Grover wouldn't have been assigned to him unless it was a guaranteed big deal."

Helena nodded, glancing at Percy. "Exactly. Chiron doesn't gamble, and he wouldn't have risked Grover's shot at a license unless it was worth it. And for it to be worth it... well, that means this guy's got to be more than just your average new camper."

Annabeth paced the room, her mind spinning. "If he's one of the Big Three's kids, like Chiron suspects, that means we're all in for trouble. The pact was supposed to prevent more demigods like him from being born. If he's here, it means someone broke the rules... again."

Helena set her sketchbook aside, watching her friend with a bemused expression. "You know, you pacing like that makes me nervous. It's like watching a tiger circle its prey."

Annabeth shot her a glare. "I'm not a tiger."

"Fine, a lioness then," Helena teased, leaning back in her chair. "But seriously, I get it. If Percy's who we think he is, the entire camp's going to be thrown into chaos. And we're probably going to be dragged into it too."

Annabeth stopped pacing and turned to face her. "You don't sound nearly as worried as you should be. This is huge, Helena. The prophecy—"

"I know," Helena cut her off, her voice firmer now. "But stressing over it before we even have answers isn't going to help. For now, all we can do is wait for him to wake up and see what he knows."

Annabeth sighed, running a hand through her blonde curls. "I hate waiting."

"Shocking," Helena deadpanned, earning herself another glare from her best friend. She chuckled softly, then turned her gaze back to Percy. "Either way, we both know that we are meant to help with the prophecie, Chiron said we would play a part in it"

Annabeth didn't respond right away. For an instant, her eyes flashed with guilt, as if she knew something Helena didn't. But the guilt was gone as soon as it came. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Percy's face. After a long moment, she said, "What if he doesn't want to be part of this? What if he's not ready?"

Helena's expression softened, her usual playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. "None of us were ready, Annie. But he's here now, meaning he's part of this world whether he likes it or not. We'll help him. That's what we do."

The room fell silent, the weight of their unspoken fears hanging heavy in the air. Helena reached for her sketchbook again, her pencil moving across the page in quick, fluid strokes. Annabeth watched her for a moment before shaking her head and heading for the door.

"I'm going to see if Chiron has any updates,"  Annabeth said. "You staying here?"

"Where else would I go?" Helena replied, gesturing to Percy. "Someone has to keep an eye on him."

Annabeth nodded, pausing in the doorway. "Don't get too attached," she warned. "If he really is the one the prophecy's about, he's going to have a rough road ahead."

Helena didn't look up from her sketchbook as she replied, "I think we all are."

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The next days in the infirmary were something, Percy woke up a few times but only for a couple of minutes. Helena took on most of the responsibilities for caring for Percy during those three days, leaving Annabeth free to hover anxiously nearby, muttering about prophecy and fate. Helena didn't mind anymore. She enjoyed the quiet rhythm of tending to her unconscious patient. It reminded her of taking care of the younger campers when they got scrapes or colds.

Percy was different, though. Even in his unconscious state, there was something about him that made Helena feel... protective. Maybe it was the vulnerability etched across his face or the fact that he'd endured so much just to make it to camp.

On the first day, Percy stirred for the first time while Helena was away giving a sword lesson and it was Annabeth the one watching over him. He had been having weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill him. The rest wanted food.

Percy groaned softly and looked up to see a curly-haired blonde hovering over him, her stormy gray eyes were analytical and her lips were curled in a smirk as she scraped drips off his chin with the spoon.

 When she saw her eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?" 

"What?" Percy managed to croak

She looked around, as if afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

 "I'm sorry," He mumbled confused, "I don't . . ."

 Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding. "Annabeth!" a soft melodic voice berating the girl, Annabeth, filled the space "I told you to watch over him, not question him" That was the last thing Percy heard before falling back into slumber. 

On the second day, Percy stirred once again. Helena, perched on a stool beside his bed, had been humming softly while dabbing a cool cloth across his forehead. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing sea-green eyes clouded with confusion.

"Hey," Helena said gently, her voice soft. "It's okay. You're safe now," Her lips curled up in a smirk. "No blonde questioning you this time." 

Percy's gaze focused on her, his expression dazed. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just stared at her. His eyes traced the soft reddish hue in her dark chocolate-brown hair, the way it glowed faintly in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. They lingered on her sapphire blue eyes, flecked with emerald, which seemed to hold an unspoken kindness that put him at ease. She looked ethereal, like a being out of this world. She looked like an angel.

"You're really pretty," he murmured before his eyes slid closed again, leaving Helena blinking in surprise.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Thanks, I guess," she said to the now-sleeping boy.

The next day, Percy woke again, this time just long enough to catch the brunette girl drawing. She was sitting next to him, her eyes trained on her sketchbook, her brows slightly furrowed, and her lower lip tugged between her teeth in concentration. His gaze found her face once more, and despite the exhaustion dulling his features, a small, lopsided smile tugged at his lips.

"Angel," he mumbled before drifting off again.

Helena's gaze snapped to him in surprise. She stared after him, feeling a faint blush rise to her cheeks.

"Angel?" she repeated, rolling her eyes fondly. "You must still be dreaming, Jackson."

Once again, Percy woke up. This time, though, the girl was gone. Instead, a husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom, keeping watch over him. He had blue eyes—at least a dozen of them—on his cheeks, his forehead,  and the backs of his hands.

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Percy was still confused and distraught about everything, the Bullman, his mom, and Grover's satyr nature. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder about the pretty brunette girl, who he believed was an angel or part of his imagination, she had been almost every time he woke up. Where was she now? He tried to be subtle, but his eyes darted to the corners of the room, to the door, to the windows—anywhere the girl might suddenly appear. “Where’s… um… where’s everyone else?”

Grover raised an eyebrow. "Everyone else?"

Percy shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “You know… the people who were here. There was a girl. She… uh, she was here a lot.”

Grover grinned knowingly. “Oh, you mean Helena? She’s around. She’s probably off helping with the younger campers or something. She’s kind of, like, the unofficial camp mom or whatever.”

Percy’s shoulders slumped a little, disappointed. “Oh.”

“But don’t worry, you’ll meet her officially soon,” Grover added, standing up. “Right now, we’ve got stuff to do. I’m supposed to show you around camp, and take you to the Big House so Chiron and Mr. D can fill you in on what’s going on.”

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Helena was in the Arts and Crafts room with the younger campers, helping a seven-year-old Hermes kid weave a bracelet when she heard a familiar voice call out her name.

"Hel!"

She turned her head just in time to see Luke Castellan, counselor of Cabin 11 stepping through the doorway, his presence instantly catching the attention of some of the younger kids, who either waved at him or, in one case, nearly knocked over a jar of glitter trying to get a better look. Helena, however, beamed.

"Luke!" Helena's smile brightened as she carefully set down the bracelet she was working on and stood up. The little Hermes kid beside her pouted at the loss of his helper, but Helena ruffled his hair. "I'll be right back, okay? Keep weaving."

The boy nodded, though he still looked slightly disappointed.

Meanwhile, Luke was already making his way toward her, his easy grin widening as he reached out and tugged her into a one-armed hug. "Thought I'd find you here," he said, his voice warm. "Still babysitting the little troublemakers?"

"They're not troublemakers," Helena huffed playfully, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "They're adorable, which is more than I can say for you."

Luke laughed, ruffling her hair. "Ouch, Hel. Right in the heart."

She swatted his hand away with a mock glare before crossing her arms. "You looking for me, or did you just come here to harass my kids?"

"Both," Luke admitted with a smirk. "Mostly looking for you, though. Chiron wants you"

Helena raised an eyebrow. "Chiron wants me?"

Luke smirked. "Well, technically, he asked for you, but if you'd rather stay here and keep working on bracelets-"

Helena scoffed. "Fine," she grumbled. "But you are watching the kids for me. As much as I enjoyed watching "The Glue and Paint War" I didn't appreciate all the material waste."

Luke smirked "You sure it wasn't your mom berating you what you didn't appreciate?"

"Shut up, Castellan"

"Now that's no way to speak to your older brother" Helena simply rolled her eyes and shoved him away with her shoulder

"Go watch the kids, Luke."

Helena didn't bother waiting for his response and started heading towards the Big House wondering what Chiron could want. Maybe the kid woke up or maybe he was finally ready to spill what the Tartarus is going on. She was pulled out of her thoughts by Annabeth, who fell into step with her.

"Chiron asked for you too?" The blonde questioned

"Yeah. What do you think it is for?" Was Helena's response

"Hopefully some straight answers"

Helena snorted, "You hope too much, Annie."

The two girls made their way up the hill toward the Big House, their strides matching as they moved across the campgrounds. The midday sun cast warm light over everything, and from a distance, Helena could hear campers training at the arena, swords clashing in sharp bursts of sound. It was the usual camp atmosphere that should have felt normal. But with everything that had happened, normal seemed far away.

As they reached the Big House's porch, Annabeth knocked once on the wooden frame before pushing the door open. Helena followed her inside, the familiar scent of old parchment and herbal medicine filling her nose.

Chiron was waiting for them in his wheelchair, his expression unreadable. Mr. D sat lazily in a chair, messing with a deck of cards, his usual bored expression plastered across his face.

Helena was the first to speak. "You wanted to see us?"

Their heads turned in the direction of the girls but it was Mr. D the one to speak first. "Ah Romanonov, you're finally here. I was thinking you were going to miss our card game. Again"

"She's been taking care of Percy Jackson, Dionysus," Chiron said

"Bah, as if the kid is more important than our games," The god answered, earning a pointed look by the centaur. "Already messing with the order of things and not even awake. Mark my words that kid will bring trouble and we would all be safer if he remained asleep."

"Dionysus!" Chiron exclaimed, while Helena giggled and Annabeth shook her head disapprovingly.

"Don't worry Mr. D, we'll make up for the lost games, " Helena answered. "I'll even let you win a couple rounds."

The camp director narrowed his eyes in the brunette's direction but said nothing. He was used to her comments.

Annabeth, clearly done with the banter between the camp director and the daughter of Hera, cleared her throat. "What you needed us for, Chiron?"

The centaur nodded. "Of course, Percy Jackson is awake, Grover is with him right now."

"Oh joy," Mr. D muttered. "Another menace for the place."

Helena smirked "I'm sure he'll charm you, Mr. D."

The god glared at her. "Don't push your luck, Miss Princess."

"You adore me."

Annabeth elbowed Helena. "Focus"

"Focus" Helena mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"I'm sure you both know what you have to do, correct?" Chiron interrupted.

"Guide him" "Babysit him and avoid his death" The girls answered at the same time.

"Helena-" she cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah," she waved her hand dismissively. "Show him around camp, make him feel at home, train him, and try to become his friend." She knew it by heart, whenever a new camper arrived, if they were young or had gone through a traumatizing experience- which Percy clearly had- Helena was the one in charge of helping them, she had a welcoming and warm aura that made people feel at ease. However, that had more to do with her parentage than with herself.

"You know it's your fault the whole "Camp-mom" thing." She said giving the centaur a pointed look.

He simply smiled in amusement but before he could answer her a voice - more like a cry- cut him off.

"Mr. Brunner!"

"Mr. Who?" Helena questioned the blonde next to her in a whisper. Annabeth simply shrugged in response.

Chiron smiled in the direction of the voice "Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

Annabeth and Helena exchanged a glance. "Sleeping beauty is awake." The blue-green speckled-eyed girl muttered under her breath as Chiron offered the boy a chair to the right of Mr. D, in other words, next to her.

The god looked at the kid with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Uh, thanks," Percy answered and Helena chuckled and turned her head to him. "That's as nice as he gets, enjoy it." She told him.

Percy's head snapped to her so fast, it was surprising he didn't get whiplash. His eyes widened at the sight of the girl next to him. It was her, the girl from the infirmary. Helena, Grover had called her. "You!" Now Percy hadn't met to exclaim that, but when had his brain and mouth actually worked together? But he could also blame the pretty girl in front of him for it, the girl had the most mesmerizing eyes, her hair a deep chocolate brown with a slight reddish hue and fair skin.

The daughter of Hera raised an eyebrow in question. "Me?" Her tone was amused and a half-smirk formed on her lips at the blush that formed on the raven-haired boy's cheeks.

"Ye...Yeah. I...I mean you're the girl from the infirmary" He stuttered feeling like an idiot and trying her best not to wince. 

Helena could feel the nervousness radiating from the boy -like literally- so she gave him a gentle smile in hopes of easing his nerves. "That's me, but I prefer Helena." 

"Right," He nodded, noticing the faint Italian accent in her voice. 

Helena extended her hand. "Not gonna tell me your name?" she said teasingly. 

"Right. Of course, " He took her hand and shook it, instantly feeling a wave of calmness reaching him, the softness of her hand and the cool metal of her rings were soothing. "Percy Jackson." 

"Nice to meet you, Percy Jackson," Her smile never wavered. "I'm Helena Romanov." 

"Romanov. That explains the accent" Percy thought, his hand still in hers and his gaze lost in hers. He couldn't help but notice how pretty her eyes were, a bright sapphire blue with emerald specks, and if he looked really hard he could even see some gold specks too. 

"Annabeth, Helena" Chiron's voice calling out to said girls pulled Percy out of his daydream about Helena's eyes and focused on the one that used to be his Latin teacher and the girl next to Helena. "This young ladies nursed you back to health, Percy. My dears, why don’t you go check on Percy’s bunk? We’ll be putting him in cabin eleven for now.” 

Annabeth said, “Sure, Chiron.” She was probably around his age,  just like Helena, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic-looking. With her deep tan and curly blond hair, she was almost exactly a stereotypical California girl, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take Percy down in a fight.

 She glanced at the minotaur horn in his hands, then back at him. For a moment Percy imagined she was going to say, "You killed a minotaur!" or "Wow, you’re so awesome! " or something like that.

Instead, she said, “You drool when you sleep.” Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her. Helena giggled and shook her head before looking at Percy and adding. "You also talk in your sleep. Anyways, I'll see you later." 

Her head turned to Mr. D. "I promise we'll play poker before dinner, Mr. D," a mischievous glint shined in her eyes. "I'll also let you win." Before Mr. D could answer, she sprinted off to where Annabeth was waiting for her. 

"That girl is lucky I like her." Mr.D muttered under his breath.

Chapter Text

Helena and Annabeth were waiting outside of Cabin Eleven; The blonde with a book in hand and the brunette with her sketchbook and sitting on a chair made of an air current -She was not going to sit on the floor and dirty her shorts- when Percy and Chiron arrived.

"Girls," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"

"Yes, Sir." They answered at the same time.

"Cabin Eleven," The centaur now looked at the raven-haired boy. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it, a caduceus.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center. Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

Percy stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at him, sizing him up. He knew this routine. He'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Helena prompted, tilting her head in the cabin's direction. "Go on, Sea-green eyes"

Percy furrowed his brows slightly at the nickname but took a step and tripped, but before he could face plant, a light soft wind current stabilized him. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

"Percy Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven." Annabeth introduced.

"Regular or undetermined?" Someone asked.

Helena saved Percy the trouble of answering the question -Cause it was evident he didn't know the answer- and did it herself instead. "Undetermined"

Everybody groaned until a guy, a little older than the rest, came forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there." Helena gave Luke a huge smile while Percy analyzed him. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow, her cheeks were rosy and Percy swore her eyes were shining. 'You have an "In love with Luke Castellan" sign on your forehead, Athena Jr.' The blonde heard her best friend's voice in her head and then she noticed Percy's curious look and Helena's amused and mischievous smile. Her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now"

Percy's brows furrowed and he turned to the two girls. "For now?"

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin Eleven takes all newcomers and visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers." He winked at them and Percy decided that the guy was nice, "He seems like a good brother figure." Percy thought.

Then he looked at the tiny section of the floor they'd given him. It made him miss his apartment more. Right now, the room that Smelly Gabe used as an office seemed better than this. At least that had been his. At least his mom had been there.

Helena looked at Percy. She could feel his emotions, and she didn't have to read his thoughts to understand what he was thinking. The Jackson boy was radiating homesickness, grief, longing, and confusion.

"How long will I be here?" He asked

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined"

"How long will that take?" The campers laughed until Helena narrowed her eyes at them and fixed them a glare. They shut up immediately. Helena's glare was terrifying. In Chiron's words, it was just like Hera's.

"Come on," Annabeth told me. "We'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it"

"Well, you can handle seeing it again, Sea-green eyes," Helena insisted, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him outside. Her words had been powerful, and for some reason, Percy's will to be stubborn faltered.

Once they were a few feet away Helena let go of Percy's wrist and he turned to her. "You're really set on calling me that, huh?" Percy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," Helena said with an overly sweet smile. "Unless you'd rather I call you 'Floor-diver' instead?"

Percy opened his mouth, ready with a comeback, but Annabeth cut in.

"Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath "I can't believe I thought you were the one."

"Annie" Helena warned in the same tone a mother would use, her sapphire blue eyes becoming darker.

"What's your problem?" Percy snapped, the blonde was annoying him. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy-"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told him. From behind her Helena looked exasperated, she shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, Percy assumed he should've been listening to Annabeth, but instead, he found himself noticing that Helena's nails were painted in peacock blue and that a charm bracelet sat on her wrist, and said charms looked like weapons. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?" That brought him back to the conversation.

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

"To survive?" Helena offered raising an eyebrow. However, she was ignored by both of her companions.

He shook his head. "Look, if the thing I fought was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories..."

"Yes." The curly-haired blonde answered

"Then there's only one."

"Precisely." Now it was the girl with defined wavy hair the one who spoke.

"And he died, like, a gazillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So . ."

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die." Annabeth stated

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up." He replied sarcastically.

Helena sighed and explained "Monsters don't die, 'cause they don't have a soul like you, me, or Annabeth. I suppose the words should be destroy them rather than kill them. Either way, you can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they reform and go back to terrorize and hunt us."

Percy thought about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword-"

"The Fur- " Helena smacked Annabeth's shoulder. "I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very,very mad."

"Mad as in 'I shall seek revenge' mad" Helena added

Percy gave her a look. "How wonderful."

The brunette smiled sarcastically. "Ain't it? You have one of the worst monsters out there wanting to kill you."

Percy then looked at them confused. "Wait, how do you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"Like I said before, you talk in your sleep."

"Oh great!" Percy thought.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Helena's features hardened and Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground as if she was expecting it to open up and swallow them. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all." Annabeth answered.

"Which I recommend you not to do," Helena piped up. "Unless of course, you feel like pushing your luck."

Annabeth gave her best friend a look but she only replied with a charming smile and an innocent shrug.

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" Percy said. He knew he sounded whiny, but right then he didn't care. "Why do I have to stay in Cabin Eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

He pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turned pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or . . . your parent."

And while she stared at him, waiting for him to get it, Helena looked at Cabin 2, her cabin, and a small smile made its way into her face. Cabin 2 was beautiful; The cabin resembled a Greek palace and it was built from smooth, pristine white marble, polished so finely that it gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting soft golden hues. The roof was high and domed, with intricate carvings of peacocks, lilies, and pomegranates. The walls told a story; stories, myths, and important moments revolving around the goddess were carved into them.

Large columns, reminiscent of the grand temples of Olympia, framed the entrance, their capitals carved with intricate peacock feather patterns, a clear homage to Hera's sacred animal. Vines of golden pomegranates wrapped around the columns and walls, their fruits glistening as if they held ambrosia within.

Above the double doors, a grand imperial crown was carved into the stone. Beneath it, two majestic peacocks with sapphire-inlaid eyes stretched their wings, their feathers forming an elegant arch. Faint traces of celestial bronze filigree ran through the patterns, giving the cabin an otherworldly glow, especially at night when it shimmered under the moonlight. The doors themselves were massive, made from imperial gold and silver, engraved with images of peacocks, cows, lions, and wreaths of lotus flowers. They opened only for those deemed worthy of the daughter of Hera, and beside them, two statues of grand, majestic lions stood as if guarding Helena and the cabin.

"Not all of those cabins are empty." Hera's daughter's voice was soft as she spoke, her gaze still on Cabin 2. Percy followed her gaze, and his confusion grew. Chiron hadn't told him anyone lived in that cabin. Percy decided he would ask Helena later; he was more focused on the parent topic.

"My mom is Sally Jackson," He said. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

That drew Helena's attention back to him and her gaze softened, not to one of pity but to one of understanding and empathy. "I'm sorry about your mom, Percy," Her voice was comforting and warm as if trying to soothe him. "But that's not what Annabeth means. We are talking about your other parent.Your dad."

"He's dead. I never knew him." Helena sighed. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead, Sea-green eyes."

"How can you two say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not. Well, Lena might."

"Emphasis on the might." The brunette remarked

"Then how can you say-"

"Because we know you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about me." He challenged.

And of course, Helena accepted. "No?" She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them"

Percy flushed. "How-"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too." She continued.

He tried to swallow his embarrassment and started getting defensive. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD-you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attentionproblems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like . . . you went through the same thing?"

The girls shared a look and it was the blonde who answered. "Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar." He repeated in disbelief.

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better" Helena explained. "That stuff would've killed a normal kid-Well in our world you are a normal kid and the others are the weird ones-" Annabeth cleared her throat.

"Right," The brunette muttered stopping her rambling, "The point is, if you weren't like us it would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Sorry to disappoint, occhi verdi, but, you're a half-blood."

A half-blood.

Percy was reeling with so many questions he didn't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yelled. "Well! A newbie!"

"Oh dei" Helena muttered shaking her head. "non adesso."

Now don't get her wrong, Helena liked Clarisse, and Clarisse liked Helena, they respected each other and actually considered themselves friends, after all, Ares is Hera's favorite child -Helena absolutely loved pestering Clarisse with the fact she's her aunt- and Helena was one of the phew campers that could keep up, train and be liked by the Ares kids, (to be fair, everyone liked Lena) but even Helena could tell Clarisse was in the mood to be a menace and prove dominance to Percy Jackson.

Percy looked over. The big girl he had seen before, the one from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. She had three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Brainiac," Clarisse said. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth said, which somehow, Percy understood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded.

"You don't stand a chance. We'll pulverize you." Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat.

"I'm sure that's your one-in-a-lifetime fantasy, Rissa. Now, " Helena sighed giving the girl a tired look. "Can we not do this now? I'm not in the mood to win an argument"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Princess. Do you need time to think about your jabs? Has spending too much time looking at your reflection ruined your wits?" Clarisse mocked and the girls behind her laughed.

Percy could tell that wasn't the right move when Helena's eyes narrowed, the sapphire blue became icy and the green specks stood out more and Percy swore he could feel the wind change and even the ground tense. Annabeth took a step back instinctively. The other Ares kids weren't laughing anymore.

"The only wits that have been ruined are yours," Helena tilted her head, the way a predator might when deciding whether or not its prey was worth the trouble and she shrugged. "Reflection, huh?" she repeated, her voice deceptively light, almost amused. "Dolcezza, if you'd ever seen a mirror that didn't crack on sight, you'd understand the appeal."

Percy let out a choked snort but quickly turned it into a cough when Clarisse's glare snapped at him. The other Ares kids oohed like this was about to turn into a full-blown battle.

Clarisse clenched her fists. "You think you're funny, Hel?"

"Oh, I know I am," Helena said with a smirk. "But thanks for the confirmation, Rissa. You always do wonders for my ego."

Clarisse's face turned red-redder than before- which was impressive.

Before she could say anything else, Percy stepped in. "Hey, uh, not to interrupt this... whatever this is, but can we go back to the explanation ?"

Helena and Clarisse both turned to look at him. Helena's expression softened just a fraction -like she'd just remembered he existed— Clarisse just grinned. It wasn't a friendly grin.

"Who's this little runt?" Clarisse said

"Percy Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

Percy blinked. "Like . . . the war god?"

"You got a problem with that?" Clarisse sneered.

"No," The raven-haired boy said, recovering his wits. "It explains the bad smell."

Clarisse growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."

"Percy."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"Clarisse-" Annabeth tried to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looked pained, but she did stay out of it.

Helena moved and stood in front of Percy. "Rissa, come on"

Clarisse leaned down till her face was centimeters away from Helena's. "Back away, Princess.," The brunette didn't and narrowed her eyes opening her mouth ready to use her powers, but Clarisse continued. "You can't protect everyone, Hel." That made her falter for a second and before she could regain her composure a warm hand was placed on her shoulder and it pulled her back. She looked back and noticed it was Percy, he gave her a thankful look and handed her his Minotaur horn.

The surprise was evident on Helena's face, while she wasn't surprised he was willing to get in trouble, she was surprised he was trusting her with his spoil of war.

The best friends shared a look and watched as Percy positioned himself in a fighting stance but before he could react Clarisse had him by the neck and was dragging him toward a cinder-block building by the edge of the forest, the bathroom.

He was kicking and punching. he'd been in plenty of fights before, but Clarisse had hands like iron. She dragged him into the girls' bathroom with Annabeth and Helena trailing behind them and Clarisse's stupid sisters between them to make sure the Romanov girl didn't interfere.

Helena could feel the desperation and frustration reeking from the Jackson boy, he clearly didn't want his head in a toilet.

"Like he's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse said as she pushed him toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid-looking." Her sisters snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers and Helena looked bored at this point. "You've proved your point, Clarisse. Let him go." Clarisse ignored her and bent Percy over on his knees and started pushing his head toward the toilet bowl.

All of a sudden the plumbing rumbled, and the pipes shuddered. Clarisse's grip on Percy's hair loosened. Water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over his head, that caught Lena's attention, and before they knew the bathroom was flooding, Percy was sprawled on the bathroom tiles with Clarisse screaming behind him.

Percy turned and water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall. She struggled, gasping, and her sisters started coming toward her.

But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. Helena yelped once she noticed that the showers had acted up too, and quickly brought her hands up, the water coming in her direction freezing and giving her time to get away as all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door Percy relaxed slightly and the water shut off as quickly as it attacked Clarisse.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth hadn't been spared. She was dripping wet, but she hadn't been pushed out the door. She was standing in exactly the same place, staring at him in shock.

Percy looked down at himself and Helena followed his gaze and they realized he was completely dried and was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. As a matter of fact, there was a circle of dry floor around him.

Percy stood up on shaky legs and walked toward where she was.

"How did you . . ." Annabeth said staring at him in wonder, while Helena, from her spot outside, looked as if she had just solved a mystery as if she had found the missing piece of a puzzle.

"I don't know." He answered. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch ofother campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage.

She gave Percu a look of absolute hatred. "You are dead, Jackson. You are totally dead."

Helena, Annabeth, and Percy himself knew he probably should have let it go, but he cared little and said, "You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth."

The brunette with defined waves raised an eyebrow, impressed. "He's totally idiotic or totally brave." she thought as she watched Clarisse's sister try to hold her back. They dragged her toward cabin five, while the other campers madeway to avoid her flailing feet.

Annabeth and Helena shared a look and they stared at Percy, Annabeth in determination and Helena with a mix of amusement and pity.

"What?" He demanded and looked at the girls in suspicion. "What are you two thinking?"

"We are thinking, we want you on our team for capture the flag." Helena said with a smirk.

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Chapter Text

Word of the bathroom incident spread fast —As any gossip and rumor did at Camp Half-Blood— whenever Percy went, stares followed, and campers murmured —Some shameless ones even pointed at him— about the toilets exploding and an angry Clarisse. That or they were staring at Annabeth, who was still dripping wet, and in Lena's opinion, she also smelled; she kept quiet about that detail, though, as she knew her best friend wouldn't appreciate it.

The girls showed Percy a few more places, the metal shop (where kids were forging their own swords), the climbing wall, which consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava, and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough, the armor (Helena told him that his designated trainer would be the one to help him chose a weapon), and lastly they visited Helena's favorite place, after her cabin, the arts and crafts room.

Helena turned to look at him, her eyes shining with happiness and almost childishly innocent excitement, her smile as bright as the sun; Percy decided he liked the look on her face; it made her look even prettier. "You, Sea-green eyes, are about to see one of the best places in camp."

Percy raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Annabeth, a questioning look in his eyes. The blonde shook her head in amusement. "Lena loves the arts and crafts room."

Helena opened the doors to the room, and the first thing Percy saw was a bunch of satyrs doing a sculpture and muttering the word 'Pan'; next to them was a table where little kids were painting some plant pots, and on the last table to the right, there were kids making friendship bracelets. There were labeled cabinets with stuff everywhere and a bunch of artworks hanging on the walls. In Percy's opinion, it looked like a first-grade art room.

"Helena!" One of the little girls, painting a plant pot, exclaimed, standing up and rushing in their direction. The little girl had fair skin and red hair styled in pigtails with flower clips and a ribbon around each; her brown eyes were full of excitement as they looked at Helena. She couldn't have been older than six.

Helena smiled warmly at the little girl and crouched down with open arms. "Lily! Hi piccolina!"

The little girl, Lily, crashed into the brunette's arms with a delighted giggle. "I missed you, Lena."

Helena smiled and stroked the girl's back. "I missed you too, Margheritina."

The little girl looked at Helena's companions and pulled back from the hug. She gave them a huge smile and waved her little hand at them. "Hi Annie, hi stranger!"

Annabeth chuckled and gave the girl a wave. "Hi, Lily."

Percy smiled awkwardly and gave a wave. "Uh, hi."

"Lily," Helena started. "This is Percy Jackson, the new camper."

Lily gasped in surprise. "He's the one who destroyed the bull-man."

Percy couldn't help but smile at that. "Yeah, uh, that's me."

"Wow!" Lily was looking at him in awe, like he was a superhero, and Percy couldn't deny that it felt good. "That was like, super brave." The little girl continued.

"Thanks, I guess," Was Percy's reply. He had lost his mom; he didn't feel brave.

"Wait till you start training, if Lena is your trainer, you'll feel braver in no time, she's like a super good teacher," Lily said

Percy raised an eyebrow in the brunette's direction. "You're one of the trainers?"

"I'm more than a pretty face, Jackson." She said with a smirk and redirected her attention to Lily.  "We have to go and continue Percy's tour, alright?  I'll see you at dinner, sweet girl."

Lily smiled and hugged Helana one last time and said. "See you at dinner, Lena, Annie, Percy." Then she ran off back to the painting table

The tour continued for a while until they returned to the canoeing lake, where the trail led back to the cabins. 

"I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly. "Dinner's at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall."

"Annabeth, I'm sorry about the toilets." Percy said.

 "Whatever." Was the blonde's reply

"It wasn't my fault." 

Helena raised an eyebrow at that and shared a look with Annabeth. 

"You need to talk to the Oracle," Annabeth said, and Helena's face soured at that, irritation radiating from her. 

"Like anything good comes out of Miss. mummified," The brunette mumbled under her breath, remembering her own experience with the cursed thing. Suddenly, the sun was shining brighter in her direction, which she rolled her eyes at. "Quit it." she whispered out loud for the sun god to hear.  "Apollo is so dramatic", she thought.

Percy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Who?" 

Helena gave him an amused smile. "Not who. What." She clarified

 "The Oracle." Annabeth repeated slowly, as if Percy was stupid and hearing it a second time would suddenly make him understand. "I'll ask Chiron."

Helena turned to Annabeth, her brain finally processing why Annabeth mentioned the Oracle. "Annie, it's too soon." 

Annabeth scowled. "Soon?" She raised an eyebrow. "After that?" As if to prove her point, she signaled to her drenched clothes

"Yes, he hasn't even been able to process what he went through; give him some time."

"We don't have time!" Annabeth exclaimed. 

"Neither will he if he talks to Oracle." 

Percy looked between the two girls who were speaking as if he weren't there. He raised a hand awkwardly, as if volunteering in class. "Uh, still here. Standing. Breathing. Confused."

Helena sighed, dragging her fingers through her hair, clearly frustrated but trying to rein it in. "Sorry, Sea-green-eyes. It's just..." She hesitated, then shook her head. "You'll find out soon enough."

"That's so reassuring," Percy muttered.

Annabeth crossed her arms. "It's not a matter of reassurance, it's reality. He's here. The prophecy's real. We need answers."

"Prophecy?" Percy echoed. "What prophecy?"

Helena gave her friend a warning look, but Annabeth powered on. "You'll find out when you see the Oracle."

"I'm really starting to hate that phrase," Percy muttered again. "'You'll find out.' Can't someone just tell me something for once?"

Helena chuckled softly despite the tension, her mood lightening as she glanced his way. "Would it help if I told you it's not all bad?"

"No," Percy deadpanned. "But thanks for trying."

They all fell silent for a moment, and Percy turned to look at the lake as the girls continued to speak quietly. He tried to drown them out, but it was impossible, clearly, neither of them knew how to whisper. 

 "Stop trying to shield him." Annabeth reprimanded Helena

"Stop sending him to his doom!" Helena snapped, voice low but sharp, like a dagger wrapped in silk.

Annabeth huffed in frustration, her grey eyes flashing. "You can't protect him from everything, Lena."

"And you can't shove him into danger just because the prophecy's got you twitchy," Helena snapped again, her blue-green eyes also flashing. "He's not a weapon. He's a person."

Annabeth huffed and looked away, jaw clenched. "It's not doom. It's destiny."

Helena scoffed, taking a step closer. "Destiny sounds a lot prettier than it actually is."

Percy had the distinct feeling this wasn't the first time the girls had fought like this about a similar matter. The air between them felt tense—charged. He wanted to say something, but thought better, it was clear Helena was heavily annoyed, and during his conversation with Chiron, Mr. D had muttered something about her having her mother's temper. He had no idea who her mother was, but his gut told him that he didn't want to feel her temper. 

His focus was once again completely on the lake, and once he looked at the bottom of it, he stepped back in surprise. He wasn't expecting anyone to be looking back at him. Two teenage girls were sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about twenty feet below. They wore blue jeans and shimmering green T-shirts, and their brown hair floated loose around their shoulders as minnows darted in and out. They smiled and waved at him. 

He waved back dazed. 

Helena noticed it and immediately slapped his hand down once she followed his gaze. 

"Don't encourage them," Annabeth warned, and a smirk found its way to her lips. "Naiads are terrible flirts. Worse than Lena when she wants something."

"Hey!" The brunette exclaimed and stuck her tongue out at the blonde. 

"Naiads," Percy repeated in disbelief. "That's it. I want to go home, fucking now."

Helena furrowed her brows. "The existence of satyrs doesn't freak you out but naiads do? Man, you need to get your priorities straight."

Annabeth, on the other hand, frowned. "Don't you get it, Percy? You are home. This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us."

"You mean, mentally disturbed kids?" 

"Rude, accurate but rude," Helena said. "And she means not human, not totally."

Annabeth nodded. "Half human"

"Half human and half what? Wizard, vampire, alien!?"

Annabth and Helena shared a look and the brunette turned a gave him a soft smile. "I think you already know the answer, Sea-green-eyes, and it's not wizard, or vampire and definitely not alien."

"God," He said. "Half-god."

"Bingo," The Romanov girl said while Annabeth nodded.  "Your father isn't dead, Percy. He's one of the Olympians."

 "That's... crazy." 

"Is it? " Helena asked. "Old habits die hard, Percy. I'm sure Chiron taught you about the gods and their hobbies like chasing humans around, seducing them and having kids with them. You know? be unfaithful spouses and have as many affairs as dramatic crises. Fill the world with their kids like it's a sport? Do you really believe they've changed their habits in the last few millennia?" She crossed her arms. "Like I said, old habits die hard and gods are creatures of habits and drama."

"But those are just—" He cut himself off at Helena's pointed look. "But if all the kids here are half-gods—"

"Demigods," Annabeth said. "That's the official term. Or half-bloods."

"Then who's your dad?" His question was directed to Annabeth and her hands tightened around the pier railing. Helena placed her hand on top of Annabeth's, sending a wave of calm her way, which worked as her posture wasn't as stiff when she answered. 

"My dad is a professor at West Point, I haven't seen him since I was little; he teaches American history."

"He's human."

"What? You assume it has to be a male god who finds a human female attractive? How sexist is that?" 

Percy raised his hands in surrender. "Not sexist, alright? I'm all for girls. Go girl power! I love girls. Total girlbosses. Who's your mom?"

Helena chuckled while Annabeth glared at him. "Cabin six." She replied. 

"Meaning?" 

Annabeth straightened. "Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle."

Percy's gaze was now on the wavy-haired girl, he decided to be careful with his words this time. "Who's your parent?" 

Helena hesitated, her expression flickering—just for a second—into something unreadable. Not anger, not sadness, but something deep. Then it vanished, replaced with her signature smirk.

"Cabin two," she said, chin raised.

Percy blinked. "Okay... and that means?"

Annabeth sighed, exasperated. "You really need to read those cabin symbols."

"Working on it," he mumbled, before turning back to Helena. "So...?"

"Let's just say," she started, leaning against the railing casually, "my mom is a very powerful goddess. Queen of the heavens. Has a thing for peacocks and grudges."

Percy opened his mouth to answer, but Annabeth, clearly done with waiting for him to catch up, answered, her tone clipped. "Cabin two is Hera's. Queen of the gods. Goddess of marriage, women, childbirth—"

"And vengeance, don't forget vengeance," Helena added sweetly, fluttering her lashes. "Mom's got a flair for the dramatic."

Percy stared at her, eyes widening. "The queen of the gods?" Percy asked, somewhere between awe and confusion. 

Helena gave a slow, theatrical bow. "The one and only."

"That's..." Percy scratched the back of his neck."But... I thought she didn't have demigod kids."

"She doesn't," Annabeth said quickly. "Not usually."

Helena's smile tightened a little. "I'm an exception. A very rare, very intentional exception."

Percy wasn't sure what that meant. "So... your mom broke her own rule?"

Helena shrugged one shoulder, the motion smooth and nonchalant, but her eyes were distant. "Even the queen of the gods bends the rules when it suits her." Then she smirked. "I'm more of a gift created for my dad by my mother out of a loophole and spite, but that's a story for another time."

 Percy blinked again, trying to wrap his head around Helena's words. "A gift, a loophole, and spite. That's... oddly poetic."

Helena gave a mock curtsy. "I aim to impress."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "You aim to provoke."

"Tomato, tomato," Helena replied, her smile sharp but playful.

"So, you're like... royalty around here?"

Helena barked a laugh. "Please. I'm more like the camp mom who everyone forgets is scary until she's angry."

"She's not kidding," Annabeth muttered under her breath.

"I heard that, Athena Jr."

Annabeth smirked but didn't deny it.

Percy thought he should ask; Athena was supposed to be the goddess of wisdom, and Hera had divine knowledge, right? Their daughters had to be smart too, maybe they knew who he was and who his father was. 

The Jackson boy clenched his fists slightly for courage and asked. "And my dad?"

"Undetermined," Annabeth answered. "Like I told you before. Nobody knows"  

"Except my mother. She knew." 

Annabeth's expression turned wary, like she knew those words meant entering dangerous territory, while Helena's expression softened with sympathy. 

"That's possible," Helena said, earning a reprimanding look from Annabeth. "But there's also a chance she didn't; gods don't always reveal their identities, Percy."

"My dad would have. He loved her."

Helena smiled, but it was filled with sympathy once again, like she didn't want to burst his bubble. "Like I said, that's possible." 

"It's a maybe situation, really," Annabeth said, which earned her a swat on the arm from Helena. 

"Maybe you're right, Sea-green-eyes. Maybe he'll send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure: your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his son. Sometimes it happens."

"You mean sometimes it doesn't?"

Helena's expression turned sour, her smile fading as her eyes grew distant again. "Sometimes... it doesn't," she confirmed, voice quieter now. "Some kids wait for years. Some never get claimed at all."

Percy swallowed hard. "But why?"

"Because gods are selfish," she said simply. "Busy. Proud. Stubborn. Pick one. Pick all. They only claim the ones they need—or the ones they want." There was a bitter edge to her voice that hadn't been there before. "The rest? get left waiting." She shrugged. "Sometimes it's not that deep. Sometimes, they just...never claim their kids. Sometimes they pretend they don't exist. Sometimes they wait until it's too late."

Annabeth shot Helena a glance, half warning, half concern, but didn't interrupt.

"That's fucked up," Percy said, and Helena smirked in amusement and nodded.

Percy frowned. "But if they don't claim you, how do you know who your parent is?"

Annabeth answered this time. "Sometimes you don't. Sometimes your powers give it away, or the things you're good at. Or... sometimes, your life ends before you ever find out."

Percy's breath hitched. He looked between them, trying to process the weight of those words.

"You're saying I might never know?"

"You'll know," Helena said firmly, snapping out of her gloom and fixing him with a steady look. "You've already stirred the camp like a tempest, Sea-green-eyes. You'll be claimed. The only question is when."

Percy knew Helena was trying to reassure him, but it didn't work, not when he suddenly remembered some of the kids he saw in the Hermes Cabin, teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come

"So I'm stuck here?" Percy said. "That's all? For the rest of my life?"

"It depends," Annabeth said. "Some campers only stay the summer, like Lena," She gave the brunette a pointed look. "Even if Chiron has told her multiple times to stay at camp."

Helena shrugged. "I like the adrenaline of fighting monsters, it keeps my senses and abilities sharp." A smile made it's onto her face, and Percy noticed how she started playing with one of the multiple rings on her fingers. It was a silver band with diamonds embedded on it and an intricate design of lilies around the band; a lapiz lazuli was placed at the center of it. "Besides, my dad would miss me too much, and I would miss him too." 

Annabeth gave her a look that was a mix of annoyance and worry. "You're going to get yourself killed one day."

Helena grinned, but there was no humor in it. "If I go down, I'm taking a monster or ten with me."

While Percy was definitely curious and he wanted to ask about her dad, the fact that Helena, despite being  THE daughter of Hera, could leave camp caught his attention more. "So we can leave camp?" 

Helena gave him a pointed look. "Not without Chiron or Mr. D's permission, and it really depends." 

"On what?"

"Your parentage," Helena answered before Annabeth took over.

"If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you're probably not a real powerful force." The curly-haired girl explained and Helena gave her a pointed look. "The monsters might ignore you, so you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. Helena included, she's just reckless and has no regard for her safety." 

Helena gave her a look. "I'm sorry for missing my dad," she muttered under her breath.

Annabeth ignored her and continued. "We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble—about ten or eleven years old, but after that, most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that."

"You get a better chance at survival if you stay at camp, Sea-green-eyes, it's safe here; believe me, if it weren't for my dad, I would also be a year-rounder."

"So...monster can't get here?"

Helena's brown locks bounced as she shook her "Nope, unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Why would anybody want to summon a monster?"

Helena shrugged. "Practice fights. Practical jokes."

 "Practical jokes?" 

The daughter of Hera smirked. "You said it yourself, mentally disturbed kids." 

Percy smirked, and Annabeth shot them both an exasperated look. "The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm."

Percy nodded, trying to process everything. "So...you're a year-rounder?"

Annabeth nodded. From under the collar of her T-shirt, she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring. Helena also showed hers, but instead of a necklace, it was an anklet bracelet strapped to her right ankle, next to another anklet bracelet. Just like Annabeth's, it had five clay beads, but Helena's also had a few charms and other beads. 

"We've been here since we were seven," she said. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. We've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."

"Why did you come so young?"

"None of your business." "The gods sticking their divinity into my business," The girls answered at the same time. 

"Right...So, I could walk out of here right now if I wanted to?"

"If you have a death wish," Helena said, a playful edge to her tone that barely concealed the seriousness behind her words. Her eyes, however, were unwavering. Annabeth shot her a look that mixed amusement with exasperation.

"It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission. But they wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless..."

"Annie," Helena warned

"Unless?"

 "Unless you were granted a quest," The daughter of Hera spoke, a distant look in her gaze, as if remembering something bad. "But that hardly ever happens. The last time . . ."Her voice trailed off. 

 Percy had a feeling that it was a no-go topic, so he changed it. "Back in the sick room, when you were feeding me that stuff—" 

"Ambrosia."

 "Yeah. You asked me something about the summer solstice."

 The girls' shoulders tensed. "So you do know something?" the older of the two questioned

"Well... no. Back at my old school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something like we didn't have much time, because of the deadline. What did that mean?" 

She clenched her fists. "I wish I knew. Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won't tell either of us. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time we were there, everything seemed normal."

"You two have been to Olympus?"

The girls shared a look and Annabeth nodded. "Some of us year-rounders—Luke and Clarisse and I, and a few others—we took a field trip during the winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council."

"I always visit during the summer and winter solstices, those are the only times I can see my mom and be home," Helena replied, looking up briefly before meeting his sea-green eyes and noticing the confusion in his gaze. "I lived in Olympus for a while when I was little."

Percy nodded and decided to file that piece of information and ask her about it later; right now, he was more concerned with the fact that there was a way to get to Olympus. "But... how did you get there?

"Me? A magical door; them? The train," Helena said smugly

"The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station. Empire State Building, special elevator to the six hundredth floor." She looked at me like she was sure I must know this already. "You are a New Yorker, right?"

"Uh...sure"

Helena gave them both a look and shook her head. "Magical floor only opened to the special public." She clarified so Percy could understand.

"Right," Percy muttered.

"Right after we visited," Annabeth continued, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by the summer solstice, there's going to be trouble.When you came, I was hoping . . . I mean— Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course, she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something." 

Helena looked at Percy, feeling sorry for him. This all was too much, way too much for someone who just lost his mom. She had her suspicions about him, not in a bad way, but there were voices in her head whispering things, things she couldn't make out yet; and her gut told her that the Jackson boy was important, she felt as though his presence meant something important was starting, something that involved her. Yet, that was the least of her worries, she was more concerned about making sure her best friend didn't overwhelm the boy too much. 

Don't get her wrong, she loves Annabeth, but she knows her best friend can be a little obsessive with this type of stuff and proving herself. 

The raven-haired boy shook his head helplessly. "I have no idea."

"I've got to get a quest," Annabeth muttered to herself. "I'm not too young. If they would just tell me the problem..." 

"Beth," The Romanov girl said, snapping the Chase girl out of her thoughts. 

"I'll catch you two later." Was Annabeth's only response as she jogged away, leaving Percy and Helena alone.

Percy watched Annabeth disappear around a bend in the path, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her. For a moment, the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath her running shoes and the distant chatter of campers in the arts and crafts pavilion. 

 He turned back to Helena, who was watching the spot Annabeth had vanished with a worried frown.

"She really wants that quest, huh?" he asked. 

 Helena sighed and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. "She always has. Since we were kids. Annabeth's got this fire in her—she wants to prove herself, be more than just 'the smart girl.' Sometimes I think she carries too much on her shoulders, like she's already trying to hold up the sky."

Percy blinked. "That's... kinda dramatic." 

Helena chuckled softly. "Yeah. I've been told I have a flair for the dramatic. Comes with being Hera's kid, I guess. But I'm serious. She wants to be the hero so badly, sometimes she forgets she already is one."

Percy didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't really thought about Annabeth like that—he barely knew her—but Helena's words stuck with him. Like there was more to Annabeth than just the sharp glares and encyclopedic brain.

He glanced at Helena. "And you? Do you want a quest?"

Helena didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the tops of the cabins caught the fading light, warm and golden. Her fingers twisted her rings, and for a second, Percy thought she might brush the question off with one of her usual teasing quips.

Instead, she sighed, voice softer than before. "I used to."

Percy blinked. "Used to?"

"I thought if I completed some grand quest, did something heroic... the gods would stop looking at me like I was a ticking time bomb." She laughed quietly, but there wasn't much humor in it. "Like I was just a girl, not some... divine mistake."

Percy frowned. "You're not a mistake."

Helena smiled at him—small, tired, grateful. "Tell that to the Olympian family reunion. Trust me, they don't exactly send me ambrosia baskets for my birthday."

Percy shifted uncomfortably. He knew what it was like to feel out of place. Hell, he hadn't even been claimed yet, and already he was neck-deep in god problems.

"Why do they think you're dangerous?" he asked.

She reached up and plucked the purple lotus flower hairpin from her hair and twirled it around. Her sword, όμορφη καταστροφή (beautiful destruction). "When you're made by a goddess like Hera—Queen of the Gods, goddess of marriage, women, and family—you're not just expected to be good. You're expected to be flawless. Divine diplomacy in human skin."

Percy stared. "Wait. You said made?"

Helena chuckled and nodded. "I wasn't born or created like most people, Sea-green-eyes, I was made, literally."

"Oh," Percy could bring himself to say anything else, and Helena giggled. 

"I'll tell you the story someday," She promised, and placed the hairpin back in her hair. "Come on, you need to be with your cabin for dinner."

The pavilion overlooked the sea, and the sunset was bleeding gold and orange across the sky, casting a glow over the camp. The gods' fire in the center of the pavilion burned blue, flickering and waiting for offerings. Percy was still trying to wrap his head around everything—Helena's story, her quiet sadness under all that strength, the idea of being made by a goddess. She walked beside him like it was nothing, like it hadn't just shaken something in him.

He stole a glance at her as they approached the tables.

Helena was smiling again, but it was a bit different now. Not fake, just... softer. Like someone who had learned to carry a lot and smile through it anyway.

"You okay?" she asked suddenly, catching him mid-stare.

He blinked. "Yeah. Just... I don't know. You're kind of a lot to take in."

She raised a brow, lips twitching in amusement. "You're calling me a lot? Sea-green-eyes, you've nearly been eaten twice in one week."

He cracked a grin. "Fair."

They reached the edge of the pavilion, where Chiron was doing a headcount and making sure the satyrs hadn't eaten anything too flammable. Annabeth was already at the Athena table, eyes flicking briefly to Percy and Helena before returning to her meal. Luke was chatting with some younger Hermes campers, tossing grapes into someone's mouth across the table. When he noticed Helena and Percy, he waved Helena over with a smirk.

"C'mon," Helena said, nudging Percy forward. "Let's get you fed."

Percy looked around nervously. "Do I... sit with you?"

Helena shook her head gently. "Cabin Eleven. Hermes. Until you're claimed."

He nodded, trying not to look too disappointed, and started toward the table. Before he could take more than a step, Helena touched his arm. He looked back.

"For the record," she said quietly, "you're not a mistake either. No matter what anyone says."

Percy swallowed, not sure what to say. So he just nodded.

She smiled and turned, heading to the second table—empty, except for her. The table itself was different from the rest, it was made out of marble, and there were chairs that looked like thrones. She sat down with practiced ease, hands folding in her lap, looking like she'd done this a thousand times. Like she'd gotten used to being the only one.

And maybe she had.

As Percy slid onto the bench at the Hermes table, surrounded by chatter and noise, he couldn't help glancing back at her.

Alone, but not lonely.

Not quite.

Chiron raised his goblet and cleared his throat, signaling the campers to be quiet. "Let us give thanks," he said. "To the gods."

All around the pavilion, campers rose. Plates were carried to the fire—portions of food offered to the flames, the scents rising to the sky like prayers. 

"Come on," Luke told him. 

As they got closer, he saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropping it into the fire,the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll.

 Luke murmured in his ear, "Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding." Luke's look warned not to take this lightly, still Percy couldn't help wondering why an immortal, all-powerful being would like the smell of burning food.

Percy hesitated, then picked up some of the best barbecued chicken he'd ever seen and walked toward the fire. He knelt like the others, unsure what to say.

Then he glanced at Helena again.

"To whoever's listening," he murmured, tossing in the food. "I think you made her a little too well."

The fire sparked, like it heard him.

At the last minute, he thought, "Whoever you are, tell me. Please"

As he sat back down, the sky above them faded into a deep twilight, the stars beginning to blink awake. Percy took his first bite and felt something settle inside him—not peace, not yet, but maybe the start of it.

And across the pavilion, Helena smiled without knowing why.

After dinner was done, Chiron pounded his hoof again to get the camper's attention.

 Mr. D got up with a huge sigh. "Yes, I suppose I’d better say hello to all you brats. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron, says the next capture the flag is Friday. Cabin five presently holds the laurels."

 A bunch of ugly cheering rose from the Ares table. 

"Personally," Mr. D continued, "I couldn’t care less, but congratulations. Also, I should tell you that we have a new camper today. Peter Johnson."

 Percy noticed how Helena laughed quietly and Chiron murmured something.

 "Er, Percy Jackson," Mr. D corrected. "That’s right. Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on."

Everybody cheered and headed down to the amphitheater. 

Percy was walking next to Luke when the blond nudged him. "Come on" 

Percy was quick to follow him, and they joined Annabeth and Helena, who were walking side by side, both of them laughing out loud when an older, around 15, girl with dark hair and blue eyes joined Helena's side, and Annabeth fell into step with Percy and Luke. They all could hear the conversation between the two brunettes, and when the girl mentioned something about a screeching pegasus and a broken mirror, they all laughed out loud. 

Percy noticed how Helena's beautiful sapphire blue eyes sparkled and made the emerald specks in them more noticeable when she laughed. Percy decided that he liked her laugh and that, until now, that was his favorite look on her. 

Annabeth noticed Percy looking at Helena and smirked before nudging him. "Careful, Jackson, Lena got a pretty protective brother," she muttered teasingly to him and Percy felt his face burn and looked briefly at Luke, who was too busy looking at the laughing Romanov girl with a soft smile on his face. 

"Shut up, wise girl."

The campfire was amazing. Percy sat with the same group he arrived with, plus Clarisse and a guy named Charles Beckendorf, and he felt at home. Apollo’s cabin led a sing-along, and everyone sang camp songs about gods and s'mores and joked around. 

And just as they were leaving, Helena pulled him aside. "So, you're in luck, Sea-gree-eyes," She said with a smile. 

Percy couldn't help but smile back. "How so?"

"I'm going to be your trainer, except in sword training, Chiron said I get too competitive with a sword so it'll be better if Luke gives you the sword lessons."

Percy smirked lightly. "I don't suppose you'll go easy on me, Majesty" 

The daughter of Hera furrowed her brows at the nickname. "Majesty?"

Percy nodded and shrugged slightly, suddenly turning shy. "You know, since your mom is the queen of the gods and you look like a princess and Helen of Troy was a princess, and Mr. D mentioned something about your name coming from her, so..." He said sheepishly. 

Helena beamed. Percy Jackson was one of a kind, that was for sure. "I like it, it's original."

Percy smiled back and extended his hand. "Can't wait for our first lesson."

Helena placed her hand in his and shook it firmly, a powerful spark passing between them, and without their knowledge, the start of a bond that would be eternal. 

And as their gazes remained locked, a sudden breeze passed and a soft hissing voice whispered words that Helena could make out, but couldn't bring herself to pay attention. 

“Two born of storm and spite shall rise,
One forged by sea, the other by skies.
Beneath the gods’ fractured decree,
They’ll face the end to set it free.

A mother’s wrath, a father's pride,
Will tear the earth and split the tide.
Should love prevail o'er fear and flame,
The world may never be the same.”

And as a distant sound of a snip cutting yard filled Helena's head, she pulled her hand back. 

"Goodnight, Sea-green-eyes."

"Goodnight, Majesty."

Chapter Text

Helena knew her mother had a flair for the dramatic—and a fondness for dredging up memories when delivering cryptic messages—so waking up in her room at the Romanovs' Florence villa didn't surprise her. It was always the same: silk sheets, golden light slanting through tall windows, the faint scent of gardenias drifting in from the terrace, and the soft cooing of doves just outside. A breeze danced lazily through the gauzy curtains, warm and familiar.

A dream, obviously. But a well-crafted one. Hera never did anything halfway. 

She stretched lazily, fingers brushing the hem of her favorite nightdress—creamy white, soft as clouds, something her mother had gifted her on her twelfth birthday with the casual comment: "Even mortals know how to dress a princess."

"You could've picked the beach house," Helena mumbled, propping herself on her elbows and peering around the room. "Or literally anywhere with fewer silk drapes. But nooo, we had to go full Renaissance drama this time."

"You're welcome, figlia mia," Hera's voice rang out, warm and regal and just a little smug.

Helena turned her head—and there she was. Sitting gracefully at the vanity, brushing her dark curls with a golden comb, looking like she had just stepped out of a Botticelli painting with a vengeance. White robes, emerald jewelry, and an expression equal parts affection and unbothered queen.

"Mama," Helena said with an exasperated and delighted sigh. "You know, dreams are supposed to be restful, right? Not a set-up for you to deliver ominous exposition like a celestial soap opera."

Hera arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Would you prefer I sent a monster to whisper riddles in your ear instead?"

Helena rolled her eyes and flopped back into the pillows, arms spread dramatically. "Honestly? Might be a vibe. More subtle."

"I am the goddess of marriage, not subtlety," Hera quipped, rising to her feet with a dancer's poise. She walked over and perched at the foot of the bed, gazing down at Helena with that inscrutable softness she reserved for exactly five people in the cosmos. "But this is important, Hel. Things are in motion."

Helena sat up cross-legged on the bed, her voice sing-songy. "Motion. What's the chaos this time, Mother? Let me guess—Stepfather dearest left Olympus unlocked and now the Titans are redecorating?"

Hera gave a short laugh—sharp, amused, and just a little tired. "He's many things, but careless is not usually one of them. This particular storm has been brewing long before any locks were left unattended."

Helena blinked. "So... not Titans redecorating. Got it. Is this more of a 'prophecy is unraveling the threads of fate' vibe or a 'Zeus is being paranoid again and blaming everyone but himself' moment?"

Hera tilted her head thoughtfully. "Why not both?"

Helena groaned and flopped back again, flinging a pillow dramatically at the ceiling. "Gods, you're getting so good at sarcasm. I'm almost proud. You've been spending time with Apollo again, haven't you?"

"Briefly. He's insufferable." Hera said it like she might say the sky is blue—flatly, without emotion, as if Apollo were a slightly smudged wine glass that she meant to replace.

"Pot," Helena muttered, dragging the pillow back over her head. "Meet kettle."

Hera let the jab slide with a fond smile. "Helena. Listen to me."

That softened something in Helena's chest. Her mother rarely said her full name unless it mattered. She peeked out from under the pillow, eyes now a little more serious. "I'm listening."

Hera reached out and smoothed a stray curl from Helena's forehead—an oddly maternal gesture for a goddess so famously distant. Her voice dropped to a hush, like the doves outside might be listening.

"There is a stirring. Power shifting where it should not. Old grudges, long buried, are clawing their way back toward the light. Olympus is... restless. And the boy—Perseus Jackson—is the thread being pulled."

Helena's heart skipped once, sharply. "So it is about him."

"It was always going to be," Hera said, her tone unreadable. "But now, the Fates are twitching. And when they twitch, I worry."

Helena narrowed her eyes. "You never worry. You plan. You rage. You launch grand vendettas. But you don't worry. That's not your brand."

Hera's gaze flickered, the corner of her mouth tightening in something that almost—almost—resembled unease; her eyes—those deep, molten golds Helena had inherited none of-darkened like clouds obscuring sunlight.

"Even I am allowed to worry when the heavens themselves are unbalanced."

That made Helena sit up straighter. "Okay, no. You don't get to say that and not explain. You're Hera. The queen of Olympus. Supreme drama orchestrator. The only god who could guilt Zeus into sleeping on the couch."

A ghost of a smile played at Hera's lips. "He still refuses to admit that couch was enchanted."

"Because you enchanted it to feel like rejection incarnate," Helena said with a snort. "Iconic."

After a moment of silence, Helena let out a long, slow breath. "Okay, now I'm worried. So, let's cut to the divine chase. What's being kept from us mortals this time? Let me guess—someone misplaced something shiny and blameless Percy is the scapegoat?"

The doves outside cooed louder, as if echoing her sarcasm.

Hera didn't smile.

"The Master Bolt is missing."

For a moment, all Helena heard was the breeze.

Then—"You've got to be kidding me."

"I rarely joke about war, cara mia."

Helena flung the pillow off the bed like it had offended her personally. "The Master Bolt? Zeus's glorified sky stick? How do you lose that? Did he forget it in a taxi-chariot? Did one of his ex-flames pawn it out of spite?!"

"Do you want answers or more silk drapes?" Hera asked dryly.

Helena groaned and dragged her fingers through her waves. "Please tell me you're not about to say Percy took it."

Hera tilted her head. "Not I. But others... already are."

Helena felt her stomach drop. "Oh gods. That's why Grover's so tense. That's why Chiron's walking around like he aged five centuries overnight. They think he—"

"The boy is being watched," Hera said, eyes narrowing faintly. "By gods who would rather cast blame than search for truth. And by those who see opportunity in Olympus's instability."

Helena swore under her breath in Italian. "So we've got Daddy Sky throwing temper tantrums, the Titans gossiping in hell, a prophecy no one's admitting to, and a poor boy with sea-green eyes who just wanted a nap but might start a war."

She flopped backward again and groaned into her hands. "Why do I even bother with sleep."

Hera laughed—gently, unexpectedly. "Because you are still young, and mortal enough to need it."

"Barely," Helena muttered, peeking through her fingers. "Alright, Mama. Is this where you give me some vague clue and then disappear in a dramatic gust of wind?"

"More or less," Hera said, rising from the bed in a graceful sweep of silk and scent. But remember this, Helena: not all threads are meant to be cut. Some are meant to be knotted—tangled, even—to hold the world together."

Helena squinted at her mother. "Okay. Not to poke holes in your poetic metaphor—but if someone tangled threads on my embroidery kit the way Olympus tangles fate, I'd throw it into the River Styx."

"Which is why you are not the Fates," Hera replied smoothly. "Though your frustration is noted. Charming, even."

"I live to please." Helena sat up again, crossing her arms. "So what's the plan? Am I supposed to babysit the 'thread being pulled' until Olympus gets its ego under control?"

Her mother's gaze softened—just slightly, but enough that Helena felt it like a hand brushing her cheek.

"You're not a babysitter," Hera said quietly. "You're a safeguard."

Helena blinked. "That's not ominous at all."

"You always ask for honesty, Hel," Hera said, stepping toward the tall window, the wind lifting the gauze curtains around her like a stage curtain. "So here it is: if Perseus Jackson fails—if he falls to the weight of prophecy, if he is crushed under the burden of what we've made him carry—then Olympus will burn. And if it burns... the gods may not rise again."

The air shifted.

Not just in the dream. In Helena.

The gardenias outside went still. Even the doves stopped cooing.

"So no pressure," Helena whispered.

"No more than you were born for," Hera said, turning back to her. "You are my daughter—not born out of love or accident, but of gratitude and intention. A rare thing among the gods. You were created because the world needed someone both gentle and strong. Loyal, yet unyielding. A healer, and a storm."

Helena swallowed hard. "You say that like you're proud."

"I am," Hera said softly.

And gods, that hurt. Because Hera wasn't easy with praise. She didn't toss affection around like rose petals. But when she gave it—when she meant it—it cracked Helena's armor right down the middle.

"But I'm also afraid," Hera added. "Because if he fails, you fall with him. And I... would not survive that."

Helena opened her mouth. Closed it again. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat like a thread snagged in a needle.

She let out a low, shaky laugh. "Wow. You're really laying it on thick tonight."

"I told you," Hera said, her voice rich with both warmth and warning, "this is not a night for subtlety."

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the rustling of curtains and the faint echo of thunder far, far in the distance.

"Fine," Helena said. "I'll protect him. Not because Olympus needs him. Not even because you're asking."

Hera arched a brow. "Then why?"

Helena met her gaze, steady and fierce. "Because he looked at me like I wasn't just another pawn on the board. Because when he smiled at me, it didn't feel like he was trying to get something. And because... he called me an angel in his sleep."

Her mother's face remained still—but something deep in her eyes flickered. A recognition. Maybe even... hope.

Then she nodded once. "So be it."

Then Helena reached for the golden comb her mother had left on the vanity and spun it thoughtfully between her fingers. "Is there anything else I should know, or are we staying on-brand with the 'divine ambiguity' motif?"

Her mother's expression softened—not the imperious mask she wore for Olympus, but the rare warmth she saved for moments like this. For her.

"You already know more than most," Hera said. "And you will know more when you are meant to."

Helena groaned. "You and the Fates really do share a group chat."

Hera's smile curved with mischief. "They use thread emojis excessively."

That drew a breath of laughter from Helena, light and startled and real. Then her mother reached out, brushing a kiss to the top of her head, and the room began to flicker around the edges—like oil on water, like paint melting from canvas.

"I'll see you again soon, figlia mia," Hera whispered.

Helena clutched the golden comb tighter as Hera began to fade, her form blurring at the edges like smoke unraveling in sunlight.

"Oh, and Helena?"

Helena raised a brow. "Yeah?"

"If he ever tries to kiss you," Hera said, voice already echoing, "make him work for it."

Helena burst out laughing. "Gods, Mom!"

The breeze that tugged at Helena's hair was no longer perfumed or warm. It smelled of pine and river water and ash from the campfire. Her fingers clenched the sheet beneath her as her eyes blinked open, the shadows of the dream lingering at the edges of her mind like smoke.

Her gaze flickered all around her room in Cabin Two. Familiar. Pristine marble. Victorian-style furniture. Trinkets and her things neatly organized. Paintings everywhere, the soft hum of wind always curling around her like a heartbeat. And then her eyes landed on the golden comb resting on her nightstand.

Not a dream, then. Not just a dream.

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered, brushing her fingers over the comb's cool surface.

Then she was up—barefoot, hair out of the side braid, the strap of her nightgown slipping off one shoulder. 

The moment Helena's feet hit the cool marble of her cabin floor, she was already moving. An emerald green hoodie was thrown over her nightdress and her slipper boots were placed on her feet. Then she quickly then she grabbed her lotus hairpin from the nightstand.  There was no way a harpy was eating her, not now. 

The air outside was crisp with morning dew, and the first light of dawn hadn't even cracked over the horizon yet. But she didn't care.

She was livid.

The front doors of Cabin Two—the unofficial modern-palace-meets-boutique-hotel—swung open with a hiss of enchanted wind, reacting to her mood. Ornate columns and lion and peacock statues gleamed in the dim light, and the marble-tiled entry glowed faintly under her feet. Inside, everything was polished to divine perfection: silken drapes, gilded mirrors, soft lighting—untouched, immaculate. Like a goddess might pop in for tea.

She quickly pressed one of the lotus petals at the top of the pin, and a double-bladed sword appeared in her hand, 'beautiful destruction'. The Silver and Celestial Bronze blades shone brighter under the early light. 

The early morning air whipped around Helena as she crossed the campgrounds, wind curling at her heels like a loyal dog sensing its master's fury. Every step was brisk, deliberate—her hoodie flapping behind her, slippers nearly silent against the worn dirt path. The celestial bronze of her double-bladed sword, Beautiful Destruction, caught what little light the sky offered, the metal glinting with quiet menace.

The camp was still asleep. Even the naiads in the lake hadn't stirred yet.

The Big House loomed up ahead, its deep blue paint and white trim deceptively peaceful in the dim light. The wraparound porch creaked faintly as she approached, but the front door didn't dare protest when she flung it open.

"CHIRON!" she called, voice slicing through the stillness like a blade. "You have exactly ten seconds to explain why I had to get my intel from my mom instead of, oh, I don't know—the adult I actually trust around here!"

The living room was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner and the faint glow of embers in the hearth. Grover, who had apparently been snoozing in one of the oversized armchairs with a fleece blanket over his hooves, startled upright with a yelp and fell to the floor. The cereal bowl, which had been forgotten next to him, also fell. 

"Helena?" he bleated, rubbing his eyes and picking himself off the floor, milk dripping down his horns. "Wh-What are you—? It's like... not even dawn."

"Morning, sunshine," she snapped, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry to ruin breakfast, but it turns out the gods are actively imploding and no one thought to send me a memo."

Grover opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "Uh... h-hi, Lena."

She ignored him.

"Chiron!" she barked again, her voice echoing through the wooden beams of the house. "I'm not in the mood for cryptic prophecies or wise centaur proverbs. Get your horse half down here now."

"I'm right here," came the calm, ever-patient voice of Chiron, who emerged from the hallway in full centaur form, his expression neutral—but his eyes wary. "Ah, Helena," he said. "to what do I owe the pleasure—?"

"Oh, don't you dare 'pleasure' me right now,"  Helena snapped, storming in like a mini hurricane. She stalked forward until she was standing in front of him, her sword glinting at her side. "My mother,  just dropped into my dream, and I had a full-blown, high-budget, Oscar-worthy vision of doom from her. Who, by the way, decided to show up in my childhood villa and deliver cryptic warnings while combing her hair like a Greek soap opera queen."

Grover made a choking noise behind her. But Chiron? He didn't flinch. Of course he didn't. The centaur had seen gods rise and fall. But he did sigh, long and slow. He knew what was coming, a temper tantrum. 

Helena crossed her arms "Guess what she told me?  Go on, guess." she challenged her mentor. 

Chiron didn't answer right away.

Helena took a step closer, pointing at him with a sharp jab of her finger. "She told me Olympus is falling apart. The Master Bolt is missing. That Percy is being blamed—oh, and that I'm not a babysitter, I'm a safeguard. A failsafe. Apparently, if he dies, we all go down with him. Fun, right?"

Grover made a noise like he was trying to disappear into the armchair.

"Helena," Chiron began carefully, voice that maddening mixture of calm and ancient, "there are things that—"

"No!" she cut in, her voice cracking like a whip. "No more vague wisdom! No more 'I was going to tell you eventually'! You should've told me the moment he crossed the boundary! You should've trusted me!"

The room went still.

Even the embers in the fireplace seemed to hush.

Helena stood there, breathing hard. Her fists clenched at her sides, jaw trembling—not with fear, but with the effort of holding back something else. A storm she refused to let break in front of them.

"You knew," she said, softer now. "You knew something was wrong. You knew it the moment Percy got here ─Gods, you knew it even before, you knew it from the moment you left to go keep an eye on him at Yancy."

"Helena─"

"I don't get how you could tell me about the possibility of his parentage but not about this!"

"I have my reasons, Helena, reasons you will understand one day, but for now you just trust that I'm doing what's best to keep you both safe."

Helena narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to answer and then closed it, her mother's words ringing through her head: 'But I'm afraid. Because if he fails, you fall with him. And I... would not survive that, and the brunette sighed and nodded. 

"So what now?" she said. "Because the last time I checked, nobody left the instruction manual for 'How To Stop A God War' lying around."

Chiron's eyes darkened. "Now? We wait for the claiming. And then... we guide him. And you, Helena—you will be the one to help him bear this.

Helena scowled. "So I'm still babysitting."

"No," Chiron said, smiling just faintly. "You're standing beside him."

Helena was silent for a long moment.

Then she exhaled, blade disappearing back into her lotus pin with a flick and appearing on her hair. "Fine. But I want hazard pay. And I get to explain the Master Bolt part. You'll just scare him."

Grover raised a hand timidly. "Can I help?"

Helena glanced at him and, to his surprise, smiled. "Sure, Goatsy. You're better emotional support than most of Olympus."

Grover beamed.

Chiron just sighed and muttered something about young heroes with too much personality.

Percy had never been more exhausted in his life—and that included outrunning a Minotaur.

Helena was relentless.

From sunrise to sundown, she drilled him in everything but swordplay. Hand-to-hand combat, monster identification, terrain strategy, stealth, survival skills, archery (which he was really bad at), and most importantly: how not to die in the woods.

She didn't go easy on him, either. She made him climb trees blindfolded ("If you can't see it, you better feel it"), dodge weighted sacks flying at his head ("The monsters won't wait for you to tie your shoes, Sea-green-eyes"), and spar against three campers while she casually directed from a branch above, eating an apple.

But she never once let him fall. Not without a gust of wind catching him just enough to break the impact.

By day two, the younger campers were calling it "The Romanov Boot Camp." Percy called it "torture with snacks," because she'd toss him nectar-drenched grapes between drills like a Roman empress with a soft spot. 

 Still, she didn't just train his body—she trained his instincts. 

"Monsters don't play fair," she told him, kneeling in the dirt beside a drawn battle map. "They'll charm you, lie to you, twist your thoughts. If your gut says something's wrong, listen to it. And if your gut says 'run'? Run like Hades is on your heels."

 He nodded, sweating and panting and utterly confused. "You sound like Annabeth."

 She smiled. "She says logic is the key. I say survival is messy."

By the third morning, Percy stumbled into the training field half-awake, shirt crooked, hair a disaster, and muttering about mutiny.

Helena just handed him a granola bar and smacked his shoulder. "You're late."

"It's dawn," he grumbled.

"It's survival o'clock," she replied cheerfully, already walking toward the woods. "Now move it, Sea-green-eyes. I have a whole obstacle course designed to make you question every life decision that led you here."

"Can I not?"

"Nope."

The obstacle course in question involved climbing, crawling, hiding, and running through a forest maze of tripwires, falling nets, illusion spells (that's how Percy learned Helena could create illusions), and a pit full of very cranky wood nymphs Helena bribed with chocolate to help.

"Tell them you're sorry for stepping on their moss," Helena called from a tree branch while he dangled upside down from a vine.

"I DIDN'T STEP ON ANY MOSS!"

"Apologize anyway!"

He did. The vine let him go. He fell into a pile of leaves with a grunt.

Helena landed beside him in a soft swirl of wind, crouching down. "Better. You lasted a full two minutes longer than yesterday."

"Yay," Percy wheezed. "Progress."

She grinned and offered him a hand, hauling him up with surprising strength for someone who looked like they walked out of a Renaissance painting.

"You're doing great," she said, brushing a leaf from his hair.

He blinked at her, stunned. "Wait—you actually mean that?"

"Of course. I'm not training you to be perfect, Percy." Her smile faded into something gentler. "I'm training you to stay alive."

That sobered him fast.

"Besides," she added with a sly smirk, "you've got heart. A lot of raw instinct. And the endurance of a demigod mule."

"Gee, thanks."

"I mean it as a compliment."

Luke joined them on the field later that afternoon for sword training, all smirks and calm confidence, twirling a blade like it was an extension of his arm. 

He stopped next to Helena a draped an arm around her shoulders. "Morning Len," he said a placed a kiss to the side of her head. 

The brunette gave Luke a big smile. "Morning Lukey"

He rolled her at the nicknames and turned to Percy. "She destroyed you?"

"Completely" 

Helena rolled her eyes and stepped back the moment Percy grabbed his weapon, sitting cross-legged in the grass and letting the wind idly play with her hair while she watched the two boys circle each other.

Luke gave Percy a warm grin. "Don't worry, I won't break you."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Percy muttered. "I'm not reassured."

"You'll be fine," Helena called. "Unless you trip over your own feet again."

Percy gave her a glare. She just winked.

For the next hour, Percy was reminded the hard way that Luke was fast, precise, and really good at making swordplay look easy. But he didn't mock Percy when he fumbled—he corrected him, guided him, taught him when to attack and when to step back. Helena watched every movement with a tactical eye, sometimes whispering little observations to herself.

At one point, when Percy finally managed to block one of Luke's strikes, Helena let out a celebratory whistle. "That's it, Sea-green-eyes! Use that chaotic luck you call reflexes!"

"I don't have reflexes," Percy panted, "I have survival panic."

"Same difference."

When training finally wrapped, Percy collapsed under a tree, utterly wrecked. Helena tossed him a cold bottle of blue Gatorade—no idea where she got it, but he wasn't asking.

He took a long drink, then glanced at her. "Why are you doing this?"

She blinked, caught off guard. "Doing what?"

"Helping me. Training me this hard. You don't have to."

Her eyes softened, and she looked toward the sky, where clouds were just beginning to roll in.

"I saw the way you looked at the campfire," she said softly. "Like you were waiting for someone to tell you you didn't belong here."

Percy didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"You do," she said, looking back at him. "You belong here, Percy. More than you know. And if you're going to carry what I think you're about to carry... I want you to be ready."

She stood, brushing off her shorts.

"And because," she added with a grin, "I like you. Even if you whine a lot."

"I do not whine."

"Mm-hmm."

The wind stirred around her like it knew she was done being soft.

"Get some rest," she said. "Tomorrow it's capture the flag. And people are not going to go easy on you just because  you're cute."

Percy almost choked on his Gatorade. "W-what?!"

Helena just smirked and walked off, the breeze laughing at his flustered face.

"Is this some sort of revenge for the bathroom incident?" Helena questioned her best friend. The girls were currently in Helena's cabin, enjoying some tiramisu the brunette had baked in the morning and going over their game strategy one last time before dinner. 

"It's not revenge, Lena," Annabeth reassured. 

"You sure? Cause it sure seems like it. I mean, setting him up for Clarisse to maul him does sound like revenge."

"She won't maul him," Annabeth said, but there was clear hesitation in her words. 

Helena raised a brow, arms crossed, lotus pin tucked neatly into her hair. " You sure about that, Athena Jr.? Because Clarisse only needs a whiff of ego and she's in full war mode, and she feels humiliated from the bathroom thing. She'll draw blood."

Annabeth sighed, clearly fighting the urge to rub her temples. "He's going to have to face her eventually. Better now than on a real battlefield."

Helena gave her a look. The kind that could make even Hera flinch.

"He's not ready."

"He needs to be challenged."

"He's been challenged," Helena argued. "By me. By Luke. By gravity. He doesn't need to be used as bait in your strategy trial."

Annabeth huffed. "I'm not using him."

"You are using him." Helena leaned back against her pillows, arms still folded, dark brows drawn. "You're hoping he'll do something rash and powerful and very 'child of the Big Three' so we can prove he is what we think he is. You're treating him like a puzzle piece, not a person."

Annabeth stiffened. "That's not fair."

"No," Helena agreed quietly. "It's not. And neither is throwing him to Clarisse like a chew toy."

Annabeth exhaled through her nose, setting down her fork with the precision of someone trying very hard not to argue. "Look, I know Clarisse. She's not stupid. She won't kill him."

"She doesn't have to kill him," Helena countered, spooning another bite of tiramisu. "Just bruising his pride and spine would be enough. And you're putting him right in her path."

Annabeth didn't answer right away.

Helena squinted. "You're doing that strategist thing where you don't say anything because you think silence is smarter than lying."

"It is smarter than lying."

"Uh-huh. And completely useless when I already know you're lying."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow at her usual competitive best friend. "I thought you wanted to win." 

"I do," Helena sighed. "He's still adjusting and has yet to find his weapon and I have a bad feeling."

Annabeth's expression flickered, something soft behind the steel. "You are getting attached"

Helena didn't answer right away.

She stirred the last bit of tiramisu in her bowl with the spoon, her mind a whirlwind of instinct and emotion. The prophecy she'd heard—the one whispered like a curse when she'd shaken Percy's hand—lingered at the edge of her thoughts. But she hadn't told anyone. Hadn't written it down. Hadn't even thought about it too deeply.

She'd brushed it off as stress. As a weird, windy echo of the Great Prophecy everyone whispered about but no one actually recited aloud. But now...

Now, every time she looked at Percy, she felt it humming like a storm cloud in her chest.

Two born of storm and spite shall rise...

"Maybe I am getting attached," she finally said, voice quieter than usual. She met Annabeth's eyes, unflinching. "But maybe that's not a weakness."

Annabeth tilted her head, face unreadable. "You think I'm being cruel."

"I think you're being tactical," Helena said honestly. "And I respect that. But there's a difference between testing someone and pushing them to break."

She stood, empty bowl in hand, and crossed to the small kitchenette in Cabin Two to rinse it. Her movements were fluid, graceful, but tight with something unsaid.

Annabeth watched her with a furrowed brow. "You're worried."

"I've trained him for three days straight. I know what he's capable of. But I also know fear when I see it—and that kid's still running on adrenaline and hope." She turned back, drying her hands on a cloth. "If he crashes, if he fails too hard, too soon—he won't recover from it."

"You don't think he can win?"

"I think if he gets hit the wrong way," Helena said slowly, "something in him might shatter. And I don't know what'll come out when it does."

There was a heavy silence.

Annabeth finally leaned back with a soft groan. "Gods, Hera really did give you a conscience, didn't she?"

Helena cracked a wry smile. "And a mean right hook."

They both laughed and the tension disappeared. Helena placed her head on Annabeth's shoulder. 

"I'm sorry for being a bit of a bitch it's just─" Helena spoke in a soft voice.

"It's okay, I do remember Chiron telling you to help him," Annabeth spoke just as softly. 

Helena smiled briefly. "He's a guy who thinks liking blue food is a personality trait, it's hard not to like him."

Annabeth chuckled. "You think using a bunch of sparkly jewelry is a personality trait." 

Helena mock-gasped. "It is a personality trait, it's a Helena Romanov personality trait." 

Both girls broke into giggles till their cheeks got rosy. 

After a while, Annabeth nodded toward the map sprawled across Helena's small table. "So, do we go with Plan Hydra or Plan Oracle Doom?"

"Hydra," Helena replied instantly. "Less fire. Also, Plan Oracle Doom sounds like something Chiron would scold us for on principle."

"You mean like every plan we've ever made?"

"Exactly."

A knock came at the door, and one of the younger campers poked her head in. "Dinner bell just rang!"

"Thanks, sweetheart," Helena said, her voice gentle again. "Tell them we're coming."

The girls shared a smile and stood up, Helena clicking her fingers, and the plates, cutlery and glasses disappeared. 

Helena was fixing a blue feather into her side braid when a pair of hands covered her eyes and whispered "boo" in her ear. 

She jumped and grabbed the dagger strapped to her thigh, quickly turning and pointing the dagger at the person's neck. 

"Wow, easy, Sapphire," Luke said, raising his hands in surrender. 

Helena gave him a look. "Don't scare me when I have weapons on me," she said, dagger still at his neck. 

"You always have weapons on you," Luke said while he grabbed the younger girl's wrist to move the dagger away from his neck. 

"Guess that means you're never supposed to scare me, idiot," she said, strapping the dagger back to her thigh. 

Lucas smiled softly, he had been the one to give her that dagger; it was part of a set of twin daggers. Annabeth had one and Helena had the other one. "Where's the fun in that?"

"You get to live," The Romanov said, batting her lashes. 

Luke rolled his eyes before his gaze shifted to Percy, who was currently talking to Annabeth by the creek, looking nervous and fidgety. His helmet sat awkwardly on his head, slightly askew like he wasn't quite sure how to wear it properly.

"How's Jackson holding up?" he asked, nodding toward the boy.

Helena followed his line of sight. Percy was adjusting the strap on his borrowed armor for the fifth time, fidgeting like it might snap tighter if he just believed hard enough.

"He's trying not to puke," Helena replied, tone half fond, half exasperated. "So, you know, progress."

Luke snorted. "That's the spirit."

They both watched as Annabeth gestured sharply at Percy's helmet, likely lecturing him on something tactical—again. Percy's expression was somewhere between stop talking and I'm trying really hard to understand you but you're speaking battle gibberish.

Luke crossed his arms. "You still think this is a bad idea?"

Helena didn't answer right away. She just tilted her head, letting the wind tug playfully at the feather in her braid. Her eyes were focused, sharp.

"I think I'm going to strangle Clarisse if she draws blood."

Luke raised a brow. "I'll hold her down for you."

Helena smirked. "What a gentleman."

He gave her a dramatic bow. "I try."

A horn sounded from across the field—low and echoing, signaling the teams to gather.

Helena squared her shoulders and turned toward the blue team's side of the clearing, where she, Luke, and most of the Athena and Hermes cabins were grouped.

"Time to commit mild violence," she said brightly, tossing Luke a shield from the gear pile.

"Mild?" he repeated. "That's optimistic."

"I'm trying to be a role model."

"You're failing."

"I'm fabulous."

"Debatable."

Annabeth yelled, "Blue team, forward with the plan!"

She nudged Luke hard enough to make him lose balance and quickly started moving to her position. She passed Percy who was still standing near the creek. 

"You look ridiculous," she said, voice low.

"Thanks," he said dryly. "I was going for 'hot mess.'"

"You're succeeding," she replied with a small smile, then reached into the belt of her armour dress and pulled out a thin glass vial filled with silver-blue liquid. "Here. Nectar. If needed"

Percy looked at it like it might bite him. "Should I be worried?"

Helena leaned in slightly. "Only if Clarisse aims for your face."

"Comforting."

"Remember: don't die. It ruins the team morale."

"You make it sound like that's not a possibility," Percy muttered.

"It is," Helena said with a serious face before smiling. "Good luck, Sea-green-eyes!"

"Thanks Majesty."

Helena started jogging away and pulled the bow and arrow charm from her charm bracelet and a bow appeared on her hand and a quiver of arrows on her back. "Scream if someone tries to kill you" she called over her shoulder. "Scream if someone tries to kill you," she called over her shoulder.

"You'll save me?" he called back with a smirk

"Nope, " she shot a smirk over her shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'll start working on your shroud."

Helena was perched on a thick tree branch just above the blue team’s base, legs swinging slightly as she scanned the woods below. Her bow rested easily against her shoulder, the string already notched with an arrow, glowing faintly silver in the moonlight.

From her position, she had a clear view of their flag—tucked between a cluster of boulders—and the surrounding trees. She could hear distant shouts, metal clashing on metal, and the occasional curse. Somewhere deeper in the forest, Clarisse was doing her usual bull-in-a-china-shop routine.

“I swear,” Helena muttered, adjusting her grip on the bow, “if that girl breaks a nose again, I’m writing her apology letters myself.”

Her gaze flicked toward the tree line—movement.

Quick.

Too quick.

She stiffened.

A second later, a pair of Hermes kids burst through the clearing, chasing two red team campers away from their side of the forest. Helena relaxed, but only slightly. She didn’t like how quiet it had gotten.

Her wind shifted.

Not the actual wind.

Her wind.

It tugged at her hair, then stilled unnaturally.

She closed her eyes for a moment and listened. Not to the wind, but to that thrum in her bones that always warned her right before things went sideways.

Then—panic.

It wasn’t hers.

Percy.

Her eyes snapped open.

He was in trouble.

She felt it ripple down her spine like an icy thread, a surge of fear not entirely her own.

"Merda" Helena straightened up and looked down at the flag. She extended her hand in its direction and then flicked her wrist, a golden giant peacock made out of dust appeared. "Guard the flag, pretty thing; please." 

She didn't wait and quickly started moving in the direction of the creek. 

Helena moved fast, boots silent over roots and leaves, wind curling around her like a second skin. Her senses were sharp, pulled taut like her bowstring, tuned only to one thing: Percy.

“Don’t be dead, Sea-green-eyes,” she muttered as she slid behind a thick tree trunk. “I just got used to you.”

Up ahead, water shimmered faintly in the moonlight. The woods thinned near the edge of the creek, and—

Voices.

A yell.

Splashing.

Helena arrived and saw Percy lying in the creek. She drew her bow and just as she was about to release the arrow, she froze, Percy stood up and quickly got into a fighting stance. 

Helena watched in shock as Percy easily defeated each one of the Ares kids. He slammed his sword against their heads, easily blocked their attacks and even broke Clarisse's spear. "Damn, Sea-green-eyes" she whispered in awe. 

Helena was too captivated by Percy's newfound sword skills that she didn't notice what was going on around her until Annabeth's voice filled her ears and Helena realized she was next to her. "Told you he was safe." the blonde muttered, still cloaked by her cap.

Yelling and elated screams were heard, and everybody's head snapped in the sound's direction. They all saw Luke racing toward the boundary line with the red team’s banner lifted high. He was flanked by a couple of Hermes guys covering his retreat, and a few Apollos behind them, fighting off the Hephaestus kids. The Ares folks got up, and Clarisse muttered a dazed curse. 

" A trick," Clarisse shouted. "It was a trick"

They staggered after Luke, but it was too late. Everybody converged on the creek as Luke ran across into friendly territory. Our side exploded into cheers. The red banner shimmered and turned to silver. The boar and spear were replaced with a huge caduceus, the symbol of Cabin Eleven. Everybody on the blue team picked up Luke and started carrying him around on their shoulders. Chiron cantered out from the woods and blew the conch horn.

It was over. The blue team won.

"You didn't die?" Helena asked breathlessly, standing beside him.

Percy looked at her, dazed. “Not yet.”

"Sea-green-eyes," she said, patting his shoulder. "You’re officially a war survivor. We’ll host a parade in your honor. Maybe build a statue."

"Can it be shirtless?" he asked, deadpan.

Helena looked at him, deadpan right back. "Only if it has sparkles."

"Deal."

"Not bad hero," Annabeth appeared next to them as she took off her Yankees cap and revealed herself.  "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"You set me up," Percy said. "You put me here because you knew Clarisse would come after me, while you sent Luke around the flank. You had it all figured out."

Annabeth shrugged. "I told you. Athena always, always has a plan."

 "A plan to get me pulverized."

 "I knew Lena was near and would come as fast as she could. I was also near but..." She shrugged. "You didn’t need help."

Helena did a quick scan to check Percy for injuries and furrowed her brows at the sight of a rip in his sleeve, there was a scar covered in blood, it looked fresh but...it had already scarred?

"Did you take the nectar?" She asked him. 

"What?" 

"Did you take the nectar?" she repeated. 

"No," he said and pointed to the vial that had been thrown away from the creek during the fight. 

"Then how did you that?" she pointed to his injury.

"Sword cut," He said. "What do you think?"

"No, it was a sword cut. Look at it."

The blood was gone. Where the huge cut had been, there was a long white scratch, and even that was fading. As they watched, it turned into a small scar, and disappeared.

Helena blinked.

“Che diavolo...” she muttered, brushing her fingers across the fading mark on Percy’s arm. It was gone—completely healed, like it had never been there. She looked up at Percy, eyes narrowed.

“That’s not nectar,” she said quietly. “And that’s not normal.”

Percy gave her a lopsided smile, half proud, half confused. “I dunno. Good genes?”

Annabeth, still watching closely, stepped forward. “You didn’t feel it, did you? The pain? It was gone the moment you were hit.”

“I mean,” Percy said, scratching the back of his neck, “yeah, I felt it, and then I didn’t. It was weird. But there were, you know—people trying to skewer me.”

Helena exchanged a glance with Annabeth. The blonde’s eyes were calculating, curious, Helena's were worried. 

"Step out of the water, Percy"

"What—"

"Just freaking do it." Annabeth spoke.

Percy obeyed and almost instantly, he turned ghostly white, his gaze became dazed and he almost fell over, but Helena was quick to steady him while Annabeth muttered something about Styx and Zeus. 

The daughter of Hera looked at her best friend. "You owe me ten drachmas, Annabeth."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Before Percy could comment on how he was glad to help Helena's income, a canine growl was heard and a howl ripped through the forest. 

The campers’ cheering died instantly. Chiron shouted in Ancient Greek,  “Stand ready! My bow!”

Helena quickly drew her sword and took a defensive stance. "Percy, don't move." 

There on the rocks just above us was a black hound the size of a rhino, with lava-red eyes and fangs like daggers. It was looking straight at Percy. 

Nobody moved except Helena, who yelled, "Forget what I said. Percy, run!"

She tried to step in front of him, but the hound was too fast. It leaped over the two girls—an enormous shadow with teeth— and just as it hit him,Percy stumbled backward and felt its razor-sharp claws ripping through his armor. There was a cascade of thwacking sounds, like forty pieces of paper being ripped one after the other. 

From the hound’s neck sprouted a cluster of arrows. It fell dead at the boy's feet.

Helena was quick to rush to his side, dropping to her knees beside him. “Sea-green-eyes, talk to me,” she said, brushing his soaked hair back from his face. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was steady, commanding. “Percy, hey, look at me.”

Percy blinked up at her. “Ow.”

Helena let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Well, good, your sarcasm survived. That's always promising.”

Quickly using the wind she got the hellhound's corpse off of Percy as Chiron trotted to them, a bow in his hand, his face grim. 

“Di immortales!” Annabeth said. “That’s a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don’t... they’re not supposed to ...”

 “Someone summoned it,” Chiron said. “Someone inside the camp.” 

Luke came over, the banner in his hand forgotten, his moment of glory gone. 

Clarisse yelled, “It’s all Percy’s fault! Percy summoned it!” 

“Be quiet, child,” Chiron told her. 

Helena helped Percy sit up. "You're hurt, quick get in the water." 

The raven-haired boy shook his head. "I'm okay,"

"No, you are not, Idiot." She told him and look at the centaur. "Chiron, you wanna watch this."

Helena helped Percy back into the creek, the whole camp gathering around him. Almost instantly his wounds started to heal and he didn't look sick anymore. Some of the campers gasped.

"Look, I—I don’t know why," He said, trying to apologize. “I’m sorry..."

"Percy..." Helena said and pointed above his head, and that's when Percy noticed the hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident.

"You definitely owe me those drachmas now,Beth" Helena muttered softly. 

"Your father," Annabeth murmured. “This is really not good."

"You don't say" 

“It is determined,” Chiron announced. 

All around him, campers started, kneeling down, even the Ares Cabin, though they didn't look happy about it.

Helena and Annabeth were about to do the same, but before the brunette could drop to her knee, Percy grabbed her arm and stopped her. He didn't want her kneeling before him,  shaking his head as he spoke. "My father?" 

Helena shot Percy a confused look but remained standing next to him. 

"Poseidon," said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God."

Chapter Text

Percy didn't wait for the whispers to start. He turned away from the creek, fists clenched and shoulders tight, and stalked toward the edge of the woods.

"Percy!" someone called—Annabeth, maybe Luke—but he didn't look back. If he did, he might punch a tree. Or worse, cry in front of all of them.

He shoved past campers, ignoring the way they stepped back like he was something radioactive. A monster magnet. A threat.

The leaves rustled as he pushed through the tree line, the camp's noise fading behind him. The forest was quiet, too quiet, except for the crunch of his shoes on fallen twigs and the angry thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

"Son of Poseidon," he muttered bitterly. "Hail the Sea God's kid. Hope you survive the next five minutes."

He stopped near a moss-covered boulder, his breathing heavy, chest tight. His hands trembled, but not from fear—at least, not just fear. The hellhound. The healing. The glowing trident above his head.

All of it felt too big.

He kicked the base of the rock. "This is insane," he growled. "This is so—"

"—dramatic," said a soft voice from behind him. "Ten out of ten storm-off. Very broody. Very Greek tragedy."

Percy startled and spun around, almost tripping over a root. Helena stood a few feet away, arms folded, hair a little windswept from the chase earlier. Her expression was teasing, but her eyes—those sharp, unreadable eyes—were soft.

He didn't say anything. Just looked away and muttered, "I needed air."

She nodded, stepping closer. "You picked a good rock for existential brooding. Very mossy. Nice ambiance."

He huffed a laugh despite himself, then sat on the boulder with a groan. "I didn't ask for any of this."

Helena sat beside him, not too close, not too far. Just enough that he could feel her presence, like a breeze he hadn't realized he needed.

"I know," she said quietly, plucking at a blade of grass. "No one does. It just... happens. Gods don't really ask for permission."

He didn't respond right away. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but full.

After a while, Percy muttered, "Everyone looked at me like I grew a second head. Or like I was the next plague."

Helena nodded softly. "Yeah, I get the feeling."

Percy looked at her weirdly. "You do?" He didn't believe it, not for a second. Helena was liked, loved and respected around camp, people smiled when she was around, little kids ran to her for hugs, Mr. D played cards with her, naidas and nymphs gossiped with her, and she was so...so Helena, warm, sassy, pretty; Percy couldn't imagine someone thinking otherwise of her.

Helena didn't answer right away. She looked down at her fingernails, which were painted emerald green, and started playing with her charm bracelet. "It wasn't always the way you see it now,"  she said finally, voice light but laced with something heavier underneath

"What do you mean?" He asked

"Most people forget I'm a child of Hera," she said and shrugged "Or maybe they just pretend I'm not. It's easier that way."

Percy blinked. "Wait... why?"

Helena smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because no one likes being reminded that the queen of Olympus can break the rules. That she did. That I exist because of it. I'm proof the gods can bend fate if they feel petty enough." She shrugged. "Or desperate."

Percy stared at her, unsure of what to say.

Helena gave him a sidelong look. "And trust me, a lot of campers didn't think I deserved to be here when I first showed up. 'Hera doesn't have kids,' they'd say. 'She shouldn't exist' or my favorite─" she put on a deep, mocking voice— "If she comes from Olympus, she should be living there"

Helena sighed. "People were scared, Percy, they thought I'd be exactly like my mom, and we both know my mom isn't exactly popular with the heroes. When I arrived, people stayed away from me. My whole time was spent at the arts and crafts room with Luke, Annabeth, Silena or Grover."

"So," Percy said eventually, his voice quieter now. "What changed?"

She picked at the grass again. "Time. I proved I wasn't a ticking time bomb. I helped people. Healed them. I showed up to all the dumb sword drills and didn't kill anyone by accident. Eventually, the stares got shorter, and the whispers stopped. Or maybe they just got quieter. In the end, I learned that people were afraid, they weren't cruel─well, some weren't cruel─ simply afraid for themselves "

Helena moved closer to him. "My point is, sharky, they are afraid, not because of you, but because of a stupid prophecy and the hellhound."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for this, for my dad to be Poseidon or for a stupid prophecy to possibly be about me or for a fucking giant dog with anger issues and rabies to try and kill me, "

Helena let out a soft snort. “Yeah, that one was not part of the tour brochure. ‘Come to Camp Half-Blood: meet your immortal parent, dodge fatal monsters, unpack lifelong trauma before lunch.’”

Percy gave a weak laugh, rubbing his face with his hands. “Do you ever wish you could just be... normal?”

Helena tilted her head, considering. “All the time. Then I remember normal kids don’t get to create illusions, form solid things out of air currents, or summon hurricane winds when they’re pissed.”

Percy turned to look at her, his brows quirking. “You can summon hurricanes?”

“Minor ones. Very dramatic in a thunderstorm. Excellent for storming out of rooms.” She smirked, then her voice dropped, quieter. “But yeah. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to have a mom who packed lunch instead of portents.”

Percy looked at her again. “Do you... talk to her? Hera?”

Helena hesitated. “Sometimes. In dreams. In riddles. In half-truths wrapped in peacock feathers and judgmental glares.” She smiled a little. “She’s proud of me. In her own... terrifying, goddess-of-wrath way.”

Percy nodded slowly, then kicked at a pine cone with the toe of his shoe. “Still. It sucks. Not knowing why this is happening. Why now. Why me.”

 Helena smiled softly. "I'll tell you a story,"

"I don't think a story─" he cut himself off at Helena's look. "You know what? I really want to hear the story."

She leaned back on her hands, tilting her face toward the canopy of leaves above them, letting dappled sunlight flicker across her expression. When she spoke, her voice had changed—still hers, still Helena—but softer now, lilting, like she was slipping into a memory.

“This is a tale the Queen of Olympus told a little girl every night for five years,” she said, eyes unfocused. “So listen closely, Sea-green eyes.”

Percy swallowed, nodding.

“Once upon a time,” Helena began, “in a city painted with gold and time, there lived a man named James Romanov.”

Percy blinked. “Wait, like the Romanovs? Like Russian royalty?”

Helena grinned. “No relation. Or maybe very distant, depending on which dusty old historian you ask. But my James Romanov wasn’t royal. Not in the political sense. He was a painter, the kind who could trap the sun in a stroke and make you cry over a still life of apples. But his family? Filthy rich. Old money. Old businesses. A villa in Florence, a chateau in France, a townhouse in New York. He didn’t want any of it.”

She paused, brushing her fingers through a breeze that stirred around them, light and warm.

“He wanted color. Beauty. Meaning. So he painted. Landscapes, portraits, gods in disguise. And one day, he painted a woman.”

Percy tilted his head. “Let me guess. It was Hera.”

Helena smiled faintly, her voice dipping into something dreamy. “He didn’t know her name. Just that she had eyes like polished bronze and a gaze that could crack the earth. She wore no crown, no laurels. She was sitting in his garden, beneath a lemon tree, like she belonged there. She didn’t speak. Just watched him.”

Percy didn’t interrupt this time. He could feel something electric in the air, like the story wasn’t just a story.

“James knew she wasn’t mortal. Not really. But he wasn’t afraid. He asked to paint her. And she let him. Every day, for a month, she came to sit in his garden. They never said what she was. Or who. But he called her Bella Tempesta—beautiful storm.”

“She told him she was nobody. He said she was lying, but that was okay, because he loved liars with good stories. And she laughed. Laughed, Percy. My mother. Laughing like she hadn’t in centuries.”

Percy blinked, stunned into silence.

“For weeks,” Helena said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “she visited. He painted her. They walked the Arno at sunset. He made her feel seen—not as a goddess, not as a queen, but as a woman. And he never asked for more than she was willing to give.”

Percy swallowed, his throat dry. “What happened?”

“One day, she told him her name. Told him the truth. And he said—‘I know.’ Just like that. No surprise. No fear. Like his soul had known her forever.”

Helena looked down, a tender smile flickering on her lips.

“She couldn’t stay. She had a throne. A husband. A world. And she wasn’t one to cheat. Not really. But… gods aren’t like us, not entirely. When they love, it’s deep. Unshakable. But, she wanted to leave him something. A mark. A memory."

Helena reached up and touched the feather in her hair. Her voice went lower, reverent, like reciting a sacred truth. 

Percy sat very still.

“So,” Helena said, “She went to the Fates. She bargained with magic and silence and her own divine essence. She took a drop of his blood, a whisper of his soul, and wrapped it in power ancient and impossible. And from that, she made me.”

Percy let out a slow breath.

“A baby girl,” Helena whispered. “Not born the mortal way. Not from lust. From love. And maybe, just a little, from spite.”

She grinned at him. “Because if the king could parade his bastards across the world, why couldn’t the queen have one perfect daughter?”

Percy grinned back, just a little.

“She gave me to him,” Helena said, tone soft again. “For the first week of my life, I was his alone. And then the storm came.”

Her smile faded. “Zeus found out. He was furious. Said I was unnatural. A threat. He wanted me gone. But my mother… she stood in front of me and said if he touched a single hair on my head, she would tear Olympus apart and give up her throne. He believed her.”  Helena smirked, her eyes fierce now. “And Zeus may be a lot of things, but even he knows when not to poke a lioness with a lightning bolt.” 

Helena smiled lightly.

"My mom wanted to be able to see me, so Zeus allowed me to live in Olympus with her, and I’d also be able to see my dad here and there—though honestly, I still think Zeus just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to plan a toddler-worthy scheme to eliminate him."

She let out a breathy chuckle, rushing a strand of dark chocolate hair—tinged with a reddish hue—behind her ear Her sapphire eyes, flecked with green, sparkled with mischief under the moonlight.

"And I mean, fair. I was very imaginative as a baby and a toddler. If you leave a divine baby unsupervised with ambrosia, glitter, and a paintbrush? Let's just say the throne room still has a faint pink shimmer under the right light. Mom was delighted. Zeus was... not."

Percy snorted. “Wait, you did that?”

Helena gave him a mock-offended look. “I was three. You know how normal toddlers finger paint walls? I just happened to have Olympus as my canvas. Sue me.”

"I spent the first five years of my life up there. Olympus. Glorious, immortal, shimmering Olympus. Like living in the world’s most dysfunctional palace, with drama levels that would make reality TV producers weep. And I, of course, was their resident demigod gremlin—equal parts adored and feared."

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Feared?”

Helena smirked. “Let’s just say, not all the gods were ready to handle a toddler with wind powers and a divine attitude problem. One time, I got bored during a council meeting and created a mini tornado in the throne room to spin my toys around like a carousel. Zeus nearly had an aneurysm. My mom sipped her nectar and told him, ‘She’s creative.’”

Percy snorted again.

“But it wasn’t all glitter explosions and thunder threats,” she added, more thoughtfully now. “Every god—eventually—taught me something. It was Hera’s way of making sure I’d never be powerless, even if I wasn’t… fully one of them. Athena taught me how to strategize, Ares tried to teach me to fight—which was a disaster, I hit him in the knee with a training staff and he threw a tantrum that lasted three days.”

“Nice,” Percy grinned.

“I’m especially close with a few of them,” Helena continued, eyes glowing softly with the memory. Apollo was the cool babysitter type—sunshine incarnate with a lyre, bad haikus, and enough charm to make the Muses swoon. He taught me music, healing, and how to blind people with a smile before metaphorically roasting them. Loved the guy.”

She paused, grinning. “ Aphrodite, on the other hand, was... well, she treated me like a living doll. She taught me how to do makeup and have personal style at four. Four. Said it was ‘never too early to master the art of the entrance.’ Which I totally mastered. Ten out of ten. Also taught me how to charm someone, said 'beauty gets things'. So, naturally, I made that my personal mission.”

Percy snorted. “That explains so much.”

“Oh, I’m not done,” Helena said, pointing a finger at him. “ Hephaestus gave me this tiny forge set—like, toddler-sized—for ‘destructive exploration.’ I made smoke bombs for fun. The satyrs still hold a grudge. And Artemis? She was... surprisingly gentle with me. She let me play with her hunters sometimes. Taught me how to track, how to shoot, how to stay silent in the woods. She told me once that I reminded her of someone she used to know. Never told me who. But she always looked sad when she said it.”

Her voice softened for a moment, a flicker of quiet reverence brushing her features.

“They all taught me things. Hermes taught me how to talk fast enough to distract someone while pickpocketing them. Dionysus gave me one piece of solid advice: never trust a prophecy on an empty stomach. Hestia taught me how to make a fire feel like home. Even Ares showed me how to throw a punch hard enough to shatter a monster’s jaw.” She paused. “Though I had to bite his hand to make him take me seriously first. That was a fun day.”

Percy looked halfway between horrified and impressed. “Wait, you bit Ares?”

Helena waved a hand dismissively. “He said I couldn’t hit hard ‘cause I was a little girl. I said I couldn’t hit hard because his ego took up all the space in the room. And then I bit him. He respected that.”

She stretched out her legs, propping herself on her elbows in the grass, gaze flicking toward the stars. “But when Mom was busy—which, you know, Queen of the Gods busy—the dryads and nymphs became my babysitters. They tried their best, bless their floral hearts. I once turned the eastern garden into a windstorm glitter rave. They cried actual dew.”

Percy burst out laughing.

Helena grinned. “And through it all, Mom was... Mom. Regal, terrifying, loving in her own high-gloss, don’t-you-dare-smudge-the-marble kind of way. She taught me how to walk with my chin up, how to sip nectar like it was wine at a royal banquet, and how to silence a room with one look. There was a lot of ‘You are my daughter. A Romanov and a Queen’s child. Act like it.’”

She mimicked Hera’s voice, perfectly haughty and full of pride, before shaking her head fondly. “But she also used to braid my hair herself. Told me bedtime stories with monsters and stars and gods in them. My favorite was the one about the peacock and the mortal painter. It always ended with the line, ‘And so the heavens gifted her a daughter—equal parts storm and soul.’ I didn’t realize until years later that it was about me.”

There was a long, quiet beat. The teasing faded a little, leaving something softer behind.

“I loved it up there, you know?” she admitted, voice quiet now. “For all the madness and ego and immortality, Olympus was home. But I never really fit. I was too mortal for them, too divine for mortals. Even with all the love... I always knew I was a borrowed piece in their puzzle.”

She paused for a second, her voice quieting with the next memory.

"And then when I turned five… it was time to come back. To the mortal world. To my dad."

Her eyes went distant for a moment.

"James Romanov. Painter. Italian. Wildly dramatic, fiercely loving, and the only man I know who argued with Zeus about visitation rights and won. When I walked through the door that first day, he just knelt down, opened his arms, and said, 'There you are, amore. My miracle.'"

She chuckled softly, eyes shimmering with the memory.

"He always tells me I’m a gift. That I was Hera’s apology and his blessing. He paints me constantly—says he’s trying to capture a goddess before the world steals her away. When I came back, he picked me up and said, ‘Helena, you look like your mother. And your mother looks like war dressed in grace.’"

Percy blinked, lips parting slightly. “That’s… poetic.”

Helena smirked. “He is a poet, when he’s not swearing at his canvases.”

She took a long breath, then added, “When I moved back with him, he made sure we moved to the States. So I could be closer to Camp Half-Blood. ‘In case your destiny decides to knock,’ he said.”

Then her gaze turned directly to Percy. Intense. Grounding.

"And look, I’m not telling you all this to make it sound like I had it easy. I was born out of spite. I was made with purpose, and that sounds grand, but it means I had a hundred pairs of eyes waiting to see what I’d become. I’ve felt the weight of Olympus before I could even spell my own name. But there was always a point, even when I didn’t understand it."

She reached forward, gently tapped his chest with two fingers.

The silence that followed was soft and thoughtful. Even the trees seemed to hush around them.

Helena turned to look at Percy fully, her voice low and fierce now.

“I know it feels like the world’s punishing you for being born. That being Poseidon’s kid is some kind of sick cosmic joke. But it’s not. You’re not an accident. You’re not some mistake of fate. You’re here for a reason. The world doesn’t just give people like us powers, pain, and prophecies because it’s bored. It’s because we’re meant to do something.”

Percy didn’t speak. His throat tightened.

“You’re not a curse, Sea-green eyes,” Helena whispered. “You’re a storm. And storms change everything.”

Percy didn’t say anything rightaway. His brows were furrowed, expression unreadable. Then—

“…Feather.”

Helena blinked. “What?”

Percy gave her a crooked grin. “That’s your nickname now. Feather. You float around like one, sass like one’s got attitude, and you always show up when someone needs a soft landing.”

She blinked again, then let out a startled laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yup,” he said, smug. “But you’re stuck with it now.”

Helena stared at him with mock-offense, but her smile betrayed her. And under the moonlight, her sapphire-blue eyes—with their glinting emerald specks—gleamed like stardust in motion.

“…Feather,” she muttered. “Great. I’m a magical chicken wing now.”

Percy snorted.

The next few days at camp were... miserable.

Not just regular miserable. Percy-level miserable, which meant it felt like the whole world had decided to kick him while he was down—and then hand him a sword he had no idea how to use and tell him to keep walking.

Campers whispered more than usual when he passed. Some stared. Others avoided eye contact entirely. Being the only known child of one of the Big Three apparently put a target on his back, and not the fun “you’re secretly royalty” kind. More like the “stay away from him before he blows something up” kind.

Chiron tried to keep things normal. Luke was kind enough when they trained, even joked with him a bit. Annabeth stayed cool and efficient, her strategy-obsessed brain clearly working overtime to figure out what to do with him. But it was Helena who made the days bearable.

Helena was... different. And not just because she could command a breeze with a flick of her wrist or because she wore sparkly jewelry and skorts like a demigod brunette-Barbie with a death wish.

She was real.

Helena didn’t walk around camp like she was better than anyone, but she didn’t exactly blend in either. While everyone else wore their Camp Half-Blood shirts like a badge of honor—or at least a requirement for not getting vaporized—Helena Romanov strutted through the cabins in denim skorts, sparkly earrings, and tops in pristine whites, blues, or greens that somehow never got dirty, even when she was hurling Percy through mud during training.

Percy was pretty sure her entire wardrobe was curated by a glitter-loving war goddess with a Sephora loyalty card. And her shoes? Either high-top sneakers or wedge ones, depending on whether she was in the mood to run someone over or just look tall while judging them.

The thing was... she made it work. Like, really work.

Where most demigods tried to survive, Helena acted like she was throwing a gala and the monsters were just rude party crashers. She trained him like he was her personal project-slash-chaos gremlin, a challenge she took on with equal parts exasperation and weird fondness.

Helena walked like the whole world owed her an apology and she was personally coming to collect it—politely, but with sharp wind gusts if necessary.

She trained him every day after breakfast. Chiron had dubbed it “practical defense,” but Percy was convinced it was actually “How Not to Die 101: Romanov Edition.” The courses were brutal—collapsing bridges, swinging logs, spontaneous mini tornadoes (“to keep you sharp,” she claimed). He was always panting by the end of it, clothes soaked, arms aching, water bottle empty.

Helena? Not a hair out of place.

It was infuriating.

She’d show up at Cabin Three, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. “Let’s go, sea-green-eyes. If you’re gonna survive, I can’t have you getting knocked out by a gust of wind or forgetting how to breathe underwater.”

To which he’d mumble something like, “Is it too late to fake my own death?”

Training with her wasn’t exactly easy. Helena’s powers came from the skies—from the wind and storms, from Hera’s wrathful calm. Percy, on the other hand, was all water and instinct, tides and chaos. They clashed as often as they meshed. She’d try to teach him how to read the wind, how to feel the energy around him, and he’d just... drown in confusion. Literally, once.

Still, she never gave up on him. Not once.

When he’d mess up, she’d pause, give him this look—equal parts amusement and exasperation—and ask, “Are you trying to sink this part of the forest?” But then she’d adjust her approach, slow down, explain things in a different way, sometimes using wind illusions or soft air currents to guide his movements.

He didn’t get all of it. But he got her.

And that mattered more than anything.

One afternoon, as they trained by the lake, she summoned a miniature storm cloud above his head to test his focus. When he glared at her, she just grinned. “Motivation,” she said with a wink. “You’ll thank me when you’re not fried by a real one.”

Sometimes she’d summon a breeze to cool him off mid-sparring. Other times, she’d push him into the lake to “recharge.” Once, she even summoned a peacock with shimmery tail feathers that sparkled in the sun just to mock him when he complained too much.

“You’ve got great instincts,” she said one afternoon, as Percy lay flat on the ground staring at the clouds, contemplating the sweet release of unconsciousness. “But you think too much. Monsters don’t wait for you to process your feelings.”

He groaned. “I’m twelve. Feelings are kind of a new thing.”

Helena snorted, sitting cross-legged beside him. The wind tugged at her hair, pulling loose strands from her half-up style and making her look like some kind of mythical warrior-princess. Which… she sort of was.

“Sea-green-eyes, I’ve been processing feelings since I was seven and found out I was magically created out of divine spite and pettiness,” she said lightly, leaning back on her hands. “You’ll live.”

Percy turned his head toward her. “That sounds fake.”

Yet, Percy couldn’t help but laugh when she did stuff like that. It cut through the fear, the confusion, the weight of suddenly being Poseidon’s son.

It reminded him that not everyone looked at him like a walking war.

By the third day, he realized something he hadn’t said out loud: Helena Romanov was his friend.

Not just a trainer or a fellow camper. Not just some too-powerful-for-her-own-good daughter of a scary goddess.

She was his friend. One of the only ones he had left.

And maybe that made all the difference.

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Chapter Text

The nightmare didn't make sense.

They never really did—not in the traditional monsters-and-fire kind of way. No, Helena's were always more feeling than vision. Drowning without water. Screaming without sound. Wind curling around her like whispers that wouldn't stop. And tonight, they carried that same cursed rhyme she couldn't shake, the one that had followed her ever since Percy had clasped her hand:

Two born of storm and spite shall rise...

She woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat, hair tangled around her face, fists clenched in her sheets. Her golden comb—her mother's comb—glimmered on the nightstand, like it was watching her.

Her hands trembled.

She hated that.

Not thinking, just moving, Helena pulled on her hoodie—one of Luke's old ones, oversized and soft—and padded out of the cabin barefoot, sparkly anklet and the one with the camp beads chiming quietly against her skin.

She knew where to go.

She always did.

Luke didn't even ask when he opened the door to Cabin Eleven and saw her.

"Nightmare?" he said softly.

She nodded.

He didn't hesitate—just grabbed his shoes and followed her into the trees.

Their "special place" wasn't special to anyone else. Just a crumbling old stone archway deep in the woods, overgrown with ivy and wildflowers. Helena had once insisted it used to be the gateway to something important. 

She still remembered the day they'd found it. Overgrown, half-swallowed by time, like a secret waiting to be remembered. She'd insisted it used to be a gateway to something ancient—something sacred. Luke had rolled his eyes and carved their initials into the stone anyway.

Now it was theirs.

They sat in the grass. The night was still. The stars too quiet.

Luke leaned back on his hands, looking at her like he was waiting.

Helena didn't speak right away. She hugged her knees to her chest, wind tugging at her curls.

She stared straight ahead for a beat, then muttered, "I heard it again. The wind... the prophecy. I don't even know if it is a prophecy, but it's stuck in my head. I didn't tell Chiron. Not yet. I—" Her voice cracked, and she hated that it did. "I didn't know who to tell. But then I remembered..."

Luke turned to her fully, brows drawn, that soft, rare look on his face. The one reserved for her. "You remembered I'm the one who holds your hair when you cry and brings you hot chocolate even when you claim you don't cry?"

She snorted. "You're also the one who carried me piggyback after I twisted my ankle trying to fight a cyclops with a rock and an attitude problem."

"And the one who told you not to fight that cyclops, by the way."

"Details."

He chuckled, then nudged her knee gently. "Come on, Sapphire. Tell me."

Helena recited it, soft and careful, the words etched in her memory like scars:

**"Two born of storm and spite shall rise,
One forged by sea, the other by skies.
Beneath the gods' fractured decree,
They'll face the end to set it free.

A mother's wrath, a father's pride,
Will tear the earth and split the tide.
Should love prevail o'er fear and flame,
The world may never be the same."**

When she was done, silence settled around them like mist.

Luke's brows were furrowed, his expression dark and unreadable.

Helena braced herself for mockery, or worse—worry. But Luke was quiet. That kind of quiet he saved for only the scariest truths.

Then, finally: "That's not a small prophecy, Hel."

She didn't answer. She couldn't.

He looked at her again, the flicker of campfire memories dancing behind his gaze. "You said you heard it when you touched Percy?"

Helena nodded. "When we shook hands after the campfire. It wasn't Chiron, or the Oracle—it was the wind. It felt... personal. Like it was for me."

Luke's jaw clenched. "It was for you."

She blinked at him.

"I know it is." He didn't sound accusing—just certain. "Storm and spite? Sea and sky? That's textbook dramatic Olympus poetry. You're Hera's, he's Poseidon's. And 'fractured decree'? That's... gods breaking rules. Which is basically your birth story."

She swallowed, fingers knotting in the hem of her hoodie. "I thought maybe it was the Great Prophecy. The one they whisper about."

Luke shook his head. "This one's personal. This isn't about some distant war. This is you."

Helena didn't answer. She couldn't.

Luke leaned closer, resting his hand over hers. "You're scared."

"No," she lied.

"Hel."

Her throat tightened.

"I am," she whispered. "I'm scared it means I'll hurt people. Or that I'll lose the people I care about. Or that I'll have to choose."

Luke's eyes softened, and he squeezed her hand. "Hey. I've known you since you were seven and decided to walk across half the country because some weird breeze told you to."

She blinked at him. "That's not what happened."

"Don't lie to me, little wind witch," he smirked. "You met me, tried to steal my dagger, and then cried when your sock got wet."

She groaned, shoving him lightly. "I was seven."

"And still smarter than me," he said, more gently. "You've always known things others don't. You feel the world in a way most people can't even imagine. If anyone can handle a prophecy like this... it's you."

Helena looked down at their joined hands. "What if I mess it up?"

Luke tilted her chin up with two fingers. "Then we mess it up together."

She laughed, a shaky, grateful sound. "You're too soft on me."

"I'm the softest when it comes to you, Sapphire."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and for a moment, the wind stopped whispering.

They sat in the quiet for a long time after that. Luke kept her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles like he could smooth away the cracks in her. Like he could protect her from something he couldn't even name.

Helena's breathing slowed, her curls brushing against Luke's shoulder as she leaned into him more fully. He didn't move. He never did, not when she needed stillness. Not when her storm needed anchoring.

The prophecy lingered in the air like ash after fire. Luke could almost taste it—divine, damning. And he hated it. Hated that she had to carry something that heavy, something she didn't ask for. She deserved stars and stupid jokes, not cryptic doom stitched into rhymes.

But that was the thing about Lena.

She was always meant to burn brighter than the gods could control.

She shifted beside him, barely awake now, her fingers still curled in the hem of his hoodie. He looked down and saw ther leather bracelet with a peacock feather charm he head given her a few weeks before her 8th birthday. 

He brushed a hand through her hair, careful not to wake her. "You always run headfirst into fate like it's a challenge."

Helena didn't respond. She was asleep, breathing soft and slow against his side.

He didn't move for a while, watching the ivy tremble in the wind—watching the girl he loved like a sister, the only person left who made him feel like he hadn't already drowned.

He knew he was slipping.

His promises whispered louder every day, and part of him was already lost to the fury and betrayal that pulsed like rot in his heart. But when Helena looked at him, when she laughed, when she fell asleep trusting him to hold her safe—he remembered.

He remembered the boy who found a half-wild girl in a ripped dress and glittery flats, who argued about constellations and cried over fallen sparrows and didn't understand why gods would make kids like her only to break them.

He remembered the moment she'd insisted that crumbling arch in the woods was magic. And he let her believe it, not because he thought it was true—but because if anyone could make it sacred again, it was her.

He looked down at her when she moved closer, murmuring nonsense in Italian. 

There was something in his face that hadn't been there before. Something crumbling at the edges. That same haunted quiet from earlier—but now it had shape.

A kind of grief that hadn't happened yet.

A kind of goodbye that hadn't been said.

"I'll protect you," he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "Even if one day you hate me for it."

He stood slowly, lifting her like he'd done a hundred times before—like she weighed nothing, like she was everything. Her arms instinctively curled around his neck, her head tucked beneath his chin.

He walked slowly, deliberately, back through the trees. The woods were silent except for the rustle of leaves and the steady rhythm of her breathing.

The moment Luke stepped inside, it hit him again—how different her space was from the rest of Camp Half-Blood.

It didn't look like a cabin.

It looked like a penthouse tucked into an old soul.

Velvet settees with embroidered pillows. Creamy white panel walls laced with gold. Glass chandeliers that glowed with gentle light. Books stacked in delicate towers beside antique furniture, and paintings—gods, the paintings—soft oil portraits of women in crowns, of peacocks and clouds, and one in particular: a woman with a stern face and dark curls sitting beside a little girl with windblown hair and ink-stained fingers.

Luke laid Helena down gently on the chaise lounge near the fireplace—the one she always claimed was "better for post-nightmare lounging" than the actual bed. He tucked a throw over her legs and brushed a kiss against her forehead, the same way he had since she was a kid.

He lingered and looked at her one last time.

And in that look was everything.

The big brother love that had carried her when she was seven and wild and full of impossible dreams. The pride in the girl she'd become—fierce and beautiful and terrifying in all the right ways. And the grief that hadn't happened yet, but would. Because he was going to break her heart.

"I'll always love you, Hel," he whispered. "Even when I don't deserve to."

Then he turned and left, the wind whispering behind him like a warning.

Like it knew.

Like it mourned.

And somewhere deep in Luke Castellan's heart, a crack widened.

One that no one—not even his Sapphire—would be able to heal in time.

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Cabin Two was not made for early mornings.

The air inside was still, almost sacred, with a faint floral breeze drifting from the open windows—an ever-present comfort in Hera's cabin. Helena Romanov lay tangled in her sheets, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she stirred, frowning at the unwelcome sound of—

Knock knock knock.

She groaned into her pillow. "Unless that's Zeus himself repenting, go away."

Knock knock—

"I said repenting, not repeating!" she snapped, sitting up and squinting toward the door.

"Helena?" came Grover's hesitant voice. "It's me! Sorry! It's important!"

She sighed. Grover never knocked unless it was serious. With a flick of her fingers, a soft gust of wind pushed open the door, revealing a flustered satyr with hay in his curls and panic in his eyes.

"I swear if Percy's been turned into a dolphin, I'm going to scream," Helena muttered, dragging herself out of bed. She was barefoot, in an emerald tank top with a sparkly peacock decal and matching shorts. The lotus hairpin in her curls glinted as she stretched, still fighting sleep.

Grover looked like he wanted to both apologize and flee.

"What is it?" she asked, voice raspier than usual, though her eyes sharpened the way they always did when things felt off.

"Chiron and Mr. D want to see you. At the Big House. Right now. Like, now now."

She blinked up at the ceiling, her brain catching up with the urgency in Grover's tone. Something about the way he said it didn't feel like an "Oh hey, come grab breakfast" request.

"I'm not even dressed," she called, dragging herself upright with a dramatic sigh. "Give me three minutes, a brush, and divine patience."

Seven minutes later—because, honestly, she'd earned the extra four—Helena stepped out of her cabin with her hair half-up in a loose twist and her usual wind-swept, barely-trying glamor. She wore a fitted white top tucked into a dark denim skorts, a sheer emerald shawl fluttering at her elbows. Her lotus hairpin glinted in the sunlight. Not exactly formal wear, but enough to remind anyone watching that she wasn't some run-of-the-mill demigod.

Grover shuffled beside her anxiously as they walked. "They didn't say why they needed you," he said. "But... Chiron looked kind of serious. And Mr. D was 

Helena arched an eyebrow. "Gods save us all."

The Big House felt oddly still when she entered, like the air was holding its breath. Chiron stood in the corner in his centaur form, arms folded, face solemn. Mr. D lounged in his usual Hawaiian shirt and leopard-patterned slippers—but his eyes tracked Helena as she came in, and for once, he wasn't sipping Diet Coke.

"Ah, my favorite child of that woman," Mr. D said, voice dripping with amused sarcasm and mild affection. "And here I thought you'd be sleeping in till noon like a true goddess."

Helena gave him a flat look. "Dionysus. How delightfully petty of you this early in the morning."

"Don't flatter me. Sit down."

Helena crossed her arms lightly, sensing the weight in his tone. "What's going on?"

Chiron motioned for her to sit. "It's about Percy."

She sat slowly. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Chiron reassured her, "but... the gods are not. The situation on Olympus has escalated. Zeus believes Percy stole the Master Bolt. He has issued a deadline—before the summer solstice. If it is not returned, there will be war."

Helena's heart dropped. "That's madness. He'd never—"

"I know," Chiron said gently. "But the gods are not always rational in their suspicions. Especially when fear clouds judgment."

"Lovely family, aren't they?" Mr. D added with a smirk. "And people say I'm the dramatic one."

Chiron ignored him. "We're sending Percy on a quest. He will retrieve the Master Bolt, prove his innocence, and—if the Fates are kind—prevent a war."

Helena's jaw tightened. "You're sending him alone?"

Chiron looked at her meaningfully. "He will not go alone... if he chooses companions."

She stilled.

"You want me to go with him."

"If he asks," Chiron confirmed. "This must be his choice. But I believe he will."

"I'm not a babysitter."

"No," Mr. D cut in. "You're far too dramatic for that. More of a... majestic emotional support hurricane."

Helena gave him a look. He winked.

"What if he doesn't ask me?"

Mr. D waved a hand. "Of course he's going to ask you. Unless he has the IQ of a cyclops with a hangover."

Helena tilted her head. "And you're okay with me going?"

"Oh, absolutely not," Mr. D said breezily. "But Chiron said I had to behave or he'd start reading me Homer again. Out loud."

Chiron ignored them and continued, "He trusts you. You've trained him. You've protected him. And more importantly, he listens to you."

"He listens to Grover."

"He listens to you more," Chiron said gently. "You're not just a trainer or a friend to him. He believes in you. And if he is to face what lies ahead... he will need that faith."

A beat passed.

Helena leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing slightly as she stared past Chiron, out the window. The morning light was creeping in, golden and warm—but it felt too still. Too bright for a conversation like this.

"Does he know yet?" she asked softly.

"Not yet," Chiron said. "We'll be calling him soon."

Helena exhaled through her nose, steady but slow. Her fingers drummed once on the arm of the chair. "And I assume I'm not allowed to blurt it out before the dramatic council moment?"

"That would be appreciated," Chiron said with a wry smile.

Mr. D sniffed. "Must everything be dramatic with you people? What happened to the days when quests were quiet affairs? No shouting, no doom prophecies, no fireworks—just a harpy to kill and a river to cross."

Helena gave him a side glance. "You were never quiet, Dionysus."

He raised his Diet Coke at her in salute. "Touché."

Helena glanced down, fiddling with the ring on her thumb. Then, quietly, "Is this why you had me train him? All along?"

Chiron smiled sadly. "Partly. But you chose to care for him on your own. I merely gave you the time."

Helena swallowed hard.

Mr. D hummed, twirling his fingers in the air like he was conducting a bored orchestra. "So. The mortal spawn of Seaweed Daddy is about to take a field trip across the country to stop a war. How charmingly suicidal."

Helena stood, slow and calm. "If he asks me, I'll go."

Chiron nodded. "Thank you, Helena."

Mr. D lifted his can of Diet Coke in a half-toast. "Don't die, dear. Camp would be insufferable without you and bring me back a souvenir, Romanov. Something shiny. Preferably not cursed."

Chiron turned slightly, glancing toward Grover, who had been lingering awkwardly by the door like he wanted to vanish into the woodwork.

"Grover, could you fetch Percy? Tell him... it's time."

Grover straightened, eyes wide. "Right. Yes. Right now."

Helena gave him a small, reassuring smile as he turned to go, his hooves tapping nervously against the floorboards.

Once he was gone, silence returned to the Big House, thick and buzzing with the weight of decisions not yet made.

She didn't speak for a moment.

Then: "Is Annabeth going?"

Chiron met her eyes, understanding the layers in that question.

"If Percy accepts her, yes," he said. "She's been preparing for this for years. You know how much it means to her."

Helena nodded slowly, pressing her tongue to her cheek.

"Does she know yet?"

"No. But she suspects."

"She always does," Helena murmured, her voice barely above a breath. Then louder, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips: "I hope she doesn't kill him before they get out of the state."

Mr. D gave a theatrical sigh. "If she doesn't, something else will. Honestly, sending three barely-formed heroes across the country to face monsters, gods, and the end of the world—it's practically a group suicide pact with extra steps."

Helena didn't dignify that with a reply. Instead, she straightened, her shoulders rolling back with quiet resolve.

"Anything else I should know before he gets here?" she asked.

Chiron looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. "Only that the prophecy may unfold in ways none of us expect. You've faced trials before, Helena. But this—this will be different."

She gave a small, sharp nod. "Understood."

Mr. D twirled his Diet Coke, the can hissing as he cracked it open at last. "And remember, my dear—should you find yourself tempted to heroically sacrifice yourself for your friends or the fate of the world, don't. You're too pretty to die, and I refuse to train a replacement."

Helena rolled her eyes. "Your concern is touching, truly."

Before he could respond, footsteps thudded across the porch—two sets, uneven in pace.

The door creaked open again, and there he was.

Percy stood in the doorway, sea-green eyes stormy with confusion and something like anger brewing just beneath the surface. Grover hovered behind him, visibly anxious, but trying to look brave.

Helena straightened.

Percy looked at her first.

Not Chiron. Not Mr. D.

Her.

And something in her chest tugged.

"Morning, Sea-green-eyes," she said, soft and teasing, like they hadn't all just been handed the edge of a war. "Hope you slept better than I did."

Percy blinked at her, and his shoulders loosened the tiniest bit. "I... doubt it."

"Unfortunate," she said, stepping to the side so he could enter fully. "Looks like it's going to be a long day."

"Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity."

Chiron motioned for Percy to sit. "Come in, Percy. We have much to discuss."

He hesitated,—eyes flicking once more toward Helena before focusing on Chiron.

Mr. D sighed, muttering something about drama queens and storm clouds as he conjured another Diet Coke from thin air. 

"Come closer," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father." 

A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house.

 "Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said. 

Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.

 "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in. 

"Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing.Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead,sending you back to your father."

Helena didn't move—she just crossed her arms and tilted her head, eyes narrowed like she was trying to decide whether to slap Mr. D with her words or the breeze.

Mr. D gave her a sideways glance, his fingers still fiddling with his Diet Coke can. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Lena. I haven't turned anyone into a dolphin in, oh...what, three decades?" He sniffed dramatically. "I'm overdue."

"You turned that mortal tourist into a tuna last week," Chiron reminded him without looking up from his cards.

"She insulted my robe," Mr. D said, wounded. "There's a difference."

Helena arched a brow. "You're impossible."

"And yet," Mr. D said with mock sweetness, "you adore me."

Helena rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "That's stretching the word." she turned to look at Percy. "Don't let the wine-soaked dramatics fool you," she said dryly. "He does care. Deep, deep, deep down. Like... buried under Mount Olympus level deep."

Mr. D scowled at her. "Don't you have arts and crafts to babysit?"

"Scheduled for after this," she chirped, tossing the dagger in the air and catching it without looking. "I couldn't miss the premiere of 'Let's Terrify the New Kid.' It's a camp tradition."

Percy blinked. "Is he serious?" he asked, nodding at Dionysus.

"Deadly," Helena replied. "But harmless—if you don't make eye contact, challenge his authority, or mention his wine restrictions. Which... you just did in your head, didn't you?"

Percy's silence said it all.

Mr. D grumbled something about "half-bloods and their incessant inner monologues," then flopped into a deck chair like a disgruntled cat. "I warned Zeus. I said, Father, you let them run around long enough, they'll band together and start wars. Again. And who'll get stuck cleaning up the mess? Me, that's who."

Chiron cleared his throat, clearly trying to steer things back on track. "Percy, there's a reason we brought you here. And there's a reason Helena is here as well."

At her name, Helena straightened slightly, though her expression turned unreadable.

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, cue the melodrama. Two children of problematic parentage under the same roof. What could possibly go wrong?"

Helena's voice dropped into a silken calm. "I'm not problematic. I'm limited edition."

Grover let out a nervous bleat, Percy looked between them, and Chiron rubbed his temples like he had the mother of all headaches.

"Can we please get to the part where you explain why beings keep trying to kill me?" Percy asked.

"Boring," Mr. D said

"Mr. D—" Chiron warned.  

"Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do." 

Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle.A security pass.He snapped his fingers.The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone,leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind. 

"Well," she muttered, "that was almost peaceful, for him."

Percy stared at the empty space where Mr. D had stood. "Did he seriously just threaten to turn me into a dolphin?"

"He did," Helena said helpfully, patting him once on the back. "And that was him being nice."

Grover shuffled closer to Percy's side. "You're lucky. Last week he threatened to turn me into a Chia Pet."

Chiron folded his cards and set them aside. "Now that the dramatics are over, I believe it's time we talk about the quest."

Percy blinked. "The what now?"

Helena crossed her arms again, expression carefully neutral. "You're being offered a quest, Sea-green-eyes. Like a real one. Ancient prophecy, gods-on-the-edge-of-war, possibly-dying kind of quest."

Percy gave her a skeptical look. "You're really bad at selling this."

"I'm not trying to sell it," she said bluntly. "I'm warning you."

Chiron gestured for Percy to sit. "What I'm about to tell you may be difficult to accept. But you must hear it." 

Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use. 

"Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

Helena felt the fear radiating off of Percy, and it was noticeable to everyone how he shuddered.

"It scared me," he said. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

"You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done." 

"Done... with what?" 

"Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?" 

Percy glanced at Helena and Grover beside him. Grover was crossing his fingers while Helena was playing with her rings—something he was starting to realize she only did when she was anxious or deep in thought.

"Um, sir," Percy said, "you haven't told me what it is yet." 

Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as one could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together

"Poseidon and Zeus," Percy said. "They're fighting over something valuable... something that was stolen, aren't they?"

Chiron and Helena exchanged looks. Grover looked one more word away from fainting."

Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"

"Uh...The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And...I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it," Grover said.

"Merde" Helena muttered under her breath.

 "Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered.  

"But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!"

 "Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries.They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen.To be precise: a lightning bolt."

The son of Poseidon laughed nervously. "A what?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Oh."

"Zeus' master bolt," Chiron clarified gravely. "The original weapon of the sky god. Forged by the Cyclopes in the heart of Mount Etna. It is the symbol of Zeus's power, from which all other bolts are patterned. A hundred and fifty meters long."

"Exaggerate much?" Helena muttered.

Chiron gave her a mildly disapproving look, but she just shrugged and began braiding a thin lock of hair as if they weren't talking about divine war and possible annihilation.

"And it's missing?" Percy

 "Stolen," Chiron said.

Percy stared at Chiron, his mind sluggishly trying to grasp the idea. "You're saying... someone stole that? From Zeus?"

Helena whistled low. "Bold. Suicidal, but bold."

"Not just bold," Chiron said gravely. "Catastrophic."

"But by who?" 

"By whom," Chiron corrected. Once a teacher, always a teacher. "By you."

The boy's mouth fell open.

"At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,'─

"Over three-thousand-years old and they still argue like three-years-old" Helena interrupted, earning a look from Chiron.

"Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it." 

"But I didn't—"

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief." 

"But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

"And dramatic," Helena muttered. 

Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around camp, as Grover had promised. They were rolling straight over the valley, sealing them in like a coffin lid.

 "Er, Percy...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky"

"Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam..." 

He looked at Percy expectantly as if he actually hoped the Jackson boy remembered the answer. At Percy's silence, he sighed. 

"Thirty-eight on your Latin final, Helena?"

Helena didn't even glance up from the braid she was weaving. "Thirty-nine, actually. Thirty-eight was about Hera's revenge strategies. I aced it, obviously."

Chiron sighed but didn't dispute it.

Percy blinked between them. "Wait, you took a Latin final? Is that a thing here?"

"We have electives," Helena said casually. "Well. Some of us take them. Others"—she shot Grover a look—"bribe satyrs for help."

"I only helped with flashcards!" Grover squeaked defensively.

"The answer?" Chiron asked again

Helena sighed. "Mommy dearest, Poseidon and few other gods trapped Zeus in a net until he promised to be a better ruler. Clearly, that didn't last."

"Correct, " Chiron nodded, before fully processing what Helena had said, once he did he gave her a look. "What have I told you about offending Zeus?"

Percy cleared his throat, in any other occasion he wouldn't mind hearing Helena banter, but right now, his supposed theft concerned him more. 

"Back to the matter at hand," Chiron continued. "Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back andforth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along—the proverbial last straw."

"But I'm just a kid!"

"Not many care about that, Sea-green-eyes" Helena said, finally looking up from her braid, disappointment filled her voice.

"Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting tooverthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after WorldWar II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you...Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"

"Not if you're a reasonable being" Helena offered, reaching for the deck of cards and lazily shuffling them like this was just Tuesday.

Chiron shot Helena a look that clearly said now is not the time, but she only raised a brow and continued shuffling the cards like this was all just some mildly irritating group project.

Percy, meanwhile, felt like the floor had been yanked out from under him.

"But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?"

Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. "

"Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice."

"Which is June twenty-first, ten days from now" Helena added

"Not a lot of time" Percy said, looking at the brunette girl.

"Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date" Chiron added. "I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense."

"My mom tried, it didn't work," The daughter of Hera said, which earned her a confused look from Percy. "My mom speaks to me in dreams." She clarified. 

Chiron hummed in agreement and looked at Percy "Your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?"

Percy swallowed hard. "Bad?"

Helena snorted. "Understatement of the century."

Chiron's expression turned grave. "The gods would fight each other. Olympus would descend into chaos. Mortals would be caught in the crossfire—natural disasters, monsters running rampant, ancient enemies stirring. The last time the Olympians went to war on that scale... the world was nearly torn apart."

Grover fidgeted with his hoodie drawstrings. "And we're still cleaning up from that one."

"Bad" Percy repeated. 

"And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."

"So I have to find the stupid bolt," He said. "And return it to Zeus."

Helena hummed in agreement.

"What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?" 

"If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?"

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago... well,some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle." 

"Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?" 

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge"

Percy opened his mouth, ready to argue—but stopped. That ominous weight settled in his gut again, the one that felt like an anchor dragging him toward something he couldn't escape.

He glanced at Helena. She was still calmly shuffling the cards, but her eyes had lost their usual sparkle. There was something distant in them now, something wary.

"What did the prophecy say?" he asked quietly.

Chiron shook his head. "I cannot tell you that unless you are chosen."

Percy looked back and forth between the centaur, Grover, and Helena. "Chosen by who?"

Helena set the cards down and met his gaze. "By the Oracle," she said, her voice soft. "The spirit of Delphi that lives in the attic. If you're meant to go, it'll speak to you. If not—well, let's just say you'll leave disappointed. Or terrified. Sometimes both."

Chiron cleared his throat. "Helena is one of the few campers who has ever dared to speak to the Oracle directly. And one of even fewer to walk out with her sanity intact."

"Ish," Helena muttered, then looked at Percy. "The Oracle doesn't give straight answers. Think riddle-me-this, but with more doom."

"Great," Percy muttered. "So I get to walk blindly into the monster-infested unknown with zero information."

Chiron ignored his comment. "You agree then?"

He looked at Helena, and she gave him a comforting, warm smile. And he turned to look at Grover, who nodded encouragingly.

"Easy for him," Percy thought, "Zeus doesn't want to kill him."

"All right," the raven-haired boy said. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin." 

"I could turn you into a peacock," Helena offered, raising her hand

Percy stared at her, deadpan. "That's supposed to be a threat or a reward?"

Helena smirked, lowering her hand. "Depends. Do you want sparkly tail feathers?"

Grover let out a high-pitched wheeze, trying to stifle his laughter behind his hoodie sleeve. Chiron, on the other hand, merely gave Helena a look—one she returned with an innocent flutter of her lashes.

"Enough," the centaur said, though his tone was more exasperated than stern. "If you are truly ready, Percy, then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. 

"Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. We will talk more when you come back down, assuming you're still sane."

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When Percy returned from the attic, he was pale as a ghost and Helena instantly got a bad feeling; his eyes seemed distant, maybe even defeated. It didn't help that she couldn't tell what he was feeling exactly; there was a mix of disappointment, confusion, anger, and more, like a tidal wave of negative and uncertain emotions.

"Well?" Chiron asked. 

Percy slumped into the chair "She said I would retrieve what was stolen." 

Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!" 

Helena kicked him lightly. 

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important."

Percy rubbed his hands over his face like he could scrub the words out of his memory. "She said I would go west and face the god who's turned."

Helena stilled beside him. Her posture didn't change, but her fingers tightened slightly on the chair's arm.

"And?" Chiron prompted gently.

"I would find what was stolen and see it safely returned," Percy continued and took a glance at Helena, who went back to shuffling the deck of cards, but not without sending him a small smile. 

"I knew it," Grover said.

 Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

Percy hesitated, he didn't want to tell them about the betrayal by a friend, nor the fact that their Oracle might be broken, or it's just a serpent bitch, What kind of Oracle would send someone ona quest and tell them, Oh, by the way, you'll fail.

"No," He finally said. "That's about it."

Helena looked at him briefly and quickly turned her gaze to the cards, the familiar tingling sensation she felt when a lie was told chilling her bones. She felt Chiron's eyes one her, clearly waiting for a signal that Percy was lying. She gave none and kept messing with the cards. 

"Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

"That means: be prepared for anything cause anything can happen"

Percy stared at her. "That's not comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be," she said, though her tone softened. "But you're not alone, Sea-green-eyes."

Grover perked up. "Yeah! You'll have help! Like... um, me! I'm your protector, remember?"

"That's somehow less comforting," Percy muttered.

Helena stopped shuffling and flicked one of the cards toward Percy—it landed perfectly upright on the table in front of him. The Queen of Cups.

"That's your reminder to feel, not flail," she said cryptically, then added, "Also, hydrate. Seriously. Water is your whole thing, Jackson."

Chiron gave her a long-suffering look. "Helena..."

"What?" she said, blinking innocently. "I'm being helpful."

"Okay," Percy said, anxious to change topics. "So where do I go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?" 

"Somebody else who wants to take over?" Percy guessed.

"Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

Percy's stomach twisted. He didn't want to say it, but the answer was obvious.

"Hades."

Chiron nodded gravely. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility. If he's stolen the master bolt and is keeping it in the Underworld, only a quest to retrieve it can prevent all-out war."

Grover made a sound like a deflated balloon. "The Underworld? As in... death death?"

Helena didn't flinch, but she leaned forward, propping her elbow on her knee and resting her chin on her fist. Her other hand still shuffled the cards slowly. "Death death," she confirmed. "Also, possibly eternal torment. Rivers of fire. Bad architecture. Very poor Yelp reviews."

A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?" 

"A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Meh, pretty sure they would also obey Persephone."

"Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon..."

"Yeah, I'd also try to kill him," Helena agreed, and Percy shot her an offended look. "Well, I would." She shrugged. 

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest."

"Great," Percy muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me." 

Helena tilted her head. "Two major gods? Please. You're underestimating your charm, Jackson. I'm betting on at least four."

"I'm popular," Percy said flatly. "Like, prom king of imminent death."

"Prom king of imminent death," Helena echoed, tapping her lip thoughtfully. "I like that. I'm putting it on your sword training chart."

"But a quest to..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Or somewhere in Europe, I could do with a trip home," Helena said. 

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

"Fun," Percy muttered. "So, no pressure or anything. Just find the god of the dead, in a city I've never been to, and convince him to give back something I didn't take. Cool. Love that for me."

Helena cracked a dry smile. "And survive monsters, divine vendettas, and the occasional sunstroke on the way. No pressure, though" Helena muttered, flicking a card from the deck she was now shuffling into perfect little arches midair. "Just the fate of the world on your mortal shoulders."

Percy felt a fire burn in his stomach, low and twisting. Not rage, exactly. Not even fear. It was that same feeling he'd had during capture the flag, when the hellhound lunged at him and something inside him had just snapped—like a tide surging forward with no warning. The same fire that told him he couldn't run from this.

"Look, if we know it's Hades," He told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads." 

"Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves.."

"Why the hell not? They're gods."

"Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?" 

"You're saying I'm being used." 

"No," Grover said at the exact same time Helena said, "Yes."

They both blinked at each other, then at Chiron.

"Rude," Helena muttered.

Chiron shot them both a look and turned to the Jackson boy, once again. "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs you."

Poseidon needed him. His dad needed him. 

A tidal wave of emotions hit him once again, crashing into the hollow pit that had taken up residence in his chest since the Oracle's words. Percy gripped the sides of the chair like they might anchor him.

He wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or run.

He met Helena's eyes. She gave him the smallest nod—subtle, but it said I see you. I've got you.

"I'll do it," he said, and the words surprised even him. "I'll go."

Grover choked on a bit of aluminum. "You will?"

Helena arched an eyebrow. "So eager to meet the god of the dead. You're either very brave or very dumb."

Percy shrugged, feeling the pressure settle like a weight on his chest—but also, oddly, a kind of purpose. "Little column A, little column B."

Helena giggled, and Percy couldn't help but smile at the sound. 

Chiron watched them, something like hope flickering in his eyes—faint, but there. 

Percy looked at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?" 

"I had my suspicions. As I said... I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

"So let me get this straight," The boy said. "I'm supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead." 

"Check," Chiron said

"Find the most powerful weapon in the universe." 

"Check." 

"And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days." 

"That's about right."

Percy took a glance at Grover, who stole a card from Helena's deck and gulped it down.

"Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly.

"You don't have to go," His best friend told him. "I can't ask that of you. Of neither of you." His gaze moved to Helena

"Oh..." He shifted his hooves. "No,... It's just that satyrs and underground places... well..."

 He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt."You saved my life, Percy. If... if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down."

Percy smiled. "All the way, G-man." He then glanced at Helena, who was still idly shuffling the deck with that same unreadable look on her face.

"You too?" he asked.

Helena looked up, flicked a final card into his lap—the Fool.

"Always," she said. "But you're buying snacks."

Percy smiled. "Wait, really?"

Helena leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "I did try to warn you. I'm your babysitter now."

"Awesome," Percy deadpanned. "Does this mean I get a bedtime and snack schedule too?"

"Only if you behave," she said, smirking again. "And no more wandering off to get nearly killed by hellhounds."

Chiron gave them both a pointed look. "This is not a game, you two."

"No, it's war," Helena said quietly. "And we just got our parts in the play."

Percy turned to Chiron. "So, where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west." 

"The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America." 

"Where?" Percy looked genuinely confused.

 Chiron looked surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles."

"Los Angeles?" Percy blinked. "You mean like... Hollywood?"

Chiron nodded solemnly. "Indeed. The land of illusions. Fitting, isn't it?"

Helena muttered something under her breath in Italian that Percy didn't quite catch, but it didn't sound complimentary.

"Naturally, so we just get on a plane—"

"No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

The Jackson boy shook his head, his cheeks slightly pink. 

"Percy, think," Chiron said. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive. If you were to fly, it would be seen as a direct challenge."

Percy opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Right. Because my existence isn't already a challenge."

Helena leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You're basically walking bait, Sea-green-eyes. No need to hang a flashing sign over your head that says Hit me, Zeus."

Percy shot her a look, but her smirk softened it. "So, I'll travel overland." 

"That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions are the normal rule, but this case is special, so you'll be allowed three. Grover is one, and Helena is two. The third one has already volunteered, if you will accept her help."

"Gee," The Son of Poseidon said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?" 

The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket. 

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon,but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

Helena opened her mouth, an offended look on her face, but Annabeth smirked at her before she could speak. 

 "Oh, please, Lena," Annabeth said, rolling her eyes. "You're going to be too busy making sure Seaweed Brain here doesn't trip over his own shoelaces. Someone has to actually get us to L.A."

Helena narrowed her eyes at Annabeth, but her lips twitched. "Excuse you, I have a very detailed and color-coded plan."

"Exactly," Annabeth said, crossing her arms. "Color-coded doesn't mean foolproof."

"It does if you use the right highlighters."

Chiron sighed, rubbing his temples like he suddenly regretted every life choice that led to this moment.

Percy, meanwhile, was watching them with a mix of awe and dread. "So just to recap... I've got a satyr with anxiety, a card-slinging demigod with parental baggage, and a war strategist with superiority issues."

Annabeth and Helena both turned to him in unison. "Excuse you?"

Grover tried to melt into the couch. Chiron looked skyward, muttering what was probably a prayer for patience.

"Okay, okay," Percy said, hands raised. "Team effort. Got it."

Annabeth stepped forward and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Rule number one: listen to me. Rule number two: don't do anything dumb. Rule number three—"

"Let Helena pick the snacks," Helena cut in. "She has impeccable taste."

"I was going to say 'don't die,' but sure, that too."

"A quartet,"  Percy said. "That'll work."

Grover finally spoke up. "So when do we leave?" 

"This afternoon," Chiron said. "We can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

 Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather. 

"No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you should all get packing."

Helena rose from her chair, brushing invisible dust off her skort. "Well. Time to do what I do best: overprepare for a nightmare scenario that hasn't even happened yet."

Annabeth groaned softly. "Please don't bring your entire wardrobe again. This is a quest, not a fashion tour."

"Excuse you," Helena said, offended. "Do you know how many things can go wrong on a cross-country journey with Greek monsters chasing us and questionable male hygiene standards in the group? I need to be prepared."

"For what?" Percy asked, eyebrows raised. "A zombie apocalypse? A spa day? The fall of Western civilization?"

"Yes," Helena replied without hesitation. "All of the above. And I'd like to look cute while surviving it, thank you very much."

"She packs like we're invading Troy," Annabeth muttered, watching Helena stride out of the Big House with purpose. "With backup."

Grover blinked. "Wait, how much is she bringing?"

"She brought twelve pouches of lavender-scented wet wipes to capture the flag," Annabeth deadpanned. "You do the math."

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Helena's cabin looked like a high-end boutique had exploded.

Clothes were flung across her bed in meticulous piles—organized by type, fabric, and what-if scenario. A checklist hovered magically in the air, glowing faintly golden, and ticking off items as they were packed. Makeup bags, snack kits, mini emergency kits, ambrosia and nectar rations, at least three hairbrushes, and a tiny satchel labeled "Monster First-Aid" were lined up on her desk like troops ready for deployment.

"Okay," she muttered, snapping her fingers as another item disappeared into her navy-blue backpack ─an elegant navy-blue bag with golden embroidery and a sparkly H monogram. "One set of ambrosia packs. Check. Extra socks. Check. Extra extra socks. Check. Enchanted deodorant in case we're stuck in a sewer, check. SPF 70 and 100, check. Back-up toothbrushes because boys are gross, check. Dagger polish. Absolutely."

She paused, tilting her head and looking at herself in the mirror, black denim shorts, navy top (fitted, but comfy), her favorite sparkly jewelry, combat slightly heeled boots, and a dark purple leather jacket. Her charm bracelet—every charm enchanted to become a weapon and her lotus hairpin safely placed in her braided hair. 

As she turned to pack her final essentials, the cabin door creaked open.

"Helena?" Silena Beauregard's voice was like silk with a smile. "Are you... Reorganizing the Olympian army in here or just going to California?"

Helena's head popped up from behind a shelf, her expression perfectly deadpan. "Both. But mostly California. With monsters. Possibly traumatizing memories. Definitely bad weather. And Percy's hair, which is its own disaster category."

Silena laughed as she stepped inside, dressed in a rose-pink Camp Half-Blood tee knotted at the side and designer sandals that somehow hadn't seen a single speck of dirt all week. She took one look around the room and raised her eyebrows.

"You packed six pairs of sunglasses."

"In case we lose one," Helena said automatically.

"And... a mini sewing kit?"

"Wardrobe malfunctions don't care if you're battling a Fury."

Silena walked over and plucked a fluffy pair of socks labeled "Apocalypse Cozy" from Helena's bed. "You're impossible."

Helena shrugged, one hand on her hip, sparkly bracelets jingling softly. "I'm prepared. Someone has to be. Do you know how often Percy forgets things? I bet Annabeth doesn't even pack moisturizer."

Silena gave her a knowing look and sat beside her on the bed. "You're scared."

Helena froze. "No, I'm organized."

Silena didn't say anything—just gave her that soft, sisterly smile, the kind that didn't judge or prod but saw. Helena looked down at her lap, fingers fiddling with her weapon charm bracelet. The little sword charm twinkled as it caught the light.

"It's just..." she began. "Everyone thinks I'm fine. That I've got everything handled. And I do! Mostly. But my brain won't shut up about everything that could go wrong. And if I don't pack the right number of granola bars or forget to bring a backup toothbrush, someone's gonna die. Or worse—be smelly and die."

Silena chuckled and wrapped an arm around her. "Helena, sweetie, you're twelve. You're not supposed to have everything together. You don't have to be everyone's mom."

"I know," Helena mumbled into her shoulder. "But sometimes I have to. If I don't, who will?"

Silena pulled back slightly and gently tucked a loose curl behind Helena's ear. "You're like Hera in all the best ways—you care fiercely, you plan like it's an art form, and you're always dressed like you stepped out of a catalog. But you're you, too. You're warm and kind and way less terrifying than your mom."

Helena sniffed. "You think I'm warm?"

"Well, emotionally," Silena teased, brushing a bit of glitter off Helena's cheek. "You're wearing a cropped jacket and shorts."

"It's a vibe," Helena sniffed, straightening proudly. "Quest chic."

"Definitely," Silena agreed. "But promise me something?"

Helena blinked. "What?"

"Let people take care of you sometimes, too. Let Annabeth stress about the map. Let Grover do the worrying. Let Percy—well, maybe don't let him do too much. But let him be your friend."

Helena smiled faintly. "That's a lot of letting go."

Silena nudged her. "You'll survive. And you'll still be the mom friend. That's never changing."

They both laughed.

After a beat, Helena straightened her jacket, then turned toward the mirror, fixing the lotus-shaped hairpin in her braid once again. The petals gleamed faintly, her double-bladed sword hidden in its enchanted form. She adjusted her earrings, spritzed a little perfume, and examined herself one last time.

"Too much?" she asked.

Silena smiled. "You look perfect. Like a hero."

"Like my mother's daughter?"

"Sure," Silena said. "If your mother ever understood what friendship looked like."

Helena grinned. "Thanks, big sis."

"Anytime. Now go save the world, okay? But like, with style."

Helena gave her a dramatic salute. "Yes, ma'am. Operation Fashionably Save the Universe is a go."

And with a final snap of her fingers, her backpack zipped itself shut.

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Chapter Text

One hour later, the four were making their way up towards Thalia's pine tree. 

They had gone to the camp store, where they had been loaned one hundred dollars and twenty golden drachmas each─ Helena still had made sure to bring her debit cards, a few bills, and drachmas of her own, Chiron had given the three demigods a canteen of Nectar and a bag of ambrosia quarters each, too and lastly they had looked at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and had said their goodbyes to the campers. 

The little kids had a hard time letting go of Helena─ bribery, tears, and so many hugs were involved. Lily had placed some lilies into Helena's braid, and Percy swore the brunette's eyes got misty. 

Once they reached the tree where Chiron was waiting for them in his wheelchair, he observed them in detail. He could easily tell Helena had packed more than what they needed, but Chiron knew it wouldn't hurt to be extra careful. Not when sending a daughter of Hera and a son of Poseidon to the mortal world together. 

 Annabeth had brought her Yankees magic cap, a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. 

Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained, his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddygoat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes.

Chiron could tell Percy hadn't brought much; the kid didn't have much stuff at camp, and he assumed he had just the essentials in his bag. 

Alongside Chiron stood Argus, the camp's head of security. He was wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so they could only see extra peepers on his hands, face, and neck. If you asked Helena about Argus, she would say he was a pretty cool, patient guy, he was always taking care of her, and he had basically been her babysitter when she arrived at camp. Helena assumed he did because of who her mother was, but she wasn't going to complain either. 

"This is Argus," Chiron introduced to Percy. "He will drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things."

Helena giggled and waved at Argus, who gave her a nod in return. 

Footsteps were heard behind them. 

Luke came running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes. 

"Hey!" he panted. "Glad I caught you."

Annabeth blushed, the way she always did when Luke was around, and Helena bit her lip to stifle her giggle at that. 

He gave them all a warm smile. "Just wanted to say good luck," he looked at Percy then. "And I thought... um, maybe you could use these."

He handed them to Percy, and well, they seemed pretty normal. 

Until he said. "Maia!"

White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels, startling the Jackson boy so much, he dropped them. The shoes flapped around on the ground until the wings folded up and disappeared.

"Awesome!" Grover said.

 Luke smiled. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days..." His expression turned sad.

"Hey, man," Percy said. "Thanks." 

"Listen, Percy ..." Luke looked uncomfortable. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just... killsome monsters for me, okay?"

They shook hands. Luke patted Grover's head between his horns, then gave a good-bye hug to Annabeth, who looked like she might pass out, and lastly, he moved on to Helena, his easygoing smile faltering just a little. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her—maybe it was respect, maybe it was worry. Maybe it was both.

Luke stepped forward and opened his arms without a word.

Helena didn't hesitate. She walked into the hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. For a moment, the world quieted. Luke rested his chin on top of her head, and Helena squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could press the memory of the hug into her bones.

"You sure you packed enough?" he murmured, voice teasing but warm.

She snorted into his shirt. "I brought three types of first-aid kits and four lip glosses. I'm ready for war."

Luke chuckled, pulling back slightly to look down at her. "That's my girl. Just remember: no amount of lip gloss is going to save you if you try to solo-fight a Hydra."

She gave him a 'I'm aware, thank you very much' look

"Don't give me that look," he said, ruffling her hair just enough to make her swat his hand away. "You know I'm allowed to worry."

"I packed a monster repellent-aid kit, Luke," Helena said, crossing her arms with mock offense. "And a mini sewing kit. I think I've earned some independence."

Luke chuckled. "Right. How could I forget? I'm surprised you didn't bring a portable infirmary."

Helena grinned. "It didn't fit in the bag. Maybe next quest."

But her smile softened as Luke's expression turned serious. He reached out and straightened the collar of her purple jacket, brushing off a bit of invisible lint like a fussing parent.

"You've got a good team. Stick close to them, okay? Don't try to do everything yourself."

"I won't," Helena promised. "Unless it's life-threatening and I have a better plan."

Luke gave her a Look.

"I said I'd try!" she huffed, folding her arms.

Luke laughed softly, then leaned in and kissed the top of her head. "Promise me you'll stay safe. Let Percy do the stupid hero stunts, okay? You're smart. Use that."

"I'm always smart," Helena said with a sniff, but her voice wobbled just slightly. "But yeah. I promise. Only emotionally dramatic stunts from me."

Luke smiled, but his eyes were a little too shiny. "Atta girl."

They stood like that for a moment—Helena's head tilted against his shoulder, Luke's hand resting protectively on hers, the way only an older brother could hold someone he'd all but helped raise. Then Helena pulled away and gave him a look that was half proud, half teasing.

Chiron his throat softly, Annabeth looked at them with a nostalgic smile, and Grover adjusted the strap of his backpack, clearly trying to give the two space without hovering too awkwardly. Percy just looked between them, eyebrows slightly raised, but said nothing.

Luke gave them all a final nod, then turned to Helena one last time. "If you need anything—anything— you Iris-message me. Got it?"

Helena nodded quickly. "Got it."

"Good." Luke stepped back and tried to school his face into something casual, but Helena could still see the tightness in his jaw, the glint of something like guilt in his eyes.

She didn't ask. Not now.

And with one final, lingering look—one that said be careful, kid, and I believe in you all at once—Luke turned and jogged back down the hill.

Once Luke was gone, Percy turned to Annabeth, mischief in his eyes. "You're hyperventilating."

Helena snorted at the same time as Annabeth said. "I'm not."

"You so are," Helena chimed in. 

"Shut up, Lena!"

"You let him capture the flag instead of you, didn't you?"

"I'm deeply regretting this."

"You so did." 

"Helena!"

The brunette giggled and Annabeth glared at her before she stomped down the other side of the hill, where a white SUV waited on the shoulder of the road. Argus followed, jingling his car keys.

Percy picked up the flying shoes and groaned, looking at the centaur. "I won't be able to use these, will I?"

 He shook his head.  "Luke meant well, Percy. But taking to the air... that would not be wise for you." 

He nodded in disappointment, then perked up. "Hey, Grover. You want a magic item?" 

The satyr's eyes lit up. "Me?"

Pretty soon, the boys laced the sneakers over his fake feet, and the world's first flying goat boy was ready for launch.

"Maia!" he shouted. 

He got off the ground okay, but then fell over sideways so his backpack dragged through the grass.The winged shoes kept bucking up and down like tiny broncos. 

Helena cringed. 

"Practice," Chiron called after him. "You just need practice!" 

"Aaaaa!" Grover went flying sideways down the hill like a possessed lawn mower, heading toward the van. 

Before the Underwood boy could get hurt, with a flick of her wrist, a wind current surged beneath him—gentle but firm, like an invisible cushion. Grover wobbled in the air, flailing as he tried to find his balance, but he didn't crash.

The wind obeyed Helena like a loyal pet, steadying the satyr in midair and slowly guiding him back toward the SUV like a floating kite.

Percy blinked. "Did you just... airlift him?"

Helena grinned, lowering her hand once Grover landed safely on the grass beside the van, slightly dizzy but uninjured.

"I prefer the term assisted descent," she said brightly.

"Thanks, Lena!" Grover called. 

"Anytime," She called back. 

She and Percy were about to head down when Chiron grabbed the Jackson boy's arm, and they both stopped. 

"I should have trained you better, Percy," he said. "If only I had more time. Hercules, Jason—they all got more training."

"And they all ended up dead or miserable," Helena thought. 

Percy looked slightly uncomfortable. "That's okay. I just wish—" He cut himself off and hooked his head. 

"What am I thinking?" Chiron cried. "I can't let you get away without this."

Both kids watched as he pulled a pen from his coat pocket and handed it to the boy. It was an ordinary disposable ballpoint,black ink, and removable cap. Probably cost thirty cents.

"Gee," He said. "Thanks." 

The brunette elbowed him in the ribs, and Percy grunted.

"Percy, that's a gift from your father. I've kept it for years, not knowing you were who I was waiting for. But the prophecy is clear to me now. You are the one."

Percy looked at the pen in wonder for a second, then hesitantly he took off the cap, and the pen grew longer and heavier in his hand. In half a second, the son of Poseidon held a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a leather-wrapped grip, and a flat hilt riveted with gold studs

Helena gasped in amazement. The sword was beautiful, not as pretty or deadly as hers, but it was certainly impressive.

"The sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into," Chiron told the boy. "Its name isAnaklusmos."

"Riptide," Percy said, and looked at the girl beside him for confirmation. 

Helena nodded, a proud look on her face. 

"Use it only for emergencies," Chiron said, "and only against monsters. No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary, of course, but this sword wouldn't harm them in any case."

"What do you mean it wouldn't harm mortals? How could it not?"

Helena's proud look disappeared. "You've been falling asleep during your lessons again, haven't you?"

Percy looked at her sheepishly, and she tsked. 

"The sword is celestial bronze," Chiron explained. "Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, cooled in the River Lethe. It's deadly to monsters, to any creature from the Underworld, provided they don't kill you first. But the blade will pass through mortals like an illusion. They simply are not important enough for the blade to kill."

He gave him a look. "And I should warn you: as a demigod, you can be killed by either celestial or normal weapons. You are twice as vulnerable."

"I'd said triple, anything can harm you, any weapon, powers too. Well, I suppose water-related ones can't, at least powers, I've yet to hear about a water weapon." Helena said. 

"Good to know."

"Now recap the pen." Chiron said. 

Percy touched the pen cap to the sword tip, and instantly, Riptide shrank to a ballpoint pen again. 

"You can't," The centaur said. 

"Can't what?"

 "Lose the pen," he said. "It is enchanted. It will always reappear in your pocket. Try it."

Percy was hesitant, and Helena? Helena was bored; she snatched the pen from his hand and, before he could react,  threw it as far as possible. 

"Hey!" Percy exclaimed, and they heard Grover exclaim: "Ow!"

"It may take a few moments," Chiron told the boy, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Now check your pocket."

Sure enough, the pen was there. 

"Okay, that's extremely cool," He admitted. "But what if a mortal sees me pulling out a sword?"

 Chiron smiled. "Mist is a powerful thing, Percy." 

"Mist?" Percy was sure Helena had mentioned something like that during one of his training sessions, but he had been too sleepy to pay attention. 

The girl groaned. "You know what? I received Mist 101 many years ago, and I don't wish to receive it again." She turned to Percy. "Hurry up, Sea-green-eyes, we've got to stop the world's catastrophic ending." She gave Chiron a smile and then walked to the SUV. 

Percy's sea-green eyes remained on her till he couldn't see her anymore. 

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Argus drove the four out of the countryside and into western Long Island.

It felt weird to be on a highway again, Annabeth and Grover sitting next to Percy as if they were normal carpoolers and Helena was in the passenger seat, talking with Argus. Though to the other three, it looked like Helena was the one talking, but they knew better, well, Percy hadn't until Grover explained to him that Helena could read minds when she pleased. 

That amazed and freaked him out.

After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seemed like a fantasy. Percy found himself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parents' car, every billboard, and every shopping mall.

"So far so good," He told Annabeth. "Ten miles and not a single monster." 

She gave him an irritated look. "It's bad luck to talk that way, seaweed brain." 

"Remind me again—why do you hate me so much?" 

"I don't hate you." 

"Could've fooled me." 

She folded her cap of invisibility. "Look... we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals."

 "Why?" 

She sighed. "How many reasons do you want? One time, my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created a stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her."

"They must really like olives." 

"Oh, forget it."

 "Now, if she'd invented pizza—that I could understand." 

"I said, forget it!"

 In the front seat, Argus smiled. He didn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winked at the boy.

From the rearview mirror, Percy saw Helena smile, and he smiled too. 

Traffic slowed them down in Queens. By the time we got into Manhattan, it was sunset and starting to rain. 

Argus dropped them at the Greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, not far from Percy's mom and Gabe's apartment. 

Taped to a mailbox was a soggy flyer with his picture on it: 

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY?

He ripped it down before Annabeth, Grover, or Helena could see. 

Argus unloaded their bags, made sure we got they got bus tickets, then drove away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch them as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Annabeth headed into the station while the other three remained outside, while Helena stood a few feet away from the boys, her hands lightly outstretched, palms up, as if feeling for something invisible. The rain hadn't touched her once. The wind curled around her protectively, swirling her braid and tugging at the hem of her jacket. 

She could briefly make out what the boys were saying─ something about Percy's mom, a shower and a 'Smelly Gabe' whatever that was─ but she was more focused on the conversation she was having with the wind spirits.

Helena closed her eyes, letting the breeze dance over her fingertips. The moment she opened her senses, a dozen airy voices whispered excitedly around her—high-pitched, whirling, and full of energy..

"She calls us!" one of them trilled, brushing affectionately against her cheek like a kiss.

"The Princess speaks again!" another giggled, tugging playfully at the laces of her boots.

"Little Windwalker returns," another giggled like wind chimes.

"Did you miss us? We missed you. It's been so boring with just birds to talk to."

"That last storm? Not our fault. Totally Oceanus being moody again."

The spirits circled her in bursts of invisible laughter and affectionate gusts. A cool breeze twisted around her waist like a sash. The rain still didn't dare touch her.

Helena smiled, her posture softening as she tilted her face slightly toward the sky. "I missed you, too," she whispered. "Anything I should know before we head off?"

The wind shifted, conspiratorial.

"Ohhh yes," they sang in unison. 

"The shadows know you're coming. The dark things smell it in the air."

"Storms are watching. One grows restless. Restless and angry."

"Also, your hair is doing that frizz thing again. Not bad, just saying."

Helena huffed a laugh, smoothing her braid. "Thanks for the hair alert. Anything else?"

"Storms are brewing in the West," another warned in a more solemn tone, "and something waits beneath the earth. Something old. Something broken."

Helena's fingers twitched. She didn't like the sound of that.

"Any helpful clues, my lovelies?"

The wind spun around her in a tight spiral, then scattered in excited babbling.

"Watch the sky, but trust the sea—"

"—not all monsters wear fangs—"

"—the raven and the brother know more than they share—"

Helena exhaled slowly, brow furrowing. "Cryptic as ever."

"Oh, but you love it," a mischievous breeze teased, tugging at the end of her braid.

She laughed under her breath. "Guilty."

More spirits spoke:

"Not the worst quest ever—but there's fire and fangs and tunnels. Lots of tunnels."

"You'll be clever. You'll be bright. But oh... the hurt one will cry."

Helena blinked. "What hurt one?"

But the winds only giggled and spun away, swirling in different directions like children let loose at a garden party.

Another breeze fluttered at her sleeve, insistent and gossipy. "We've seen strange movements near the riverbanks. Something stirs at night—dark things that smell of brimstone and mold. You should fly instead of ride, much faster, much safer."

Helena chuckled. "We're taking the mortal route this time. Quests and protocols, you know the deal."

The winds made a sound like a collective huff, swirling around her again, petulant.

"Protocol is boring," one muttered. "You're a sky-born. Rules shouldn't apply to you."

"We'd carry you if you asked!" another added, almost bouncing with excitement. "Like a queen in the clouds!"

She grinned. "Tempting. Maybe next time."

A softer current brushed her cheek, gentler, more serious. "Be careful, Princess. There are whispers. Something stirs below the surface of this quest. Something dangerous."

Helena's smile faded slightly. "Do you know what it is?"

"Only that it wears many faces. One speaks like fire. Another hides in the shadows. One wears guilt like armor."

Helena's brows knit together. "That's vague and ominous."

"We like to keep things interesting." And just like that, the wind spirits dissolved into a gentle swirl of air and silence, leaving her with a shiver and a fluttering sense of unease.

Behind her, Percy squinted out through the rain-streaked bus station awning. "Hey, Grover," he asked, nodding toward Helena, "what's Lena doing? Is she... summoning weather? Talking to birds? Telepathically planning world domination?"

Grover adjusted his backpack, unbothered. "Wind-talking. Kinda her thing."

"Wind-talking," Percy repeated, deadpan. "Like... chatting with air?"

"Basically. She's got this connection to wind spirits. They adore her. Think she's some kind of royalty." He frowned. "Well, she is royalty," Grover added thoughtfully. "Hera's daughter. That kinda comes with the tiara."

Percy blinked. "Does she actually have a tiara?"

Grover gave a long-suffering sigh. "Do you want to be the one to ask her?"

Percy thought about it. "Good point."

Up front, Helena lowered her hands and exhaled slowly. Whatever weird warnings the winds had given her, she tucked them away for now. When she turned back toward the boys, her usual calm was back in place—except her eyes held just a flicker of unease.

"All good?" Grover asked.

"The wind says we're probably doomed," she replied cheerfully. "But in a vague, poetic way, so that's comforting."

Percy looked at her. "That was comforting?"

She shrugged with a grin. "I've had worse pep talks from them."

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The four campers had been playing a game of Hacky Sack with one of Grover's apples when the bus arrived, and as they stood in line to board, Grover started sniffling the air like he smelled his favorite school cafeteria delicacy—enchiladas.

"What is it?" Percy asked him. 

"I don't know," he said tensely. "Maybe it's nothing."

It wasn't nothing. Helena and Percy exchanged a glance and started looking over their shoulders too. 

They were both relieved when they finally managed to board and found four seats together in the back of the bus. Annabeth, Percy, and Grover stowed their backpacks, but Helena didn't; something told her she shouldn't. 

"You want help?" Percy asked and pointed to her bag. 

She gave him a small smile and shook her head. "I'd rather keep it."

Percy nodded, and they all took their seats. Annabeth kept slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh.  

Helena clung tighter to her bag as she watched the last passenger board, an old lady,  wearing a crumpled velvet dress, lace gloves, and a shapeless orange-knit hat that shadowed her face, and she carried a big paisley purse. When she tilted her head up,her black eyes glittered

Alecto. One of the furies. 

Helena clapped her hand on Percy's knee. 

He looked at her, confused and followed her line of sight. When he saw who he knew as Mrs. Dodds, he sank down in his seat. "Fuck!"

"Make that a triple fuck" Helena said in a breathless tone as two more ladies came behind Alecto: one in a green hat, one in a purple hat. Otherwise, they looked exactly like the first fury—same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dresses. Megaera and Tisiphone. 

They sat in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X. It was casual enough, but it sent a clear message: nobody leaves.

The bus pulled out of the station and headed through the slick streets of Manhattan. "She didn't stay dead long," Percy said, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime."

"I said if you are lucky," Helena defended herself. "Which clearly isn't your case."

"All three of them," Grover whimpered. "Di immortales!"

Annabeth shifted in her seat, eyes narrowing. "We need a plan."

"Oh, great," Percy muttered. "You got one that doesn't involve dying?"

"I might," Annabeth said through clenched teeth. "But it depends on how long we can keep them from figuring out we know who they are."

Helena kept her gaze fixed on the front of the bus, watching the back of the Furies' heads like they might turn around at any second. Her fingers were tense around the strap of her bag, knuckles white. The air pressure around her was subtly shifting, the winds just outside the windows beginning to stir uneasily, reflecting her brewing panic.

"They're not moving," she murmured. "Just watching."

"They're waiting," Grover whispered. "Waiting for something."

"For what?" Percy hissed.

"For the right moment," Helena said quietly. "They don't want a scene. Not yet."

"It's okay," Annabeth said, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The three worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows." 

"They don't open," Grover moaned. 

"A back exit?" she suggested.

"None," Percy answered. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, they were on Ninth Avenue, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.

"They won't attack us with witnesses around," Percy said. "Will they?"

Annabeth didn't answer.

Neither did Grover.

Helena's jaw clenched. "They're patient, but they're not above collateral damage. If they decide the risk is worth it, this entire bus becomes a war zone."

Percy cursed under his breath, inching lower in his seat. The Furies hadn't moved. Not even a twitch. The back of Alecto's orange hat looked like a burning coal in the low light.

"Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth said. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist."

"They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?"

She thought about it. "Hard to say. But we can't count on mortals for help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof...?"

They hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus went dark except for the running lights down the aisle. It was eerily quiet without the sound of the rain.

Alecto got up. In a flat voice, as if she'd rehearsed it, she announced to the whole bus: "I need to use the restroom."

"So do I," said the second sister. 

"So do I," said the third sister. 

They all started coming down the aisle.

"Shit" Grover said. 

"I've got it" Annabeth said. "Percy, take my hat."

"What?"

 "You're the one they want" Helena said, catching up with the blonde's idea.  "Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away."

"But you guys─"

"There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth said. "You're a son of one of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering."

"I can't just leave you."

"We'll be fine, Sea-green-eyes" Helena said. 

"Don't worry about us," Grover added. "Go!"

Percy looked like he wanted to argue, but the brunette didn't give him a chance. She snatched the cap and slapped it on his head, then pushed him by where his shoulder had been. 

Helena secured her backpack on her shoulder, hovering her hand near her lotus hairpin. Her gaze remained firmly on where the wind told her Percy was; her breath caught in her throat when Alecto stopped around the middle rows, sniffling, and then looked to her right.

Helena's heart jumped. She could feel Percy nearby—barely three feet away. The air still swirled faintly around where he'd moved, and Alecto must have caught it.

Her fingers twitched, brushing the lotus hairpin woven through her braid. She didn't dare draw her weapon—not yet. But there were other ways. Subtle ways.

She focused on the airflow in the bus, quietly, carefully shifting it so that it circled back around Alecto from the front—carrying the scent of diesel, sweat, and city grime. A minor Wind Gust, subtle as a draft. Then, beneath that, she wove a faint pulse of static through the breeze—Electrified Wind, just enough to make the air feel dry and sharp, like a summer thunderstorm building.

Alecto wrinkled her nose and blinked, confused. She sniffed again, but this time her head jerked to the side as if she'd picked up a new scent—one that didn't make sense.

Behind her, Megaera muttered, "Do you smell that?"

"Too many mortals," Tisiphone growled, glancing around. "Their stench clouds everything."

Helena's hand dropped back to her lap as she glanced at Annabeth. The daughter of Athena gave a single approving nod.

Grover, however, was practically vibrating in his seat. "This is bad," he whispered.

Helena leaned closer, just enough so only the three of them could hear. "If they get too close, I'll distract them. I can keep the air pressure around them unstable, throw off their balance."

"We'll only get one shot," Annabeth murmured. "As soon as Percy reaches the front─"

She cut herself off as the Furies continued their way to them. 

"I think they sensed you," Grover told the daughter of Hera. 

The old hags surrounded the trio with a loud wail; they were not old ladies anymore. Their faces were still the same─ Helena learned ugliness did have a limit, and the Furies needed some deep exfoliation─ but their bodies had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat's wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws. Their handbags had turned into fiery whips. 

The Furies lashed their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?"

The other people on the bus were screaming, cowering in their seats. They saw something, all right. 

"He's not here!" Annabeth yelled. "He's gone!"

 The Furies raised their whips.

Helena was on her feet before the whips even cracked.

The aisle was too narrow to draw her blade fully, but she didn't need it yet. She twisted her fingers at her side, a sharp gesture barely visible to mortal eyes. A burst of wind pressure slammed upward from under the seats—just enough to unbalance the Furies as they lunged.

Alecto's whip slashed wide, missing Annabeth by inches as the daughter of Athena dove behind a seat.

Grover bleated and scrambled under the bench. "I told you this was bad!"

"Stay down, Goat-Boy!" Helena barked.

Tisiphone lunged for her, wings scraping the roof of the bus, claws outstretched—but Helena ducked low, pivoted, and grabbed the nearest metal handrail. She swung herself into a kick, slamming her booted foot straight into the Fury's chest with bone-jarring precision. Tisiphone staggered back, crashing into Megaera.

"Gods," Helena muttered, "I knew this was going to be a Tuesday."

Annabeth had her knife out now, slashing at Alecto, who dodged nimbly for a creature with leather wings and one thousand years of back pain.

"Helena!" Annabeth called. "Whips!"

"I see them!" Helena snarled, snatching her lotus hairpin from her braid and flicking it with her thumb. It snapped into a full-length silver and celestial bronze xiphos, glowing faintly with peacock blue light.

"Bad idea," she hissed at the Furies, raising the blade. "Very bad idea. I'm sleep-deprived,  trapped on public transportation, and not in the mood, plus,  you're all overdue for a retirement plan."

Alecto shrieked and came for her.

Helena met the Fury's whip with her blade, deflecting the searing strike with a spin that sent sparks scattering across the bus floor. She stepped in close—too close for the whip to be useful—then slammed her elbow into the hag's face, driving her backward.

"That exfoliation I mentioned? You're gonna need it after I'm done carving you up."

Behind her, Megaera lunged. Helena turned just enough, catching the movement in the reflective sheen of a window. She twisted her wrist, reversed the blade, and stabbed backward.

The xiphos met leathery wing. Megaera screeched and withdrew—but not before a black plume of ichor sprayed Helena's jacket.

"Great," she muttered. "This was my favorite jacket."

Alecto roared and charged again, whip trailing fire. Helena spun her sword in a tight arc and slashed the weapon aside. Her blade met the whip midair in a flare of sparks and divine energy that made the windows tremble.

"Annabeth!" she barked, "Circle left!"

The daughter of Athena didn't hesitate. She pivoted around the seats, going for Alecto's exposed flank. The Fury snarled and spun, distracted, and Helena took the opportunity. She jabbed two fingers into the air and pushed—Aerokinesis, a sharp jab of pressure that hit Alecto like a punch to the gut.

The Fury stumbled just long enough for Annabeth's knife to sink into her side.

Alecto shrieked, wings beating wildly.

"Nice teamwork," Annabeth panted.

Before Helena could answer, Tisiphone wailed and all three Furies stood ready to strike again. 

"Seriously?! Haven't you all been humiliated enough?" Helena said, clearly done with the three demonic creatures. 

The girls got into a fighting stance and Grover grabbed a tin can from his snack bag and prepared to throw it. 

Suddenly the bus jerked off to the left. Everybody howled as they were thrown to the right. Helena stumbled and Grover attempted to catch her before they both fell on top of Annabeth, who groaned. 

Helena looked up, her braid undone and strands falling on her face, and smirked at the sight of the Furies smashing against the window. 

"Hey!" the driver yelled. "Hey—whoa!"

The bus slammed against the side of the tunnel, grinding metal, throwing sparks a mile behind. 

They careened out of the Lincoln Tunnel and back into the rainstorm, people and monsters tossed around the bus, cars plowed aside like bowling pins. Helena ended up thrown into one of the seats while Grover and Annabeth were slammed against the windows

Somehow, the driver found an exit. They shot off the highway, through half a dozen traffic lights, and ended up barreling down one of those New Jersey rural roads where you can't believe there's so much nothing right across the river from New York. There were woods to the left, the Hudson River to the right, and the driver seemed to be veering toward the river.

Then the emergency brake was hit. The bus wailed, spun a full circle on the wet asphalt, and crashed into the trees.

 The emergency lights came on. The door flew open. The bus driver was the first one out, the passengers yelling as they stampeded after him

The Furies regained their balance. They lashed their whips at the girls while Annabeth waved her knife and yelled in Ancient Greek, telling them to back off. Grover threw tin cans, and Helena slashed her blade in a warning arc that sang through the air.

"Back, you leather-skinned pigeons!" she snarled, wind swirling around her like a warning halo. She placed herself in front of Annabeth and Grover, her stance low and centered, feet planted like she was made of marble and storm.

Alecto lashed out with her whip, but Helena ducked fluidly, using the momentum to sweep low and slash at the Fury's legs. The blade cut through fabric and scorched skin—ichor hissed against the floor like acid.

"This is getting old!" Helena snapped. "Pick a form and stick with it—you're not scary, just inconvenient!"

Megaera lunged again, but Helena sidestepped and delivered a precise kick to the side of the hag's knee. It cracked with a sickening sound, and Megaera howled, tumbling sideways into a row of seats.

Just as Tisiphone was going to strike, from the corner of her eye, Helena saw Percy take off the invisibility cap. 

"Hey!"

The furies turned and hissed, baring their yellow fangs at the son of Poseidon; Alecto stalked up the isle, flicking her whip; every time she did so red flames danced along the barbed leather. Megaera and Tisiphone hopped on top of the seats on either side of her and crawled towards Percy. 

"Perseus Jackson," Alecto said, "You have offended the gods. You shall die"

"I liked you better as a math teacher"

She growled. 

Helena, Annabeth and Grover moved up behind the Furies cautiously, looking for an opening.

Percy took the ballpoint pen out of his pocket and uncapped it. It elongated into a shimmering double-edged sword.

The Furies hesitated. 

"Oh so him, you're scared of" Helena muttered offended. 

"Submit now" Alecto hissed. "And you will not suffer eternal torment"

"Nice try" Percy told her. 

"Percy, look out!" Annabeth cried.

Alecto lashed her whip around Riptide while Megaera and Tisiphone lunged at him. 

Miraculously, Percy managed not to drop his sword. He struck Megaera on the left with its hilt, sending her toppling backward into a seat. He turned and sliced Tisiphone on the right. As soon as the blade connected with her neck, she screamed and exploded into dust.

That was Helena's cue.

She launched forward, pivoting on the ball of her foot and slashing her xiphos in a tight arc. The celestial bronze caught the firelight from Alecto's whip as she brought it down—too slow.

Helena's blade cut clean through the weapon just above the hilt.

The whip split in two, sizzling as its enchantment broke, and Alecto shrieked in rage.

"Guess that warranty didn't cover divine interference," Helena said, stepping into the opening.

Alecto swiped at her with clawed hands, but Helena was already moving. She feinted left, then dropped into a crouch and rolled beneath the hag's outstretched arms. As she came up behind her, she drove her blade upward into the Fury's back, right between the leathery wings.

Ichor sprayed across the roof of the bus like someone had punctured a sewage line of nightmares. Alecto howled and twisted, lashing out blindly.

But Helena was already gone—she'd flipped back into the aisle with dancer-like grace, panting slightly, hair in her face, clothes smoking from close contact with infernal magic.

Behind her, Alecto staggered forward—right into the path of Percy's sword.

He didn't hesitate. With a roar, he drove Riptide into her chest. Alecto screamed, burst into ash, and vanished on the wind.

Megaera was the only one left. 

Annabeth and Grover were trying to deal with her. When Percy and Helena turned, they saw that the blonde had her in a wrestler's hold and yanked her backward while Grover ripped the whip out of her hands. 

"Ow!" he yelled. "Ow! Hot! Hot!"

Percy and Helena shared a nod and moved in perfect sync.

They sprinted forward like they'd practiced this a hundred times—not that they ever had, but fighting together felt right, like muscle memory for something older than either of them. 

Helena darted to the right, drawing Megaera's attention with a sharp whistle. "Hey, trench hag! You forgot the third act!"

Megaera snarled and lunged at her, breaking out of Annabeth's grip with unnatural strength. Annabeth rolled away, coughing from the smell of sulfur and burnt leather.

Percy came in from the left, slashing low. Megaera jumped to avoid the blade—exactly as planned.

Helena was already mid-spin. She kicked upward, catching Megaera under the chin with the heel of her boot. The Fury reeled, stunned for half a second.

Percy seized the moment and slashed at her wings, clipping the left one. She howled in fury and turned on him—but Helena grabbed a handful of her greasy hair and yanked her back.

“Zeus will destroy you!” she promised. “Hades will have your soul!” 

“Braccas meas vescimini!” Percy yelled.

Helena raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Ladies first,"  said sweetly.

That was all the opening Percy needed. He surged forward, Riptide glowing with divine energy, and Helena brought her blade down at the same time.

Two strikes—one from above, one from the side.

Megaera froze mid-scream. Then she cracked like shattering stone and exploded into dust, the force of her vanishing gusting outward like a bomb.

The bus fell into sudden silence. All that remained was the stench of ichor, the flicker of dying flames, and the three scorched seats where the Furies had stood.

Helena lowered Beautiful Destruction slowly, the golden blade humming with residual power. Percy stood beside her, breathing hard, hair full of ash, and eyes wide.

“Remind me to never make you mad,” he said, brushing soot from his shirt.

She turned to him with a crooked smile. “You? Scared of me, Seaweed Brain?”

“You just suplexed a Fury by the hair,” he deadpanned. “I think fear is the only reasonable reaction.”

Helena rolled her eyes but laughed, brushing a singed curl away from her cheek. “Well, someone had to stop her from screeching about eternal torment. I thought your Latin was gonna do the job.”

“I panicked! It was the first phrase that came to mind.”

“‘Eat my pants’ is your go-to panic line?” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

He rolled her eyes but grinned.  “Nice timing, Feather,” Percy said, as he leaned against a seat, still catching his breath. “Seriously. That boot to the face? Ten outta ten.”

Helena smirked, sheathing her sword with a twirl. “Please, Seaweed Brain, don’t act like you didn’t want to do it yourself.”

He shrugged, brushing soot from his shirt. “I was giving you the spotlight. Majesty deserves her big moment.”

“Oh, is that what that was?” she teased, stepping closer, eyes shining despite the lingering heat in the air. “I thought you were floundering again.”

“Floundering?” Percy repeated with mock offense. “Fish puns now?”

“Would you prefer ‘Kelp Head’ or ‘Fishboy’?” she said sweetly.

“I prefer 'awesome hero who totally saved the day with a sword to the chest,’ thanks.”

Helena rolled her eyes fondly. “You mean after I cut off the whip, stabbed Alecto, and kicked Megaera so hard she forgot her name?”

“Details,” he said with a crooked grin.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Helena reached out, brushing a piece of ash from his shoulder. The action was small, but it made Percy’s heart stutter a little.

“Told you we’d make a good team,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, her expression gentler than before. “Yeah,” she said. “You weren’t half bad, Waterboy.”

He grinned again, brighter this time. “So... do we get, like, demigod bonus points for killing three immortal Furies?”

“Only if we survive the lecture Chiron’s going to give us afterward.”

Grover groaned from behind a seat, still cradling his singed fingers. “I’d take the lecture over that whip any day…”

Annabeth sat up with a grunt, hair sticking to her forehead, eyes sharp despite the chaos. “Can we not flirt over the ashes of Fury number three?”

“We’re not flirting,” Percy and Helena said in unison, both going red in the face.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Helena elbowed Percy lightly. “Nice going, Sea-Green Eyes. Now she thinks we’re in love.”

Percy turned redder. “Wh-what?! I—no—”

Helena giggled. “Relax. You’d have to actually impress me first.”

“I literally saved your life!”

“And I saved yours. Twice.”

They glared at each other for a moment—then broke into another grin.

Percy reached out without thinking, gently plucking a long, smoldering piece of ash tangled in Helena’s curls. “You’ve got a little apocalypse in your hair,” he murmured, fingers brushing against her temple.

Helena froze for half a second, blinking at the sudden closeness. “Oh, thanks,” she said, a little more softly this time. Then she recovered, flashing him a grin. “Wouldn’t want to walk into the next monster fight looking like a disaster.”

“I dunno, Feather,” he said with a wink, tossing the ember aside. “You pull it off.”

Her smile twitched, like she was trying not to let it widen. “Careful, Seaweed Brain. Complimenting me might make it look like you care.”

“Too late,” Grover mumbled from the floor. “We’ve all seen it. You’re doomed.”

“Truly cursed,” Annabeth added dryly, standing and brushing herself off. “Star-crossed, tragic, and annoyingly flirtatious.”

“We’re not flirting!” Percy and Helena chorused again.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Annabeth said, walking past them.

She didn't get very far as thunder shook the bus.

"Fuck!" Helena exclaimed. 

"Get out!" Annabeth yelled. "Now!"

Without thinking, Percy grabbed Helena's hand and rushed outside. Helena yelped but didn't pull back, simply securing her backpack with her free hand. 

Once found the other passengers wandering around in a daze, arguing with the driver, or running around in circles yelling, “We’re going to die!” A Hawaiian-shirted tourist with a camera snapped a photograph of Percy and Helena before the raven-haired boy could recap his sword.

“Our bags!” Grover realized. “We left our—”

 BOOOOOM!

The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told them the Fury was not dead anymore. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Helena exclaimed. "Can't the stronza stay dead?!"

Run!” Annabeth said. “She’s calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!”

 They plunged into the woods as the rain poured down, leaving the bus in flames behind, and nothing but darkness ahead.

Chapter Text

Helena was five more steps away from murdering someone; she, Annabeth, Percy, and Grover were walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind them, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in their noses. 

Now the brunette was tired, cold and in a mood over her ruined purple jacket. The three stupid Furies had gotten on her nerves, and so where her companions ─ their emotions─ right now.

Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once."

Percy seemed to be sulking, and Annabeth kept pulling them along. "Come on! The farther away we get, the better." She'd said.

"All our money was back there," Percy reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—"

Helena rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath in Italian. 

"What did you want me to do? Let you get killed? Helena couldn't handle the whole fight alone," Percy said to the blonde.

"You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine."

"Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine."

"Shut up, goat boy," said Annabeth.

That was it.

 Helena stopped dead in her tracks, whirled around, and snapped, "Enough!"

Her voice cracked through the air like thunder. Even the trees seemed to flinch. The others halted, startled. Her sapphire eyes, laced with emerald flecks, flared with divine fury, catching the dim yellow glow of the city like twin storms. The reddish hue in her dark hair burned brighter as the wind whipped around her—unbidden, responding to her emotions.

"You're both acting children!" she hissed, her voice low but lethal. "Annabeth, he saved your life. You don't get to snap at him like he's a liability. If he hadn't jumped in, you would've been Fury food. I was doing my best to hold them off, but even I can't fight all three Kindly Ones and babysit you at the same time!" 

Annabeth opened her mouth, but Helena cut her off with a sharp glare that could've frozen lava.

"No," she snapped. "You don't get to argue. Not this time."

The wind surged again, her hair lifting around her like a stormy halo. "You talk about strategy, Annabeth, about keeping your head, but you're the one picking fights like a brat. I watched you almost get dragged off by that Fury. You would've been shredded if Percy hadn't stepped in. And instead of a thank you, you bite his head off? What are we, twelve?"

Annabeth flinched, guilt flickering in her stormy gray eyes. Helena pressed on.

"And you—" she rounded on Percy, who looked like he wanted to sink into the ground, "—I'm grateful you helped, I am. But you nearly got yourself killed. Again! What was your brilliant plan, huh? Jump into the line of fire and hope your dad sent a backup miracle?"

Percy opened his mouth to protest, but Helena cut him off just as sharply.

"I get it. They're after you. We know. But just because you're the center of the prophecy doesn't mean you get to be reckless with your life. We're not here to watch you play hero and die trying."

She took a breath, her chest heaving, and her aura surged. The wind, the forest, the very air seemed to hold its breath.

"Do you even realize what just happened back there?" Helena continued, her voice quieter now, but no less furious. "We got ambushed by three Kindly Ones. Not one. Three. That's a death sentence for most demigods. And yet, somehow, all four of us are still standing. Maybe instead of snapping at each other, we should acknowledge that and try acting like a team."

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the rustle of leaves and Grover's nervous shuffle.

Helena exhaled slowly, trying to reel herself back in. The wind obeyed her gradually, falling from a gust to a breeze, and her hair settled around her shoulders again, though the red streaks in her waves still shimmered like embers.

"And by the way..." She turned and unhooked her backpack, swinging it down with a dull thud onto the leafy ground. "I still have my stuff. Food, ambrosia, nectar, clothes, emergency drachmas, and first aid. So no, we're not helpless."

She then turned to Grover and gave him a soft smile before pulling out something from her bag, a tin can. She handed it to the satyr. "I packed a few, thought you might need them."

Grover blinked, his shaking hands closing around the tin can like it was a priceless treasure. "You're a lifesaver," he murmured, already clawing at the lid with his teeth.

Annabeth crossed her arms, still looking away, but her jaw softened as guilt began to outweigh pride. She finally muttered, "...Thanks. For the reality check."

Percy, standing a little straighter now, gave Helena a sheepish glance. "Yeah. You're right. I just... I didn't want anyone else getting hurt because of me."

Helena's gaze met his, and for a moment, her expression softened too. "We all have people who want us dead, Percy. That's the reality of being who we are. But we're not going to survive this if you keep playing the lone hero." Her voice lowered, her tone more understanding now. "Let us have your back. It's not weakness to trust your team."

Percy nodded once, looking properly chastised—and maybe a little grateful.

"Alright," Helena sighed, finally brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair out of her eyes. "Now that we're done being dramatic—"

"Uh, no offense," Grover said, gnawing at his can. "But I think you were the most dramatic just now."

Helena shot him a glare, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "I'll let that slide because you're eating a tin can."

Annabeth snorted, and even Percy cracked a smile and said. "You have quite a temper don't you, Majesty?"

Helena shot him a look but smiled.

A moment passed—tense but no longer volatile—as the group slowly started moving again, feet crunching over leaves and twigs. Helena took the lead this time, guiding them alongside the riverbank. She adjusted the strap on her backpack and glanced up at the stars, mostly drowned out by the glow of the city.

Despite everything, a spark of hope stirred in her chest. They were alive. Bruised and rattled, but alive.

Then Annabeth nudged her elbow gently. "Hey. About earlier. You were right. I was being a brat."

Helena raised a brow. "You said it, not me."

Annabeth gave her a rueful look. "Don't get used to it."

Helena smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it." Then she noticed Annabeth looking back to where the boys were talking and her expression softened. "Go," She told her best friend. "I know you wanna"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."

"You love me."

Annabeth didn't answer and headed back to talk with Percy. 

It didn't take long before Grover caught up to walk alongside her, still nibbling the edges of the tin can like it was the best snack in the world.

Helena glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You've got something on your chin."

Grover looked up mid-bite, confused. "Huh? Where?"

She reached over and gently wiped a fleck of can residue from his face with her sleeve. "There. You're hopeless."

He gave a sheepish laugh, his ears flicking. "I'm a satyr. We don't exactly have table manners."

Helena chuckled, shaking her head. The wind tugged at her dark wavy hair, the reddish streaks glowing faintly under the artificial light bleeding from the city. Her sapphire eyes, dusted with green flecks, softened as she glanced at her friend.

"You doing okay?" she asked, quieter now. "You were shaking earlier."

Grover hesitated, then let out a sigh. "Not really. I mean—three Kindly Ones, Helena. That's nightmare stuff. I thought we were toast for sure."

Helena nodded slowly. "Yeah. It was bad."

He glanced up at her. "But you didn't freeze. You didn't panic. You just... fought. Like always."

"That's not true," she said. "I was terrified."

Grover blinked at her, surprised.

Helena smiled faintly, but there was a tired weight behind it. "I'm not fearless, Grover. I just... learned how to act like it when it counts."

"That's still brave," he said, nudging her gently with his shoulder.

Helena smiled softly in thanks. 

Grover tilted his head. "You're worried about your dad?"

Helena gave a dry chuckle, though it lacked her usual edge. "Hmm. I forgot I'm not the only emotional radar."

Grover gave her a soft look, his braying laugh quieting. "You wanna talk about it?"

Helena didn't answer right away. She looked up at the glow-drenched sky, the stars barely peeking through. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her jacket sleeve, where a singed thread curled like ash. Then she spoke, her voice low, almost carried away by the breeze.

"I didn't tell him."

Grover blinked. "Your dad?"

She nodded, still watching the sky. "I told him I'd be safe at camp. That I'd focus on sword training, practice my powers, maybe work with Chiron on discipline reports." She let out a dry laugh. "Gods, I even promised I'd write more often."

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed. "And now I'm out here, hunted by monsters, halfway to Underworld-bound, and he has no idea."

Grover's ears drooped a little. "Helena..."

"I left a note," she went on, voice soft and sharp all at once—classic Helena. "Tucked it under the corner of my pillow, like that somehow made it better. 'Don't worry, Dad. I'll be back soon. Love you.'" Her jaw clenched. "What a pathetic make-believe goodbye."

She stopped walking for a second, just long enough to pull her arms tightly around herself. "He's probably having espresso in the sunroom right now, or pacing the kitchen because the cleaning lady bought the wrong kind of biscotti. And he thinks I'm safe. He thinks I'm still within the borders."

Grover stood beside her quietly, not rushing her. Helena's lashes were wet now, though no tears fell—she never let them. Not in front of anyone.

"He's the one person who's always seen me as his, not Hera's daughter. Not some ticking prophecy time bomb. Just... his girl." Her voice cracked slightly, but she smoothed it out with a breath. "He calls me la mia stella. My star. And I lied to him."

Grover's voice was gentle. "You didn't lie. You protected him. Just like you always do."

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. Her expression was open in a way she rarely let it be—raw and flickering with guilt.

"He's done everything for me, Grover. Private tutors, horseback lessons, letting me keep a peacock in the garden even though it terrorized the gardener. That house at Cobb Lane? It's a fortress because of him. Every inch is wrapped in love and security." Her voice hitched. "And I walked out it with a chance of not returning this summer."

Grover reached out and gently touched her sleeve. "Helena... James Romanov raised a daughter who walks into fire when others run. He raised you to be brave. You think he doesn't know that? You think he doesn't love you enough to understand why you're out here?"

She looked away, eyes glinting under the city haze. "I just didn't want to break his heart."

Grover's smile was small, sincere. "You won't. Because you're going to survive this. And then you'll walk back through those gates like you always do, with that dramatic hair toss and the whole Romanov-Royal entrance." He nudged her. "And you'll tell him everything. Even the part about the tin cans."

Helena finally laughed—a quiet, breathy sound—but real. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before they could betray her completely. "You're such a sap."

"Hey, I'm emotionally in tune with nature."

Helena bumped her shoulder into his lightly. "Thanks, Grover."

"Anytime, stella."

She smiled softly, caught off guard by the nickname—her father's word echoing in her friend's mouth. And for a second, just a second, the ache in her chest eased. 

Without warning, she hugged Grover tightly, and he didn't hesitate to return it. Then she squared her shoulders, turned back to the path, and muttered, "If you tell Annabeth I cried, I'm feeding you to the next hydra we see."

Grover snorted. "Deal. But I'm still telling her about the peacock."

Helena groaned. "You're insufferable."

"You love me."

Helena didn't answer. But her small smile said everything.

They kept walking while Grover reached for something in his back pocket. He pulled his reed pipes, placed them on his lips, and blew. A shrill toot-toot-toot cut through the air; Helena flinched at the sound, and Percy and Annabeth jumped and turned around to see what was going on. 

"Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, wecould get out of these woods!" 

He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff, not that Helena minded; she liked Hilary Duff. 

Instead of finding a path they all watched Percy slam directly into a tree. Helena placed her hand over her mouth in hopes of muffling her giggles, but failed. 

Helena doubled over in laughter, barely able to breathe as Percy groaned from where he'd faceplanted into the bark. Annabeth was pinching the bridge of her nose like she was seriously reconsidering her life choices, and Grover was still proudly tooting away at his pipes, completely oblivious to the chaos he'd caused.

Percy peeled himself off the tree with a groan. "I think I broke my nose."

"You didn't," Helena said between laughs, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "But you did become one with nature. Very spiritually enlightened."

"Glad I could contribute to the group's inner growth," Percy muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Helena walked over, still grinning, and extended her hand to help him steady himself. "Hold still," she said, her tone gentler now.

She lifted her free hand and pressed her fingers just above his brow.  A soft, golden light shimmered beneath her palm, no brighter than a candle's flame, and Percy's throbbing pain ebbed instantly, like someone had flipped a switch inside his nerves.

His eyes widened slightly. "What... what was that?"

"Rapid healing," Helena murmured, her touch feather-light, almost reverent. "Part of the gift set. I can heal injuries, suppress pain, sense emotions... that kind of thing."

Grover, still tooting his reed pipes, looked over and nodded knowingly. "She's basically a walking trauma kit."

"Among other things," Helena said dryly. "I'm not just a medic, thank you." Her voice was soft, velvety calm. 

Percy, however, was not calm. His brain chose this exact moment to panic.

She touched me. She's touching me. Her hand is on my face. She's literally glowing. Is she glowing? She's glowing. Holy Poseidon, she's reading my soul or something—wait. She can read emotions!?

Helena gave him a small, knowing smile, not cruel—never that—but amused in the way only she could pull off. "Yes," she said, her fingers still against his skin, " I can feel emotions too."

Percy's heart just about stopped.

She knows. Oh gods, she knows I think she's gorgeous. That I've been looking at her hair like a lovesick idiot for the past three days. She knows I think her laugh is cute. She knows everything. I'm going to drown myself in this river. Right now. This is the end.

Helena met his eyes, raising a brow. "You're panicking."

Percy's soul left his body. "I—No—I'm not—I mean—"

Helena held up a hand and stepped back, laughing softly. "Relax. I'm not reading your thoughts."

He blinked. "You... can read thoughts?"

"Telepathy. Yeah," she said, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger absently. "But I try not to. It's not polite. And exhausting, honestly."

Percy gave her a wide-eyed look, and she chuckled.

Helena tilted her head, studying him with that infuriatingly gentle, all-knowing look that made Percy want to melt into the dirt. "Don't worry," she added. "I don't go digging around unless someone's, you know, bleeding out or having a panic attack. Your very loud emotions just happened to be right at the surface."

Percy flushed crimson. "I wasn't panicking."

"Mhm," she hummed, turning to walk ahead. "Totally calm. Very spiritually grounded. Practically a monk."

Grover snorted behind them. "Monk with a tree imprint on his face."

Annabeth, now smirking faintly, fell into step beside Percy. "You okay, hero?"

"I'm great," Percy muttered, trying to will his heart back into his chest. "Perfectly fine. Love getting smacked by trees. Love being emotionally x-rayed by glowing demigods. Big fan."

Helena, ahead of them, called back over her shoulder without turning, "You're welcome, by the way."

Percy groaned while Annabeth and Grover laughed. 

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The quartet had walked a couple of miles more when they noticed lights ahead; neon colored lights. 

The smell of food overcame their senses, and the soreness of their feet was forgotten; the hunger became the fuel that kept them walking ahead to a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell.  

It wasn't a fast food restaurant. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary.

"Talk about freaky obsessions," Helena muttered. 

The neon sign was above the gate. To Percy and Annabeth, it read:

ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM.

"What the heck does that say?" Percy asked. 

"I don't know," Annabeth answered. 

"Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium." Helena translated as Grover nodded along. 

Percy furrowed his brows and turned to Hera's daughter. "You can read?" He questioned. 

Helena tilted her head and raised a perfectly shaped brow. 

"I─I mean...you can read English?" Percy stammered. 

She nodded. "I don't have dyslexia, just a really bad ADHD," She explained, and Percy nodded. 

Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts,smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken. 

"Charming," Helena muttered, giving one of them a skeptical side-eye. "Bet they come alive at night and steal your stuff."

Percy didn't hesitate and crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers.

"That type of behavior gets you killed in horror movies!" Helena called after him. 

He ignored and so did the blonde as she followed after him. 

Grover suddenly looked nervous, but followed after the two, and Helena went after him, even though her gut told her not to, and her brain screamed: 'danger, danger, get the fuck way from there'. 

"Hey..." Grover warned. 

"The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open."

"Yeah and maybe it'll lead us straight to our doom," Helena said while crossing her arms and giving the place a disgusted look, it wasn't in the best conditions and there was a bone chilling energy buzzing her sense; the same one she always got when some sort of premonition was coming her way. 

"Snack bar," Percy said wistfully.

 "Snack bar," Annabeth agreed.

"Are you two crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird."

"And not a cool weird; more like a straight out of a horror novel weird," Helena added, trying not to focus on the buzzing in her head. 

They shared a worried glance, but Percy and Annabeth ignored them. 

The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps. 

"Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!"

Helena's stomach dropped.

"What did you say?" she asked sharply, stepping closer to the statue Grover had pointed at.

Grover swallowed hard. "Uncle Ferdinand...he went out on a mission a few years ago. Never came back."

The four of them stopped at the warehouse door. 

"Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters." 

"Your nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"

The buzzing in Helena's head became a radio-static-like noise, a faint voice murmuring something she couldn't make out yet. 

"Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian."

'Go...far...do not' Helena heard in her head, clearer now. 

"You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy reminded the satyr. 

'Helena, no,' The brunette heard. 

"Those are vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are... looking at me."

He turned to the daughter of Hera for support, but she wasn't listening; her emerald-speckled-sapphire-blue eyes were dazed, and she was frozen. 

"Lena?" Grover asked. 

Helena didn't answer, the voice in her head clear now. It was soft, alluring, and silky, different from her mother's voice.

'It's too late now, she's coming, beware princess, your beauty she might envy'

The words slithered through Helena's mind like silk ribbons dipped in venom. Her breath caught. It wasn't her mother's voice, not Hera's commanding cadence or her whispery lullabies. No, this voice was different—feminine, elegant, and mournful... ancient.

She stumbled back a step, blinking rapidly.

"Lena?" Grover asked again, more urgently this time, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Helena's gaze snapped to him. "Did you hear that?" she asked in a whisper.

Grover furrowed his brow. "Hear what?"

Percy and Annabeth were arguing over who should knock on the door. But she kept glancing at the satyr statue, the expression frozen in terror on its cement face.

"Helena?" Grover pressed.

But the voice in her head whispered once more, softer now, as if it were being pulled away by the wind.

'She will not stop with them. She'll crave your face too. Hide it. Shield it.'

Then silence. Just the gentle hum of the neon sign behind them and the distant creak of metal from the warehouse.

Helena reached up, touching her cheek unconsciously. Her stomach churned.

What the hell was that? Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She didn't recognize the voice, but it had spoken to her, about her. And worse, it knew her—knew something about her that she didn't.

Before Helena could beg her friends for all of them to leave, the door creaked open, and Helena tensed as did the wind, like it was holding its breath. 

'shield it' 

Once the door had fully opened, they saw a tall woman wearing a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze. Her coffee colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant. 

Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern as she spoke: "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"

"They're... um..." Annabeth started to say.

 "We're orphans," Percy said

"Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!"

"We got separated from our caravan," he continued. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?"

Helena looked at him in disbelief. 'He is an idiot,' she thought. 'An idiot who'll get us killed'

"Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area."

Percy thanked her, and the others followed him inside. Helena glanced back as the front door shut, the alarms in her head more present. She could hear the wind pick up slightly, like it also could sense the danger. 

"Circus caravan?" She muttered to Percy once she fell into step with him. 

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Your head is full of kelp."

The warehouse was filled with more statues—people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits, and with different expressions on their faces. They seemed real, too real. 

'Beautiful girl... beware...' The voice whispered again, a soft breeze brushing against her ear, though no wind stirred.

Helena's fingers twitched at her side.

'She craves what you have... your face, your light... just like the world once craved mine.'

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Guys," Helena murmured, voice tight. "This place... something's not right."

Annabeth glanced at her, frowning. "You're just freaked out by the statues. It's probably just some eccentric artist's roadside dream."

Helena didn't answer. She barely heard Annabeth, her focus had returned to the voice in her head, on the words it had whispered. Perhaps if she weren't so tired and overwhelmed with the voice, her powers silently acting up, and the tornado of emotions whose source she couldn't identify, Helena would have noticed Grover's nervous whimpers, the statue's eyes that were following her or the fact Aunty Em had locked the door behnd them. 

"Please, sit down," Aunty Em said, gesturing to one of the tables. 

"Um" Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am."

"No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat for such nice orphans." Aunty Em said. 

Helena narrowed her eyes, she had learned early on that not many were kind to strangers, much less mortals.

'Do not trust her, she is no friend, much less yours'

"We do not want to be trouble, ma'am. We can't possibly allow you to waste food on non-paying customers," Helena said in a sweet voice, trying to appear naive. 

Aunty Em's head tilted, the gauze veil shifting ever so slightly as if she were studying Helena with renewed interest. "Nonsense, child," she said smoothly. "I insist. You remind me of someone... very dear. It would bring me great joy to feed you."

Her tone was honey-sweet, but Helena caught something sharp underneath—like a splinter in candy glass, still, Helena forced a small smile, but every instinct screamed at her.

'She waits for you to blink. To drop your guard.'

Helena's fist clenched tightly, nails digging in her palms.

"Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said.

Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly. Helena glanced at her companion to see if they noticed but it seemed only Grover had done it. 

'She holds a grudge as big as her envy from what was taken from her'  

"Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child."

Grover whimpered and grabbed Helena's wrist tightly. 

Helena's heart skipped a beat.

They hadn't introduced themselves.

Aunty Em should not have known Annabeth's name.

Grover's grip on her wrist tightened. Helena didn't even flinch. Her senses were on high alert now. Every breath felt too loud, every movement too deliberate. She forced herself not to look back at the statues lining the walls, though her peripheral vision caught one of them—a teenage girl frozen mid-scream, her hands clawing at the air.

Helena felt sick.

Aunty Em moved silently around the room, her long gown whispering against the floor. She set out plates, napkins, and cutlery with an eerie precision, like a ritual. Helena's eyes followed her every move. The gauze veil fluttered with each step, but the woman's face remained hidden, except for the occasional glint of eyes behind the dark fabric—sharp, hungry eyes.

'She craves your light...'

"I hope you like double cheeseburgers," she said.

"I... yeah, sounds great," Percy replied, a little too fast. He looked between Annabeth and Helena, as if hoping one of them would laugh and tell him this was fine.

Helena didn't laugh. 

Aunty EM disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before they knew it, she'd brought out plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries.

Percy didn't hesitate and inhaled the food, as did Annabeth. 

Grover picked at the fries and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat.

'Do not eat,' the voice whispered again.

Helena's shoulders stiffened. The voice was fading again, slipping into whispers and static, but its words echoed. 

"Are you not hungry, Helena?"

"I'm a vegetarian, ma'am," She lied, and her best friend shot her a confused look.

"Oh, well, I could make you a salad, if you wish"

"Do not trouble yourself, ma'am. I am also fasting, it's a...family tradition". She looked down at the table, at her reflection in the silverware—too perfect, too beautiful, too exposed.

Aunty Em watched from across the room, her veiled face tilted, hands still folded neatly in front of her. "Such a beautiful girl," she said softly. "You must be told that often."

Helena's pulse jumped.

"Sometimes," she said, voice neutral, forcing a polite smile. Her hands were trembling under the table. 

"It's a rare gift," Aunty Em continued, moving closer. "And a dangerous one, yes? Beauty. The gods cherish it... and fear it."

The temperature seemed to drop. Percy didn't notice. He reached for another burger.

"Fear it?" Annabeth asked, watching Aunty Em carefully.

"Oh yes," she murmured, trailing a hand along the table. "The gods can be... jealous. Vain. Cruel. A beautiful girl shines too brightly, and they want to control that light. Hide it. Claim it."

Helena clenched her fists beneath the table.

'She knows... she sees you,' the whisper returned.

"You know," Aunty Em said, circling behind them again, "I used to be quite beautiful myself, once. Before I was... misunderstood. Cast aside. Forgotten."

There was something raw in her tone now, a bitterness that sliced through the false sweetness.

"I'm sure you were," Helena said carefully, eyes following every movement. "Sometimes people fear what they don't understand."

Aunty Em stopped.

The room felt colder.

"You are a clever girl," she said, voice soft. "Clever... and kind. You remind me of someone there once existed. A princess. Radiant. Worshipped."

Helena's chest tightened.

'She speaks of me,' the voice whispered again.

"What's the hissing noise?" Grover asked. 

Helena nodded in agreement. She didn't hear a thing, but if Grover said there was a hissing noise, there was a hissing noise. Percy tilted his head but heard nothing, and Annabeth shook her head. 

"Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover." 

"I take vitamins. For my ears." 

"That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax."

Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched them eat. 

"So, you sell gnomes," Percy said, trying to sound interested. 

 "Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know."

"Is it?" Helena muttered under her breath. 

"A lot of business on this road?"

 "Not so much, no. Since the highway was built, most cars do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get."

Helena's fingers tingled as her powers tried to act up at the sense of danger. She noticed how Percy turned to see the statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified.

'Good,' she thought. 'He's catching up'

"Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face."

"You make these statues yourself ?" Percy asked.

"Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." There was a deep sadness in her voice as she spoke. 

"Two sisters?" Annabeth stopped eating and leaned forward. 

"Fucking finally" Helena said.

"It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this badwoman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price."

"I can only imagine," Helena said, her tone ironic. 

Aunty Em turned to look at her. "You should, dear, a beauty like yours isn't given for free."

Annabeth swallowed harshly and glanced at Helena, who gave her a sarcastic smile, one eyebrow raised as if to say Took you long enough, Athena Jr. The tension in the room was starting to thicken like fog, and even Grover had paused mid-bite, his eyes darting between the statues and Aunty Em.

"Percy?" Annabeth shook him. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting."

Helena hummed. "I'd rather not get in trouble with him." 

"Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those."

She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly. 

"We really should go." 

"Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!"

"We thank you for your hospitality, ma'am, but we have to leave. Come on, Percy," Helena spoke urgently. 

"Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?" 

"A pose?" Annabeth asked warily. 

"A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children."

'Don't, Helena, do not pose.' The voice spoke in her head again. 

Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy—"

"Sure we can," Percy said, and Helena glared at him. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?" 

"Yes, Annabeth," the woman purred. "No harm."

"We can get in serious trouble," Helena spoke, her eyes narrowed with the spite of a caged lioness. "The ringmaster won't tolerate tardiness, I'm sure you wouldn't want for us to receive a punishment," she continued. "like yours."

Aunty Em's smile faltered for the first time. A flicker of something cold and ancient passed over her face—just for a heartbeat—but Helena caught it. The woman's hands twitched slightly, and the air grew heavier, more stifling, like the weight of stone pressing down on their chests.

"Such a sharp tongue," Aunty Em said quietly, her voice still saccharine but layered now with an edge of something venomous. "You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone who thought they were clever... powerful. Beauty and pride make for such dangerous company."

"I'll keep it in mind, maybe," Helena said harshly. 

Annabeth reached out and grabbed Percy's arm, not roughly, but with intent. "We're leaving. Now."

"But—" Percy started.

"Now," Helena echoed, her voice low and firm. Her powers buzzed along her skin again, warning her, calling to her. Something old and divine wanted out, wanted to burn. She shoved it down.

Grover was already backing away, his hooves scuffing awkwardly against the floor. "Thank you, ma'am! Really! But we've got... circus stuff! Big, important circus stuff!"

But Aunty Em stepped into their path, all pretense of grandmotherly warmth draining from her face. Her hands, once dainty and delicate, clenched into claw-like fists at her sides. 

"It is rude," she hissed, "to reject a gift freely given. I only wanted to capture your beauty forever. Is that so wrong? You all would make such exquisite pieces. Especially you, my dear." Her gaze lingered on Helena now, not leering, but reverent. Worshipful. "A face like yours would've outshone even mine... once upon a time."

"Guys, it's just a photo," Percy said. "We have time"

Helena gave him a disbelieving look, Annabeth glared, and Grover looked like he was gonna pass out. 

"Perfect!" Aunty Em said, Helena swore there was a hidden smugness in her tone.

She led them to a park bench next to the stone satyr. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girls in the middle, I think, and the gentlemen on either side."

"Not much light for a photo," Percy said. 

"Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?" 

"Where's your camera?" Grover asked. 

Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me, please, everyone? A large smile?"

 Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand." 

"Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear." 

She still had no camera in her hands.

"Percy—" Annabeth said.

"I'll just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil..."

"Percy, something's wrong," Helena insisted.

"Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?" 

"That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped.

Helena's breath caught as Aunty Em's fingers brushed the edge of her veil. Time seemed to slow, her senses sharpening like blades drawn for war. The buzzing of divine power under her skin turned into a low roar. Something inside her screamed, Don't look. Don't let her.

"Don't look at her!" Helena shouted as she focused on turning invisible while Annabeth placed her Yankees cap on her head and vanished. 

Annabeth shoved Percy to the ground while Helena, now invisible, grabbed Grover's hand and dragged him away between the statue labyrinth. They darted behind a stone lion and crouched low, Grover breathing hard and trying not to bleat.

"I knew it," he whispered, trembling. "I knew it was her. Medusa."

"Shut up and stay down," Helena hissed, peeking out just enough to track Aunty Em—Medusa—now fully unveiled. Snakes writhed from her head, hissing softly in the stillness. Her eyes were glowing faintly, searching the space before her with inhuman patience.

"Where are you, my darlings?" Medusa cooed. "Don't be shy. You'll only make it harder if you run. Wouldn't you like to be preserved? Remembered? You especially, daughter of Hera... I can feel your power. You were made to be worshiped, and I can make that happen."

Helena's heart pounded, but she forced herself to breathe slowly. Focus. You've trained for worse. She's ancient, but not invincible. Still invisible, she squeezed Grover's hand for reassurance, then let go and crept silently around the back of a statue of a centaur with a frozen look of horror.

She looked back to the park bench and saw Medusa above Percy. She noticed how his eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails; Percy's eyes almost rose higher, but before she could intervene, Annabeth shouted. "No! Don't!"

More rasping was heard. "Run!" Grover bleated. They all heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers

Helena took of her bag and placed it near one of the statues, she moved as quickly and quietly as possible in hopes of getting to Percy before he gave into temptation. 

"Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," The woman told Percy soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up." 

"Don't listen to her, Percy." The wind carried Helena's voice and whispered it in the Jackson boy's ear. It was commanding and alluring, tempting; suddenly, Percy didn't feel like listening to Medusa. 

"The Gray-Eyed One did this to me, Percy," Medusa said, her voice didn't sound like a monster's —it sounded like a victim's. Like someone telling the truth for the first time in a long time. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this."

"She cursed me," Medusa went on, her voice low and trembling with fury cloaked in silk. "Me and my sisters, punished for our loyalty. All I ever wanted was love. I was beautiful once. People prayed to me. And what did your precious gods do?" Her words slithered through the air like her serpents, inching toward Percy's heart. "They turned me into this... thing. They made me a monster."

"Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Run, Percy!"

"Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer." 

"No," He muttered and tried to make his legs move.

 "Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest, Percy? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain."

"You can't trust her," Helena added, finally circling close enough to Percy to grip the edge of the bench. Her voice dropped into a whisper that only he could hear. "She's trying to get inside your head. You have to fight it."

"Percy!" Behind him,  a buzzing sound was heard, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive. Grover yelled, "Duck!"

Percy turned and there he was in the night sky, flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone.

 "Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!"

Before he could even do it, someone grabbed his wrist and hauled him backwards. Percy was about to yell. 

"Shhh! It's me!" Helena whispered in his ear.  Percy tried to ignore the way the hair at the back of his neck stood up. 

Thwack! 

Percy thought it was the sound of Grover hitting a tree. The Medusa roared with rage. 

"You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!"

 "That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back. 

Percy turned once Helena let him go, a brief shimmering dust was seen for a second and then the brunette was visible. 

Grover swooped down for another pass. 

Ker-whack! 

"Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting.

"Stay here, till Annabeth reaches you" She told him. 

"What?!" He exclaimed. 

"I have to help Grover, there's only so much he can do," She said, and before he could protest, she rushed to help their satyr friend, who was getting visibly tired. 

Helena darted between the statues, her movements fluid and silent like a shadow in moonlight. Medusa's back was to her, still lashing out toward the air where Grover had vanished overhead. Snakes hissed and snapped in frustration, scenting chaos but not quite pinning it down.

Helena stopped ten feet behind her and raised her hand with a flick of her wrist.

Crack.

A shockwave of compressed air slammed into Medusa's back, sending her stumbling forward with a furious screech. The snakes writhed in panic. Before the monster could recover, Helena raised both hands and snapped her fingers outward—once, twice—and thin, glimmering chains of divine light snapped into place around Medusa's ankles, binding her temporarily to the ground like glowing manacles.

"You dare!" Medusa shrieked, eyes burning, fangs bared as she whipped her head in Helena's direction.

"I do," Helena said, her voice calm, edged with fury, her fingers twitching again.

A gust of cutting wind whirled around Medusa like a cyclone, slicing at her garments, her exposed skin, tugging at the snakes until some hissed in pain and retracted close to her scalp. Dust and pebbles lifted from the ground and stung like shrapnel, making it impossible for the gorgon to track her attacker's exact position.

"You've lived too long in your bitterness," Helena said, stepping into view now, her expression cold and distant. "I would've pitied you... but you ruined that when you tried to turn us into décor."

She raised her hand again, and this time a soft, golden glow wrapped around her palm. When she opened it, a cluster of ghostly peacock feathers shimmered to life and flew toward Medusa—not to hurt her, but to blind and distract. As they struck, they burst into radiant sparks that flared like miniature suns, forcing the gorgon to shield her eyes and screech in rage.

"Do you feel that?" Helena asked coolly. "That's divine retribution. My mother sends her regards."

"You filthy spawn!" Medusa shrieked, wrenching at the bindings around her legs. "You wear your beauty like a crown you did not earn!"

"I didn't ask for it," Helena said, her voice suddenly quiet. "But I've had enough of people trying to make me pay for it."

With a twist of her wrist, the air around Medusa's feet turned to liquid stone—like wet cement trying to harden again. She was trapped, temporarily petrified below the knees.

Behind Helena, Annabeth finally reached Percy, slamming down beside him and tugging at his arm. "Percy!"

He jumped so high his feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!"

 "Come on, Seaweed Brain. Plan in progress!"

"What plan?!" he hissed, eyes still flicking toward the chaos.

"Don't look! Helena's buying us time — we need to get behind her. We can flank Medusa and—"

Grover swooped again, this time weaker, panting from the effort. "Hurry!" he called. "She's breaking the vines!"

And she was. Medusa snarled and with a pulse of monstrous strength, she shattered the glowing binds. Her serpents screamed as they lashed in every direction. "You'll beg to be stone when I'm done with you!"

But Helena didn't flinch. Her eyes flashed with unnatural light—sapphire and emerald swirling with ancient flame. She stepped closer. The wind coiled around her now, not just as a weapon, but as armor. With a gesture, a wall of solid air formed in front of her, protecting her from the next lash of bronze talons.

Medusa lunged.

Helena sidestepped smoothly, raised one hand, and unleashed a pulse of raw divine energy directly into the gorgon's stomach. It wasn't lethal—she could've ended it there, she knew—but it knocked Medusa back into a stone cherub with a sickening crunch that shattered part of the statue and made the monster shriek in pain.

"That hurt, didn't it?" Helena murmured, walking slowly now. The air around her shimmered. "That's just a taste. You're not the only one with a cursed hard past."

Medusa growled, propping herself up with blood on her lip and eyes full of fury.

"You pretend to be better than me," she hissed. "But you're not. You're just like me—born from pain, made into a weapon by your godly parent."

That one stung. Helena's jaw tightened and her footsteps slowed for just a heartbeat, her expression flickering. The winds faltered, a soft gust brushing her hair aside to reveal the hurt in her eyes. For a moment, it looked like Medusa's words had struck deeper than any talon could.

But then—she smiled. Not cruelly. Not bitterly. Just...sadly.

"Maybe I am," Helena said softly. "But I still get to choose who I fight for."

Grover flopped behind a toppled birdbath, gasping but readying his reed pipes like they were nunchucks. "This is the worst day of my life."

Percy crept closer, eyes darting between Helena and Medusa. "She's holding her own..."

"She's stalling," Annabeth corrected. "We finish this."

She turned to look at Percy. "You need to cut her head off."

"What? Are you crazy? Let's get Helena and get the fuck out of here."

"Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You—you've got a chance."

 "What? I can't—"

 "Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?"She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster. 

Behind them, Medusa made a choked sound, they all looked back and saw her holding her throat and kneeling on the ground with dark clouds surrounding her while Helena slowly closed her fist. "Annie, I'm getting bored here. Tired too!" Helena called out. 

Grover stood up and shouted, "Maia!" and rushed back to help Helena. 

Annabeth grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better."She studied the sphere critically. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of—"

 "Would you speak English?"

"I am!" She tossed him the glass ball. "Just look at her in the glass. Never look at her directly."

Thwack!

"Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above them. "I think she's unconscious, and so is about to be Lena!"

"I'm not!" Helena exclaimed weakly. She had stopped using her powers when Grover hit Medusa again; the lack of air, plus the blow, had surely knocked her out. 

"Roooaaarrr!" 

"Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch. 

"Hurry," Annabeth told the son of Poseidon. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash."

Before Percy could even uncap Riptide, a yelp cut through the chaos—Helena.

He whipped around.

Medusa had launched forward with terrifying speed. Grover had missed his mark, and now the gorgon's claws were sunk into Helena's arm, dragging her down.

"Lena!" Percy shouted.

Helena struggled, her powers flickering weakly—too drained to summon wind or light, too slow to counter the blow. One of Medusa's serpents hissed and tried to bite her cheek. She barely turned her face away in time.

"Pretty little princess," Medusa rasped, her face inches from Helena's. "Let's make you beautiful forever."

Helena slammed her head forward, headbutting the gorgon with all her remaining strength. It staggered Medusa enough for Helena to roll away, coughing, clutching her bleeding arm.

And that's when Percy ran.

Riptide sprang to life in his hand, and he didn't stop to think—not about the danger, not about the weight of the moment, not even about the fear clawing at his gut.

He just acted.

Medusa turned toward him too late.

Using the gazing ball to aim, Percy twisted at the last second and drove his sword forward—low, hard, true.

With a sickening shluk, Riptide sliced clean through her neck.

For a beat, nothing happened.

Then, with a final screech, Medusa's body crumpled, and her head thudded to the ground, her face forever frozen in rage.

Silence fell, broken only by Grover crash-landing into a hedge.

Percy stood there, panting, staring at the severed head—its eyes still glowing faintly with cursed power. "I—I got her," he said, almost in disbelief.

Helena groaned, sitting up slowly. "Remind me to never try dramatic stalling again."

Annabeth was already moving. She pulled a black silk veil from Medusa's ruined display table and carefully wrapped the head.

"Don't let it out of the cloth," she warned. "Even dead, she can still turn someone to stone."

Grover peeked from behind the hedge. "Is it over? Is she, like...extra dead?"

"Extra," Percy confirmed.

Helena leaned her head back against a mossy statue, breathing hard. "Nice sword work, Seaweed Brain."

He turned, worried. "Are you okay?"

She nodded and took off her now completely ruined jacket with a wince. "My backpack's by the centaur statue, there's ambrosia and a med kit in it."

Annabeth went to get it. 

Percy dropped to one knee beside Helena, trying to keep his voice casual—emphasis on trying. "You, uh... You sure you're okay? That looked... painful."

Helena glanced at the claw marks raking down her arm, the blood matting her sleeve. "It's just a scratch." She winced as she shifted. "Okay—maybe like, a murderous harpy-sized scratch."

Percy frowned. "Scratch doesn't usually mean 'bleeding out while trying to joke about it.'" He reached out, hesitated, then gently took her wrist to check the wound. "Does it hurt if I—?"

Helena hissed. "Yes. Definitely yes."

"Sorry! Sorry." He immediately let go, his ears turning pink. "I just—your arm was—uh—bleeding, and—"

"You're cute when you're flustered," Helena teased with a smirk, leaning her head back against the statue again.

Percy choked. "I—I'm not flustered."

"Uh-huh." She closed her eyes, clearly exhausted, but smiling like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Grover, brushing leaves out of his hair from the hedge crash, peeked at the two of them, then raised his eyebrows in silent satyr judgment. "Smooth," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Percy to hear.

Percy shot him a glare. "Not helping."

"I wasn't trying to."

Annabeth returned with Helena's backpack, tossing it to Percy, who caught it with a grunt. "Ambrosia's inside, and there's some nectar too," she said, kneeling beside Helena. "Your jacket's toast, by the way."

"Tragic," Helena said, completely deadpan. "It was vintage."

 "Hold her steady." The blonde told the raven-haired boy.

Percy instinctively moved closer, placing one hand behind Helena's back and the other on her good arm. "Okay. Just breathe. Or don't, if that helps."

Helena cracked one eye open. "Gods, Seaweed Brain, I'm not dying. I've had worse—once I got hit with a minotaur's club during sparring and walked it off."

Grover blinked. "You cried for an hour after that."

"I was nine!" she said indignantly.

Annabeth handed her a square of ambrosia. "Eat."

Helena took it and bit down, the color began to return to her cheeks almost immediately; her eyes fluttered as the taste washed over her. "Mmm. My dad's lemon tart. That's illegal. I'm gonna cry."

Percy couldn't help the soft smile tugging at his lips. "Guess it's working, then."

Helena looked at him, eyes a little clearer now. "Thanks. For...you know. Saving my life."

His smile widened. "Anytime."

Grover fake-coughed. "Crush alert."

"What?"

"Nothing!" Grover said quickly, grabbing Medusa's now-wrapped head and whistling as he backed away like he hadn't just stirred the pot.

Helena blinked, then looked back at Percy. "What's with him?"

"No idea," Percy said too fast. "Weird goat stuff."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, then shrugged. "Anyway, thanks again. You're kinda brave, huh?"

"I mean, I was more 'panicking with a sword' than brave—"

"You ran at a monster who had me in her claws," Helena said, her voice softer. "That counts."

Percy felt his face go red again. "Well...I didn't want you to be turned into a lawn ornament."

"How touching," Annabeth muttered, as she cleaned the cut with practiced efficiency, though her mouth was a tight line. "You need to stop throwing yourself into danger."

Helena just shrugged. "It's my thing."

"You know what else is your thing?" Grover added, stretching his legs with a groan. "Flirting with death. And also just...flirting."

Helena smirked. "Well, one of those is more fun than the other."

Percy lingered a second too long at Helena's side, watching as she chewed slowly on the ambrosia, her lashes fluttering with every blink like she might fall asleep sitting up. The fading light caught in her hair, pulling copper-red sparks from the dark strands, and he had to look away before he did something dumb, like tell her she looked like a princess. Because, well... she kind of was.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again, picking a fleck of dirt off her shoulder like it mattered. "I mean, like, really sure. That thing had her claws in you."

"I've had worse," Helena said breezily, though she leaned just a little more into his support. "I've been hit by a chariot before. You'd be surprised how heavy bronze wheels are."

Percy blinked. "Why were you hit by a chariot?"

"Ancient game week," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The Ares cabin is intense during game week and I'm very competitive."

"Yeesh."

"You should see what I do during Capture the Flag." She flashed him a grin, then immediately winced and cradled her arm. "Ow. Smiling hurts."

Percy instinctively moved again, pulling his hoodie off and draping it around her shoulders. "Here. You're cold."

Helena blinked at the gesture, then smiled gently. "Thanks, Seaweed Brain. That's...actually sweet."

Percy scratched the back of his neck, suddenly hyper-aware of every awkward movement he made. "It's nothing. Just, you know... don't pass out from blood loss and ruin the monster-slaying victory vibe."

From a few feet away, Grover, now sitting crisscross beside Medusa's bagged head, whispered behind his hand with the subtlety of a freight train, "Crush. So obvious."

Percy shot him a glare and mouthed, Shut. Up.

Helena turned her head lazily. "What was that?"

Grover coughed. "I said mush. Uh. Mushy vines. Back there. In the fight. You were...very viney."

"Right," she said, eyeing him like he'd grown a second set of horns. "Thanks...I think?"

She leaned her head against Percy's shoulder without warning, eyes half-lidded but relaxed. "This hoodie smells like saltwater and campfire. Kind of cozy."

Percy stiffened. "Oh. Uh. Sorry. I can take it back if—"

"Nope," she said, already snuggling into it like a blanket burrito. "Too late. Claimed it. Mine now."

Grover snorted again and stage-whispered, "So gone."

"I will feed you to a dryad," Percy muttered.

"I'd like to see you try," Grover shot back with a grin.

Annabeth ignored them both and kept working, tying a fresh bandage tightly around Helena's arm. "You're lucky," she said to the brunette girl, a little too flatly. "Another second, and you would've been marble."

Helena tilted her head up, her tone still playful despite the exhaustion. "You'd miss me if I was a statue."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Only because Percy wouldn't shut up about it for the next hundred years."

"I would not," Percy said, a little too quickly.

Helena glanced between them, bemused. "What is going on with you two?"

"Nothing," they said in unison.

Grover just laughed.

Helena yawned, resting her cheek against Percy's shoulder again. "This is nice. You make a good pillow."

Percy looked like someone had cast Petrificus Totalus on him.

Grover whistled innocently.

Annabeth muttered something about gods help her and got to her feet. "Let's pack up the head and go to the warehouse."

Helena let out a contented sigh, eyes closed. "Just five more minutes. Or five years. Whichever's easier."

"You're seriously going to nap after a near-death experience?" Percy asked.

Helena grinned against his hoodie. "Sleep heals. Besides, I'm safe. I've got my own personal hero now."

Percy's heart did a very specific thing in his chest that he chose to ignore.

Grover, of course, did not.

"Yup. So gone," he whispered again, grinning from ear to ear.

Percy sighed and leaned back against the statue, carefully supporting Helena's weight.

Maybe he was gone.

But if it meant hearing her laugh again—even weakly—he decided he didn't mind. Until one of the snakes from Medusa's head moved and hissed in their direction. Helena tensed. 

"Let's go to the warehouse," She said urgently. Percy had the feeling she didn't like snakes.

Percy offered Helena a hand. "Can you walk?"

She took it without hesitation—because of course she did—and let him pull her up. "Please. I'm too pretty to die lying on the ground."

"Modest, too," Percy muttered, trying not to sound too fond.

"I heard that."

"Not denying it."

She flashed him a grin—sunlight-in-a-thunderstorm levels of bright—and Percy had to look away or risk combusting.

The quartet stumbled back to the warehouse and double-wrapped Medusa's head with plastic bags before sitting on the table where they had eaten dinner. 

None of them spoke for a while until Percy decided to break the silence. 

"So we have Athena to thank for this monster?" He said. 

"Here we go again," Grover and Helena muttered under their breaths. 

Annabeth flashed him an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's girlfriend. They decided to meet in my mother's temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters, who had helped her get into the temple, became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up, but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him."

"Disturbing considering you're twelve," Helena said. 

Percy's face heated up. "Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa."

Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of his voice, she said: "'It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?' 'We have time'"

"Forget it," Percy said. "You're impossible."

 "You're insufferable." 

"You're—" 

"Would you two shut up?!" Helena exclaimed. "If we are going to play the blame game, then you are both to blame; you two wanted to come here despite me and Grover warning you against it."

"Plus!" Grover added. "You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs don't even get migraines. What are we going to do with the head?"

Sea-green eyes stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of a hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS!

Medusa's words echoed in his head, 'Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue'; he was angry, and overwhelmed with the same feelings he got when Chiron assigned the quest. 

He got up. "I'll be back."

The girls shared a concerned look. "Sea-green-eyes," Helena called out. "What are you─"

He searched the back of the warehouse until he found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone's garden. According to one freight bill, the Underworld's billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. 

Percy folded up the bill and stuffed it in his pocket.

Once he returned, he had a big box and a delivery slip; the kind that looked like it had been stolen off a godly FedEx truck. Helena blinked at him from her spot on the table, legs swinging over the edge.

"Tell me that's not Medusa's head's going-away gift box," she said.

Percy dropped the box on the floor with a thud. "Express delivery. "He grabbed a pen and filled it. 

The GodsMount Olympus600th Floor, Empire State BuildingNew York, NY.With best wishes, PERCY JACKSON

Helena tilted her head, eyes narrowed at the box. "You should've added glitter. Or a bow. You can't just send a severed head to Olympus without a little flair."

Percy stared at her. "It's a gorgon's head, Helena."

"Exactly. First impressions matter. Presentation is everything."

Grover made a strangled sound that might've been a laugh. "You want him to bedazzle the murder evidence?"

Helena shrugged like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "They're gods. They get bored. Spice it up. Maybe add a scented card. 'Roses are red, Medusa is dead, enclosed is her head, don't lose yours instead.'"

Percy looked up from where he was taping the box shut. "I'm... not writing that."

"You're no fun," Helena said, nudging him with her foot.

Before Percy could finish taping the box shut, Helena slid off the table with a stretch and sauntered over.

"Wait, wait—don't seal it yet," she said.

He blinked. "Why not?"

She pulled a compact out of her backpack—of course she had a compact—and flipped it open. "If we're sending a cursed monster's head to the gods, I should at least make it cute, since you all don't want to."

Annabeth squinted. "I'm sorry, what?"

Helena crouched by the box and drew a little heart on the label with pink lipstick. Then, in loopy handwriting beneath Percy's message, she added:

P.S. You're welcome. Try not to start another war. — H 💋

She stood back and admired her work like it was a masterpiece.

"There. Now it has personality."

Grover wheezed. "You just signed a death threat to the gods with a kiss."

"I signed a gift," Helena said innocently, tucking the lipstick away. "Big difference. Besides, maybe it'll make them hesitate before smiting us."

Annabeth muttered, "Or smite us faster."

Percy stared at the box, then at Helena, half-exasperated and half something else entirely. "You know they're going to think I wrote that."

"You're the one sending them a decapitated gorgon in the mail," she said sweetly. "A little kiss won't make it worse."

"She has a point," Grover said helpfully.

"No, she doesn't," Percy muttered, taping the box shut anyway.

Percy dropped a few drachmas in the pouch, and the box disappeared with a plop. Helena gave it a cheery wave like she was sending off a friend to summer camp.

"Bon voyage, snake-face."

Percy turned to look at her. "You do realize you basically gave Mount Olympus a smooch, right?"

Helena smirked. "Don't be jealous, Sea-Green-Eyes. I have plenty of kisses to go around."

He tried not to choke on air. "I'm not—! I'm just saying—!"

Grover snorted behind them. "Yup. Definitely gone." 

Silence fell over them for a minute before Annabeth broke it. 

"Come on, we need a new plan," She muttered. 

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Chapter Text

The gods were mid-argument.

Which, in true Olympian fashion, meant thunder cracked indoors, voices echoed off the marble columns of the throne room, and immortal beings were flinging celestial silverware like it was open mic night at a divine tavern.

Ambrosia spilled onto enchanted linen. Golden strawberries soared through the air like fruity missiles. Apollo was attempting to tune his lyre over the shouting while sipping a mimosa. Ares was polishing his spear with a steak knife. Dionysus had given up pretending to care and was flipping through a crossword book labeled Existential Hangman.

Zeus slammed his goblet on the crystal table so hard a minor tremor rattled through Olympus.

"Enough!" he boomed. "We are in the middle of a crisis!"

"Yes," Poseidon said coolly, adjusting his teal sunglasses and leaning back in his seashell-inlaid throne. "A crisis you caused."

"I caused?!"

"Oh, please," Athena snapped, eyes narrowed like she was calculating how best to end the conversation and several lives. "Let's not pretend this isn't just another result of your inability to communicate without smiting someone."

Ares banged his fists down. "Can we fight something already?! This is the most boring war I've ever not started."

"Maybe we'd get to strategy," Artemis said sharply, "if certain gods didn't show up late."

Hermes strolled in, slightly out of breath, hair windswept, carrying a large box tucked under one arm like it was a delivery from Amazon Prime Olympus.

He blinked at the accusatory stares. "What? There was traffic."

"You teleport," Hera deadpanned, arching a brow.

Hermes grinned. "Still counts."

He dropped the package in the center of the celestial table with a dramatic thud.

"Special delivery," he announced. "From your favorite demigods."

The gods stared at the box.

Then at each other.

Then at the label.

Then, Hephaestus squinted from his seat. "Is that... dripping?"

Hermes looked down. "It is, in fact. Also it hisses."

"Why does it hiss?" Apollo asked, now visibly intrigued.

"Because," Hermes said, slapping the box onto the table with a wet squelch, "our demigods sent us a gift. Special delivery from Percy Jackson—" he paused, reading the label more closely, "—and... Helena Romanov."

Athena leaned forward, frowning. "'With best wishes... Percy Jackson?"

"And... oh gods," Apollo wheezed, covering his mouth as he squinted at the bottom of the label. "'P.S. You're welcome. Try not to start another war. — H 💋'" He let out a howl of laughter. "That's Lena. That's my girl!"

"Of course it is," Artemis muttered, but there was a twitch at the corner of her lips. "Chaotic little menace."

"She used lipstick," Aphrodite sighed with open pride, placing a dainty hand over her heart. "My influence is alive and well."

"I raised her better than that," Hera said, but the way she was not smiting anyone—and the tiniest, smug smirk playing at her mouth—said otherwise.

"She defaced an official message to Olympus with a kiss," Athena grumbled. "How is no one upset about this?"

"She also killed Medusa," Hephaestus said, raising a mechanical eyebrow. "Efficient and stylish. I say we keep her."

A sound escaped Aphrodite that was half-squeal, half-laugh. "She's still got it. Oh, I miss my little cupcake."

Zeus glared at the box. "Open it."

"I vote we don't," Hestia said quietly from the hearth, nibbling her toast.

"Hold up," Ares said, squinting at the box. "Is this what I think it is?"

Hermes peeled back the tape with a flourish—and promptly yelped, dropping the box as a serpent hissed up at him. The gorgon's head tumbled out, still horrifyingly lifelike, mouth slightly ajar, fangs gleaming. A few gods flinched. Ares whooped.

"Oh, now that's a threat," he said gleefully. "Ten out of ten. No notes."

"Why is it always decapitation?" Dionysus muttered into his Diet Coke glass.

"This is the boy you want to blame for everything?" Hera said sharply, eyeing Zeus. "The one who sends us heads? And with Helena involved—clearly, they're doing something right."

Zeus looked like he was reconsidering his entire existence.

Poseidon, of course, was grinning ear to ear. "That's my boy."

"Technically," Athena said crisply, "he defiled a sacred temple and killed a cursed woman."

"Technically," Artemis said, sipping her drink, "he sent you a gift. Try a thank-you next time."

Zeus raised a hand to summon a storm.

"No smiting the messenger," Hermes said, scooping up the box with exaggerated care. "Or the lipstick."

Zeus's eye twitched.

Poseidon was humming. Humming.

"That's my boy," he repeated, louder this time, nudging the gorgon's head like it was a trophy melon. "Takes after me, don't you think?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Hera said dryly, swirling her nectar. "He was obviously guided by Helena. The lipstick alone confirms it."

"Oh, obviously," Aphrodite agreed. "Only Lena would weaponize beauty and sarcasm so elegantly. It's like watching a baby shark in pearls."

"She tried to bedazzle my automaton lions," Hephaestus offered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I almost let her."

"Almost?" Apollo huffed. "She hot-glued sapphires onto my bow while I was sleeping. I still haven't taken them off."

"She stole my quiver once and then used it to shoot candy arrows at mortals," Artemis said with a wistful smile. "No precision, but excellent enthusiasm."

"She rewired my chariot to play 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' every time I drove past Dionysus," Apollo said brightly.

"I hated that song," Dionysus muttered.

"I know," Apollo said smugly. "She did it for me."

Hera allowed herself a single sip of pomegranate tea before speaking. "She once stood on this very table wearing my crown and declared herself Queen of Chaos and Cupcakes."

There was a moment of reverent silence.

"She was five," Hera added, with what might have been a sigh—or possibly a chuckle. "And I allowed it."

Poseidon whistled low. "I missed all of this?"

"Not our fault you refused Olympus daycare duty," Apollo quipped.

"Are we done reminiscing about the little chaos goblin," Athena said icily, "or shall we invite her to brunch next?"

"Oh, don't tempt me," Aphrodite said. "I'd love to see her in that floral armor I gave her."

"She put glitter in my arrows once," Artemis added, oddly proud. "Said 'stealth is boring.'"

"Enough," Zeus growled again, massaging his temple. "Enough about the girl—this is supposed to be about the bolt."

"You mean the bolt your precious lightning-holding hands lost?" Hera offered sweetly.

He glared.

Hermes raised a hand. "Slight detour, but—should I, uh, refrigerate the gorgon? She's leaking again."

"No, burn it," Zeus snapped. "Bury it. Feed it to Cerberus. I don't care!"

"Can we bronze it?" Ares asked. "I want it for my war room. Inspirational vibes."

"Absolutely not!" Zeus thundered.

"Can we at least display the box?" Hephaestus asked. "Craftsmanship is solid."

"You're all insufferable," Athena hissed.

"And you're all mad if you think this Helena girl isn't a bad influence," Zeus said, gesturing to the lipstick-kissed note. "Look at this! She's turned the boy into a menace!"

"Oh, please," Hera cut in, folding her arms, voice cold and clipped. "That 'menace' is alive because of her. And might I remind you—she is my daughter. Do not insult her and expect me to stay seated."

A beat of silence. Even the ambrosia froze mid-air.

"Right," Apollo muttered. "Well, brunch is over."

Dionysus shoved the crossword under his plate and stood. "I'm leaving before anyone gets turned into a goose."

"Oh, that was one time," Hera snapped.

Zeus looked like he was very close to smiting someone.

"I think it's clear," Poseidon said smoothly, "that the demigods have made a statement."

"Yes," Athena said. "And we'd be fools not to take it seriously. Medusa's head wasn't just a message. It was a warning. They're not clueless."

"She's not clueless," Artemis corrected.

"And that," Hera said, standing slowly and placing her hands on the table, "should terrify you more than the head ever could."

The gods stared.

Even Zeus didn't argue.

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The doors closed behind the last god with a thunderous echo, but Hera didn't flinch.

She remained still in her throne for several long beats, staring at the space where the gorgon's head had sat, at the lipstick mark scorched into memory more than parchment. Her face gave nothing away. Not to them. Not to Zeus. Not even to herself—at least, not yet.

Only when the room finally stilled, when even Olympus itself held its breath, did Hera exhale.

She stood with practiced grace, but her steps were slower than usual, as if her godly form carried something heavy and ancient.

She didn't go to the balcony. She didn't summon a peacock or lightning or vengeance.

She turned and walked alone—through the winding halls of polished marble and gold-veined obsidian, past murals of conquest and betrayal and marriage oaths too long broken.

And eventually... she reached it.

A smaller door. One rarely touched in recent years.

Her hand hovered above the handle. She didn't need to open it. She could turn and vanish, pretend this moment never called to her.

But the note was still echoing in her mind—
P.S. You're welcome. Try not to start another war. — H 💋

So she opened the door.

The room hadn't changed. Not truly. The air inside still smelled faintly of honeysuckle and powdered sugar—Helena's favorite scent when she was five. The light, soft and golden, filtered through enchanted curtains that swayed with no wind. The floor was littered with tiny toys of impossible craftsmanship—little animals that sparkled and occasionally moved, enchanted books that whispered lullabies, a hand-carved rocking peacock whose tail feathers were made of moonlight threads.

A little bed sat beneath a canopy of stars, the frame etched with runes of protection and secrecy. Across the far wall, childish drawings had been pinned with care—crayon-scribbled depictions of Olympus, of Hera with a big smile and a crown three sizes too large, of a curly-haired girl in a flowing gown labeled "ME!!" with sparkles.

And in the corner... the cradle. Still there. Still sacred.

Hera stepped in like someone crossing into a dream.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the bed, then the cradle. And memory did the rest.

Flashback 1: The Beginning

The chamber had been filled with glowing runes, ancient chants, and a power even the Moirai dared not name aloud.

She had done it.

Bargained with magic and silence and her own divine essence. She had taken a drop of James Romanov's blood—a mortal, imperfect, beloved—and a whisper of his soul. She had wrapped it in power ancient and impossible. And from that, she made Helena.

The cry that shattered the silence was not mortal. It rang like song and war all at once.

Hera—Queen of Olympus, goddess of marriage and wrath—had fallen to her knees beside the cradle.

She had never cried when birthing Ares. Nor when Hephaestus screamed in agony.

But when Helena's eyes opened—those sapphire irises flecked with emerald and eternity—Hera had wept.

Flashback 2: First Laughter

The throne room was chaos. Hermes was juggling, Apollo was playing his lyre upside down, and Ares was shouting something about "that's not how mortals do it." But Hera only heard one sound.

A laugh—pure, bright, unfiltered joy—from the tiny girl clapping her hands as a golden peacock danced for her. Her curls bounced with every giggle.

"Again!" Helena cried, "Again, Mama!"

Hera, the queen of Olympus, snapped her fingers and conjured a miniature parade of peacocks in tutus.

"For you," she said softly. "Always."

Flashback 3: The Day Helena Fell

She'd scraped her knee on the marble steps chasing after Artemis's silver wolf pup. She didn't cry, not at first. She'd just stared at the blood, confused.

But then she looked up—her lip trembled—and whispered:

"Mama?"

Hera had knelt beside her, hands glowing as she healed the wound with divine warmth. But it wasn't the magic that stilled the tears.

It was the kiss Hera pressed to her forehead, and the way she rocked her gently, murmuring, "Even the sky should kneel before you, little one."

Flashback 4: Story Time

Night on Olympus. Stars wheeled outside the nursery's enchanted dome. Helena curled against her mother's side, wide-eyed and curious.

"Tell me about the beginning again," she whispered.

Hera smiled. "The world was born in darkness, but then light—"

"No," Helena said, sleepy but stubborn. "Tell me  my  beginning."

So Hera did. How she'd seen a mortal who was kind and brave. How she'd made a daughter from love, from longing, from power. How the gods had whispered,  It is not allowed,  and she had whispered back,  Watch me.
And when she finished, Helena had whispered,

"I want to stay with you forever."

Flashback 5: The Farewell

It had rained in Elysian gold the day Hera sent her down.

James Romanov was waiting, eyes full of awe and confusion, heart full of love. The only man Hera had ever chosen who never wanted power—only to protect the girl she'd made with him.

But Helena didn't want to go.

"Please, Mama. Don't make me. I'll be good, I promise, I'll learn the rules, I'll stay hidden—"

Hera had crouched before her, cupping her face with trembling hands.

"You must know the world," she'd said. "You must know love that is not divine. You must live."

Helena had wept into her chest as the portal opened behind them. Hera had almost closed it. Almost.

"I'll miss you forever," the girl sobbed.

"And I'll find you always," Hera whispered. "Even if you forget me. Even if you stop believing. I will always find you, Helena."

Now, Hera stood in the middle of that frozen memory, breathing in air that still held a child's laughter, a mother's hope, a god's greatest secret.

Her throat closed.

She sat at the edge of the bed, folded the blanket into her lap, and pressed her forehead against it.

"I should have kept you," she whispered. "I should have said no. Let them rage. Let them scorn. I was never meant to be a mother, and yet—" her voice cracked, a thousand years of fury softened by grief—"you made me want to be."

She clenched the blanket tighter. A single tear slid down her cheek, catching the last golden light of Olympus.

And then—

"You know her fate is already written," a voice whispered. Soft. Ancient. The Fates.

Hera didn't flinch.

"I don't care," she said.

"You bargained for her soul. That always comes with a price."

"I'll pay it. Again. A thousand times over."

A pause.

"Then you must be ready to lose her."

Her grip tightened, knuckles white.

"I already did once," she said. "And it tore the sky apart."

Another whisper—ancient, echoing from the corners of fate:

"You know her story must end in sorrow."

Hera's eyes burned like twin suns.

"Then I will rewrite the ending."

A breath. A promise. A threat.

"If the world thinks it can take her again... then I'll burn the pages of fate myself."

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Chapter Text

The quartet was half-miserable that night—they would have been completely miserable, but Helena had packed four sleeping bags and fuzzy blankets in her magic bag, so at least they weren't cold.

Percy and Grover were still awake, quietly whispering near the dying embers of the fire, too wired to sleep after surviving Medusa. Annabeth had knocked out cold, exhausted but vigilant even in her rest, a knife tucked beneath her pillow.

The two girls lay close to each other on the stone floor of the warehouse, the flickering light casting long shadows across the walls. Helena had curled tightly beneath her purple fuzzy blanket, now cocooned like a sleepy butterfly. Percy's hoodie,that she definitely wasn't giving back, draped like a soft robe over her, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands.

She looked peaceful, finally. Her face softened by sleep, her breath steady. One hand twitched beneath the blanket, as if reaching for something—or someone.

And then the world around her shifted.

The scent of dust and rust vanished, replaced by honeyed wind and roses in bloom. The cold concrete under her back faded into grass like silk. Stars wheeled above in constellations long lost to mortals, and the moon hung heavy and full—like a watching eye, or a mother's lantern lit for her child.

In the dream, Helena stood in a field of pale gold, her hair loose and tumbling down her back, her feet bare against the earth. A breeze stirred around her like a whisper.

She turned.

And there she was.

Her mother.

Hera.

Crowned in moonlight and starlight both, her white robes flowed like water and power pulsed around her like a heartbeat. But her eyes—those were soft. Not the eyes of a goddess feared across the cosmos. These were a mother's eyes, full of longing, fury barely leashed, and love so deep it threatened to consume the dream entirely.

Helena blinked. "Mom?"

Before she could even say another word, Hera swept forward and enveloped her in her arms.

"My baby girl," she breathed, clutching Helena to her chest. "My storm-eyed little miracle. What in the name of Olympus were you thinking?"

Helena let out a confused little laugh into her mother's shoulder. "Uh... hi?"

Hera pulled back just enough to hold her face between her hands. "Medusa, Helena. Medusa. You entered the den of a cursed gorgon with a demigod who's been alive for five minutes, a satyr with anxiety, and a child of Athena with trust issues and knives."

Helena blinked. "I mean... when you say it like that—"

"Do not sass me in a dreamscape, young lady," Hera said, though her thumb was already stroking Helena's cheek like she was five again.

"You didn't see me," Helena defended softly, trying not to melt into the affection she hadn't felt in so long. "I handled it. Percy got the kill, but I—"

"Oh, I saw," Hera interrupted. "You kicked a Fury, you charmed a gorgon, you managed to keep that group from imploding, and you still found time to be charming enough to flirt with the son of Poseidon in the middle of a cursed warehouse—"

"Okay, now you're just spying," Helena muttered, flushing.

"I am your mother," Hera said, raising a brow. "Spying is my sacred right."

Helena tried to fight her smile, but it tugged at her lips anyway.

A beat passed.

"You're proud of me?" she whispered, more vulnerable than she'd meant to sound.

Hera's expression softened into something that could shatter worlds.

"I am so proud of you, I could move the stars into your name," she whispered, brushing a curl from her daughter's face. "You made them listen today. You made them remember who you are—who you belong to. You sent that head to Olympus like a goddess returning a warning. You reminded them that my daughter walks among mortals."

Helena smiled, a little mischievous now. "The lipstick was a nice touch, huh?"

"I nearly smacked Ares across the throne room when he laughed at it," Hera said, sighing dramatically. "Zeus choked on his nectar. I haven't felt joy in decades."

They both giggled like girls in a garden, not goddess and demigoddess, not fate's defiers, just mother and daughter, finally sharing a moment that had been lost too long.

Hera wrapped her arms around her again, rocking her slightly. "I miss you," she murmured. "I miss your footsteps in Olympus. I miss your voice echoing through the halls. I miss your drawings on my scrolls and your chaos in my court."

Helena laughed, light and real and full of something she hadn't felt in weeks: safety.

But the sound faltered as quickly as it came.

"I really missed this," she said, quieter now. "I missed... you."

Hera looked down at her, tilting her head. "My love?"

"I mean, I love being with Dad, obviously," Helena added quickly, defensively, like she had to prove her loyalty. "He's... he's everything. He's patient and kind and actually listens, even when I'm having one of my epic meltdowns about hair frizz or mythology class or existential dread."

Her mother smiled softly at that.

"But sometimes..." Helena's voice wavered. "Sometimes I still want my mom. Not the Queen of Olympus. Not the symbol of marriage and power and terrifying divine retribution. Just you. I want my mom who used to braid my hair with flowers and teach me how to curse in Ancient Greek behind Zeus's back."

Hera let out a breath, something like a laugh and a sigh stitched together. "Oh, my darling."

"I know it wasn't your choice," Helena said quickly, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "I know Olympus is political and rules are rules and blah blah Fate this and 'mortals will fear divine favoritism' that, but gods, it sucked."

Her voice cracked, frustration and heartache tangled together like seaweed.

"I used to sneak into your bedroom just to sleep by your fireplace," she went on, arms crossed now, glaring at the starlit ground. "I'd steal one of your cloaks and pretend it still smelled like you. Like roses and power and a thousand thunderstorms."

A pause.

"And then one day you were gone. Or I was gone. Or we were both gone from each other. I don't even remember who made the decision because nobody asked me. And I just had to deal with it."

She shook her head, eyes shining but angry. "Do you know how much it sucks being the kid of a goddess like you and not being allowed to talk about it? To act like I'm normal when I'm clearly the product of divine chaos and weird magic and political secrets?"

Hera reached out, gently brushing her hair back from her face. "I do. And I regret every moment I wasn't there to explain it myself."

Helena leaned into the touch, despite herself. Her voice dropped to a mutter. "Sometimes I hate that I miss you this much."

"I miss you more," Hera whispered.

Helena groaned dramatically, though the tears glimmering in her eyes betrayed the emotion behind it. "Ugh, why are you like this? All soft and glowy and maternal. I'm trying to be angry here."

"You've always been terrible at staying mad at me," Hera said, clearly savoring the moment.

"Not true. I once held a grudge for two whole weeks after you turned my toy peacock into an actual one and it pooped on my sketchbook."

"That was an accident," Hera said, eyes twinkling. "Mostly."

Helena cracked a smile, then quickly tried to smother it behind her hand. "Don't be smug. I'm twelve now. I have angst."

"Of course you do. You inherited mine."

Helena snorted. "Gods help the world."

For a moment, the two just stood there, locked in that rare and impossible peace—the kind that can only exist between a mother and her daughter in a place untouched by time or consequence.

But then Hera's expression shifted. She grew serious again, the moonlight deepening in her eyes.

"Listen to me, Helena." Hera placed both hands firmly on her daughter's shoulders. "You are doing so well. But the road ahead will get darker before it gets light again. There are things stirring that even the gods fear. And I know you feel them—the whispers, the weight. You were made of Fate's thread, and that comes with a price."

Helena's brow furrowed. "I do feel it. I don't understand it all yet, but... it's like something old is watching me. Like there's something in me that doesn't quite belong to me."

Hera hesitated. "There is more to your story than even you know. When the time is right, I will tell you everything. But not now. Now, you deserve to be twelve. Even if the world wants you to be older."

Helena bit her lip. "Can you at least promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Don't forget me," she said, almost too quietly.

Hera's face crumbled into something ancient and broken. "Never," she breathed. "You are etched into the stars, my love. I see you in every thunderstorm and hear your laugh in every chorus of birds. I carry your name in my heart like a vow I never break."

Helena leaned forward again, her forehead resting against her mother's. "You know, you're really annoying sometimes."

"I know."

"But I really, really love you."

"I love you more."

"Impossible," Helena muttered.

They stood there like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in warmth and moonlight.

And as the dream began to unravel around them like pulled silk, Hera cradled her daughter once more.

"Sleep, my storm-eyed miracle," she whispered, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. "Dream of flowers and clouds and silly boys with sea-green eyes."

"Moooom," Helena groaned, hiding her face in her shoulder.

"I said what I said."

And with a soft chuckle that echoed into the stars, Hera's form began to fade.

But her final words lingered like a prayer, stitched into Helena's very soul:

"Remember who you are. Remember whose you are. And know, my love, that you are never alone."

Helena woke up to something wet hitting her cheek repeatedly and the vague smell of dog food.

For one brief, blissfully ignorant second, she thought it might be her mom again, brushing her face with morning dew and lavender kisses.

Then a slobbery tongue smacked her ear.

"Blegh— what in Tartarus—"

She shot up with a flail worthy of a Greek tragedy, tangling herself in her purple fuzzy blanket like a moth in a satin death trap. Percy's hoodie was halfway over her head, her hair looked like it had lost a war against static. 

Grover snorted nearby, clearly awake. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Helena blinked blearily—and found herself nose to snout with a very enthusiastic pink poodle.

The poodle barked.

Then barked again.

Then licked her forehead.

"Am I still dreaming?" Helena mumbled. "Because if this is the afterlife, it's... weirdly domestic."

"Not a dream," Annabeth said. "Grover found the dog while he was out."

Helena raised an eyebrow and rubbed her eyes briefly, before blinking rapidly to adjust her sight. 

She looked at the poodle again and grinned. "Oh my gods, aren't you the cutest cotton candy puppy out there?" she said in a baby voice, scratching behind his ears. 

The dog barked and snuggled her. Helena melted like gelato. 

"His name is Gladiola," Grover supplied, munching on a granola bar he found in Helena's bag. "He says he ran away from home."

Helena blinked. "He says?"

Grover shrugged. "He's a very articulate poodle."

The poodle in question barked in agreement, tail wagging like it had its own windmill ambitions.

Annabeth, already halfway through folding up her sleeping bag like the efficient war strategist she was, didn't even look up. "Grover can talk to animals, remember?"

"I can too," Helena muttered. "But mostly birds. And occasionally really sassy peacocks. Dogs are usually just... vibes."

Gladiola let out a yip and nestled dramatically into her lap like he'd just found the queen he'd been searching for all his life. Helena looked down at him like he'd just proposed marriage.

"Well," she said, clearly honored, "I accept your allegiance, Sir Gladiola. May our reign be long and covered in glitter."

Annabeth shook her head fondly and packed the blankets and sleeping bags into Helena's bag again, before sighing and looking at the Jackson boy, who was muttering in his sleep. "Lena, wake up the Kelp Head, please, I need to pack the sleeping bag."

Helena gave an exaggerated royal sigh. "Duty calls," she whispered to Gladiola, gently setting the poodle beside her. "Wait here, noble steed. I must go rouse the seaweed prince from his tragic slumber."

Gladiola barked once in solemn approval.

Helena scooted over to Percy, still tangled in his own sleeping bag like a burrito of destiny, hair even worse than hers and mouth half-open as he mumbled something about blue cookies and fish tacos.

She leaned down close—way too close—and whispered, "Rise and shine, your soggy highness."

Percy groaned and rolled away from her voice, face now pressed into the warehouse floor. "Five more minutes... I was surfing with dolphins..."

"You're about to surf into a kick to the ribs," Annabeth muttered, now tying her shoes.

"Okay, okay," Helena said, sitting on her knees and cracking her knuckles with a grin. "Plan B."

She dramatically cleared her throat and summoned all the fake gravitas of a TV announcer. "By the order of Queen Helena, ruler of enchanted poodles and devourer of glitter cupcakes, I hereby declare it wake-up o'clock!"

Then she pounced.

"AGH—!" Percy let out an undignified yelp as Helena tackled the side of his sleeping bag, shaking him violently while laughing.

Grover nearly choked on his granola. Annabeth didn't even flinch. "Good. The zombie lives" She said. 

Percy flailed, hair sticking up like an electrified sea urchin, as he tried to free himself from the burrito trap of his sleeping bag. "Helena! Have mercy!"

Helena grinned like a Disney villain mid-monologue. "Mercy is for mortals, Seaweed Brain!"

"I am mortal!"

"Not my problem!"

Gladiola barked in excitement, jumping in circles like this was the best reality show he'd ever watched.

Percy groaned, hair now completely flattened on one side and sticking up like seaweed on the other. "What happened to personal space?" he muttered, rubbing his face.

"You surrendered it when you dared to sleep near me," Helena said, flipping her hair dramatically like a shampoo commercial gone rogue.

Gladiola barked in approval and began circling Helena's feet like a knight waiting for his next quest.

"I think he likes you," Grover said, still working through his granola bar like it was the most sacred of breakfast rituals.

"I know he does." Helena lifted the poodle into her arms and pressed their cheeks together. "We're bonded now. Spiritually. Cosmically. Maybe legally, I don't know."

Percy looked at her confused, and then turned to the blonde. "How long was I asleep?" 

"Long enough for me to cook breakfast," Annabeth said and tossed Percy a bag of chips, an apple and a juice box, all courtesy of Helena's overpacking tendencies.  "And Grover went exploring and found a friend." She pointed to the pink cloud in Helena's lap.

Gladiola yapped at Percy suspiciously while cuddling closer to Helena. 

"No, he's not," Grover answered. 

Percy turned to his best friend. "Are you talking to that...thing"

Helena gasped and slapped his arm. "Ow!" he exclaimed and rubbed his arm. 

"Don't call him a thing," Helena said, clutching Gladiola like he was made of spun sugar and royalty. "He is a noble soul on a quest for freedom and self-expression. And also cuddles."

"He says you smell like lavender and bubblegum," Grover added casually, licking granola crumbs off his fingers.

Helena beamed. "See? Gladiola gets me."

Percy looked at Annabeth in a way that said, 'Save me from this madness.' Annabeth rolled her eyes and gently handed the brunette a green apple, a juice box and two bags of sweets. 

Helena's eyes sparkled at the sight of the candy and she instantly started devouring the gummy bears.

Gladiola barked once—politely, but pointedly.

She paused mid-chew and gasped. "You're right. I didn't offer you any." She plucked a red gummy bear and held it up like it was a royal offering. "For you, noble knight."

The poodle gently took it from her fingers and trotted a regal circle before settling at her feet like a courtier beside his queen.

Percy stared, dumbfounded. "Did he just—bow?"

"Obviously," Helena said, popping a green bear in her mouth. "Respect is earned, Jackson. Try keeping up."

Annabeth muttered something suspiciously like "You're all insane" under her breath and finished stuffing the last sleeping bag into Helena's magical bag.

Grover brushed the granola bar crumbs from his shirt and looked at Percy, who was eating his apple and looking at the dog in Helena's lap wearily. "Percy, meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Percy" 

The Jackson boy looked at Annabeth, hoping she would tell him this was all a joke. 

The blonde simply raised an eyebrow in response. 

"I'm not saying hello to a pink poodle," Percy said. "Forget it"

"Percy," Annabeth said. "I said hello to the poodle. Helena said hello to the poodle. You say hello to the poodle." 

"No," Percy insisted. 

"Percy," Helena said with a pout. 

Percy said hello to the poodle. 

Grover explained that he'd come across Gladiola in the woods and they'd struck up a conversation. The poodle had run away from a rich local family, who'd posted a $200 reward for his return. Gladiola didn't really want to go back to his family, but he was willing to if it meant helping Grover and Helena.

Helena cooed and hugged Gladiola tighter. 

"How does Gladiola know about the reward?" The son of Poseidon asked. 

"He read the signs," Grover said. "Duh." 

"Of course," Percy said. "Silly me."

"So we turn in Gladiola," Annabeth explained in her best strategy voice, "we get money, and we buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple."

Helena pouted. "I could use my card and gets us tickets, we don't have to return Gladiola"

"We can't take him to LA" Percy told her.

The brunette cocked an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"

"You can't use your card yet" Annabeth said and Helena huffed, her best friend didn't need to elaborate; she knew exactly what Annabeth meant. 

Helena sighed like someone had just told her she couldn't bring her favorite tiara to war. "Fine. Betrayal tastes like disappointment and synthetic strawberry." She popped another gummy bear into her mouth and chewed mournfully.

Gladiola whimpered softly and nuzzled her arm.

"I know, darling. Life is cruel."

Grover gave the poodle a reassuring pat. "He says he understands. But he's willing to make the sacrifice if it helps the quest. Very noble stuff."

"He's braver than half the demigods at camp," Helena muttered, giving Gladiola a kiss on the head. "If any of the gods smite me today, it better not be for turning in a royal treasure like him."

Annabeth shouldered the magical bag. "Let's get moving before you try to marry the dog."

Helena didn't even look up. "Already planning the venue. It's a spring wedding in Tuscany. Pastel roses and doves, obviously."

Percy, still munching on his apple, tried to ignore the warm flutter in his chest. It was fine. Totally fine. He did not find her adorable when she talked to a pink poodle like they were soulmates. Nope. Not at all.

"She's joking, right?" he whispered to Grover.

Grover blinked. "I honestly don't know anymore."

They set off, Gladiola prancing ahead like the proudest pink marshmallow general the world had ever seen. Helena, of course, insisted on walking beside him like they were royalty on parade. Percy kept stealing glances at her, hoping no one noticed.

Unfortunately, someone always did.

"You're staring again," Annabeth said without looking up from her map.

"I'm not," Percy hissed.

"You so are," she deadpanned.

"I'm just watching the poodle."

"Mhm. Sure. The poodle."

Percy groaned. "Can we not?"

Helena, blissfully unaware—or maybe not—spun on her heel and walked backwards in front of them, arms spread wide, gummy bears bouncing in the front pocket of Percy's hoodie she still hadn't given back. "Come on, if we aren't fast enough, we'll miss the train."

The sun was barely up when they reached the edge of the estate—a sprawling mansion wrapped in manicured hedges and the kind of wealth that screamed old money and inherited disappointment.

Gladiola slowed his prancing as they approached the iron gate. His tail wagged a little less, his ears drooped just slightly.

Helena noticed instantly.

"You're being brave," she whispered, kneeling beside him and fixing the little purple bow she'd tied on his ear hours ago. "Nobility looks good on you."

The poodle gave a soft, dignified bark and licked her nose. She sniffled, dramatically of course.

"Don't make this harder than it already is," she whispered, hugging him tightly.

Grover knocked on the gate's buzzer.

A tinny voice crackled through: "State your business."

Annabeth stepped up. "We found your dog. Gladiola."

A beat. Then a mechanical click, and the gate creaked open.

Out came a woman in a silk robe and slippers more expensive than half of Manhattan. She was clutching a coffee cup like it owed her rent and blinked blearily at them.

"Oh, thank the gods," she muttered. "Gladiola, you ridiculous mutt—"

Gladiola didn't move.

Helena gently nudged him forward, but the poodle turned and pressed his head into her knee.

She stroked his head softly. "Go on, darling. Your people are waiting."

"Is that a tiara on my dog?" the woman asked.

"It's couture," Helena said, wiping a tear. "You wouldn't understand."

Percy mumbled something suspiciously like, "Oh my gods," under his breath.

Grover handed over a folded flyer. "You said there was a reward?"

The woman sighed, reached into her robe, and pulled out a wad of cash. She handed it over without a second glance.

"Thanks. He's been awful to find."

Gladiola finally padded over to her side. Not happy. Just... obedient.

"Come along," she said, already turning back inside. "The groomer's going to have a meltdown over your washed out color, you little pink disaster—"

Gladiola stopped and looked back.

Helena raised a hand and pressed it to her heart, nodding solemnly.

"Farewell, sweet prince," she said. "May your days be full of bacon bits and vengeance."

The gate shut behind them with a sharp click.

Helena stood perfectly still for a beat, her back straight, her jaw tight.

Then she sniffled again. "I'm never emotionally recovering from this."

"You knew him for six hours," Annabeth deadpanned.

"That's six more hours than I needed to love him forever."

Percy tried not to smile. "You gonna be okay?"

Helena gave him a mournful look. "He gave me joy. He gave me meaning. He gave me his paw. And now he's gone. You tell me, Jackson—will I ever be okay again?"

Percy stared at her, and for just a second, forgot how to speak.

Grover cleared his throat. "Well. We've got two hundred bucks. Let's go catch a train."

Annabeth was already checking her map. "There's a station fifteen minutes from here. Let's move."

Helena threw one last look at the mansion gates, whispering under her breath like a soap opera widow, "Goodbye, my marshmallow knight."

And then she turned on her heel and marched forward, hair bouncing, grief sparkling like glitter in the sunlight.

Percy followed, still not saying anything.

Because truth be told... he was a little jealous of a pink poodle.

The quartet spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain.

The money from returning Gladiola had just been enough for tickets to Denver; Annabeth had decided that they would find a way to LA there and didn't let Helena buy the tickets directly to LA. 

The world blurred by in soft golds and dusky blues, each hour pulling them further from New York and deeper into the heart of prophecy. The ride should've been boring—three demigods and a satyr stuck in a glorified metal can—but it wasn't. Not with Helena around.

She took over the booth like royalty on tour, shoes off, glitter nail polish out, sketchpad open. She spent most of the trip cross-legged with headphones in one ear and her hair twisted up in a messy bun held by a dagger.

She drew. A lot.

Sometimes it was landscapes—forests blurring by, clouds stitched with sunbeams, the edge of a mountain just catching light. Sometimes it was faces. Percy's, once, half-done and then furiously scribbled out before anyone noticed.

Annabeth read through three books and only glared when Helena tried to braid her hair mid-page.

Grover napped, snacked, and whispered to passing birds through the window.

And Percy?

Percy watched Helena when he thought no one was looking.

At one point, she caught him.

"What?" she asked, head tilted, one brow arched in that way that made his brain turn off.

He panicked. "You had... uh, glitter. On your cheek."

Helena blinked. Then smiled slowly. "Sea-green-eyes. That's intentional."

And just like that, he was doomed again.

They passed the time in card games and travel snacks, in laughter and silence. Helena spent a solid hour teaching Grover how to draw eyeliner wings with a pencil stub. She let Percy wear one of her rings while they played truth or dare and he didn't take it off until the next morning. She taught Annabeth how to curse in Italian and refused to translate any of it for Percy, who was very concerned based on Annabeth's growing smirk.

The night were something else. Helena had added part of the cash she had in her bag to add berths to their sleeping car, but she didn't sleep that much, not at night.      

At night, the train dimmed into a lullaby of distant whistles and the soft hum of tracks beneath them. Grover snored gently from the bottom bunk, clutching a bag of dried fruit like a security blanket. Annabeth, above him, slept curled up with a book still open on her chest and her knife within easy reach.

Helena had taken the top bunk opposite, claiming it with dramatic flair the moment they boarded ("If I'm going to be haunted by prophetic nightmares, I'm doing it with a view"). But she hadn't gone to sleep yet. Not really.

Percy lay on the bunk below hers, staring at the ceiling, fingers laced behind his head. He could hear her above, sketching again—soft pencil strokes, the occasional sigh, the rustle of a page being turned.

He couldn't sleep either.

"Hey," her voice finally drifted down, barely louder than the train's lull. "You still awake, Waterboy?"

He smirked. "No. I'm sleep-talking. Impressive, right?"

A pause. Then a snort. "You wish."

Percy rolled onto his side to look up at her bunk. He could just make out the edge of her blanket draping down, and the purple glint of the fuzzy material in the low light.

"What're you drawing?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said too quickly.

Percy blinked. "So... a monster?"

"No," she said again, quieter. "Just... stuff."

He waited. She sighed. Then she peeked her head over the edge—hair in a messy halo around her face, eyes glowing in the dark like twin jewels.

"I sometimes draw when I can't sleep," she said softly. "It's like... I can make things stay still. The world stops moving when I draw it."

Percy nodded. "That makes sense. I do the same with water."

She smiled. "You splash it at people when you're stressed?"

He grinned. "Only you."

She stuck her tongue out and disappeared back into her bunk for a moment.

Then, a paper fluttered down onto his chest.

He picked it up. It was a pencil sketch—him, eyes closed, leaning back against the train window, looking surprisingly peaceful. A breeze curled around his head like a halo, as if the wind itself liked him.

"...Lena," he said, blinking at the detail.

"It's not finished," she muttered, face still hidden. "And don't make it a thing."

He stared at it a little longer before whispering, "It's amazing."

A pause.

"Don't get sappy on me, Seaweed Brain," she warned, though her voice was a little wobbly.

He smiled, folding the sketch carefully and tucking it into the front pocket of his backpack like it was treasure.

"Thanks, Feather."

Silence stretched out again. Safe. Comfortable.

Then, suddenly—

"Perce?"

He blinked. "Yeah?"

A pause.

"...Do you ever feel like we're all just pretending not to be scared?"

Percy looked up at the bunk above him. He could just imagine her curled there, arms around her sketchpad, eyes staring out into the dark.

"All the time," he admitted. "But... when I'm with you guys, it's easier to forget. Like... maybe pretending makes it real."

He heard her exhale softly. "I hate that I get scared."

"You're allowed to be," he said. "You're... I mean, you're Helena."

She laughed quietly. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Yeah," he said. "It means you're... kind of the bravest person I know."

A long beat of silence.

Then: "If you keep saying stuff like that, I'm going to have to knight you again."

Percy grinned. "I'd be honored, Your Majesty."

Helena laughed again, then yawned. "Go to sleep, Kelp Head."

"Goodnight, Feather."

"Goodnight, Sea-green eyes."        

The three demigods were awake while the satyr slept. It was around 10 am; Annabeth was reading, Helena was drawing, and Percy was exploring the train. Both girls had warned him about keeping a low profile, they couldn't risk it. Not after the news they had seen about Percy Jackson and his three companions, 'the criminal quartet', one newspaper called them. Helena called the newspaper, 'the stupidiest idiots'. 

Once Percy returned to their cart, he found the two girls whispering; they had gone quiet as soon as he entered and he had been too tired to question them. He hadn't been able to sleep, tho. Grover kept blearing and snoring and waking him up.

Once, he shuffled around and his fake foot fell off. Annabeth and Percy had to stick it back on before any of the other passengers noticed.

"Yeah don't help or whatever" The Jackson boy told Helena who simply gave him a bubbly grin and returned to her sketchbook. 

"So," Annabeth asked him, once they'd gotten Grover's sneaker readjusted. "Who wants your help?"

"Annie!" Helena whined. "I was supposed to question him," She pouted. 

Annabeth raised her hands in surrender. 

 "What do you mean?" Percy asked them

 "When you were asleep just now, you mumbled, 'I won't help you.' Who were you dreaming about?"

"Yeah, you mumbled something like that while in the creepy warehouse of the creepy snake-pedophilic lady," Helena added. 

Percy blinked. His fingers tightened on Riptide, the memory of the dream flickering behind his eyes like the last glow of a dying fire.

"I—I don't know," he admitted, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "It was... I was standing at the edge of this huge pit. Deep. Like, bottomless. I couldn't see anything, but something was down there. Talking."

Annabeth's brows furrowed instantly. "What kind of something?"

Percy looked at both of them. "It was like... a voice. Old. Angry. Hungry. Like it had been waiting a really long time."

Helena's hand paused mid-sketch. Her pencil scratched a long, unintended line across the paper. "What did it say?" she asked, voice quieter now.

He hesitated. "It said... it knew me. That I was the one. And if I brought it the bolt, it would... give me my mom back."

Silence bloomed between them like a crack in glass.

Annabeth's eyes sharpened like knives. "That's not a dream. That's a message."

"It was trying to manipulate you," Helena added, her voice hard and cold now, all the sparkle gone. "Using your mom as bait? That's textbook monster manipulation. Emotional blackmail 101."

She shut her sketchbook with a snap.

Percy swallowed hard. "I didn't say anything back. Not really. I just—I told it no. I think."

"You think?" Annabeth echoed.

"I was half-asleep!"

Annabeth was quiet for a long time. "That doesn't sound like Hades. He always appears on a black throne, and he never laughs."

"I'm sure he laughs at people's suffering, his brothers' too. Possibly," The brunette mumbled. 

"He offered my mother in trade. Who else could do that?" 

"I guess... if he meant, 'Help me rise from the Underworld.' If he wants war with the Olympians.But why ask you to bring him the master bolt if he already has it?"

Percy shook his head helplessly. 

Annabeth tapped her pencil against her book, deep in thought. "We're missing something. If he already had the bolt, he wouldn't need you, Percy. And if he didn't have it, why offer you something in exchange? He's either bluffing or..."

"Or someone's playing a bigger game," Helena muttered.

Percy looked up. "You think there's another player?"

Helena nodded slowly, gaze distant. "Prophecies don't lie. But they don't always tell the whole truth either. Maybe it's not Hades who's in the pit."

"Then who is?" Percy asked.

She didn't answer immediately. She glanced out the window instead, watching the blurred countryside pass like a living painting.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But something's wrong. The wind's been whispering strange things. Restlessness. Anger. Like there's something just beneath the surface, waiting."

Percy's skin prickled. "You mean, like, monster waiting?"

Helena tilted her head. "No. Worse. Something that doesn't need teeth to destroy." The wind spirit's words rang in her head. "Something waits beneath the earth. Something old. Something broken." "Only that it wears many faces. One speaks like fire. Another hides in the shadows. One wears guilt like armor." 

Helena decided to keep quiet and not mention those details, they would only unsettle Percy and Annabeth more. 

The train gave a lurch. Grover snorted and rolled over with a snuffle, muttering something about vegetables. 

Annabeth readjusted his cap so it covered his horns. "Percy, you can't barter with Hades. You know that, right? He's deceitful, heartless, and greedy. I don't care if his Kindly Ones weren't as aggressive this time—" 

Helena immediately tensed and her hand went to her Beautiful Destruction.

"This time?" Percy asked, looking at the two girls. "You mean you've run into them before?"

Annabeth's hand went to her necklace. She fingered a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree, one of her clay end-of-summer tokens. Helena's fingers brushed the silver ring on her hand, the lapis lazuli cool against her skin. The mood had shifted—gone were the jokes, the teasing, the candy-fueled glitter chaos. Now there was just the rattle of the train, and the weight of something waiting.

Annabeth spoke. "Let's just say I've got no love for the Lord of the Dead. Neither of us does." She glanced at Helena. " You can't be tempted to make a deal for your mom."

Helena gave the blonde a look. 'Don't go there, Athena Jr.'

"What would you do if it was your dad?"

 "That's easy," she said. "I'd leave him to rot." 

"You're not serious?" The Jackson boy asked in disbelief. 

Annabeth's gray eyes fixed on him. She wore the same expression she'd worn in the woods at camp,the moment she drew her sword against the hellhound.  Helena placed her ringed hand on top of Annabeth's. 

"My dad resented me since the day I was born, Percy," she said. "He never wanted a baby. When he got me, he asked Athena to take me back and raise me on Olympus because he was too busy with his work. She wasn't happy about that. She told him heroes had to be raised by their mortal parent."

"But how... I mean, I guess you weren't born in a hospital. . . ." 

"I appeared on my father's doorstep, in a golden cradle, carried down from Olympus by Zephyr the West Wind. You'd think my dad would remember that as a miracle, right? Like, maybe he'd take some digital photos or something. But he always talked about my arrival as if it were the most inconvenient thing that had ever happened to him. When I was five he got married and totally forgot about Athena.He got a 'regular' mortal wife, and had two 'regular' mortal kids, and tried to pretend I didn't exist."

They all kept quiet for a second. 

"My mom married a really awful guy," Percy told her. "Grover said she did it to protect me, to hide me inthe scent of a human family. Maybe that's what your dad was thinking." 

Annabeth kept worrying at her necklace. She was pinching the gold college ring that hung with the beads. "He doesn't care about me," she said. "His wife—my stepmom—treated me like a freak. She wouldn't let me play with her children. My dad went along with her. Whenever something dangerous happened—you know, something with monsters—they would both look at me resentfully, like, 'How dare you put our family at risk.' Finally, I took the hint. I wasn't wanted. I ran away." 

"How old were you?" 

"Same age as when I started camp. Seven."

 "But... you couldn't have gotten all the way to Half-Blood Hill by yourself." 

"Not alone, no. Athena watched over me, guided me toward help. I made a couple of unexpected friends who took care of me, for a short time, anyway." She glanced at Helena and the girl gave her a comforting smile and Annabeth laid her head on her best friend's shoulder. 

Percy looked at the girl with emerald-specked sapphire eyes and she gave a soft sigh. "I would do anything for my dad, Percy." Her gaze dropped to her silver ring again. "I wouldn't hesitate and would give the world away if needed, Zeus' lightning bolt too, but he wouldn't want me to."

The words slipped out quieter than a whisper, not dramatic, not regal, just real. Helena didn't look at either of them. She kept her eyes fixed on her ring, thumb brushing over the lapis lazuli like it held the answer to everything.

"My dad..." she started again, voice steadier now, "he raised me like I was the sun. Like I was the world. Even when I wasn't with him, he made sure I knew I was loved. He never made me feel like a burden, not once. He gave up everything—his gallery in Florence, his name, his life—all to keep me safe. If it were him down there in some dark pit? I wouldn't just bring the bolt. I'd bring Olympus down."

Percy's heart ached. He hadn't known Helena could sound like that—so quietly fierce. So protective it hurt. For a second, she reminded his mom.

"But..." she continued, finally lifting her gaze. "He wouldn't want me to. He'd say that love isn't about burning the world down. It's about surviving it. He'd want me to protect the others. He'd want me to finish this quest. Even if it meant letting go."

"He sounds like a great guy" Percy said. 

Helena smiled and nodded. "He is" 

She looked at Percy, her gaze met his. Emerald-speckled Sapphire against Sea-green. Both soft, both searching for something in the other's gaze. Him for answers, her for understanding. "My point is," She continued. "I wouldn't give it to something like that," Helena finished, voice low but firm. 

"Whatever's in that pit? It doesn't want to help. It wants to own. To use. My dad loves me, but he'd never want me to sell my soul to get him back if it meant unleashing something worse into the world."

Percy stared at her. There was steel in her voice—Hera's daughter, through and through—but also something achingly soft beneath it, like a secret bruised too many times to heal right. He felt that same ache in his chest. He understood it.

"I just..." he said, fumbling with the words. "I miss her. I'd do anything to bring her back. But I don't know how to fight something I can't even see."

Helena leaned forward and gently flicked his forehead with two fingers. "Then don't fight it alone, Seaweed Brain."

"Ow."

Annabeth smirked. "She's right. You're not alone anymore."

Percy rubbed his forehead but didn't argue. Not this time.

Author's note: 

So...yeah. I'm ashamed, It's been a while but, you know, turns out a breakup does give you writer's block, especially when you write in disorder like I do,  and if you add exams to that? Yeah no, I'm not liking it. 

Anyhow, what do you mean we are at 1.33k reads?! Like I never imagined my book would have that many reads, like I remember when it was at 42 reads and I was so excited so now I'm like? Should I start every single fanfic idea I have? 

Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter lovelies! 

Don't forget to vote and comment on your thoughts!

XOXO

Kristy

Chapter Text

Toward the end of their second day on the train, June 13, eight days before the summer solstice, the quartet passed through some golden hills and over the Mississippi River into St. Louis.

Annabeth craned her neck to see the Gateway Arch. Helena had smirked and said: "No matter how much you look, you won't suddenly apparate there, brainiac. "

Annabeth glared at her and then sighed. "I want to do that."

Percy furrowed his brows. "Apparate at the Gateway Arch?"

"No," she gave him a funny look. "Build something like that. Have you ever seen the Parthenon, Percy?"

"Only in pictures"

"Well," Helena said while stretching and putting her feet on Percy's lap, and he started playing with the laces of her boots. "It's really pretty...if you ignore it's in ruins"

Percy looked at her. "You've been there?"

The brunette nodded. "It was Athena's favorite classroom." She made a face. "Why couldn't she give me my lessons in Olympus like a normal goddess? I'll never understand, apparating is horrible."

Annabeth shot her a look; only Helena questions the gods out loud. 

She shook her head and looked at Percy, who was still playing with the laces of Helena's boots. "Someday, I'm going to see it in person. I'm going to build the greatest monument to the gods, ever. Something that'll last a thousand years."

Percy laughed. "You? An architect?"

Helena kicked him, and he choked on his laughter. 

The blonde's cheek flushed. "Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, like a certain god of earthquakes I could mention."

"Now, now, children. Behave," Helena looked at them both disapprovingly, like a mom scolding her kids. "We don't fight, alright? Cause if you fight, I get annoyed, and if I get annoyed, my powers get annoyed, and if my powers get annoyed, things explode."

The lights in the train car flickered—just for a second. A gust of wind whipped through the closed windows like a whisper, ruffling Percy's hair and making Grover snort in his sleep.

Helena smirked sweetly, too sweetly. "Oops."

Annabeth muttered something under her breath in Ancient Greek. Probably a prayer. Possibly a threat.

Percy just looked up at Helena, eyes wide. "Did you just passively-aggressively threaten us with a natural disaster?"

She beamed. "Of course not. I actively did."

"Noted," he said, still playing with her laces but now a little more carefully.

Annabeth sighed and looked at the raven-haired boy. "Sorry," Annabeth said. "That was mean."

"Can't we work together a little?" Percy pleaded. "I mean, didn't Athena and Poseidon ever cooperate?"

Annabeth had to think about it. "I guess... the chariot," she said tentatively. "My mom invented it, but Poseidon created horses out of the crests of waves. So they had to work together to make it complete." 

"Then we can cooperate, too. Right?"

They rode into the city, Annabeth watching the Arch disappear behind a hotel. 

"I suppose," She said at last. 

Helena beamed. "YAY!" she exclaimed and extended her hands. White lilies and lotus flower petals started falling into their cart. 

Annabeth batted a petal off her book. "You've been practicing again."

Helena grinned. "What can I say? Drama needs flair. Also, the wind spirits were bored."

Grover stirred, still half-asleep. "M'gonna sneeze flowers again," he mumbled, which made Percy snort.

The train into the Amtrak station downtown. The intercom told the passengers they'd have a three-hour layover before departing for Denver.

Grover stretched. Before he was even fully awake, he said, "Food."

"Come on, goat boy," Annabeth said. "Sightseeing." 

"Sightseeing?" Grover questioned. 

Helena shrugged and nodded. "Fine by me, it's been a while since I saw the Arch."

The boys exchanged a look, and Grover shrugged. "As long as there's a snack bar without monsters."

"Don't jinx it, would you?" Helena said, her Italian accent peeking out more. 

The Arch was about a mile from the train station. Late in the day, the lines to get in weren't that long.

They threaded their way through the underground museum, looking at covered wagons and other junk from the 1800s. It wasn't all that thrilling, if you asked the boys, but Annabeth kept telling them interesting facts about howthe Arch was built, and Helena answered with more general architect facts (Helena told them her grandfather was an architect and that's how she knew all those facts) Grover kept passing Percy jelly beans, so he was okay. 

Helena suddenly felt like she was being watched, and the stone in one of her necklaces— a beautiful Victorian-style choker with emeralds and pearls— started buzzing. She looked around but didn't find who she was looking for. Not yet. 

Percy noticed her restlessness. "You feel like we shouldn't be here, too?"

Helena cocked an eyebrow and nodded subtely. "Kinda." Her gaze drifted, and she saw a raven watching them—her— intensely. 

"Guys," Percy said. "You know the gods' symbols of power?"

The girl beside him nodded, and Annabeth, who had been in the middle of reading about the construction equipment used to build the Arch, looked over. "Yeah?"

"Well, Hade—" 

Grover cleared his throat. "We're in a public place... You mean, our friend downstairs?"

"Our uncle?" The daughter of Hera offered. 

"Um, right," Percy said. "Our uncle and friend way downstairs. Doesn't he have a hat like Annabeth's?"

"You mean the Helm of Darkness," Annabeth said. "Yeah, that's his symbol of power. We saw it next to his seat during the winter solstice council meeting."

"He was there?" Percy questioned, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

"Yep," Helena said. "It's the only time he's allowed to visit Olympus—the darkest day of the year," She made a face. "Fitting if you ask me, if I had to see the siblings who betrayed me and cast me out, I would make it a pretty dark day too."

 Annabeth took over. "His helm is a lot more powerful than my invisibility hat, if what I've heard is true..."

"It allows him to become darkness," Grover confirmed. "He can melt into shadow or pass through walls. He can't be touched, or seen, or heard. And he can radiate fear so intense it can drive you insane or stop your heart. Why do you think all rational creatures fear the dark?"

Helena snapped her finger and pointed at the satyr. 

"But then... how do we know he's not here right now, watching us?" The son of Poseidon asked.

The other tree exchanged a look. 

"We don't," Grover said. 

Helena shook her head. "Look, Fishboy, do you really think the lord of the death would be wasting his time watching us rather than dealing with his other duties? With the number of people that day on a daily basis. That's a lot of paperwork, don't think he would waste time on us." 

Helena folded her arms, her expression the perfect blend of tired royalty and divine exasperation. "Honestly, if Hades is watching us, he should be ashamed of himself. Eavesdropping on middle schoolers instead of managing the endless tide of mortal souls? That's just bad time management."

Grover looked mildly horrified. "You... you're not afraid of him?"

"Afraid?" Helena raised a brow, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like she was about to deliver a TED Talk in Olympus. "Grov, I've had tea with Ares, played chess with Athena, and once told Hera—my own mother—that her hair was too flat during a feast. If Hades wants to haunt me, he better bring snacks."

Annabeth gave her a look. "You were grounded for that."

"Worth it," Helena muttered.

Percy glanced nervously around the museum. "Still. If he is here... wouldn't he, I dunno, say something?"

Helena shrugged. "Maybe he's shy. Maybe he's lurking dramatically behind a statue. Or maybe," she leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming, "he's just waiting for you to slip. Monsters are theatrical, Perce. They don't come when you're expecting them. They wait until you get comfortable."

Helena crossed her arms and tilted her head, letting her boot tap against the museum floor with the rhythm of pure judgment. "I mean, come on," she said, voice dipped in sweet mockery. "You really think Uncle Emo-God is lurking behind a tourist display about Lewis and Clark?"

She gestured toward a dusty diorama of a covered wagon. "This is the setting of his big villain arc? What's next? He pops out of the gift shop wearing a 'Gateway to the West' T-shirt and demands our souls while 'Highway to hell plays in the background?"

Percy blinked. "...I mean, it would be kinda funny."

"Funny?" she scoffed. "It'd be tragic. Imagine being the literal King of the Dead and still having to deal with escalators and crying toddlers on field trips."

Grover stifled a laugh. "He does have a point. I don't think he's big on tourism."

Helena shrugged, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "If Hades were here, I guarantee you we'd feel it. The man doesn't do subtle. He walks into a room, and the mood drops twenty degrees. Very theatrical. Honestly, kind of a diva."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "That's rich coming from you."

"I'm not denying it," Helena said with a smirk. "I'm just more self-aware about it."

The curly-haired blonde rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's get moving."

They continued moving to the elevator car they were going to ride to the top of the Arch. 

The raven continued watching them, and Helena's choker charm was still buzzing. 

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The elevator car creaked and clanked as it began to rise, slow and unnerving.

Helena could feel Percy's unease before he even said a word. It pulsed off him like static—tight shoulders, clenched fists, forced breathing. It was almost enough to smother her usual joy at being this high off the ground.

"You okay, Sea-green eyes?" she asked gently, even though she already knew the answer.

"Yeah, um... just don't like cramped spaces," he mumbled, bracing himself for her to laugh.

But she didn't. Of course she didn't.

Instead, Helena smiled—soft, not teasing—and reached for his hand. Her fingers curled around his, warm and grounding, and gave a little squeeze.

"Don't worry, Waterboy," she said. "We're all afraid of something."

They got crammed into the tiny capsule alongside a big woman with a Chihuahua in a rhinestone collar that looked like it had never known fear. Helena eyed it warily.

"That dog's judging me," she whispered.

Percy blinked. "It's like six inches tall."

"And yet it holds more malice than most minor gods," she muttered.

As the capsule continued its slow crawl upward, she turned back to Percy, clearly trying to keep his mind elsewhere.

"I want to be a doctor," she said suddenly. "Or a surgeon."

He blinked again. "What?"

"I want to be a doctor," she repeated, fingers still lightly wrapped around his. "My grandmother was one. So was my aunt. They're badass. Plus, you know... I'm good at healing. And taking care of people."

She winked at him.

Percy forgot what fear was for a second. "Not an artist? Or musician?" he asked. He knew how much she loved painting, how easily she got lost in music.

She shook her head. "Nah. That's just for me. I don't want to turn what makes me happy into something that has to be done."

Percy frowned. "You know you don't have to help people all the time, right? It's okay to be selfish."

She looked at him, and her smile turned wistful. "I know, Kelp Head. But... I don't want to be. Not when I can help."

She paused, brushing her thumb along his knuckles.

"My dad always says he could've been a full-time painter. He had talent, heart, everything. But when it came time to take over the family business, he did it without hesitation. And now... painting is still his escape. His safe place. Because he never made it his job."

Percy stared at her. The way her eyes softened when she talked about her father. At the quiet strength in her voice.

She wasn't dramatic right now. She wasn't flaunting or teasing or threatening the weather. She was just Helena.

And Percy kind of loved her the most like this.

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They had just reached the top of the observation Arch when the fat lady spoke. 

"No parents?" She asked them.

She had beady eyes, pointy, coffee-stained teeth, a floppy denim hat, and a denim dress that bulged so much, she looked like a blue-jean blimp. 

"They're below," Annabeth told her. "Scared of heights."

"Oh, the poor darlings." 

The Chihuahua growled. The woman said, "Now, now, sonny. Behave." The dog had beady eyes like its owner, intelligent and vicious.

Percy looked at her. "Sonny. Is that his name?" 

"No," the lady told him and smiled, as if that cleared everything up.

Percy was still guiding them to the elevator when Helena felt it again—that buzz beneath her skin, the unmistakable shimmer of fate pressing like static against her spine.

The raven was back.

It perched on the railing outside the upper viewing deck, jet-black feathers gleaming with hints of violet in the fading sun. Its beady eyes fixed directly on her. Watching. Waiting.

" T he raven and the brother know more than they share..."

The wind spirit's words hissed through her thoughts like a whisper behind her ribs.

A sudden chill laced down her spine, despite the warmth of the observation deck. The raven tilted its head once—and then took flight, gliding toward a narrow side platform. No one else seemed to notice.

Except her.

'Follow, Helena, follow'

The voice wasn't Hera's. It wasn't the wind spirits'. But it curled into her bones with the intimacy of memory, like it had always been there. Waiting.

She scanned her surroundings.

Annabeth and Grover were stepping into the elevator. Percy was still outside, watching her, lips parted like he might say something.

"Be right back," Helena chirped. "I forgot to buy Pringles."

She didn't wait for a reply. If she had, maybe she would've noticed Percy didn't step into the elevator. Maybe she would've seen how the fat lady's eyes glinted with malice or how the Chihuahua licked its lips like it tasted blood in the air.

But Helena didn't wait for anything.

She turned on her heel and walked away, fast, her heels clicking on the metal floor like a countdown. Toward the stairwell exit. The raven took off again without a sound, spiraling downward along the curve of the Arch.

Helena followed.

Down steel stairs and echoing silence. Past floor landings marked Maintenance Only. Her breath came faster now, heart thudding in her throat. The voice in her head had quieted, but something else had taken its place.

Light.

Golden, living light.

It leaked through a crack in the steel wall like sunlight through an unfinished painting. And there—where logic said nothing should be—was a door of white marble, inlaid with gold and lined in ivy.

It opened for her.

She stepped through.

And she was no longer in the Arch.

Helena stood barefoot in a glowing courtyard of sun-drenched columns. The floor beneath her was warm marble veined with amber. An olive tree swayed beside a pool of crystalline water, its branches heavy with golden fruit. Music floated through the air—soft lyre strings, laughter carried by breeze, and the distant call of a raven.

She inhaled—and the scent was everything: oranges in summer, parchment and cedarwood, lilies and old poetry.

"Well, well," said a voice like sunshine filtered through poetry. "If it isn't my favorite thunderstorm."

Helena turned.

There, reclining casually across the rim of the fountain, one hand trailing through the water like he had all the time in the world, sat Apollo.

Blonde curls, blue eyes, golden smile, golden everything, really. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to be infuriating. A bow slung across his back and a smug grin carved directly by the sun.

"Apollo," Helena exhaled.

"My dazzling, chaotic niece," he said warmly, opening his arms like she might actually run into them. "You've grown even more dramatic since Olympus."

She folded her arms. "You summoned a literal raven to drag me out of a national monument. Kind of dramatic."

"Dramatic," he agreed, "but necessary. And aesthetic. I have standards."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess—this isn't a social call?"

He sobered slightly, though that signature Apollo gleam never left his eyes. "Not entirely. I thought we should talk. Before things unravel."

"Unravel?" she echoed.

Apollo stood, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. "You've been hearing her, haven't you?"

Helena stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come now," Apollo said gently. "The voice that isn't your mother's. That drips sorrow like honey and warns you about mirrors and envy and the kind of beauty wars are built around."

Helena's throat tightened. "...You know what it is."

"I do." His expression softened with something almost brotherly. "So do most of us."

"Then tell me."

"I can't," he said. "But I can tell you that you're not crazy. You're not cursed. You're not broken." He stepped closer. "You're changing. Because she's waking up."

"Who?" Helena snapped. "Just say it."

Apollo's voice gentled. "She's part of your name, Lena. Part of your thread. You'll figure it out soon. But I wanted you to hear it from someone who loves you."

Helena stared at him. "This is about Helen. Isn't it?"

He didn't answer.

But the raven landed beside him.

And it nodded.

Apollo reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, like Hera used to do.

"You were born of a story that shouldn't exist. But you do. And you're stronger than any myth written about you. Just remember that."

Helena's breath caught in her chest.

Apollo watched her, and for once, there was no arrogance in his face. Just warmth. Old, quiet warmth. Like he remembered holding her hand when she was five and scared of storms, like he still saw the baby goddess tucked beneath the mortal girl.

"You were always going to be more," he said softly. "Even when you were still drawing suns on scrolls in your mother's throne room and complaining that Hera wouldn't let you wear lipstick."

"She still won't," Helena muttered. "She says divine cosmetics are reserved for marriage rites."

"She also once cursed a nymph for looking at Zeus sideways," Apollo said dryly. "Let's not pretend she's the benchmark of stable logic."

Helena almost smiled, but it didn't last.

"Why is this happening now?" she asked. "Why am I hearing her? Why is it starting now?"

Apollo took a long breath and glanced at the olive tree, watching one of its golden fruits fall with a soft thump into the grass.

"Because something is shifting," he said. "The fabric of things. You've felt it already—haven't you? The wind won't sit still. The monsters are restless. The Mist is thin like tissue. And the Fates... the Fates have gone quiet."

Helena swallowed hard.

"She's part of that," Apollo continued. "She's waking because the world needs her again. Or thinks it does. Or fears that it might."

"But she's dead," Helena said. "She's... she's gone."

Apollo tilted his head. "Are we ever? Really?"

The words hung between them, heavy as prophecy.

"You're saying she's me?" Helena asked.

"I'm saying," he said slowly, "that her echo lives in you. Her memory. Her bloodline. Her heartbreak. You carry the weight of every poem written in her name. Every war. Every curse. Every crown. You've always carried it."

"That's not fair," she whispered.

"Neither is fate," he said.

Helena turned away, suddenly furious. "Of course. Of course this is another thing I don't get to choose. Another secret. Another burden. Why me? Why not some poor mortal girl with too much eyeliner and a tragic backstory?"

Apollo stepped closer. "Because no one else could hold it."

Helena laughed bitterly. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"No," he admitted. "But I thought you deserved the truth. Or the edge of it, at least. You deserve to know that what you're feeling isn't madness. That you're not being haunted. You're being... remembered."

She blinked, and her voice broke. "I don't want to be remembered."

Apollo's face softened again. "You don't have to become her. That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

"She's offering you a mirror," he said. "Not a cage. You can choose to look, or not. But she'll be there, whether you acknowledge her or not. Whispering. Watching. Trying to remind you of who she was—and who you might become."

Helena stared down at her hands.

"I don't want to be a legend," she whispered. "I just want to be a girl."

Apollo nodded. "Then be a girl. Be this girl. The one who packs fuzzy blankets and gummy bears for a quest across America. The one who mother-hens everyone except herself. The one who sings when she paints and curses in six languages and flirts without realizing she's breaking hearts."

"I don't flirt," Helena said automatically.

Apollo raised an eyebrow. "Feather, even the wind blushes when you walk by."

That startled a small laugh out of her. She hated him for it.

"I'm scared," she admitted.

"I know." He placed his hand gently over her heart. "But you're not alone."

They stood in silence for a moment, the sunlight warm and weightless around them.

Then Apollo pulled something from behind his back—a small, round mirror set in a golden frame shaped like a peacock feather. Its glass shimmered, not with reflection, but memory. Faint images flickered across it—sand, ships, a woman in white turning her face from flames.

"This belonged to her once," he said. "She won't take it back. Maybe... maybe you'll find what she lost."

He placed it in her hands. It was warm. Too warm. Like it had been crying for centuries.

Helena stared at it, lips parted. "I don't want to be her."

"You don't have to be," Apollo said. "Just... listen to her. Learn from her. She remembers things you don't."

She looked up at him, and for once, she didn't have a snarky comeback. Just quiet grief blooming behind her ribs like a second heart.

"Thank you," she said.

He winked. "Don't thank me yet. You still have to survive the next days. Also, don't thank me for saving your life."

"What?"

And before she could finish the word, the temple began to fade.

The sunlight unraveled into mist.

And Apollo's voice chased her out like a song she'd hum for days and not know why:

"You'll need your storm soon, Feather. The gods are watching. And not all of them are rooting for you."

Then she was alone again.

Back in the Arch.

The stairs were cold beneath her feet.

The raven was gone.

And far above, she could hear people screaming. 

"What did you do now, Waterboy?" She sighed. 

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Chapter Text

By the time Helena reached the arch again, everything was chaos, people were screaming, and being evacuated. The place was quite literally trembling. 

"A kid jumped, and there was a huge cat and a crazy lady!" Helena heard a woman say, and she felt her stomach drop at the information. 

"Merde," she said. "I swear to Hera, seaweed brain, if you jumped to your death without me."

Her eyes scanned her surroundings in hopes of catching a glimpse of either of her friends.

"Lena!" She heard Grover's voice. 

"Lena!" she heard Grover's voice again—panicked, breathless, goat-legs thudding unevenly against the pavement as he ran.

She spun just in time to see him hobbling toward her from the edge of the observation area, his shirt torn, eyes wide with alarm. He skidded to a halt in front of her, panting like he'd just outrun an angry Cyclops with tax problems.

"There you are!" he gasped. "We've got a problem!"

"I gathered," Helena said, gesturing vaguely at the chaos around them. "Was it the chimera or the child homicide that gave it away?"

"It was both!" Grover squeaked.

Helena's blood iced.

"What do you mean both?"

Grover looked like he was going to cry. "Percy jumped. Off the Arch."

The words hit her like a punch to the chest.

"I'm sorry—he what?"

"HE JUMPED—off the Arch—on purpose! But there was this woman—she was a monster, like, literal monster—and she turned into this giant fire-breathing cat-snake-chicken hybrid thing and—"

Helena grabbed him by the shoulders. "Grover. Focus. Where is Annabeth?"

He pointed behind him with a shaky hand. "She's okay. She's down there—she thinks Percy jumped into the river"

Before Grover could say another word, Helena was already running. Shoving through the crowd like a hurricane in a leather jacket, ignoring the screams, the guards, the heat rising off the pavement.

The wind answered her panic—swirling in sudden gusts, stirring loose papers and vendor umbrellas, making birds scatter and children cry. Her choker buzzed again, not from divine warning this time, but from sheer emotional overload.

"Percy," she muttered, "if you died without me, I swear on Hera's peacock I will resurrect you just to kill you again."

She found Annabeth sitting on the curb, knees scraped, her face pale and her hands trembling as she hugged her backpack like a lifeline.

"Annabeth!"

The blonde's head snapped up. "Helena—thank the gods. You're okay."

"There!" Grover exclaimed as he caught sight of his best friend. 

The girls snapped their heads in the direction Grover was pointing and they both sighed in relief at the glimpse of raven hair. 

The raven-haired boy stumbled out of the river like a soggy, traumatized cryptid from a half-forgotten myth. His shirt was scorched at the edges, completely dry and with his head down, his gaze kept moving to the river, like the Mississippi itself hadn't quite finished letting go of him.

Helena didn't think.

She ran.

"Percy!"

He barely turned before she collided with him, arms wrapping around him so tight he might've drowned all over again.

"You absolute imbecile," she hissed into his shoulder. "You jumped off the Arch?"

Percy wheezed a little, half from the impact, half from being Helena-hugged and mildly concussed. "I had a plan."

"You jumped. Off a national landmark. What part of that is a plan?!" She pulled back just enough to inspect him, her hands darting over his face, his arms, checking for burns, breaks, mortal stupidity.

He blinked at her, dazed. "Are you mad?"

"I'm livid."

"Are you crying?"

"Absolutely not, don't flatter yourself."

Annabeth reached them at last, panting. "Thank the gods—he's alive."

Grover huffed up behind her, doubled over. "Why... why do I hang out with you people?"

Helena turned to Percy again, cupping his cheeks with damp, shaking fingers. "You're not allowed to die unless I'm there. That's the rule. We made eye contact on that like three days ago."

Percy grinned, teeth chattering a little. "Sorry, Feather."

She groaned and pressed her forehead to his. "You idiot, you reckless, noble, underwater maniac."

"I knew I'd land in the river," he offered, as if that fixed anything.

"You fought a chimera," Annabeth interjected, voice rising. "A literal chimera. And its mother. Alone. And then jumped off a building!"

"Observation structure," Percy corrected weakly. "Technically—ow!"

Helena had smacked his arm. Not hard, but enough to remind him he was not, in fact, invincible.

"You can't do that again," she said, softer now. Her voice trembled despite the bravado, despite the sarcasm. "You scared me."

Percy looked at her, sea-green eyes glassy with something that wasn't just river water. "I didn't mean to."

"I know," she whispered. "That's what makes it worse."

Grover groaned behind them. "Can we please move this emotional breakdown away from the crowd? The National Guard might show up any second."

"And I'd rather not be turned into an FBI headline," Annabeth muttered, already scanning the area for escape routes.

Helena nodded and tugged Percy toward the others. "Come on, Seaweed Brain. We're getting you out of here before you give the mortals a second heart attack."

"I think I gave myself one," he said, voice wobbly with exhaustion.

"You deserve it."

The next afternoon, the quartet was in Denver. And they were miserable. 

They had used half the cash Helena had in food on the train's dining car and in a car upgrade so they could get one with showers, as their last one had been in Half-Blood Hill, and the daughter of Hera had been losing her mind over that. 

They were currently walking downtown. Helena on Percy's back.

"Why," he grunted, "am I your personal chariot again?"

"Because," Helena said, flipping her hair and somehow managing to make it sparkle in broad daylight, "I fought a monster, emotionally supported your reckless butt, and cried exactly one tear. My legs have earned a break."

"You didn't fight the monster," Annabeth muttered. "You vanished right before it attacked."

"I was scouting alternate dimensions, thank you very much," Helena replied primly, resting her chin on Percy's head like he was her personal Segway. "Strategic asset relocation."

"You followed a bird," Grover deadpanned. "You followed a raven, Lena."

Helena gasped. "How dare you insult the majestic harbinger of fate who, by the way, has more charisma in one feather than all of your socks combined."

Annabeth blinked. "Why his socks?"

"Have you seen them?" Helena asked, scandalized. "They're beige. Beige, Annabeth."

Percy wheezed. "You're heavy," he mumbled.

"I'm emotionally heavy," she corrected, not moving an inch. "There's a difference."

The city was busy—bustling traffic, heat rising off the asphalt, people rushing past like their errands would explode if delayed. Helena barely registered any of it. Her cheek rested against Percy's shoulder, the sun warming her curls. She could feel him steady beneath her. Tired. Sore. But steady.

"You're a good pillow," she mumbled.

Percy flushed. "Please stop talking. My dignity's already bruised."

"Oh, come now, Seaweed Brain," she sighed dramatically. "What's dignity to a demigod with wet socks and PTSD?"

"Valid," Grover said, limping slightly. "And my socks are not that beige."

"I'm dying," Helena said flatly. "This is it. I'm going to perish in Denver. Tell Chiron to bury me with my glitter."

"You're not dying," Percy muttered. "You're just bored."

"Boredom is a form of death," she said, tightening her arms like a dramatic scarf. "And my Converse are still wet."

"Maybe don't wear five-inch platforms on a cross-country fugitive quest," Annabeth said without looking up from the tourist map she'd snagged from the station. "Just a thought."

"Fashion is sacrifice," Helena said solemnly, then sighed deeply into Percy's curls. "Ugh. Why do you smell like chlorine and poor choices?"

"I bathed in the Mississippi," Percy shot back. "What's your excuse?"

"I was emotionally wounded."

"From what? A long nap?"

"From you, Kelp Head."

Grover, trailing behind and munching on something suspiciously green, piped in. "We're supposed to be looking for something to eat. Not flirting."

"We are not flirting," Helena and Percy said at the same time. Which, frankly, didn't help their case.

Grover rolled his eyes. "Could've fooled me."

They passed a street musician playing a battered guitar, and Helena groaned, sliding off Percy's back with the exaggerated suffering of a Victorian heroine.

"This is hopeless," she said, slumping dramatically onto a bench like it owed her rent. "I'm starving, I'm poor, I'm pretty—which is hard work, by the way—and I just saw a man wearing cargo shorts with dress socks."

Annabeth folded the map sharply. "Okay. We need food, we need money, and we need a new plan. Preferably one that doesn't involve Percy falling off national monuments again."

"Seconded," Helena said, still doing her drama.

"Do you think," Grover said hesitantly, "we could... I don't know... rob a bank?"

Everyone stared at him.

"I mean," he added quickly, "ethically."

"No," Annabeth and Helena said at the same time.

"We need to walk a bit more to find a car wash," The blonde continued. 

Percy furrowed his brows. "A car wash?"

Annabeth hummed. "Preferably a do-it-yourself one"

"You want us to wash cars?" Percy asked. 

"No fishboy, to communicate with Chiron." Helena deadpanned as she stood up from the bench and brushed off her shorts. 

"A do-it-yourself car wash," Percy echoed. "To talk to a centaur. Using what—soap and good intentions?"

Helena flicked a piece of lint off his shoulder. "No, darling. Water. Mist. A bit of divine finesse. Maybe a dramatic monologue, if I'm feeling theatrical."

"You're always feeling theatrical," Annabeth muttered.

"Blame my lineage."

They trudged deeper into downtown Denver, weaving past fast food joints and street vendors, Helena complaining every few steps like she was auditioning for a role as the world's most glamorous martyr. At one point, she stopped to insult a billboard's color scheme. ("Who pairs teal with mustard? Who hurt them?")

Eventually, they found a grimy little car wash tucked between a gas station and a taco stand. The "Do It Yourself" sign flickered overhead like it had seen better decades. One of the hoses looked like it might double as a sentient snake.

"This is it?" Percy asked, eyeing the cracked pavement.

"It's ugly," Helena said. "Perfect for magic. The Mist loves ugly."

They all walked to one of the stalls, the farthest of all. 

"What exactly are we doing?" Percy asked as Grover took out the spray gun.

 "It's seventy-five cents," he grumbled. "I've only got two quarters left. Annabeth?" 

"Don't look at me," she said. "The dining car wiped me out."

"Lena?" 

"Does it accept cards or a fifty?"

Grover gave her a long-suffering look. "Does this look like it accepts anything post-1990?"

Annabeth gave her a look like she was about to throttle her with the map. "No, Lena. It does not accept your royal emergency funds."

Helena sighed dramatically and pulled out her wallet, which—of course—was shimmering lavender leather and lined with little stitched peacocks. She dug around inside, muttering like a noblewoman in a financial crisis.

"Ugh, I've got euros, drachmae, and what I think is a coupon for half-off ambrosia smoothies. Does that help?"

"No," said everyone.

Percy, miraculously, dug a quarter from the bottom of his pocket and flicked it into Grover's palm. "You're lucky my mom makes me do laundry."

"Excellent," Grover said. "We could do it with a spray bottle, of course, but the connection isn't as good, and my arm gets tired of pumping."

"What are you talking about?" 

He fed in the quarters and set the knob to FINE MIST. "I-M'ing."

"Instant messaging?" 

"Iris-messaging," Helena corrected. 

"The rainbow goddess Iris carries messages for the gods. If you know how to ask, and she's not too busy, she'll do the same for half-bloods." Annabeth added. 

"You summon the goddess with a spray gun?" 

Grover pointed the nozzle in the air, and water hissed out in a thick white mist. "Unless you know an easier way to make a rainbow."

"Lena," Annabeth said. "Do your thing."

Helena rolled her eyes like they'd just asked her to bless an entire kingdom on short notice. "Fine," she said, stepping forward with all the regal poise of a drama queen who knew she could command elements and steal attention while doing it.

She flicked her wrist, and the wind stirred immediately, catching in her hair and the fine mist. The sunlight hit just right, slicing through the water droplets, refracting until a perfect, shimmering arc of a rainbow spread out in front of them like a divine Instagram filter.

Percy stared. "Okay, that's actually kind of cool."

"I am kind of cool," Helena said sweetly, already digging into her pocket for a coin. "And you're welcome for the weather coordination."

She took a single golden drachma from a small side pouch in her wallet and held it between her fingers like it was a sacred relic. "Okay. Focus, everyone."

She raised the coin high and, with all the solemnity of a priestess at a temple, declared, "O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, show us Half-Blood Hill, please. Urgent quest business, includes monsters, explosions, and poor fashion choices."

Then she tossed the coin straight through the arc of color.

It disappeared with a shimmer, and the mist vibrated with energy. The rainbow flashed once, and suddenly, an image began to form—blurry at first, like static on a godly Zoom call.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then they were all seeing through the mist at the strawberry fields, and the Long Island Sound in the distance. 

They seemed to be on the porch of the Big House. Standing with his back to us at the railing was a sandy-haired guy in shorts and an orange tank top. He was holding a bronze sword and seemed to be staring intently at something down in the meadow.

Helena's face lit up. "Luke!" She called

Luke turned, startled. His expression flickered from confusion to relief as he caught sight of their faces.

"Helena?" he said, stepping closer. His voice crackled slightly through the mist, but it was unmistakably his—warm, steady, a little hoarse like he'd just finished sword practice. "Is that you? Is everyone okay?"

Helena grinned like a sunbeam had just winked at her. "We're fine. Mostly. Percy jumped off a building," Helena said brightly. "Annabeth disapproves. Grover wants to rob banks. I've emotionally suffered. So yes, all is normal."

Luke blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"

"She's exaggerating," Percy said quickly.

"Barely," Annabeth and Helena said in unison.

 Luke leaned casually against the porch railing, twirling his sword like it was a fidget toy. "Look at you, Sapphire, contacting me through rainbows like a true drama queen."

"Iris missed me," Helena said with a smirk. "She begged me to bless the airwaves with my presence."

Behind her, Percy made a noise that was definitely not a snort. Annabeth elbowed him while simultaneously fixing her hair. 

"Well, thank the gods you are okay, Lena." Luke's gaze moved behind the brunette. "You okay too, Percy, Annabeth?"

"We're... uh... fine," Annabeth stammered. She was madly straightening her dirty T-shirt, trying to comb the loose hair out of her face. "We thought—Chiron—I mean—"

"He's down at the cabins." Luke's smile faded. "We're having some issues with the campers. Listen,is everything cool with you? Is Grover all right?" 

"I'm right here," Grover called. He held the nozzle out to one side and stepped into Luke's line of vision. "What kind of issues?"

"Is everybody okay?" Helena asked.

Luke hesitated. Just for a second. But Helena caught it—like a crack forming in a stained glass window.

"Yeah," he said eventually, voice steady but his eyes flicking to something offscreen. "Nothing you need to worry about right now. Clarisse is being... Clarisse. A few new kids just arrived. Some of them are jumpier than usual."

Helena narrowed her eyes. "Jumpier how?"

Luke shrugged, like it wasn't worth talking about. "Couple of dreams. Nightmares. More than usual. And monsters are circling the borders more aggressively. The celestial bronze stockpile's already down. It's fine, though. Chiron's handling it."

"Sure," Helena said, in the same tone she might've used for 'Totally, that's not suspicious at all.'

Luke's eyes softened a little as he looked at her. "Hey. Don't worry, Sapphire. Just focus on your quest. Get to L.A. alive. We can handle Camp."

Helena didn't answer immediately. For a moment, she just stared at him—at his stupidly reassuring face, at the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way he still fidgeted with his sword like a kid playing with matches. There was tension behind his casual posture. Not the usual boredom or irritation—something heavier. She filed that away.

"We miss you," she said instead, quieter.

Luke smiled. Not the cocky one, but the real one. The one he used when he handed her cocoa on cold nights or fixed her hair after sparring.

"I miss you, too," he said just as a car parked in the stall next to theirs, loud hip hop music coming from the speakers so loud the pavement shook. "The thing is, Chiron had to—what's that noise?" Luke yelled

"I'll take care of it!" Annabeth yelled back, looking very relieved to have an excuse to get out of sight. "Grover, Lena, come on!"

"Why, me?" Helena said. 

 "What?" Grover said. "But—" 

"Give Percy the nozzle and come on!" she ordered. 

Grover muttered something about girls being harder to understand than the Oracle at Delphi, then he handed Percy the spray gun and followed Annabeth, not without dragging Helena with him.

Before they could go very far, Helena turned to Luke. "Tell Chiron to ground Seaweed Brain. I vote for grounding."

"I second that," Annabeth said.

Grover raised his hand. "Third."

Percy looked at them all in offense, but before he could retore the three had left. 

Percy stood awkwardly in the mist, and readjusted the hose so he could keep the rainbow going and still see Luke.

"Listen, Percy, it's better if Helena doesn't hear this, she worries too much about campers."

Percy furrowed his brows. "What happened?"

"Chiron had to break up a fight," Luke said loudly over the music. "Things are pretty tense here, Percy. Word leaked out about the Zeus–Poseidon standoff. We're still not sure how—probably the samescumbag who summoned the hellhound. Now the campers are starting to take sides. It's shaping up like the Trojan War all over again. Aphrodite, Ares, and Apollo are backing Poseidon, more or less. Athena's backing Zeus."

Percy grimaced. "That's not good."

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, Chiron's trying to keep things from boiling over. But people are nervous. And scared. Especially the new kids—half of them don't even know who their godly parent is yet, and the other half are sleep-deprived and twitchy from monster nightmares."

"Any clue who summoned the hellhound?"

Luke's expression darkened. "Not yet. But Chiron has suspicions. Whoever did it was inside the barrier. That means someone at Camp either did it... or helped."

Percy went still. "You think it was a camper?"

"I think," Luke said slowly, "that someone's playing a long game. Planting fear. Turning people against each other. And if the gods go to war..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

Percy's grip tightened on the spray handle. "We'll figure it out. We're heading west. Helena says L.A. smells like bad decisions, so that's probably our next big clue."

Luke chuckled faintly. "Of course she said that."

"I wish I could be there," Luke said. "We can't help much from here, I'm afraid, but listen... it had to be Hades who took the master bolt. He was there at Olympus at the winter solstice. I was chaperoning a field trip and we saw him." 

"But Chiron said the gods can't take each other's magic items directly."

 "That's true," Luke said, looking troubled. "Still . . . Hades has the helm of darkness. How could anybody else sneak into the throne room and steal the master bolt? You'd have to be invisible."

They were both silent until Luke seemed to realize what he'd said."Oh, hey," he protested. "I didn't mean Annabeth. She and I have known each other forever. She would never . . . I mean, she's like a little sister to me."

 In the stall next to them, the music stopped completely. A man screamed in terror, car doors slammed, and the Lincoln peeled out of the car wash.

 "You'd better go see what that was," Luke said. "Listen, are you wearing the flying shoes? I'll feel better if I know they've done you some good." 

"Oh... uh, yeah!" Percy said, trying not to lie horribly, "Yeah, they've come in handy." 

"Really?" Luke grinned. "They fit and everything?"The water shut off. The mist started to evaporate

He glanced sideways again—toward whatever he wasn't telling them—and then back at Percy.

"Look, just... take care of Hele, alright?" Luke said. "You know how she is. Always pretending she's fine, carrying too much, trying to look pretty while doing it."

"I know," Percy said, his voice quieter now.

"She's got a storm inside her, Percy," Luke said, serious again. "Not just Hera's power. Something older. Wilder. She's been trying to outrun it since Olympus."

"I'll watch her," Percy said. "I promise."

Luke nodded, once. "Good. And keep her from punching a god if you run into him."

"No promises."

Luke smirked. "Didn't think so."

Static crackled through the mist as the connection started to break. "Gotta go. Tell her I said to eat something that isn't glitter or spite. And you—stay alive."

Percy managed a grin. "You too."

"Tell Grover no one will turn into a pine if he just—" 

But the mist was gone, and Luke's image faded to nothing.

With a shimmer, the rainbow dissipated, leaving only the hiss of the water hose and the faint echo of street music next door.

Percy stood there a moment longer, his hair damp, shirt sticking to his back, the weight of Luke's words settling across his shoulders like armor—or a warning.

Then:

"I swear, if you told him anything stressful," Helena's voice came from behind him, "I will personally pluck every hair off your head and spell them into a very itchy sweater."

Percy turned just in time to see her marching back toward him, sunglasses crooked and righteous fury in her stride. Annabeth and Grover trailed behind her, both pretending not to be associated with the walking hurricane.

He smiled.

She frowned.

"Why are you smiling? That's suspicious."

Percy shrugged. "Just happy you're not bored anymore."

Helena narrowed her eyes. "What did Luke say?"

"He said to make sure you eat real food."

She huffed. "Ugh. I hate it when he's right."

Then she stopped. Looked him over.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Percy said. "You?"

She nodded. "You sure Luke didn't mention anything weird?"

Before he could answer, Grover squawked. "Can we go now? I'm starving and I think that car wash hose gave me a fungus."

Annabeth sighed. "Fine. Let's find something edible. Preferably not radioactive."

They started walking again.

And this time, Helena stayed by Percy's side.

No jokes. No dramatics.

Just quiet steps in the same direction.

Together.

Ten minutes later, the four kids were sitting in a booth at the diner Helena had definitely not liked. The families around them were all having burgers and beers and sodas. 

Percy had grimaced at the smell of the beer, something Helena had caught very clearly but didn't comment. 

Finally, a waitress came over and raised a skeptical brow. "Well?"

"We, um, want to order dinner," Percy said. 

 "You kids have money to pay for it?"

Grover's lower lip quivered. Annabeth looked ready to pass out from hunger. Helena opened her mouth in offence. 

"Excuse you?" Helena asked.

The waitress gave her a look like she'd seen it all—runaways, grifters, maybe even the occasional demigod—but Helena clearly wasn't intimidated.

"We don't serve trouble," the woman said flatly. "Or freeloaders."

Helena narrowed her eyes, sat up straighter, and somehow managed to radiate royal indignation in a crop top and glittery eyeliner.

"I'll have you know," she said, voice syrupy-sweet with venom underneath, "that I was practically raised by an empire. I do not dine and dash, ma'am."

Percy groaned softly. "Helena..."

But it was too late. She'd entered Monologue Mode™.

"Do I look like someone who can't afford a burger? I have literal gold coins in my purse. Ancient currency. Worth more than your mortgage. Would you like to see them?" She began digging into her lavender peacock wallet.

"Helena, no—" Grover tried.

"Do you have any idea who I am? My family owns half the country, a single word from me and this whole place would be turned into a house for my dogs!"

Annabeth slapped a hand over her face. "Helena," she muttered under her breath, "please don't smite the waitress."

"I wasn't going to smite her," Helena said sweetly. "Yet."

Before the waitress could retort a rumble shook the whole building; a motorcycle the size of a baby elephant had pulled up to the curb. 

All conversation in the diner stopped. The motorcycle's headlight glared red. Its gas tank had flames painted on it, and a shotgun holster riveted to either side, complete with shotguns. The seat was leather—but leather that looked like... well, Caucasian human skin. 

The guy on the bike would've made pro wrestlers run for Mama. He was dressed in a red muscle shirt and black jeans and a black leather duster, with a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He wore red wraparound shades, and he had the cruelest, most brutal face— handsome but wicked—with an oily black crew cut and cheeks that were scarred from many, many fights.

Helena smirked as he walked into the diner. A hot, dry wind blew through the place. 

All the people rose, as if they were hypnotized, but the biker waved his hand dismissively and they all sat down again. Everybody went back to their conversations.

 The waitress blinked, as if somebody had just pressed the rewind button on her brain. "You kids have money to pay or not?"

"I have enough money to buy this whole place," The daughter of Hera said, "but my brother will take care of the check this time," she pointed to the guy with her head. 

Percy looked at her in confusion. 

The biker reached their booth and nodded. "It's on me."

 He slid into their booth, which was way too small for him, and crowded Annabeth and Helena against the window. 

He looked up at the waitress, who was gaping at him, and said, "Are you still here?"

The waitress stumbled backward like she'd just been slapped by karma itself. "R-right. What'll you have?"

The biker grinned, all teeth and threat. "Double cheeseburger. Extra blood. And whatever these four want. I'll cover the tip." His smile didn't reach his eyes, which were unreadable behind those red shades.

"Coming right up," she mumbled, scurrying off as if the wallpaper was about to start bleeding.

Helena leaned back—or tried to, given the sheer wall of leather and testosterone now pinning her to the window. "You're late," she said casually, like they were meeting for brunch instead of flirting with divine doom.

The biker snorted. "Traffic in the Underworld's a mess."

Grover whimpered.

Annabeth tensed like she was calculating how many seconds it would take to flip the table and stab him with a plastic straw.

Percy stared at the biker, confusion dancing in his eyes. "Wait... brother?"

Helena didn't break eye contact with the man. "Technically, yes."

The man chuckled darkly. "Same mother. Very different vibes."

Helena rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't detonate.

"So," Percy said slowly, "you're her brother?"

He smirked. "Hera's little secret, huh?" He nudged Helena with the casual grace of a wrecking ball. "Our mom's always been good at burying the inconvenient truths. Lena here's what happens when queenly pride meets a cosmic loophole and divine vanity."

"She's also what happens when you shove stars into mortal skin and forget to label the fragile parts," he added with something close to affection—or as close as war gets.

"I'm sitting right here, you know," Helena said dryly.

"Trust me," He said, tossing a knife from one hand to the other, "I never forget you."

His gaze moved to Percy and he grinned wickedly. "So you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?"

Helena could feel the anger, rage, defiance and hate radiating from Percy, which was definitely normal; her brother definitely brought that with him. 

"What's it to you?"

 Annabeth's eyes flashed Percy a warning. "Percy, this is—"

 The biker raised his hand."S'okay," he said. "I don't mind a little attitude. As long as you remember who's the boss. You know who I am, little cousin?"

They all watched as realization struck the raven-haired boy. 

"You're Clarisse's dad," He said. "Ares, god of war."

Ares grinned and took off his shades. Where his eyes should've been, there was only fire, empty sockets glowing with miniature nuclear explosions. "That's right, punk. I heard you broke Clarisse's spear." 

"She was asking for it."

 "Probably. That's cool. I don't fight my kids' fights, you know?

The food arrived at that exact moment, because of course it did—timing in the life of a demigod is always suspicious. The waitress plunked everything down with hands that trembled slightly, casting terrified glances at Ares. 

Ares handed her a few gold drachmas.

 She looked nervously at the coins. "But, these aren't . . ." 

Ares pulled out his huge knife and started cleaning his fingernails. "Problem, sweetheart?"

 The waitress swallowed, then left with the gold. 

"You can't do that," Percy told Ares. "You can't just threaten people with a knife." 

Ares laughed. "Are you kidding? I love this country. Best place since Sparta. Don't you carry a weapon, punk? You should. Dangerous world out there.

Percy looked at the wavy-haired girl in hopes she would say something but she just shrugged. "She was rude, I'm not defending her."

Grover eyed his tofu burger like it was a grenade.

Annabeth didn't touch her fries.

Helena reached for her lemonade like it was a chalice of divine serenity and sipped with regal precision. "So, brother dearest," she said, brushing nonexistent lint off her lap, "what brings you to this charming cesspool of cholesterol?"

Ares grinned wide enough to be alarming. "Couple things, actually. Heard you kids were making waves. Olympus is listening."

Helena arched a brow. "Well, tell Olympus they can tune in on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We don't take divine calls on weekends."

Ares leaned forward, the red of his glasses catching the diner's lights like embers. "Someone's stirring up old ghosts, little sister. Thought I'd drop in, give a nudge. Maybe remind you what kind of war's brewing."

Percy stiffened. "You mean the bolt."

"I mean everything," Ares said. "The gods are fraying at the edges. Monsters are waking up with better teeth. Dreams are bleeding into reality. And someone wants to see you all burn."

He tilted his head toward Helena.

"Especially you."

Helena didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just took another sip of her lemonade like the god of war hadn't just implied someone had circled her name on a celestial hit list.

"Tell them to get in line," she said, swirling the straw with a manicured finger. "At this point, I should be charging rent."

Ares laughed—a low, guttural sound like thunder rolling over a battlefield. "Still got that mouth on you. Mom really raised a firecracker."

Percy leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Why are you really here?"

The war god turned his burning gaze to him. "Cute. Thinks he's the leader." He leaned back against the booth, the leather creaking under divine pressure. "I came to offer a favor. A gift. A quest, if you're feeling ambitious."

Annabeth's brows drew together. "We're already on a quest."

"Not this one," Ares said. "This one's mine."

Grover made a noise somewhere between a cough and a squeak. "You want us to run errands for the god of war?"

"Don't think of it as an errand," Ares said smoothly. "Think of it as... target practice. There's a little love shack just west of here. Romantic getaway, Olympus-style. Except now it's occupied by something that doesn't belong. I want it cleared out."

"Why don't you clear it out?" Helena asked, voice silk-wrapped steel.

Ares's smile tightened. "Let's just say it'd be... politically messy if I got involved directly. You? You're still on the guest list of divine neutrality."

"Oh," Helena said brightly. "So you want plausible deniability. How charming."

He leaned in close, voice dropping. "Careful, little sister. You may think your glitter and thunderclouds make you untouchable—but there are older things than you walking again. And they don't care whose daughter you are."

Helena met his molten eyes, her own gaze unflinching. "Good. I've been dying for something worth cursing."

Percy cleared his throat. "Why would we do a favor for a god and what could we do?"

"Something a god doesn't have time to do himself. It's nothing much. I left my shield at an abandoned water park here in town. I was going on a little... date with my girlfriend. We were interrupted. I left my shield behind. I want you to fetch it for me."

"Why don't you go back and get it yourself ?"

 The fire in his eye sockets glowed a little hotter. 

"Why don't I turn you into a prairie dog and run you over with my Harley? Because I don't feel like it. A god is giving you an opportunity to prove yourself, Percy Jackson. Will you prove yourself a coward?" He leaned forward. "Or maybe you only fight when there's a river to dive into, so your daddy can protect you."

"I'm going to tell Mom you are being a bad brother."

Ares blinked.

Helena stared.

Percy blinked at Helena.

Grover made a sound like a suffocated goat.

Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose like she was developing an immortal headache.

"...What?" Ares asked.

"I will," Helena said, dead serious, sipping her lemonade with the casual malice of a mafia princess at a tea party. "I'll march right up to Olympus, knock on her ivory door, and say, 'Mother, Ares is emotionally bullying mortals again, and he's ruining the aesthetic of my quest with his warcrimes-in-a-booth energy.'"

"You're not serious."

"I have her on speed dial. She made me a mirror for it. I'll Iris-message her with a full report. 'Ares threatened a child, tried to make me run errands like a mortal intern, and made fun of wet socks.'"

Ares opened his mouth—then closed it. Then glared at Percy. "You see what I've had to grow up with?"

"She's delightful," Percy said, mostly out of self-preservation, but his grin was a little too soft for someone trying to avoid divine combustion.

Helena flipped her hair, victorious. "I'm the favorite."

Ares looked so close to snapping—like, nuclear meltdown levels of offended—but then he grinned again. "You always were Mama's little spitfire. But fine. Don't do it for me. Do it for your friends. You want that bolt back? You want to live long enough to help this kid—" he jerked his thumb at Percy, who promptly made a dying dolphin noise "—then you might want to keep the gods on your side."

Helena raised a brow, unimpressed. "You know, for someone so obsessed with war, you whine an awful lot."

Annabeth whispered to Grover, "We're going to die here. This booth will be our tomb."

Grover whispered back, "Tell Pan I loved him."

Ares rolled his eyes and looked at Percy again. 

"We're not interested," the son of Poseidon said. "We've already got a quest."

"I know all about your quest, punk. When that item was first stolen, Zeus sent his best out looking for it: Apollo, Athena, Artemis, and me, naturally. If I couldn't sniff out a weapon that powerful..."  He licked his lips, as if the very thought of the master bolt made him hungry. 

"Well... if I couldn't find it, you've got no hope. Nevertheless, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your dad and I go way back. After all, I'm the one who told him my suspicions about old Corpse Breath." 

"You told him Hades stole the bolt?"

 "Sure. Framing somebody to start a war. Oldest trick in the book. I recognized it immediately. In a way, you got me to thank for your little quest."

The two girls exchanged a glance at that.

"Thanks," Percy grumbled.

 "Hey, I'm a generous guy. Just do my little job, and I'll help you on your way. I'll arrange a ride west for you and your friends." 

"We're doing fine on our own." 

"Yeah, right. No money. No wheels. No clue what you're up against. Help me out, and maybe I'll tell you something you need to know. Something about your mom."

"My mom?" 

Ares grinned. "That got your attention. The water park is a mile west on Delancy. You can't miss it. Look for the Tunnel of Love ride." 

"What interrupted your date?" Percy asked. "Something scare you off ?" 

Helena looked at Annabeth and Grover. "And I'm the one who'll get us killed?"

Ares bared his teeth, but there was something false about it, almost like he was nervous."You're lucky you met me, punk, and not one of the other Olympians. They're not as forgiving of rudeness as I am. I'll meet you back here when you're done. Don't disappoint me."

He looked at Helena. "Don't die, Featherbrain. It'd make Mom sad."

And with that, he strutted out, leather coat flaring, shotgun holsters glinting, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of smoke, motor oil, and deep-rooted trauma.

They all sat in stunned silence.

The windows rattled with the roar of his motorcycle starting up. He peeled away from the curb like a flaming bat out of hell, and Helena watched through narrowed eyes, her lemonade now very empty.

"...I hate family reunions," she said, placing her glass down with regal finality.

Grover collapsed into his seat like a marionette cut loose. "That man smells like gunpowder and midlife crisis."

Annabeth poked at her fries again. "Do you think it's a trap?"

"It's Ares," Helena said. "It's always a trap. Even if it's not a trap, it becomes a trap just by proximity to his ego."

Grover looked at Helena "...Did he really call you Featherbrain?"

Helena, eyes still fixed on the smoldering street outside, answered like a ghost reliving past trauma. "He did."

"I like it," Percy said, grinning.

She turned to him slowly, like a vengeful spirit. "Would you also like to have your liver relocated to New Jersey, Seaweed?"

Percy lifted both hands. "Just saying. Could be worse. He could've called you... I don't know, Glitter Goblin."

Annabeth cut in before the snark could escalate into homicide. "So. Ares wants us to retrieve his shield. From a Tunnel of Love. In a cursed water park."

"And if we do, he gives us a ride and maybe tells Percy something about his mom," Grover said, tapping his tofu burger with suspicion. "Which still looks like it wants to kill me."

Helena finally looked away from the window. "Ares doesn't give things. He trades with threats and calls it generosity."

Percy exhaled slowly. "But if there's a chance he knows something about my mom—"

"We'll do it," Helena interrupted, shoulders tense. "But not because he's scary or tempting or obnoxiously flame-eyed. We'll do it because if there's even a chance it'll help us find us, we won't waste it."

Annabeth blinked at her. "That's... surprisingly rational."

Helena smiled sweetly. "Don't get used to it."

Grover took a bite of his burger and made a face. "I think this tofu is fermented. Like... from ancient times."

Helena patted his arm sympathetically. "That's what you get for ordering tofu in a diner haunted by divine testosterone."

Percy poked at his fries, still pale-faced from the whole 'your mom might still be alive' whiplash. "So we go to the water park."

"At night," Annabeth added grimly.

"With questionable footwear," Grover muttered.

Helena took one last sip from her straw, only to find it pitifully dry. "Fine," she said, standing and smoothing her clothes like she was preparing for battle—or a magazine cover. "Let's go break into a cursed theme park for the god of unnecessary aggression."

Percy followed suit, grabbing his backpack. "Just another Tuesday."

Annabeth rolled her eyes but stood too. "We'll need to be careful. If Ares left because something spooked him, it has to be bad."

Helena stretched, spine cracking. "I'll handle it. I've fought monsters, manipulative family members, and Grover's socks. I fear nothing."

"Hey!" Grover protested.

"Except mustard yellow and being seen crying," Percy offered.

"That was one time and it was about a dog movie," Helena snapped, storming ahead.

"Still counts," Annabeth said.

The quartet left the diner in a swirl of tense silence, sarcastic comments, and fries stuffed into napkins for later. As the door swung shut behind them, Helena glanced over her shoulder, back at the booth where Ares had sat.

She didn't say anything.

But her hand curled slightly, like she was gripping something invisible. Something heavy.

Something in the air had shifted. Subtly.

The lights flickered.

A woman at the counter dropped her spoon.

And for just a second, Helena saw the wrong face in the reflection of the glass door—her own, but older. Sadder. Lips red as blood. Eyes lined in kohl and sorrow.

She blinked.

Gone.

She stared into the glass again.

Just herself now, frowning back.

Her milkshake straw leaned slightly to the left.

So did her reflection's.

But her reflection blinked a moment too late.

In that moment, she heard the voice again. Soft. Ancient. Threaded through with sorrow and steel.

"The world will burn for beauty, child. And yours is a spark already lit."

The water park was dead.

Not just closed-for-the-season kind of dead. Not under-maintenance, not even abandoned and condemned. This was forgotten by the world kind of dead—like time had tried to erase it, and the place just wouldn't let go.

Weeds clawed through cracked concrete. Signs hung at crooked angles, one still flickering faintly: Welcome to Waterland! Love is in the Air!. The hearts on it blinked like a dying heartbeat.

The four demigods stood just beyond the rusted front gate, which had been chained shut, but clearly someone (or something) had broken the lock ages ago. Helena squinted at the sagging ticket booth, paint peeled like sunburned skin.

"I hate it," she said flatly.

"Why?" Percy asked, shifting his backpack. "Because of the aesthetic or the monsters?"

"Yes," Helena replied.

Grover clutched his can of root beer like it was sacred. "Places like this... they have history. Old magic clings to stuff like this. Love, heartbreak, rage, mold—y'know. All the emotions."

Annabeth scanned the area, lips pressed in a tight line. "Nothing good ever starts with a Tunnel of Love."

"You say that," Percy muttered, "but we've had worse starts."

"True," Grover said. "At least this time we're not being chased."

"Yet," Helena added sweetly.

They stepped through the first gates together, the crumbling archway groaning above them like it recognized the trespass.

Once inside, the silence was oppressive. No birds. No bugs. Just the wind whistling through empty rides and the occasional drip... drip... drip from somewhere behind the ticket booths. A lonely Ferris wheel stood frozen, one of its carts hanging sideways as if a ghost had tried to escape mid-spin and gotten stuck.

"Romantic," Helena muttered.

"Tragically," Percy agreed.

They passed a cotton candy stand overtaken by vines, a half-buried loveboat photo op, and a "Kiss Cam Kottage" that had collapsed inward like a broken heart. Everything smelled like wet wood, sadness, and old perfume.

"This place gives me the creeps," Grover whispered.

"It gives me war flashbacks," Helena replied. "Literally. Ares used to drag me to places like this for 'training.' Said the aesthetics would make me soft."

"Oh no," Annabeth said. "That explains so much."

Helena only smiled.

They walked past a decrepit carousel—its music box still echoing faintly, off-key—and Percy instinctively reached for Helena's hand.

She let him.

Not a word. Just their fingers threading together, grounding each other.

Helena's choker buzzed faintly. The air changed. Static. Charged.

Something was watching them.

"Tunnel's just ahead," Annabeth said, voice barely above a whisper. "Stay close."

They all walked and reached a second pair of gates. Helena shook the lock but it didn't budge this time. The barbed wire looked sharper than the one in the other gates. 

"If Ares brings his girlfriend here for a date," Percy said, staring up at the barbed wire, "I'd hate to see what she looks like."

Helena smacked him across the head. 

"OW!"

"Be more respectful," The two girls warned in unison. 

"Why? I thought you hated Ares." 

"He's still a god. And his girlfriend is very temperamental." Annabeth answered. 

"I don't hate him, he just...annoys me greatly."

"You don't want to insult her looks," Grover added

"Who is she? Echidna?"

"Please, he has better taste than that"

 "No, Aphrodite," Grover said, a little dreamily."Goddess of love." 

"I thought she was married to somebody," Percy  said."Hephaestus." 

"What's your point?" Helena asked. 

"Oh." 

"Every god or goddess cheats, Percy. How do you think we even exist?"

Percy nodded. "So...how do we get in?"

"Maia!" Grover's shoes sprouted wings.He flew over the fence, did an unintended somersault in midair, then stumbled to a landing on theopposite side. He dusted off his jeans, as if he'd planned the whole thing. "You guys coming?"

Helena narrowed her eyes at the barbed wire fence, then at Grover. "Show-off," she muttered.

"Come on," he said, waving from the other side. "The Tunnel's right past the fountain shaped like a heart. I think it's...bleeding?"

"Oh good," Annabeth deadpanned. "Symbolism."

Helena stepped forward and eyed the gate again, calculating. Her choker buzzed louder. Not in warning. In invitation.

"Step back," she said, too casually.

"Helena—" Percy started.

But she had already raised her hand.

The air shimmered, trembled. A gust of wind charged with electricity whooshed down the lane, sharp and sudden, rattling the rusted gate like it was afraid. The barbed wire whined, snapped, then unfurled like an opening eye, the lock melting into rust that hissed as it hit the concrete.

 She muttered a small spell under her breath—just enough divine energy to bend the barbed wire aside for her, Annbeth and Percy. The wire hissed, as if offended, but parted like a curtain for a queen.

Percy blinked. "Okay, never mind. That was hot."

Helena tossed her hair. "I know."

Annabeth sighed. "That was reckless."

Helena smiled. "Also I know."

They stepped through, Percy muttering something about wind spirits and power complexes. The path beyond the gate was lined with warped lamp posts shaped like Cupid's arrows. Most of them were broken or flickering, casting sharp, uneven shadows across the cracked pavement.

The heart-shaped fountain gurgled ominously as they passed it. What was once pink water had gone dark red. Possibly rust. Possibly not.

"Is it too late to ask for hazard pay?" Grover asked, keeping a healthy distance.

"You're not being paid," Annabeth reminded him.

"Exactly."

They walked a bit more and reached a souvenir shop that had been left open, there were snowglobes, balls, pens, umbrellas, and clothes.  

"Clothes," Annabeth said. "Fresh clothes"

Helena arched a brow, brushing dust off a pink crop top that read "Love Drenched & Dangerous." "Fresh is generous. These have been marinating in heartbreak and mildew since the Cold War."

"But they're dry," Annabeth argued, already grabbing a hoodie. "And they don't smell like Chimera breath or sewage water."

Grover poked at a sequined tank top that read "Tunnel of Love Survivor." He winced. "I feel like this is cursed."

"Oh, it definitely is," Helena said. "But if it's fitted right, I might forgive it."

Percy was rifling through a rack of souvenir shirts when he held one up triumphantly: "My Heart Went Down the Drain at Waterland!" He grinned. "This one's perfect for me."

Helena gave him a once-over. "If the shirt fits..."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm buying it."

"You're stealing it," Annabeth corrected.

"We're on a quest," Percy said. "It's basically looting for justice."

"Gods," Helena muttered, but she took a pair of sunglasses anyway—purple, heart-shaped, obnoxious. She put them on with the dramatic flair of a celebrity about to dodge paparazzi in a war zone.

Grover found a pair of flip-flops shaped like hearts and immediately put them down like they'd burned him. "Do you think Ares actually shops here when he comes?"

"Only for irony," Helena muttered, turning a glittery keychain over in her hand. It was shaped like a broken heart with the phrase Love Hurts... etched across it in sparkly red.

She pocketed it without thinking.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Helena said. "It was abandoned. And tragic. It called to me."

Each grabbed a few stuff to change into—Helena didn't, she had another change of clothes in her bag to change into— and headed to the changing stalls. 

The changing stalls were as cursed as the rest of the park—peeling pink paint, warped mirrors, and heart-shaped hooks barely clinging to the rotting walls. Helena chose the stall with the least bloodstain-shaped water damage and the most stable aura.

"Meet you guys in five," she said, tossing Percy a pointed look. "If you take longer, I'm legally allowed to hex you."

He gave her a salute. "Yes, Your Highness."

Inside her stall, Helena moved on instinct. Her hands were precise, but her mind was elsewhere. The buzz of her choker had faded, but her bones still felt like they were vibrating. That pull in her chest hadn't stopped since they passed the fountain.

As she pulled her shirt over her head, she caught her reflection in the craked mirror. 

It blinked late again.

She froze.

Her own eyes stared back. Then—not her own.

For a split second, the glass shimmered. Lighter hair. Blood-red lips. Kohl-lined sorrow. A face so beautiful it hurt to look at. So familiar it made her sick.

The voice came again—closer this time. Whispering through her mind like wind through silk curtains:

"They loved me once. Enough to burn cities. You must not let them do it again."

Helena blinked. The image was gone.

But her hands were shaking.

She clenched them into fists, shut her eyes tight, breathed deep.

Not now. Not yet. Not here.

Outside, Grover screamed.

She yanked the curtain open in a blur.

"Grover?" she called.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" he squeaked. "There was just...a raccoon in the changing stall. I think it hissed at me in Latin."

"You screamed like a dryad in a spider nest." Annabeth called. 

"It was a very aggressive raccoon."

They stepped out of the changing stalls looking like the weirdest group date in Greek mythology.

Percy was still tugging at the souvenir shirt, which clung to him like it had emotional attachment issues, as he stepped out in fresh jeans and blue Waterland-themed Converse. "I feel like this shirt is trying to eat me."

"Good," Helena said, adjusting her jacket. "Now you know how I feel when you make terrible jokes."

Grover had opted for a hoodie that said Love Hurts, But Not as Much as Hooves on Asphalt. He looked deeply uncomfortable, and not just because of the polyester.

Annabeth wore a maroon tank top with faded white lettering: Kiss Me, I Survived. She did not look like she wanted to be kissed or speak about surviving.

Helena, freshly dressed in her own backup outfit—emerald silk shirt, black skort, and black boots that probably cost more than Ares' entire wardrobe—led the way down the crooked path toward the Tunnel of Love.

They all continued walking, Helena could hear her friends talking but her attention was in her surroundings. It all freaked her out. 

A whisper brushed her ear—not wind, not memory. Voice like silk dragged over bone.

"The face they'll blame, again and again. The beauty that breaks empires."

Helena stopped mid-step.

The others kept walking for a second before realizing she wasn't following.

"Lena?" Percy asked, glancing back. "You good?"

She didn't answer. Her breath hitched in her throat, chest rising and falling like she'd been sprinting, though her feet hadn't moved. That voice—the voice—was no longer whispering from behind mirrors or fading like a dream. It was here now. Breathing down her neck.

Annabeth stepped toward her. "Helena?"

Helena's head jerked up. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment, like she was somewhere far away, some place no one else could reach.

"They're watching," she said.

Grover looked around, panic already brewing. "Monsters?"

"No," Helena murmured, gaze fixed on something none of them could see. "Worse. Memory."

Percy stepped up beside her, gently brushing her arm. "Helena, we can go back. We don't have to do this."

But she shook her head, and just like that, the storm in her cleared. She blinked, regal poise returning like a mask snapped into place.

"No," she said, voice cold and resolute. "We finish this."

"I hate this," Grover whispered. "This is the beginning of every horror story where the satyr dies first."

They kept walking, Helena's gaze drifting constantly around. 

Murals lined the walls—faded images of cartoon lovers, mythological couples mid-embrace: Eros and Psyche, Orpheus and Eurydice, Paris and Helen.

Helena's eyes caught on the last one. She froze.

Paris and Helen.

He was painted kneeling at her feet. She stood above him, crowned in roses and flame, her expression blank—almost lifeless. The mural was cracked across the middle, the damage running like a fracture through Helen's painted face.

Helena reached out, fingertips brushing the chipped surface.

The voice whispered again, from within.

"You remember war. You were the war."

Helena's breath caught.

Her fingertips tingled where they touched the mural. It felt warm. Like flesh. Like memory. The roses in the painting seemed to drip crimson now. The cracks across her painted face widened ever so slightly, like they were smiling.

"Helena," Percy said again, softer now. He was closer. She hadn't even heard him move.

But she didn't answer, she couldn't. 

A million images were running through her mind.

She could see them all, as fast as they were she could focus on multiple at the same time, hear the voices, feel everything. 

 Love. 

Pain.

Anger. 

Betrayal.

Grief. 

Memories.

A man with sea-green eyes, falling to his knees.

A woman screaming Helena's name across a battlefield.

A burning city, filled with screams.

A crown.

A dagger.

A kiss that destroyed a kingdom.

Helena froze.

Her knees buckled.

Percy caught her before she could hit the ground, arms wrapping around her just in time. "Whoa—Helena!"

She didn't speak. Couldn't. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with tears that hadn't fallen yet, staring through him like he was made of glass. Like she saw someone else behind his face.

"Guys," Percy called, louder now. "Something's wrong."

Annabeth was there in an instant. "Helena?"

Helena blinked hard, the images shattering in her mind like a broken mirror. Her breath hitched again, and she shoved herself out of Percy's hold—gently, but firmly. Like a queen refusing to be seen weak.

"I'm fine," she said, though her voice cracked halfway through the word.

"You're not," Grover said softly. "Your aura's... flickering."

That wasn't an exaggeration. Around Helena, the air shimmered like heat waves, her divine energy rippling out in waves that smelled faintly of ozone and lilies and something burnt.

Annabeth stepped between Helena and the mural, like she could block the past itself. "It's the painting. It's like it... triggered something."

"It's her," Helena whispered.

"Who?" Percy asked.

Helena swallowed, her voice barely a breath. "Helen."

They all froze.

"You mean... Helen of Troy?" Annabeth asked.

Helena nodded. "She's in here. I can feel her. She's been whispering since Medusa, but now it's louder. Clearer. Like she's waking up."

The mural behind her seemed to shiver, hairline cracks stretching across it like spiderwebs.

Grover backed away. "Maybe we should burn this place down."

Helena pressed a hand over her heart, right where her choker buzzed faintly again—steadier now. A grounding beat.

"No," she said, jaw clenched. "We keep going."

Percy looked at her like she was breaking in front of him and he didn't know how to catch the pieces. "Feather..."

"I said I'm fine." It came out too sharp. She winced. "Sorry. I just... I need to see this through. I don't know why yet. But I do."

Annabeth nodded slowly. "Then we'll face it together."

Helena offered a tight smile, then turned and started walking again.

The Tunnel of Love loomed like a mausoleum dressed up for prom. Fake ivy wrapped around archways, swan-shaped boats bobbed gently in murky water that glowed with an unsettling green hue. The water itself looked... wrong. Too still. Too glassy. It didn't reflect their faces properly.

Helena peered into one of the boats. The plastic swan had a crack running down its beak, like a jagged smile.

"I repeat," she said, "I hate it."

Because from the reflection in the water beside the boat, she didn't see herself.

She saw a woman with her face.

Only older.

Wearing a golden crown.

And eyes full of ruin.

Helen.

The voice hummed again, brushing against Helena's mind like a fingertip on glass. "Your blood sings with memory. Your bones know mine. Don't fight it. You are what was lost."

Grover crept toward the edge. "Guys, look." 

Marooned at the bottom of the pool was a pink-and-white two-seater boat with a canopy over the top and little hearts painted all over it. In the left seat, glinting in the fading light, was Ares's shield, a apolished circle of bronze. 

"This is too easy," Percy said. "So we just walk down there and get it?"

Grover whimpered. "I really, really don't like this."

Annabeth ran her fingers along the base of the nearest Cupid statue."There's a Greek letter carved here," she said. "Eta. I wonder..."

"Don't wonder, that always ends up in trouble," Helena said as she played with her lotus hairpin.

"Grover, you smell any monsters?" Percy asked. 

The satyr sniffed the wind. "Nothing." 

"Nothing—like, in-the-Arch-and-you-didn't-smell-Echidna nothing, or really nothing?"

Helena slapped his arm. 

 Grover looked hurt. "I told you, that was underground."

 "Okay, I'm sorry." The raven-haired boy took a deep breath. "I'm going down there"

 "I'll go with you." Grover didn't sound too enthusiastic

"Couples only," Annabeth muttered, eyeing the sign next to the boats.

"Oh no," Helena deadpanned. "What a tragic inconvenience. Whatever shall we do?"

Percy cleared his throat. "Guess it's you and me then, Lena."

She glanced at him. "Try anything and I'll hex you sterile."

He grinned. "I like a challenge."

Percy stepped into the swan boat first, his movements wary, like he expected the fiberglass bird to bite him. He offered a hand to Helena with mock gallantry. "Your Majesty."

She rolled her eyes but took it, stepping in like she was boarding a royal gondola instead of a monster-infested deathtrap. "If I die in this boat, I'm haunting you forever."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Grover gave them both a nervous wave. "Try not to die! We'll, uh... be right here. Watching. From very far away."

Annabeth leaned against the railing, her eyes scanning every shadow. "If you scream, we'll come running."

"Thanks," Percy muttered.

Helna flickered her wrist lightly and a gush of wind moved the boat deeper into the tunnel to the boat that had Ares' shield. 

Inside, the world changed.

Fake stars blinked overhead, fiber-optic lights embedded in the ceiling like constellations that had forgotten how to shine. The water glowed a faint pink. Mechanical cherubs rotated above them, their wings cracked, their painted smiles peeling.

"Do you feel that?" Helena whispered.

Percy glanced at her. "Like the walls are breathing and someone's watching us from inside the air? Yeah."

She nodded. "Cool. Just checking."

They reached the pink and white boat; the shield was propped against a pink silk scarf.

"Kinky," Percy muttered when he drifted his gaze upwards and noticed all the mirrors that also decorated the inside of the tunnel.

Helena side-eyed the scarf, then the mirrors—rows of them embedded in the tunnel walls like unblinking eyes, warped and clouded with time. Each one reflected her and Percy in distorted ways. In one, she looked older. In another, his reflection was missing entirely.

Helena arched a brow at the pink silk scarf, then at the shield, then at the dozen strategically placed mirrors angled just-so from every surface.

"What is this?" she muttered. "A battle trophy room or a Valentine's Day-themed shack dungeon?"

Percy coughed. "Both? It's Ares and Aphrodite—we don't ask questions we don't want the nightmares for."

Despite his words, he picked up the silky scarf and rubbed it against his cheek. 

Helena rolled her eyes and snatched the scarf from his hold. "Stay away from Dite's love magic."

"What?"

"Just get the stupid shield, Fishboy."

Helena's gaze kept moving around the boat for anything out of place and her eyes widened in panic when she found another eta on the boat. "Wait, don't"

"Too late," Percy said. 

"This is a trap!"

Noise erupted all around them, of a million gears grinding, as if the whole pool were turning into onegiant machine.

 Grover yelled, "Guys!"

The cupids above turned around and tensed their arrows. 

"Shit" Percy and Helena said together as the brunette quickly grabbed Beautiful Destruction.

But the arrows never came at them; they shot at each other across the rim of the pool. Silkycables trailed from the arrows, arcing over the pool and anchoring where they landed to form a hugegolden asterisk. Then, smaller metallic threads started weaving together magically between the mainstrands, making a net.

"We have to get out," Percy said.

"No shit, Sherlock!" Helena shouted, slicing at the web of glowing threads above them with όμορφη καταστροφή. But the strands didn't cut—they sparked. A shock ran down her arm and she hissed, recoiling.

The boat rocked as something shifted beneath them. The water pulsed, then surged like a living thing, sloshing violently against the fiberglass hull.

From the shadows behind the mirrors, a low, melodic hum echoed—female, ethereal, and just a little bit too amused.

"I think we woke someone up," Percy muttered, gripping the shield.

The cherubs overhead began to spin faster, their smiles cracking wider, their eyes glowing faintly red.

"Of course we did," Helena snapped. "Because nothing says romantic getaway like murder cupids and Aphrodite's leftover rage issues."

Percy grabbed the shield in one hand and they both quickly jumped out of the boat and ran.

"Come on!" Grover shouted. He was trying to hold open a section of the net for us, but wherever he touched it, the golden threads started to wrap around his hands.

The Cupids' heads popped open. Out came video cameras. Spotlights rose up all around the pool, blinding the, with illumination, and a loudspeaker voice boomed: "Live to Olympus in one minute . . . Fifty-nine seconds, fifty-eight . . ."

"You have to be kidding me" Helena yelled.

"Hephaestus!" Annabeth screamed from what looked like the center control "I'm so stupid! Eta is 'H.' He made this trap to catch his wife with Ares."

"Great," Helena said. "Now we are about to look like fools for the entire Olympus, this is not how I thought my first TV appeareance would be, it was supposed to be during a med conference!"

"Thirty-nine...thirty-eight...thirty-seven..." the voice continued

They'd almost made it to the rim when the row of mirrors opened like hatches and thousands of tiny metallic . . . things poured out.

Annabeth screamed from where she stood, It was an army of wind-up creepy-crawlies: bronze-gear bodies, spindly legs, little pincer mouths, all scuttling toward us in a wave of clacking, whirring metal.

"Spiders!" Annabeth said. "Sp—sp—aaaah!"

More metalic things spilled and this time Helena screamed in panic, the things were long and were slithering towards them. Snakes

The metal snakes hissed as they slithered forward, their bronze scales clicking like bones, eyes glowing a sickly pink—love turned lethal. Helena’s stomach twisted.

“Snakes?! Why did it have to be snakes!” she shouted, voice half-panicked, half-furious.

Percy swung the shield in front of them like a battering ram as the spiders and snakes closed in, their mechanical bodies chittering, clicking, hissing.

“Annabeth!” he yelled. “Can you shut this thing off?”

“I’m trying!” she screamed, frantically smashing buttons on the half-fried control panel. “This thing runs on divine pettiness! There’s no logic—just pain and betrayal!”

“Sounds like a Hera-Ares family reunion,” Helena muttered, slashing at a snake that leapt for her leg. Her blade only barely cleaved it in two—sparks flying like fireworks as it screeched.

Grover was fending off the spiders with a piece of Cupid’s arrow like it was a holy relic. “They’re biting! With gears! Who even does that?!”

Helena had backed away to the point she was standing back into the boat, Percy with her.

“twenty…nineteen” the voice droned over the speakers. “Smile for Olympus.”

“Smile for this,” Helena growled, raising her free hand.

The air snapped.

Wind spiraled upward like a cyclone compressed into a single breath, centered around her. Her choker flared violet. Her shadow deepened beneath her feet—and another one stretched behind it, taller, regal, crowned.

The snakes reared back, hissing in confusion. The spiders short-circuited mid-scuttle.

Helena’s eyes glowed gold.

She didn’t scream. She commanded.

“Enough.”

The wind blasted outwards in a shockwave—sharp, elegant, devastating. The first row of enemies were pulverized, torn apart by divine force that smelled of lilies and old vengeance. The cameras cracked, one exploding in a spray of metal and sparks.

But it came at a cost.

Helena’s knees buckled again—nose bleeding, breath ragged. Percy caught her, again.

“You’re burning out,” he whispered, eyes wide.

“I’m fine,” she gasped. “Just—don’t let them film me with a nosebleed. I have a reputation.” She wiped the blood away frantically.

“Fourteen seconds…” the voice droned.

“Annabeth!” Percy shouted again, urgency slamming through every syllable. “Turn it on!”

Annabeth froze. “You want me to what?!”

“Do it! Turn the ride on! Now!”

Grover gawked. “Are you insane?!”

“Do you have a better idea?!”

Annabeth gritted her teeth, muttering something about idiotic sons of Poseidon, and yanked the emergency lever like she was ripping the wings off a Fury.

With a groan like the underworld’s stomach growling, the Tunnel of Love roared to life.

The water surged. Gears screamed. The track beneath their swan boat shuddered violently as lights exploded into a frenzy—heart-shaped, blinding, strobe-like.

The boat shot forward as if Poseidon himself had kicked it.

“Ten seconds… Nine… Eight…”

Helena’s vision blurred from the magical exertion, her whole body buzzing with aftershocks—but Percy still held her steady, shielding her with one arm while gripping the edge of the boat with the other.

“You better know what you’re doing,” she muttered, voice thin and cracked.

“Not a clue,” Percy said, and grinned.

Helena barked out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Figures.”

The boat rocketed through the tunnel like a possessed love missile, skimming across the track with terrifying speed. Mechanical cherubs spun like cursed disco balls, screaming love slogans in broken Greek.

“Two… One…”

A camera above them sparked to life, red light blinking.

Then the tunnel twisted.

The ride dipped—sharp and sudden—sending them flying over a drop that was absolutely not up to mortal safety code. Water splashed. Mirrors shattered around them, raining down glittering glass like cursed confetti.

Just as they reached the end of the track—

—a wall.

A literal concrete wall, like the ride had never finished being built. Or worse—had been built as a trap to never let anyone leave.

“We’re going to crash!” Helena shouted.

“Nope!” Percy yelled, eyes glowing sea-green, voice suddenly steady with godly calm. “Not today.”

He thrust his hand out.

The water rose.

The pool behind them surged into a wall, a tidal wave summoned from nothing—swallowing the boat, cradling them like a divine glove. The fiberglass vessel lifted clean off the rails, carried by the rushing flood. The wave slammed into the wall first—not them—splintering the concrete in a massive, echoing CRACK.

The boat, caught in the current, soared through the hole like a gift from Poseidon himself.

Helena screamed.

Not in fear.

In exhilaration.

They were airborne, blasted into the night like a pair of wet, cursed fireworks.

“Uh—jump!” Percy yelled.

They leapt.

Behind them, the swan boat collided with the wall in a glorious waterlogged explosion of plastic feathers, divine ribbon, and romantic despair.

And then—

The wind caught them.

Not a breeze.

Not a gust.

But a presence.

A cyclone of shimmering violet wind swirled beneath them, rising like invisible wings. It caught Helena first, then Percy, like a cradle of air laced with Hera’s signature scent—myrrh, rain, and roses after a war.

They floated, suspended midair for a breathless second, the wreckage of the Tunnel of Love collapsing behind them in a spark-ridden symphony.

Then they were lowered gently—delicately—onto the cracked pavement just outside the ride, like favored children of fate.

Percy stumbled to his feet, soaked and wild-eyed. “We didn’t die!”

“I told you,” Helena panted, still dizzy, “You don’t die unless I’m there.”

“You were there.”

“Exactly.”

Grover and Annabeth ran to them.

“You made it!” Grover cried, tears of relief (or glitter) in his eyes.

“Barely,” Percy groaned. “Pretty sure Olympus has footage of me screaming like a toddler.”

Helena looked at him and threw herlsef back, a cloud catching her like a bed. 

Percy turned to the cameras. "Show's over!" He yelled. "Thank you! Goodnight!"

The throne room of Olympus was not quiet.

Because nothing on Olympus ever was.

Especially not when the entire Council of Twelve had just watched a swan boat explode midair while Hera’s demigod daughter scream-laughed into the wind and a very wet son of Poseidon shouted “THANK YOU, GOODNIGHT!” like it was a Broadway finale.

The scrying pool in the center of the marble floor fizzled with the last lingering sparks of Hephaestus’ trap-broadcast.

There was silence for exactly two seconds.

Then—

“WHAT—was that?!” Athena barked, standing so fast her owl flew off her shoulder in alarm. “Was that my daughter screaming about divine pettiness?!”

“Technically,” Hermes drawled from his throne, already sipping nectar like it was wine on movie night, “she wasn’t wrong.”

“My workshop!” Hephaestus roared, his bronze arm clanging against the side of his throne. “That trap took me a century to perfect! And they just—rode it like a couple of cursed toddlers with a death wish!”

Aphrodite, lounging in a throne shaped like a seashell and heartbreak, twirled a curl of hair around one perfect finger. “Well, to be fair, my scarf did look fantastic in the lighting.”

“So did the munchkin's nosebleed,” Apollo added. “Iconic. Very tragic. 10/10.” He winked. “Though next time she needs a better theme song.”

“Next time?” Hera hissed.

The room went cold.

Every god shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Queen of Olympus rose from her throne, her peacock-feathered mantle billowing like storm clouds.

She stared down at the scrying pool.

At the image of her daughter, radiant and wild-eyed, flinging divine wind like a starlet flinging pearls, screaming at spiders and gods alike.

And despite the chaos, the drama, the absolute scandal of it all—

She smiled.

Just a little.

“She’s awake,” she whispered. “Helen is waking up.”

Poseidon, hair still damp from some oceanic detour, leaned forward. “Are you saying she’s… channeling Troy?”

“I’m saying,” Hera said, voice low and dangerous, “Helen was never just Helen. And my daughter is more than she was ever meant to be.”

“Well, this just got complicated,” Dionysus muttered, sipping something purple and definitely not nectar.

Artemis stood with her arms crossed. “She’s in danger. That kind of divine possession doesn’t come without consequences. Even Helen’s spirit can’t just... coexist.”

“She’s holding it together,” Apollo said, more serious now. “Better than any other soul could.”

“She asked for nothing,” Hera replied. “And she’ll earn everything.”

A heavy pause followed.

Ares snorted. “She smacked the seaweed kid with a swan boat. I’ve never been prouder.”

“She called you a wart once,” Hermes reminded him.

“Still proud,” Ares shrugged.

“So what now?” Demeter asked. “She knows. Helen knows. You think the other spirits won’t wake too?”

Hera narrowed her eyes.

“Let them try.”

She turned, cloak flaring, heels echoing like thunder on marble.

“My daughter is not some vessel. She is not some mistake. She is mine. And if anyone thinks it can sit and judge, they can watch themselves burn from inside out”

No one dared reply.

Behind them, the scrying pool flickered again.

Helena’s face returned to the water. Tired. Haunted. Glorious.

And smiling.

Author's note: 

...Hi? Um...I'm so sorry, i'm truly sorry and disappointed with how much it took me to update, but honestly, I no joke had to rewrite this chapter like 5 times (I still don't love this they way I thought I would) cause I never really ended up liking it nor felt like it was complete; which led me o a horrible writers block to the point I was considering to restart the book and write it from TTC and onwards, but I kinda want your opinion on that. I promise I'll try to update more often!

I hope you enjoy this chapter lovelies! Please don't forget to comment on your thoughts!

XOXO

Kristy