Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Annabeth.”

Annabeth's name shattered the silence. She jumped, knee slamming into her desk. Cursing softly, she pushed back from her laptop and turned toward the voice, one hand pressed to her racing heart.

The Iris Message glittered in the dimness of her room. “Chiron?”

She frowned, drinking in his grim expression. There was a hard line around his mouth, his eyes narrowed, his jaw was clenched. She drew in a slow breath, steeling herself for his words.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I’m afraid we have a rather dire situation here.” He continued, his tail swishing in the background.

Exhaling, she momentarily shut her eyes. “Why me?” Chiron's frown deepened when she looked at him again.

“You have done more than your fair share of heroic duties—” he paused. “I truly apologize Annabeth, I would not be requesting this of you if I did not think it an utter necessity.”

Rolling her eyes would only make this worse. She wasn't mad at Chiron, and he didn't need to see her frustration. After three years of being practically 'out-of-service' as a demigod, all thoughts about embarking on quests or fixing problems vanished like the wind. She had wanted to keep it that way. 

Glancing down at her unfinished blueprints, then at the calendar stuck to the wall where her finals highlighted in bright yellow, she hummed. 

“I’m not making any promises. But I’ll come hear you out.”

The centaur smiled sadly. “Of course. Thank you, Annabeth.”

"Yeah, yeah. Only if I’m back before finals start. Or, you can get me an extension.” When she turned around, the IM had already vanished.

Her dagger hung on the wall innocently. The dim light from her desk lamp illuminated the edge of the blade, casting shadows that made the steel seem dull, incapable of causing pain. A hidden violence lurked just beyond the surface, daring Annabeth to wield it once more, to grasp the leather handle that molded perfectly to her grip after years of training and fighting for survival.  

When she finally reached for it, her fingers trembled, but not from fear. From dread, maybe. From apprehension. From a confusing mix of emotions that bubbled in her stomach, crawling up her chest to settle like a heavy weight in her heart. Those feelings caused the shaking of her limbs, the spike in her heartbeat, the hesitation in her movements.

She wanted to chuck her dagger into the sea. Instead, she seamlessly attached her weapon to her belt with nimble fingers.

Three hours later, she was touching down in front of the stables in New York. With a swift dismount, and a quick pat to the neck of the pegasus that carried her from New Rome, she handed the reins over to the camper who had stared at her with wide eyes.

Night had already claimed the sky, dots of twinkling stars scattering through the vast darkness, the half-moon shining brightly. Brightly lit torches lined the familiar path her feet walked, bathing the nearby buildings in an orange glow, casting dancing shadows that ran up and down the walls.

Even in the dark, Camp looked almost identical to how she remembered it growing up, but there were noticeable differences. There were extra cabins, practically with still-drying paint on the exterior, but clearly lived in, as evidenced by the muddy footprints up the front steps. 

Building all of the minor deity cabins had taken a backseat when Jason had shown up, and Annabeth hadn’t been around when they resumed. Regardless, she recognized the designs of the buildings, almost an exact replica of the blueprints she had drawn with her siblings.

Her throat tightened. Life here had moved on without her, whether she liked it or not. Things changed, adapting and evolving, and despite leaving in order to do the same, standing here made her realize she wasn’t sure if she was successful.

Smoke filled her nose, wafting over gently from where the day's bonfire had been extinguished. Muted chatter of campers saying their last goodbyes before heading to their cabins for the night disturbed the peaceful silence. 

Occasionally, she popped by during breaks between semesters, but it had been a while since she walked the well-known grounds with a dagger at her side, tension coiled in her muscles the way it always did before a fight. After Gaea was defeated, she had thrown her weapons to the ground and walked away.

That had been three years ago.

"Woah, you're here? Damn, this is going to be a lot worse than we thought."

Malcolm stood in front of her, a half-smile on his face. His camp necklace had a few extra beads that weren’t familiar. Lifting a hand to the base of her neck, she touched her bare throat. The missing weight of her camp necklace felt like a physical ache. Once her only home, Camp now only represented bittersweet memories that were too painful to remember.

She hadn’t worn it for quite some time.

"Hey, Malcolm." She let him pull her into a hug. “Come on, we can catch up while Chiron is telling us about our impending doom.”

Barking out a laugh, he looped his arm through hers, pulling her towards the direction of the Big House. A dozen of blue roses, gently tied together with a small ribbon, marking an unofficial grave, were placed delicately at the door of Cabin Three. Her stare lingered, before she forced herself to turn away.

Unknown faces stared as they passed, wide-eyed with recognition, whispers passing amongst them with fury. A child no older than eight ran by with a sword. Sadness twisted in her gut—they all looked so young now. 

It felt different, growing older and seeing children armed at the teeth, ready to face any foe that came their way. She once thought it was completely normal. Now, she still understands, but the idea is accompanied by pity and grief. New Rome has shown that more existed in the world beyond survival, but she wasn’t sure the Greeks were quite there yet.

Malcolm pulled open the Big House door, Chiron waiting by the ping pong table. She stepped inside and froze. Already seated was a collection of demigods that weren’t supposed to be together for a lot longer. 

“Annabeth!” Hazel exclaimed, rushing forward to sweep her into a hug. 

As they pulled away, Annabeth sat down at the only other chair that was still available, the one at the head. The chair that should have been exactly opposite of her had been removed. Instead, Chiron stood. On her right, sat Hazel, Frank, and Malcolm. To her left, Jason, Piper, and Will. 

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Chiron said, his voice low with a weary kind of gratitude. "I know many of you hoped your days of quests were behind you. But after the loss we've suffered, we find ourselves facing a threat we cannot ignore — one that may require the strength and experience only you can provide."

Raising an eyebrow, she laced her fingers together, resting them on the table.

“Monsters have been getting through the border.”

Alarm bells started ringing. Such graveness in his voice was rare, only present when they were truly in trouble. The wooden floors in the Big House creaked in anticipation, songbirds outside quiet in wait.

“What do you mean?” Piper straightened in her seat. “Is there something wrong with the border?”

Chiron shook his head. “The border seems to be perfectly intact, and the Golden Fleece remains healthy on Thalia’s tree.”

“And there’s no way a camper could be letting them in?” Frank asked, the clasp of his purple Praetor robes shifted as he talked. 

Annabeth had been mildly surprised to see him, although if Chiron was desperate enough to call her in, then a VIP from Camp Jupiter was equally likely to be there. The relationship between the two camps had flourished due to the leadership, although a quiet wariness still existed at times.

“While it is impossible to completely rule out that possibility, it is unlikely to be one of our campers. They have been entering at all hours of the day, even when everyone is accounted for.”

Studying Chiron, she frowned. “What else?” 

He paused, bowing his head.  “We have sent out two quests to the Underworld in search of what could be causing this. Unfortunately, all but one demigod did not return."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The temperature in the room plummeted. Dark shadows crept from their hiding places in the corner, twisting and curving up the walls, dimming the brightness of the small lamps, straining against the encroaching blight.

"Five demigods," Jason said quietly, barely above a whisper.

Piper gasped as she clasped a trembling hand over her mouth. "Gone? All of them?"

Chiron's weathered face seemed to age another decade. "The first quest was three of our most experienced campers. When they failed to return after a week, we—"

"You sent more?" Hazel interrupted, her words cracking. She shrank back, pressing a palm to her chest, face wide with disbelief.

Annabeth's heart, suddenly heavy, threatened to drop into her stomach. Life as a demigod was dangerous, yes, but the wars were over. Quests weren't supposed to be death sentences anymore. Not like this.

"Why would you send another quest after the first one didn't come back?" Piper asked, not unkindly, lowering her hand from her face.

“The attacks are getting more frequent,” Will defended, crossing his arms. “Almost a dozen campers have been injured from monsters entering Camp. Badly injured. We needed to find the cause.”

Piper threw her hands up in defeat, allowing Chiron to continue.

“The demigod who returned. He seems to be… highly disturbed.”

Will sat forward, placing his forearms on the table. “He won’t tell anyone what happened. Can’t, actually.” He paused, sharing a look with Malcom who sat across from him. “He’s been in the infirmary with severe injuries. Whenever someone asks… he starts to shake, and only repeats one word over and over again. Crimson.”

No one spoke. Goosebumps crawled over her skin. An invisible hand grabbed her shoulder, squeezing hard until her muscles ached, like the enemy was standing right behind her, watching, waiting in quiet patience for them to make their next move.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Does anyone have any idea what that could mean?” Hazel asked.

Leaning back in his chair, Will motioned towards Chiron. The centaur cleared his throat. “We have a guess. When approached by the first quest, our Oracle gave them a prophecy. For the second quest, she gave them the same prophecy.”

“Alright, let’s hear it, then,” Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest, settling back into her chair.

“Shadows return bearing forgotten wrath,

Crimson gaze walks a destroyer's path,”

“Well, there’s your crimson,” Malcolm muttered.

“Ancient bonds twisted by darkness below,

Where once stood friend now stands the foe,”

Her hands clenched, blunt nails biting into her palms. 

“When blood calls blood in final hour, 

Only sacrifice may break the power.”

Silence stretched between them. A shiver ran down her spine. She focused on a crack in the table as her mind raced through potential meanings, each interpretation worse than the last.

“Once friend, now foe, with a crimson gaze,” Jason repeated, tapping the table in a rhythmic pattern. “That can’t be that many things, right?”

“It depends,” Annabeth looked up, the weight of their attention heavy on her shoulders. “It could be a deity once friendly to the gods. Or to demigods, like Damasen or Iapetus.”

“So, basically, it can mean anything.” Piper summarized. She shrugged. “Great.”

"Could the once friend, now foe mean a demigod?" Hazel asked quietly, like she barely dared voice the idea.

Annabeth and Malcolm shared a look, twin gray eyes locked in focus as a dozen microexpressions flashed across their faces, gone too quickly for anyone to interpret them.  

“It's… possible,” she conceded. “Definitely possible, I just—no one comes to mind.”

“It has to be a monster or some deity right?” Jason glanced between the two siblings. “Would a demigod be able to single-handedly overwhelm a quest of three demigods at once?”

Will’s face darkened. “And leave one barely alive but traumatized.”

Chiron shook his head. “I do not believe that there is a demigod out there powerful enough to do such a thing, except for a handful. Most of which are in this room.”

Annabeth glanced around the room, her spine tingling. Chiron was right, most of the demigods capable of defeating three battle-trained half-bloods at once sat around the ping-pong table. But still. . .

Frank sat forward. “Monsters can’t enter the border on their own, let alone grant permission to other monsters. Can deities even do that?”

“It’s highly likely,” Malcolm mused, thoughtfully.

“So, a deity, then,” Annabeth reached both hands up to her face, rubbing at her closed eyelids. “And these quests were going to the underworld?

Her brother nodded.

“I guess that’s our best guess, then. A deity from the Underworld that doesn’t want demigods stopping them.”

“Or Tartarus,” Hazel added quietly.

Shivering, she glanced towards the wall to avoid the looks that were surely coming her way. The weight of them wrapped around her throat like a noose, anyway.

“Right,” Jason cleared his throat. “I guess all that’s left is deciding who will go on the quest.”

Everyone fell silent. Glances were passed around the table. Annabeth stared at her folded hands on the table. 

They were the most experienced demigods in all of Camp, as the others, like Leo, Nico, or Reyna were off doing their own thing. None of them were eager to launch a quest that had already killed five other demigods, even if they stood a better chance at survival. But, the younger demigods were out of the question. Another quest with anyone else would just lead to failure.

Annabeth stared at the crack in the table, her mind racing. Crimson gaze. Destroyer's path. The words seemed familiar somehow, like an echo of something she couldn’t place. The pull in her gut grew stronger—not just obligation, but recognition. Like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

"I'll do it."

The words ripped out of her vocal chords without a second thought. There was something about this quest, something that was inevitably tied to her. Not just duty—destiny.

“I’ll go too,” Jason offered after a pause. Piper’s head snapped towards him. “If this deity is as powerful as we think, you’ll probably want a child of the Big Three with you.”

“I’ll come.” Hazel piped up. “Makes sense if you’re going to the Underworld, right?” Frank made a face but otherwise said nothing.

Exhaling through her nose, she nodded. “It’s settled then. We’ll leave tomorrow, and reconvene in the morning.”

She rose to her feet, the chair scraping against the floor. Quietly, everyone filed out of the door one by one. Chiron gave her a sad smile before he disappeared further into the Big House. When she was alone, she stepped across the threshold. A hand grabbed her elbow, and her other hand flew to the dagger sheathed on her hip.

Annabeth huffed. Malcolm stared back at her.

“Are you sure about this?”

“No.” She chuckled, yet there was no humor in it. “I just—I have this feeling. I’m supposed to be on this quest.”

A deep line appeared in the middle of his forehead. “A feeling,” he repeated softly. “I trust your instincts, Beth. . . Come home to us, okay?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Always do.”

“Come, you need to get some rest before tomorrow.”

As they walked, the weight of what she'd committed to pressed down on her. It had been years since she had been a quest, let alone led one. All she craved was a quiet life finishing her architecture degree, but instead her mind was running through her mental check-list for preparing for a quest. 

Going on this quest was probably the least logical decision she’s made in a while, but the feeling she mentioned to Malcolm weighed heavy on her, tugging at her entire being. It was almost like the Fates were talking to her directly. She needed to do this.

Annabeth slipped into her bed after they entered Cabin Six. The bunk she had growing up was left empty when she was gone, as there were more than enough beds for the current number of residents. But instead of being a comfortable warmth like she remembered, her mattress was too hard and cold.

She tossed and turned for seemingly hours, long after her half-brothers and sisters had fallen to sleep. Her mind wouldn’t stop moving at a thousand miles an hour even though her body desperately craved rest. 

Sleep came fitfully. Her mind refused to quiet, churning through memories of past quests and the weight of what tomorrow might bring. When she finally drifted off, her dreams carried her somewhere she didn't want to go.

The light from the sky was absent, leaving only twinkling stars and a dimly lit crescent moon. Three demigods—oh gods, she didn’t even know their names —stood huddled together, various weapons drawn at the ready. A dying campfire lay behind them, casting shadows on the trees surrounding them, along with three unrolled sleeping bags.

A low chuckle seemed to echo in the forest, but the source was hidden from view. The youngest-looking demigod let out a tiny whimper, but tightened the grip she had on her sword.

“Come out and fight us,” The tallest demigod snarled, her knees bent in a battle-ready crouch, but her shaking arms gave her nerves away.

"Well, since you asked so politely," the disembodied voice drawled with amusement. She knew that voice, but she struggled, trying to remember who it belonged to. A minor god she had briefly met on a quest? It seemed warped, too deep and angry than it should be.

The fight—well, the slaughter, really—happened too fast for Annabeth to comprehend. She reached for her dagger, but it wouldn't make a difference. There was no changing the past. 

A high-pitched scream pierced the air, echoing in her skull. The world seemed to tilt—then silence, sharp and sudden, fell. Steel flashed. The blade carved through muscle in a brutal sweep. Something hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Annabeth stood frozen, her arms and legs unwilling to move a single inch, as the three demigods crumpled, limbs folding in unnatural angles, like marionettes with their strings severed. Blood spread in slow, dark circles beneath them, still steaming in the cool air. They didn’t even stand a chance.

All that was left was blood-red eyes that glowed under the night sky.

She woke with a gasp, desperately pressing a hand to her heart, pounding like a jackhammer. Her other hand clapped around her mouth, restraining the shouts that were bubbling in her lungs.

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon, allowing faint beams of light to stream past the firmly-shut curtains. Her siblings remained motionless on their beds, still asleep. Quiet snores filled her ears.

She drew in a deep breath, holding it until her lungs burned. The sound of her thumping chest filled her ears. Exhaling harshly, her eyes fluttered shut. She remained like that, waiting, focusing on the pressure of her fingers against her skin to remind her that she was still alive, and breathing. That Crimson Gaze didn’t strike her down the same way as the other demigods, leaving them bloody and broken against the forest floor.

Eventually, her pulse slowed until it returned to normal. Her limbs heavy as she swung her legs over her bed, standing to her feet, ankle twinging in pain from old injuries. The long day she had yesterday combined with a restless night filled with terrible dreams left her feeling more exhausted than before.

Tightening her ponytail in front of the mirror, her dagger attached firmly to her hip, she stepped outside to a cool breeze. It was still early, and campers would be waking up soon, but she had a feeling that Jason and Hazel had a similar sleepless night.

Camp always faintly smelled of strawberries, but the scent was always the strongest at dawn, when it mixed with the morning dew, tinged with a hint of salty sea air. The aroma wafted slowly across the grass, greeting Annabeth like an old friend, and she almost believed it was just another, regular day.

Except, it was eerily quiet. The birds that normally sang a cheery morning tune were silent, like they knew Annabeth was walking to her doom. 

"We need to see Rachel," Annabeth said as soon as Jason opened his cabin door. He was already dressed, though his hair was disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it. Silently, he stepped out of his cabin, shutting the door behind him with a final click.

Not quite ready to disturb the peace of the early morning, they quietly walked towards the direction of Hades' cabin. Before they even made it halfway across the grass, the door crept open. Hazel stepped out in her purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt, her spatha dangling in its scabbard against her hip.

She met them in the middle of the circle that the cabins formed.

"Oracle," Annabeth said simply, and Hazel nodded. 

“Do you think she’ll give us the same prophecy as the others?” Hazel asked, chin tilting up to a few curls falling into her face.

Annabeth half-shrugged. “It’s likely. The prophecy hasn’t been fulfilled yet.”

“Well, no time like the present,” Jason said, nodding for Annabeth to take the lead. She started forward, cutting diagonally past the cabins, her feet following the usual path to Rachel’s cave. She had no idea if Rachel was even there, but Rachel often sensed things without being told.

The air between the three of them was tense, and Annabeth absolutely hated it. She didn’t know Jason or Hazel as well as she probably should’ve. They were friendly, yes, but it didn’t go beyond that. Bonding between the Seven on the Argos II was sparse due to the chaos of the war, and instead of becoming tight-knit friends who commiserated over their misery together, their group shattered after they lost Percy. Annabeth pulled herself away from everyone entirely. 

Jason and Percy were supposed to be the glue keeping the Seven together, the epitome of a firm handshake between the two sides. Without him, it all came tumbling apart. And no one could pick up the pieces.

When they arrived, Rachel was indeed already waiting for them. She sat on the floor of her cave with her eyes shut, a palette on the ground next to her with fresh paint, a dirty paintbrush in a cup of water on the nearby table. The second Annabeth took one step inside the cave, Rachel’s green eyes flew open.

“I had a feeling the three of you were coming,” she joked, her joints popping as she stood to her bare feet.

“Hey, Rachel,” Annabeth gave a half-smile, accepting the brief hug the redhead pulled her into. She couldn’t even remember the last time they spoke. Rachel greeted Jason and Hazel politely.

The cave was dimly lit, yet the early sun was streaming in, casting an orange glow on the canvases scattered around. Some were already finished, a beautiful display of artwork, depicting various scenes around the camp. The others were in various stages of completion, ranging from line-art to half colored in. 

The large couches appeared plush, with velvet pillows adorning them, and Annabeth wanted nothing more than to sink into them, to erase the exhaustion from her poor night of sleep. They called to her with the sweet song of a siren, begging her to forget about her mission and succumb to rest and relaxation.  

Despite the air of comfort the couches and artwork brought, goosebumps pricked on Annabeth’s arms and legs. An air of ominous magic swept through the cave, its cold touch caressing her skin. 

While she much preferred Rachel to the old mummy, the Oracle of Delphi was still an unsettling being that sent shivers down her spine.

“I just want to warn you about this quest.” Rachel focused on Annabeth, but she seemed far away, like she was listening to distant voices.

“We’ve heard what happened to the others,” Annabeth interjected, scanning Rachel's paintings on the wall. One in particular, caught her eye. The setting was dark, almost like a cave with hardly any light, but there were two red dots in the center. She squinted, taking a step closer before she suddenly froze. They were eyes.

“I’m sure you have… there’s just something else—I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Rachel pressed her lips together, a wrinkle appearing in her forehead. Annabeth turned away from the painting, glancing towards the red-head.

Without warning, Rachel stiffened, her arm snapping forward to grip Annabeth’s with a clammy hand, her grasp bruising. Her unfocused eyes began to glow brightly, face draining of her color. When she opened her mouth to speak, a deep green smoke billowed outward, stinging Annabeth’s nose. 

The light in the cave seemed to disappear, dark shadows lunging to cover the walls, dark smog washing over the demigods, hiding their feet as it pooled at the ground. The rustling of the wind outside seized at once, chirping birds falling silent, a shift in the atmosphere that whispered dangerously.

“When borders fail and darkness creeps,

Troy's sacred guardian lie hidden in sleep,

Where golden dreams once called men west,

Athena's shield awaits the test,

But beware the crimson-eyed deceiver,

Who hunts the sacred seeker.”

“What?” Jason murmured as Hazel made a noise in surprise.

Pushing her own swirling confusion aside, Annabeth waited for Rachel to collapse as the spirit of the Oracle left her, but she remained standing. The grip on her arm tightened, and she winced. Rachel’s eyes sharpened, seeming to glow brighter than ever before.

“The void between worlds harbors what was lost… Where paths converge, it will rise against you…” Her voice rose louder, tugging on Annabeth’s arm, pupils dilating. “What was beloved now wears hatred's mask… Beware… BEWARE…” Rachel’s minty breath wafted over her as she shrieked. 

She quietened, before dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

In Annabeth’s surprise, she almost failed to catch Rachel before she hit the ground. Jason let out a loud swear, rushing forward to support her body. Together, they moved her gently to the couch, placing a pillow under her neck.

"Is she okay?" Hazel whispered, crouching beside the couch.

Annabeth checked Rachel's pulse - steady, if a little fast. "She'll be fine. The Oracle always takes a lot out of her." But that second warning... that wasn't normal.

Rachel stirred slightly on the couch, her breathing shallow but steady. The morning light streaming through the cave entrance cast long shadows across her pale face. The warning hung in the air between them, heavy with foreboding: The void between worlds harbors what was lost... Beware…

She knew the two prophecies were connected. That was obvious. Every word in a prophecy is carefully selected, like the Oracle stood in front of an apple tree, meticulously examining each piece of fruit for blemishes and scars, only plucking those that passed her test. Crimson was not a word that would feasibly repeat in two different prophecies.

And well. . . if the Fates had been waiting for her arrival to spew a prophecy about Athena’s shield, here she was, and she wasn’t going to take it lying down.

Annabeth's chest tightened as she stood, her decision crystallizing. "We’ll leave at noon.

"Shouldn't we plan this out more?" Jason asked, concern etched across his face. "We got a new prophecy, we don’t even know what it means."

"I need to check the library in Cabin Six. I might have an idea of where to start. This thing has killed five demigods already. And it's not going to stop. We have our prophecy." She turned toward the cave entrance, squaring her shoulders. "Pack what you need."

Hazel and Jason exchanged a glance before nodding, something unspoken passing between them as they fell in behind her.

As they stepped out into the morning light, Annabeth couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere out in the world, blood-red eyes were already watching, waiting for them to make their move.

Chapter Text

They shadow-traveled to New York City that evening to catch an overnight train from New York City to Chicago. In order to figure out their next destination, Annabeth needed to make a stop.

A few hours into their nineteen-hour train ride, the sun was dipping low into the sky. A couple of dim lamps lit the train compartment, casting just enough light to allow Annabeth to see the maps she had spread on the table. 

It had been a silent ride, broken up by the distant clicking of the tracks below, and the occasional shuffling of feet in the hallway by fellow passengers. The engine hummed quietly beneath their feet, sending small vibrations through the floor.

The seat cushions were soft, yet clearly old and worn out, a once-intricate pattern faded to a dull gray. Despite the cool air outside, the air conditioner inside the cabin was strong, a stream of cool air washing over her arms. 

Jason stared out of the window, gold coin clutched in his hand, rubbing it in between his fingers. Hazel contorted pieces of metal into different shapes. Tracing the map with her finger, Annabeth connected travel routes from the cities she had circled.

A lingering sense of dread tugged at her body, the atmosphere in the small compartment suffocating.  

“What do you think the prophecy means?” Hazel blurted out, tearing her attention away from the half-finished star she was shaping.

Annabeth looked up as Jason turned away from the window. 

Placing her pen down onto the map, Annabeth leaned backwards, crossing her arms over her chest with pursed lips. “I have an idea. Malcolm thinks that the clue to what we’re looking for is hidden in the Newberry Library.”

“A library? Why?” Hazel asked.

“You’ll see when we get there,” she said. “But we think that ‘golden dreams once called men west’ means the Gold Rush in the 1850’s.”

That caught Jason’s attention. He straightened, placing his enchanted coin flat on the table, gaze more alert than at the beginning of the train ride.

“Really? What does that have to do with anything?”

"In the 1800s, lots of demigods were being born in America. As people moved west chasing gold, demigods went with them, bringing magical items. But the Civil War was brewing, and demigods started hiding away anything that could connect them to the gods. Many artifacts are still missing.” 

Hazel shifted in her seat, brow furrowed in concentration. 

“And there’s clues hidden in Chicago?”

“Hidden all over the country,” Annabeth clarified. “Camp Half-Blood didn’t relocate to New York until after World War II, so demigods had nowhere to leave records. Some of my siblings got together to hide important information in libraries in major cities.” 

When she had first arrived at Camp, one of her siblings had entertained her with stories of what might be hidden in those archives. The existence of these records had slipped from her mind for years, too concerned with survival, until Malcolm had reminded her of it.

“What are we even looking for, anyway?”

At this, Annabeth’s face grew more weary. Her body sagged against the wall supporting her, a loud sigh threatening to escape her lungs. 

“The only thing we could think of was The Trojan Palladium,” she said. “A wooden statue of Athena that protected Troy’s borders until it was stolen. A note in my cabin’s library said that the record containing its location is likely in Chicago, and that it hadn’t been seen since the mid 1800’s.”

“Well,” Jason huffed. “That seems straight forward.”

She shook her head. “We know what we’re looking for, that’s it. Who’s to say it’s still there after almost two hundred years?”

Jason deflated like a balloon, slouching backwards against his seat, frowning. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

An owl hooted from far away, the noise low and gentle against the backdrop of the wheels chugging along the tracks.

Squashing her metal together, Hazel rolled it back into a ball. Her movements were stiff and jerky, fingers sinking into the mineral like it was butter.

“What about,” she hesitated, “the other prophecy?”

The lantern above them sputtered like a dying breath, its weak flame dancing behind smudged glass. Shadows leaped across the compartment walls, stretching and contracting with each flicker. The yellow light turned sickly, casting everything in jaundiced tones—the faded seat fabric, their pale faces, the scattered maps that suddenly looked like ancient parchments. When the bulb finally steadied, it seemed dimmer than before, as if the darkness had claimed a piece of it permanently.

“I just don’t understand who it could be referring to,” Hazel rested her chin on her palm, elbow on the table. “Once a friend, now a foe bearing forgotten wrath. How would that even happen? I mean… wouldn’t we notice that happening?”

Annabeth’s gaze darkened. A lump grew in her throat, old memories rising to the surface against her will, of a friend turning foe. 

“Not always.”

Jason cleared his throat. 

“What if the foe thing hasn’t happened yet?”

Annabeth didn’t think it was likely. As they talked, a pit opened in her stomach. She reached forward, brushing her fingertips lightly across the map, though she wasn't really seeing it. 

“It’s possible,” she said finally.

As they talked, her mind kept coming back to one word, over and over again. Destroyer.

It was as if all of the answers were sitting in her lap, but she was missing the question. Prophecies were always frustrating like that, providing puzzle pieces, but not showing the complete picture until after things had come to pass.

Her fingertips tingled from gripping the pen too tightly, and she could taste the metallic edge of anxiety on her tongue. The train car felt smaller now, as if their worried words had somehow thickened the air. Even her clothes felt restrictive—the cotton of her shirt clinging slightly in the artificial chill, her jeans stiff against the worn seat fabric.

The train rocked over the tracks, the noise filling the space between them. The landscape through the window disappeared into a pitch black, the sun finally completing its descent, taking the light and heat with it. Only their reflections stared back at them.

Jason flipped his coin again, watching it spin on the table. “It feels like… it’s not just about fighting, this time. This is personal.”

No one contradicted him.

Annabeth pulled the maps back toward her, but her hands were stiff, her mind a thousand miles away.

“Get some sleep,” she said, not looking up. “We’re going to need it.”

Reluctantly, Jason and Hazel settled back into their seats. The low rumble of the train filled the air again. Annabeth leaned her head against the cool windowpane, maps forgotten, letting her eyelids drift shut.

The countryside blurred past in darkness, and thankfully, she didn’t dream.

In the early hours of the morning, they pulled into the station. Annabeth startled awake as the train jolted to a stop, steam hissing as the brakes grinded. Hazel lifted her head up from the table where it had been laying on her folded arms, blinking away her grogginess.

Yawning, Hazel gently elbowed Jason, who was still gently snoozing against the window. He woke with a start, wincing as he accidentally bumped against the glass. Together, they shoved all of their things into the packs, hoisting them onto their backs, before filing out of the train.

Luckily, the train station wasn’t very far from the library they were looking for. The Newberry Library was the oldest one in Chicago, and with some luck, it wouldn’t take them that long to figure out how to access the secret archive.

Shivering slightly as a gust of wind from Lake Michigan blew past, morning traffic took over the atmosphere as cars drove noisily along the roads. The occasional honking and passing chatter of people strolling by brought her right back to New York, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that she wasn’t on a quest, and was simply on her way to visit camp.

The library had just opened for the day, and already a semi-constant stream of people flowed in and out in the weak morning sun. Constructed out of pale granite, the building was an imposing five stories, adorned with large arches, and ornate windows. A dazzling example of the Spanish-Romanesque style, Annabeth would love nothing more than to stop and gush over its construction.

They climbed the steps to the entrance. “So, what are we looking for?” Jason asked.

“There’s a hidden room in here somewhere.”

“Do you have an idea of where it could be?” Hazel asked, hurrying to keep up with Annabeth’s long strides.

“Kind of.” 

She halted in her tracks. Rows and rows of books greeted her, stretching endlessly. Various signs stood scattered around the large room, arrows pointing towards different collections.

“Follow me.”

They wandered through the stacks, past biography and history, following the call numbers until they reached a quieter corner of the library. The afternoon light filtered through tall windows, casting long shadows between the shelves.

"This is it," Annabeth said, stopping before a section marked with a small placard: Greek & Roman Mythology.

The library must’ve reorganized their collections over the years, because the notes in her cabin’s library had the section elsewhere, but Annabeth was pretty sure there was a bit of magic attached to the room, which meant it would follow the mythology books wherever they were placed. 

Her gaze swept over the area. “Look for some hidden symbol, something related to Athena.”

With that order, they dispersed. 

Annabeth walked down a row of books, lightly running her hands over the spines, the covers rough under her fingertips. She glanced quickly over the row, hardly even stopping to read the titles.

Guide to Greek Mythology, Theseus and the Minotaur, Mythology for Dummies.

A small headache formed from the pressure behind her eyes as she searched. After what felt like ten minutes, Jason gasped from across the room. Her head snapped towards the sound of his voice, hidden somewhere in the rows of books. A brief pause passed, and he groaned loudly.

“False alarm!” 

Despite her search, Annabeth couldn’t help but let her mind wander, body on autopilot. The lines of the new prophecy seemed relievingly easy to understand, but the original prophecy bugged her.

The fact that they had been given a new prophecy likely meant the old one wasn’t meant to just be a quest. It was meant to be ongoing: the same way the Great Prophecy about Percy was, until they had finally completed it.

Which unfortunately meant a lot of things could go wrong.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the words scared her. There would be a sacrifice, and they would be betrayed by someone they used to call a friend. She couldn’t think of many other interpretations for those words, and the idea was unsettling.

But who? Who was the friend that would betray them? 

Even as she tried to reassure herself that prophecies were never straight forward, that clearly friend was being used loosely, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that her gut feeling was right. It was a demigod.

Her two years away from most demigod stuff let her slip into a false sense of security, that she would never have to deal with a prophecy again. Surely, fighting through two great prophecies was enough? Enough to retire her permanently? 

She had thought so, but clearly not. If it did, I wouldn’t be here.

A book fell from the shelf, landing face down on the floor with a loud thud, jolting her back to the present. Frowning, she bent down to retrieve it, dusting off the cover as she flipped it over. Athena's Children: Wisdom Keepers of Ancient Greece. 

Weird. She lifted the book to slot it back in the empty space it fell from, but stopped suddenly, her arm hovering in mid-air. Nestled between books, just against the back wall, was a tiny statue of an owl. Its beady eyes seemed to stare Annabeth down, following her as she leaned in closer.

“Hey, guys?” she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing as it bounced off the shelving.

After a few moments, Jason and Hazel appeared behind her, eagerly peering into the gap to see what she had discovered.

“Wait. Hazel, can you hide us from the mortals? I’m not sure what’ll happen next.”

Hazel nodded.. She snapped her fingers, and Annabeth felt the Mist shimmer nearby, wrapping around her shoulders like a cool, silk scarf. Just a few feet down the aisle, the air shimmered. Magic blurred, twisting and dancing as it concealed them from wandering mortals.

With that settled, Annabeth reached in the empty slot, and tugged on the owl statue. It hinged forward, a series of locks hissing quietly. She let go, taking a step backwards, watching with intense focus as the book stack split right in the middle, each side sliding open to reveal a small wooden door with a golden handle.

She plunged forward, having to duck to fit under the entryway, wrenching the door open to unveil a small hallway lined with rock, and a set of rickety-looking stairs, steps descending lower until eventually disappearing into a swath of darkness. Annabeth looked back with a raised eyebrow.

“Anyone able to make some light?” she asked.

Hazel crossed her arms over her chest. “Not from inside a building. I can’t summon gems through the floor.”

Jason made a face. “I can try,” he said, “but I might set the place on fire.”

Glancing at the books around them, Annabeth shrugged. “Go ahead.”

He held a palm out, facing the ceiling. Furrowing his eyebrows, Jason stared at his hand and for a moment nothing happened. Slowly, a tiny storm grew in the center of his hand. The puffy cloud darkened to a deep gray, a small arc of lightning shooting out, arcing down to his skin as thunder rumbled quietly.  

Jason held his storm cloud a little higher, presenting it to Annabeth and Hazel. The strikes of electricity picked up in frequency, illuminating the nearby books. “Cool,” he grinned. “Never done that before.”

“Alright, Weather Boy, that means you go first,” Annabeth said.

His smile evaporated. 

With a huff, Jason moved past Annabeth as she stepped to the side, letting him take the lead. He kicked the door open with his foot, slowly taking one step onto the stairs. Seemingly satisfied it wouldn’t collapse under him, Jason continued to slowly make his way down, one stair at a time.

Hazel glanced at Annabeth. Shrugging, she stepped forward and made her way down the steps behind Jason.

With a quick peek to make sure no mortals noticed the random door appearing in the middle of the library, Annabeth stepped past the threshold, shutting the door behind her with a firm click. 

Trailing one hand down the wall for balance, Annabeth stepped down down the dimly lit staircase, guided by the gentle rumbling of Jason’s storm, and the wooden steps creaking under their feet. They descended slowly, traversing deeper and deeper into the ground. 

The air was stale, old stone mixing together with slightly damp wood to create a musty smell. Like a firm block of ice, the stone was cold underneath her fingertips. It seemed to drink their body heat, reaching out to grasp any hint of warmth and suck it dry, leaving them shivering. 

Annabeth wrapped her jacket tighter around her body.

She usually wasn’t bothered by being underground, but as the pressure started to rise in her eardrums, thoughts of a far-away labyrinth rose to the surface. If she concentrated, she saw herself walking with a different group of demigods, trailing through a magical maze with nothing but their weapons and fear lurking underneath a twisted sense of determination.

The tight corridor seemed to narrow, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She drew in a strangled breath, shoving the lingering memories out of her mind. Focusing on Hazel’s thick, curly hair bobbing in front of her, she reminded herself that underground was part of the daughter of Pluto’s expertise.

Just as Annabeth was about to voice her concerns about how far they’ve travelled, another door suddenly appeared at the very base of the steps. Jason pushed it open with his free hand. Light immediately streamed through the opening, brightening the dark hallway, making her squint.

Extinguishing the tiny storm, Jason stepped through the door, and they filed in one by one. As she entered, Annabeth’s jaw dropped as she drank in the sight. 

Torches lit by Greek fire lined the walls, attached by elaborate holders made of bright silver, twisted in intricate designs. The room was so bright, it looked like there were huge windows letting in swaths of sunshine, instead of a row of flame. Massive oak bookshelves held hundreds of books, scrolls, and maps, a wooden desk jutting out from underneath to use as a workstation. Atop the patterned floor, an ornate globe sat, detailing country borders from what looked like the late 19th century.

“Whoa,” Hazel said, turning in a circle, craning her neck.

The excitement buzzing in her limbs kept Annabeth from saying much of anything, besides an enthusiastic noise in agreement, too busy drinking in the sight of an untouched library, rife with hidden secrets.

“We’re going to be here for weeks,” Jason groaned.

Annabeth shook her head. “This room was made by children of Athena. It has to be organized somehow.”

“It could take a while just to figure out the system,” Hazel pointed out.

Annabeth’s gaze trailed along the walls. She slowly approached the first row of bookshelves. “This library was created after some of these records. The easiest way to sort them would be in chronological order.”

She pulled out the first book, and cracked it open. A huge plume of dust exploded into the air, shooting right into her nostrils, tickling her nose until she sneezed. Waving the cloud away furiously, she scanned the page until she found the date printed in fancy sprawl at the bottom. 

“1712.” She snapped the book shut. Another puff of dust erupted in her face. Coughing, she moved halfway down the bookshelf, repeating the process.

“This one is 1730. I’d say we’re on the right track.”

Hazel and Jason joined her, pulling out various books, and unfurling scrolls, making their way through the records with a careful methodology, hunting for any hint of the Trojan Palladium like they were searching for treasure. Quickly, they reached the mid 1800s, but they didn’t know for sure what year they were looking for. Was it hidden during the Gold Rush? Was it hidden after? 

Text rushed by as she scanned the pages, occasionally stopping to read something particularly interesting, like the time when a trio of demigods spent months scouring Boston for Eros’ bow.

“Troy,” Hazel shouted triumphantly after an hour of searching. She kept reading and frowned. “Never mind. There’s a Troy in New York, apparently.” She folded the letters back up. “Ugh, that was mean.”

Annabeth chuckled, turning another page in the book she was reading.

“I knew this room existed, but I didn’t know that all of this—” she gestured widely, “was in here. This stuff is demigod history!”

Running her fingers over the dried ink, she trailed the words that spoke of danger and pain. “Man, being a demigod seemed so much more dangerous in the 1850s.”

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Annabeth,” Jason reminded, keeping his focus on the letters he was reading. “You can always come back here another time.”

Shutting the diary in front of her with a ‘humph’, she returned it to its spot and grabbed another stack of letters.

It was hard to judge how much time had passed as they worked quietly. The torches were clearly enchanted, not giving any hints as the light never dimmed, flame dancing happily in its holder.

Parchment rustled softly, intertwining with the soft crackling of fire to create a pleasant melody. Together, the noise pranced around the room, twisting and jumping across the walls, moving with a smoke-like ease. A blanket of calm, soothing energy wrapped itself around her shoulders, warming her skin pleasantly.

If Annabeth closed her eyes, she could almost imagine herself curled up in a cozy library, a steaming mug of tea in one hand, and a good book in the other. It relaxed her in a way that drained the stiffness out of her muscles, massaged the knots in her back, and tugged temptingly at her eyelids.

Jason jumped to his feet from the stool he had been sitting on.

“Wait, wait, I think I’ve got something.”

Suddenly alert, Annabeth abandoned the map in her hands to stand at Jason’s shoulder, Hazel flanking his other side. He pointed at an old map of California, a letter clutched in his other hand.

"The gold fever has made the Sierra Nevada a most dreadful place, crawling with all manner of terrible beasts," Jason scanned the page with fervor. "We brought the Trojan Palladium to keep our kind safe, but I fear the mortals are beginning to take notice of strange happenings. I have secreted it away in a place known only to me, and have drawn this map so that my brothers or sisters who come after might recover it when the time is right."

“Of course,” Annabeth breathed. “I should have guessed.”

He folded the letters back up. “So, anything else?”

She glanced around the room, looking for an exit. “Now, we have to find a way to get to California.”

“Seems easy enough,” Hazel said. 

Accepting the map from Jason, she carefully folded it up, tucking it into her backpack. For the first time since this whole mess began, she felt a spark of genuine hope. They had a real lead, a concrete location, and a plan.

"Sierra Nevada, here we come," she murmured, taking one last look around the hidden archive. Her half-siblings had built something incredible here—a repository of their history, their struggles, their triumphs. She made a mental note to return someday, when everything was dealt with.

But that was a luxury for later. Right now, they had a Palladium to find.

Chapter Text

When they finally emerged from the secret room in the library, over half of the day was behind them. Not wanting to waste any more time, they set off for the closest bus depot, eager to get a move on with a rejuvenated sense of determination.  

Squinting, Annabeth rapidly scanned the timetables to find their next location. Hazel and Jason hovered behind her.

“The next bus that goes west will take us to St. Louis.”

“I don’t see anything better than that,” Hazel remarked, still glued to the board. “There’s a bus to Kansas City.”

“It doesn’t leave for another six hours,” Jason said. “The bus to St. Louis is in thirty minutes.”

Logically, she knew that they shouldn’t waste their daylight by waiting for the bus to Kansas City. No matter how desperately she wanted to skip St. Louis. They would have to start camping during the night to get some quality sleep, as a multi-day journey sitting in a cramped bus would leave them slow and sluggish, and they needed to be at the top of their game in case this mysterious deity found them.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she glanced between Jason and Hazel, who stood unaware of her dilemma. “We shouldn’t wait for the Kansas City bus,” she said finally. 

“St. Louis it is, then.” Hazel shrugged.

Their stash of cash dwindled further as they bought their tickets. The next thirty minutes passed quickly, stretching their legs before the upcoming trip.

Stepping onto the bus, Hazel and Jason took a row in the back. Annabeth grabbed the window seat across the aisle, setting her backpack down onto the seat next to her. 

The other patrons of the bus filed on, and eventually the bus driver shut the doors. Thankfully, the vehicle remained half-empty, allowing the seat next to Annabeth remain unoccupied. 

Windows rattled in their frames as the bus bumped onto the highway, blending into the background of asphalt and steel. The cabin was dimly lit, the sky shifting from a deep navy to a miserable gray, casting shadows through the glass. A storm brewed on the horizon, dark clouds lingering threateningly in the atmosphere, sending soft whistles of wind through the air.

The engine hummed quietly, gentle vibrations spreading throughout the frame, starting from the floor and twisting up the walls. Her seat buzzed subtly, intertwining with the smooth rolling of tires on the road.

Hushed chatter mixed with the sound of the motor, creating a low rumble that was comforting. It whispered temptingly, lulling her to slumber.

Curling up against the window, she shut her eyes, and slowly drifted to sleep.

Annabeth muffled a gasp. Her foot accidentally brushed the ground, sending spikes of icy pain up her leg, like someone injected water straight from Antarctica into her veins. Despite the chill of agony, her skin radiated heat, noticeable even amongst the backdrop of the sweltering pit of hell.

Her make-shift splint of bubble wrap was loose, no longer preventing her broken bones from grinding against each other, but she didn’t have anything to fix it. 

The pain seemed to mold into her very being. She couldn't remember a time without agony coursing through her veins, each step blazing with the fire of the Phlegethon. It clouded her mind in a way that erased her memories, locking them tightly in a chest and throwing away the key. All she knew was misery.  

Percy adjusted his grip on her waist, fingers tightening on her skin. He pulled her left arm up higher over his neck, trying to lift her foot higher off the ground. “Sorry,” he murmured, eyebrows pinched in worry.

Shaking her head, her words came out a little breathless. “I’m fine.” The anguish receded until it was a dull ache. “Let’s keep going.”

Percy halted, causing her to almost stumble, but the firm grip he had on her kept her upright. “We should take a break,” he said firmly. “We’ve been walking for a while.”

A break sounded nice.

Mind hazy, she was unable to do much else besides nod. Slowly, they hobbled to a tiny piece of cover where they could hide briefly from monsters. He carefully lowered her down on the ledge, and she stuck her injured ankle in front of her, vying for some relief, drawing her other leg close. After she was settled, Percy practically collapsed next to her.

She rested her head against his shoulder, and he instantly winded an arm around her back, squeezing gently.

With an unfocused gaze, she stared into the vast landscape. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, barely audible over monsters groaning and hissing in the distance. “Do you think we’ll get out of here?”

“Yes.” His voice was flat, devoid of anything except tired resignation. “We will.”

“Okay.” 

They were quiet together for a moment, only their breathing filled her ears, until Percy shuffled. Withdrawing his arm from her waist, he turned and gently cupped her face with both hands. 

“We will get out,” he said more firmly, his sea-green eyes full of sincerity and love. His gaze was so penetrating she thought he could see her very soul. “We will get out because you are the smartest mortal to ever walk the Earth. And I’m the stubbornest.” 

He grinned so brightly, she couldn’t help herself from smiling back.

She hadn’t stopped sweating since they landed in Tartarus, and she was filthy, covered in blood, with a tangled rat’s nest for hair but Percy didn’t care. He kissed her on the forehead, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and pulled her into a tight hug.

Annabeth could’ve stayed like that forever, even with a broken ankle. Forget Gaea, the Doors of Death, even the gods. She was content to stay right here, in Percy’s arms where she was warm and safe, and let the world fade away. Forever.

A large growl broke them apart. A pack of Hellhounds crept towards them, crouched so low their bellies brushed the ground. Percy sighed and pushed himself to his feet, uncapping Riptide. He shook his head at Annabeth as she attempted to rise, her hand on her dagger.

He raised his arm, bringing his sword down to slash through the Hellhound and—

A large jolt on the bus caused Annabeth’s head to bump into the windowpane, startling her awake. Her cheeks were wet, and with a start she realized she had been crying. With a quiet sniff, she rubbed her face with both hands, wiping the tears away.

Jason remained asleep across the aisle. Hazel sat quietly beside him, her attention fixed on the landscape rushing past their window.

Breathing in deeply, she turned to her own window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass—a sweet relief against the sweat beaded on her skin.

It had been a while since she dreamt of Tartarus. 

Nightmares used to plague her every night, unable to escape the memories that hunted her down. Then, they twisted from the past into ‘what-ifs’, each one just as heartwrenching as the last. In New Rome at university together, exploring the world without war looming, or simply goofing off at Camp.

Over time, the horrors of the pit of hell started to fade. Don’t get her wrong, it always lingered, hidden underneath her skin. It was in the way she walked, stiff and tense, almost limping like she expected pain to blossom at every step. It was in the way she scanned her surroundings, never leaving her back open. It was even in the way she permanently shivered for the first six months, body unused to the cool, humidless air.

But, the dreams of that place began to fade. She could stomp down those feelings of despair, lock them up tightly in the place that changed her. But that also meant that when Tartarus made a reappearance, those emotions bubbled to the top.

The bus rattled as it continued along the highway, and eventually the skyline of St. Louis came into view, the empty fields they had been travelling through disappearing. The sun started to peek over the horizon, washing the landscape in a warm orange glow.

Pulling into the station, the cabin grew louder as everyone started to wake. The other passengers chattered loudly, some stretching their arms high over their head with a groan, the sounds mixing with the muffled noises outside.

As the door opened, the bustle of the depot sharpened, fumes from the exhaust gently stinging her nose as it wafted inside. The walls shook gently as patrons pulled their bags from the shelves, and climbed down the small set of stairs.

Shuffling off, with her backpack steadily on her back, Annabeth gazed up at the iconic landmark, squinting. 

"On my first quest," she said, her voice softer than she intended. She cleared her throat. "Percy fell off the Arch."

"Oh, he told me about that, once," Hazel brushed her curly hair away from her face, huffing a laugh. Her expression held a gentle understanding that made Annabeth both grateful and uncomfortable.

Jason smiled, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulders. "How'd he manage that?" 

Annabeth shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "He ran into Echidna and the Chimera, fought them, somehow fell off and into the river? He didn't explain the falling part that well. I think he was just embarrassed."

“Well, I’ll take that as a sign to avoid the Arch entirely,” Jason said.

Hazel hummed. “I’ll agree with that.” 

Tightening her grip on the straps of her bag, she glanced into the distance. “We need to make it through the city to the next bus station. It’s a long walk, so we should get some food first, then get going.”

“Seems easy enough,” Jason quipped. 

She threw him an exasperated look, but her small smile gave her away. The feeling of tears still lingered on her cheeks.

“Don’t jinx it.”

Breakfast was a light-hearted affair. They each shared a few things they bought from a local grocery store, squeezed next to each other on a bench in a small park that was filled with a decent amount of people considering it was a weekday. 

Actually, Annabeth couldn’t remember what day it was. 

The morning sun warmed her shoulders while a cool breeze carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and blooming dogwoods. The air was a tad sticky in the early humidity, droplets of dew still suspended on the grass.

After hours cramped in bus seats, stretching her legs felt like pure luxury. The metal bench pressed cool against her bare thighs below her shorts, the rods leaving imprints in her skin.

Trees thick with lush, green leaves were scattered around the park, providing relief from the strong rays of the sun. Simple walking paths cut through the park, winding around small ponds and tiny gardens. Places to sit, like the one they currently occupied, dotted the sidewalks.

Jason passed the plastic container of mixed fruit toward Hazel. Annabeth snagged a strawberry from the top before it reached her, and when she bit into it, the sweet juice mingled with traces of chocolate still coating her tongue from a croissant.

Years ago, she would’ve stolen the food. Quests tend to remind her of that time in her life, when monsters lurked behind every corner and she was a small seven year-old, just trying to make it in this horrid world. She stole, stabbed, hid, did whatever it took to stay alive.

Those memories were tinted with bitterness, but recognizing that the old anxiousness had faded to a dull ache filled her with quiet satisfaction. No longer the roaring fire it had once seemed. 

Life was no longer quite the survival trek it used to be. It felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Jason grabbed the empty wrappers, rising to his feet to throw their garbage away, ever the disciplined Roman. In the meantime, Annabeth rummaged through her backpack, running her fingers over the important items to ensure everything was safe and sound. Handful of drachma, her maps, dagger, all accounted for.

“Ooooh,” Hazel sang, swinging her own pack onto her back. “Someone’s flirting with Jason.”

That caught Annabeth’s attention. Her head snapped to where Jason was lingering by a garbage can, clearly uncomfortable. Face turning red, his arms folded over his chest, hands grabbing his elbows.

She snorted. The once Praetor of the Roman Legion didn’t look so high and mighty anymore, fidgeting awkwardly under the attention of a pretty woman that wasn’t his girlfriend.

The woman batting her eyelashes at Jason was tall, with long, effortlessly voluminous hair that was a deep chestnut. Large sunflowers dotted her sundress, the hem barely brushing her knees.

The girls were too far away to hear the words the woman was mouthing, and she flashed her pearly white teeth in a radiant smile when she was done. Jason leaned backwards slightly, smile polite yet strained, one hand in his pocket.

“He’s hopeless,” Hazel shook her head.

Rolling her eyes in faux exasperation, a small grin tugged on her lips.

The woman spoke again, prompting Jason to glance back at the two of them, his cheeks growing pinker when he noticed them watching. He looked back at her and shook his head. Her expression melted into a pout as she stared up at Jason through her eyelashes.

“Wait,” Hazel grabbed Annabeth’s arm suddenly, a wrinkle forming above her eyebrows as she stared at the pair.

Annabeth frowned. “What?”

“Do you feel that?”

Pausing, she listened to the whistle of the cool breeze that washed over her skin, the faint chatter throughout the park. The sun felt warm against her skin, much warmer in St. Louis than in New York. Her instincts, deep in her gut, remained silent. Everything was normal.  

Hazel shook her head, springing to her feet. Her spatha swung slightly at her hip, hidden from view by the Mist. “Something’s wrong. We need to leave.”

Without warning, she marched forward, beelining straight for Jason. Annabeth followed a beat later, fingers fumbling for her dagger.

“Hey Jason,” Hazel looped her arm through his. “We need to get going.”

Jason leaned into Hazel, relief clear as day in his features. “Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Aw, come on, now,” the woman cooed, reaching her hand out towards Jason. “Don’t you want to stay a while? We can explore the city.”

“Sorry, we really need to leave,” he replied, already half-turned away from the mortal.

In a flash, the woman whipped her arm forward to grab Jason’s wrist, her pointed nails curling dangerously around his veins. “You look too delicious to pass up,” her voice started to deepen until she was growling, “ demigod .” 

Her dazzling smile twisted into a snarl as she shed her disguise. Her pair of legs blurred, her bones seemingly cracking as a long snake’s tail took its place. The whites of the monster’s eyes deepened to a pale green, pupils turning into slits, and long, manicured nails turned into sharp talons. 

Gone was the beautiful woman that twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she flirted. In its place was a gruesome monster, dripping saliva from her forked tongue. Annabeth recognized her instantly. It was Lamia.

With a forceful twist, Jason pulled his arm out of her grasp, stumbling backwards towards Annabeth and Hazel. He fished for his weapon, the coin transforming into a sword half-way out of his pocket.

She licked her lips. “You can run and hide, little demigods, but I’m starving for some lunch!”

The Lamia lunged. Jason's blade flashed in a perfect arc—and nearly took Hazel's head off as she dove low with her spatha. Annabeth twisted away from both weapons, her own strike going wide.

"Seriously?" Annabeth snapped.

Lamia cackled and whipped her tail in a wide arc. Annabeth ducked smoothly under it, her dagger already seeking the monster's exposed side—but the ground beneath Lamia suddenly erupted in metal spikes. She dove backward as jagged iron shot up where she'd been standing.

"Sorry!" Hazel called out, but Lamia was already moving, using the spikes like stepping stones to launch herself at Jason.

He caught her mid-leap with a blast of wind, sending her tumbling—directly into Hazel’s path. They collided in a tangle of limbs, and Lamia's claws raked across the concrete where they'd both been standing.

"This is ridiculous," Annabeth muttered. They were fighting like strangers, not the team that had faced down primordial gods.

Lamia rose between them, forked tongue tasting the air, clearly enjoying their confusion. "Is this the best the famous heroes can do?"

That did it. 

"Hazel, flank left and box her in," Annabeth's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Jason—keep her attention, drive her toward the fountain. Now."

Jason didn't hesitate. He launched upward with a controlled burst of wind, drawing Lamia's gaze as she tracked his movement. Below, Hazel melted into position, her hands already working, shaping the metal hidden beneath the park's surface.

Annabeth sprinted straight ahead, but this time she wasn't charging blindly. She was the third point of a triangle, and Lamia was trapped in the center.

Jason dove, not to strike, but to herd—his sword flashing inches from Lamia's face, forcing her to rear back. Right into Hazel's trap. Iron bands erupted from the earth, wrapping around Lamia's tail like shackles.

The monster spun toward Hazel with a shriek of rage, claws extended—and found Annabeth's dagger waiting for her, sliding between her ribs with surgical precision.

Lamia's eyes went wide. She looked down at the blade, then up at Annabeth's cold gray eyes. "Impossible..."

"You picked the wrong park," Annabeth said, and twisted.

The monster dissolved into golden dust, her final scream echoing in their ears.

Jason landed lightly, already sheathing his sword. Hazel straightened, the metal sinking back into the earth as if it had never been there. For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sound was their breathing and the distant chatter of park-goers who had seen nothing thanks to the Mist.

“Well.” Jason wiped his arm across his forehead to clear the sweat that had beaded on his skin. “We got there in the end.”

Hazel placed her hands on her hips. “At least it was good practice.”

Annoyance tugged at her body, but it was washed away with a sense of relief. She hadn’t realized that her solo training had left her like a frayed rope in the rigging that was teamwork, but she was glad that it had clicked sooner rather than later.

Glancing upward at the sun, she noted its position in the sky. She swore under her breath quietly. "Come on, if we're lucky we can still make the next bus."

They didn't make the next bus. 

Instead, they spent their first night camping in a large park on the outskirts of the city, about a quarter mile off of a hiking trail. Hazel managed to coax a small fire from the damp wood they'd gathered, while Jason kept watch, scanning the treeline with practiced vigilance. Annabeth spread her maps on the ground, plotting their next moves by firelight, the shadows dancing across the paper.

None of them slept well that night.

After spending the morning silently packing their equipment and trekking to the next bus stop, they were finally settled in the back of their next bus, grabbing the row of four seats side by side. The mood wasn't exactly tense, but it was quiet. A little somber. Perhaps Jason and Hazel were ruminating over their lack of coordination as a trio, like Annabeth was.

“I feel like we’re being watched,” Jason commented quietly, the bus pulling out of the station.

“We’re on a bus,” Hazel pointed out.

He exhaled in an almost-laugh, turning to look at them. “I don’t mean right this second,” he smiled briefly, before his expression turned a bit somber. “But I have a feeling this deity isn’t going to let us walk away with the Trojan Palladium.”

“Probably not,” Annabeth conceded. “But it’s hard for even the gods to take on 3 experienced demigods.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “We almost got our ass handed to us by Lamia.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile on her lips.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to fight in a team,” she said. “That’s all. We’ll be better next time.”

“Or, you’re getting old,” Hazel quipped, her smile giving her away. “Slower reaction time.”

Annabeth gasped dramatically. “Alright, that’s enough out of you.”

They dissolved into light laughter, relaxing, and returning to their own things to pass the time. Jason flipped his gold coin between his fingers. Annabeth returned to the map they found yesterday. Hazel stared out the window, her brow furrowed in concentration as the landscape blurred past.

After nearly twenty minutes of companionable silence, Hazel suddenly straightened in her seat.

“What is it?” Annabeth asked, suddenly alert.

Hazel shook her head, hesitating. “Nothing,” she said finally. “It’s just—” She frowned. "Sometimes," she said quietly, as if sharing a secret, "I think I can feel the shadows moving."

“What does that mean?” Jason sat up in his seat.

“Moving how?”

Hazel pursed her lips, looking down at her hands with a huff. “I’m not exactly sure. And it’s hard to explain. They’re reacting to something—to someone, likely, but no one’s there.”

“And you’re sure no one’s there?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Positive.”

“How are you sure?” Annabeth asked.

Hazel waved her hands around, trying to form her thoughts. “Children of Pluto can sense death, right? So, by that logic, we can sense when there’s not death.”

That didn’t make much sense to Annabeth, and by the look on Jason’s face, he agreed.

“So, you can sense life?” 

“Sorta. Not exactly, but yes, kind of. There’s been nothing around us. Not the dead, not spirits, or ghosts, not even life. We’ve been alone. But… the shadows.” She trailed off. “It’s almost like they’re expecting something. But I don’t know what.”

Annabeth shared a look with Jason. But beware the crimson-eyed deceiver, who hunts the sacred retriever.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do for now,” Annabeth said finally.

Hazel bit her lip, but after a moment, agreed. “I’ll let you know if I feel anything different,” she mumbled, pulling a jewel out of her pocket, and started fidgeting with it.

As Hazel fell silent, Annabeth leaned back against the seat, exhaustion finally catching up with her. The countryside flew by outside, and her own reflection stared back at her from the window. But for a moment—so briefly she almost convinced herself she imagined it—she saw a third face reflected behind her own. A face with eyes that gleamed crimson in the glass. When she whipped around, there was no one there. Just shadows shifting in the back of the bus.

Chapter Text

Three days of bus rides had left Annabeth's legs cramped and her patience thin. Denver had been a blur of another depot, another night camping, another morning of stiff muscles and aching backs. Now, settling into her seat next to Hazel for the ten-hour stretch to Salt Lake City, she could feel the toll of constant travel in her bones.

The current plan was to have one more stop in Las Vegas, before figuring out a way to hitch a ride to the Sierra Nevada mountains.

The bus ride passed in silence, which seemed to be a trend for their journey. Annabeth switched between napping, studying her maps, playing with her dagger, or simply staring out the window. 

Her twelve year old body seemed a bit more forgiving to the nature of long bus rides, not quite riddled with past injuries that twinged in pain every so often. The ankle she broke a few years ago was stiff, a low throbbing deep inside the bone. 

When they finally shuffled off the bus in Utah, Annabeth could have kissed the ground. There were no more trips scheduled to Las Vegas for the rest of the day, so they were forced to stop for the evening, but she wasn’t complaining. 

On the bank of the Great Salt Lake, a sparse smattering of trees blocked a small clearing from the view of the nearby highway, a perfect place to set up camp. The ground was more clay-like than firm dirt, and her shoes sunk slightly into the material as she walked.

She could taste the salt in the air on her tongue. Every breath was punctuated with the crisp smell of the water, a combination of minerals and seaweed, and a hint of dusty rock from the shore. The fresh aroma was relieving, a stark difference from the slightly musty fragrance of the old coach bus. 

A breeze ruffled the loose strands of hair around her face, causing the fabric of her tent to swell as it danced lightly in the wind. The cool air brushed over her skin, fighting against the evening sun that warmed her.

Clanging metal shattered the peaceful atmosphere. Annabeth cursed quietly under her breath as her rod caught again on something she couldn’t see, her legs starting to cramp under the crouch she held. 

The dirt wrapped around the stakes of Hazel’s tent, slowly tugging the plastic deeper into the ground as she watched, her finished tent propped up proudly. Jason seemed to be having similar luck as Annabeth, his own tent still a mess of fabric and metal on the ground.

Shoving the pole through the fabric again, she cheered quietly as it slid cleanly through the opening, and out the other side. 

Jason sighed, glancing towards the vast lake, the horizon disappearing into the water.

“I feel like—” 

He cut himself off, words dying on his tongue. A heartbeat passed. Then, another, before he slowly rose to his feet.

Following his line of sight, Annabeth saw nothing but the stretch of the lake, and—

She gasped. 

Forehead wrinkling in surprise, she stood, the rods falling out of her hands and rolling to a stop softly on the ground. The aching of her muscles was a pebble in the ocean compared to what awaited them. 

A figure stood at the lake's edge, only the back of his head visible, dark hair catching the breeze. Waves, gently lapping on the shore, came dangerously close to wetting the tips of his shoes. The tip of his sword pointed to the ground. 

The air seemed colder somehow, carrying a faint metallic tang like blood mixed with the usual briny scent of the water. The sun seemed to slip under the horizon at once, leaving nothing but a fading sunset, casting dark shadows upon the world.

“Is that—?” Hazel whispered.

Not taking his eyes off the god, Jason’s voice was a low murmur. “I think so.”

He started forward, Annabeth and Hazel not too far behind. As they quietly approached, she could feel the waves of power rolling off the deity. Her heart thumped dangerously in her chest, nerves pooling into her stomach. 

The figure sharpened, and her mouth formed a tight line. 

The familiar scent of sea salt and ocean spray should have been comforting, but it was wrong somehow—tinged with something metallic and cold that made her stomach turn.

The hairs on her arms rose, not from the wind but from something more primal—a warning sense that had saved her life countless times before. 

Her heart stuttered. Poseidon was broader, not quite as lean. He wielded a trident, not a sword. And where was his Hawaiian shirt?

“Poseidon?” Jason asked, his voice thin with hesitation.

Reaching out to grab his arm, her stomach curled with unease. “Wait—” 

The stranger chuckled. It filled the air like black smoke, colored with a sense of danger that set off alarm bells in her head.

“I get mistaken for him a lot. Out of everyone, though, I thought you three would be able to tell the difference.”

The man twisted towards them—just enough to meet their eyes. All of the air in her lungs instantly evaporated, leaving her gasping. A knife stabbed directly into her heart, ever-so-slowly being dragged to her stomach, leaving hellfire in its wake.

Red eyes. But—

Oh.

No.

No.

“Oh my gods,” Hazel choked out, slapping a hand over her mouth. Tiny gemstones pushed up through the soil, a quiet ‘pop’ following them. 

“You’re not him.” Jason stood tall, his voice firm with the same commanding tone Annabeth had heard him use before when addressing the legion. Yet all the blood had drained from his face, leaving him pale. His sword hand trembled slightly—something she had never seen, not even when they faced Gaea. 

"You're not Percy." The words came out like an order, as if he could make it true through sheer force of will.

“Why not?” Mirth danced on his tongue, and he swung his sword playfully, like this was one big joke to him.

Oh gods, that was Riptide. But it can’t be. This can’t be Percy.

His eyes, like pools of fresh blood, were cold and intense. A cruel smile twisted his mouth upward, hiding his teeth behind his lips.

Shaking her head wildly, she peeled her fingers away from where her nails had been digging into her skin. Heat burned from within, causing sweat to bead on her forehead. 

“Percy died in Tartarus.” Her eyes burned. “You’re nothing but some cruel deity wearing his face to trick us.”

“No,” Percy said sharply, the cruel joy vanishing from his face like smoke. “You left me to die in Tartarus.” He took a step closer to them. Annabeth took a step back.

This wasn’t her Percy. But he looked so strikingly similar that it stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her gasping. Every attempt to force air in her lungs failed.

“No.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him, unable to muster anything more than a whisper. “They took you.”

Tilting his head to the side, the twisted sneer smoothed out of his features like it was never even there. The anger was replaced by a sad look, eyes downturned, lips pursed softly. Almost a pout. 

His voice barely more than a murmur. “Did you even look for me?” 

Tongue turned to stone in her mouth, the squeeze in her chest left her unable to speak. Only the sound of her racing heart filled her ears.  

She wanted to drop to her knees at his feet, grip his hands tightly, and beg for forgiveness. She wanted to weep, flood the world with her tears for the man she loved with her whole heart, yet never got to live happily ever after with. Sometimes, she thought that Aphrodite had cursed her so that she would never be truly happy.

When their eyes met, an uncomfortable feeling of utter wrongness crawled down her spine, before settling deep into her gut. She wanted to vomit.

Percy shook his head with a scoff. “I thought so.”

Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, willing this to only be a terrible nightmare. When she opened them, the figure wearing Percy’s face was still there, watching her carefully with hardly restrained amusement.

“You want me to prove myself? Is that it? Easy enough, I suppose.” 

The weight of his stare pinned her to the ground.

“What about. . . landing in the River Cocytus? I was ready to give it all up. Our journey through Tartarus would’ve been over before it even started.”

Her voice trembled. “Any monster could’ve guessed that.”

Percy hummed, running his fingers gently down the blade of his sword. “Fair enough.” He tore his gaze from Annabeth, turning it to Jason with the classic troublemaker smile he was known for, and momentarily, she felt like she could breathe. 

“Hey, Sparky.”

Jason was as still as a statue, muscles coiled like a spring.

“Do you remember that time where we stood at the bow of the Argo II, swapping stories about Thalia?” Percy tilted his head. “You told me that sometimes you wished she tried harder to find you.”

Jason let out a scoff full of disbelief, then swore quietly under his breath.

Her vision blurred with tears. She blinked rapidly, willing them not to fall. 

Reaching forward, Hazel gently grabbed her hand. “We need to leave,” she whispered, her voice so quiet she was barely audible.

Percy chuckled. 

“Oh. About that.” He rolled his shoulders, stretching the muscles. The blade of his sword glinted in the light of the setting sun. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

With a loud scrape, the coin in Jason’s hand turned into his sword. At the sound, she automatically fell into a fighting stance, her fingers curled tightly around the leather of the handle of her dagger. Hazel pulled her spatha out of its sheath.

Percy didn’t move, still standing in a relaxed pose, arms down by his side, tip of his sword resting in the dirt. Confidence rolled off him in waves, a type of arrogance that she had never seen on him before.

He raised an eyebrow. “You think you could beat me?”

Jason raised his sword higher, but hesitation lingered in every moment. “You’re good, Perce. But you’re not that good.”

Percy snorted. “Do you really believe that?” His voice was low, sending pricks down her arms. “I could beat you before, Jason. But now?”

A laugh escaped his lips, smile stretched too thin. “Now, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Whatever it takes.” Jason swallowed, his sword-arm shaking. His words were so quiet he was almost whispering. “We won’t let you kill anyone else.”

Annabeth wanted to collapse. She'd had nightmares like this before—Percy blaming her for letting Tartarus take him. Sometimes he would stand and scream at her before breaking down in tears. Sometimes he would stand there silently, watching her with judgement sprawled across his face. Sometimes he would hold her hand, and quietly ask her why.

But this—

This was a new type of hell.

They stood at an impasse, gazes flickering between each other, standing in a loose circle. No one wanted to do this. No one except maybe Percy, who still wore a smug smile, as if he was assured in his victory. 

The dagger was heavy in her hand. Suddenly weighing a thousand pounds, it pulled her arm to the ground, body unable to hold a weapon against him without the usual crackle of teasing energy, the one that always accompanied their sparring matches.

The Percy that stood in front of her wouldn’t hesitate to strike her with a killing blow, but she would, and that automatically left her at a disadvantage. One foot already on the losing side.

The ground under Percy’s feet shifted ever so slightly as his muscles tensed, and it gave away his wind-up.

Jason struck before he could make the first move, the golden blade of his sword catching the stray beams of sunlight left as it arced toward his target.

Percy blurred sideways, kicking up dirt as his foot twisted in the grass, launching into the air, lunging like a snake. Their swords met with a sound like a thunderclap, bronze against gold. Sparks cascaded from where the blades connected, the impact travelling up Annabeth’s spine as if she’d taken the blow herself.

Without a pause, he whipped around, meeting her surprise attack. The clash of metal screeched like a hissing serpent, sending Annabeth flying through the air.

Jason crouched low, muscles coiling before he launched skyward. The air around him crackled with static electricity, making the hair on her arm’s stand on end. Ozone, the scent pungent and sharp, filled her nostrils as energy gathered around him, blue-white tendrils dancing across his fingertips. The ground where Percy had stood a split-second before turned black and glassy, steam rising from the scorched earth.

Percy huffed, craning his neck to look up at Jason hovering above them. “Really?” 

Jason's response was lightning—bolt after bolt crashing down as the sky transformed into a churning mass of storm clouds.

It was impossible to tell who was controlling the storm, the son of the stormbringer, or the son of the skyfather, locked in a deadly trance as they wrestled for control. 

A powerful gust of wind almost knocked Jason out of the sky. As he struggled to regain his balance, she could tell he was losing. Seizing the moment, Annabeth and Hazel lunged together, attacking Percy from two sides. 

Percy ducked, slamming his fist into the earth with enough force that Annabeth heard the bones in his hand creak. For one heartbeat, nothing happened—then the ground beneath them came alive with fury. The earth rippled like water, thrashing underneath her shoes while Percy stood impossibly steady, unperturbed by the chaos he’d created.

He swept Hazel’s shaking legs from underneath her with his sword. She hit the ground with an ‘oomph’. 

It was almost like they were back at Camp, playfully sparring. Then, Hazel rolled out of the way of Percy’s downward stab, the power behind his attack sinking his sword deep into the grass, and Annabeth’s finger tightened painfully in a desperate attempt to keep focus. 

The movement of the ground started to subside, and she took her chance. She launched herself forward, dagger aimed at his open side. His body blurred as he spun around, wrapping his fingers tightly around her wrist, interrupting her downward slash. 

Percy wrenched her forward. Shoulder groaning in pain, she hit the ground with a thud, sliding across the clay to a stop, dagger bouncing against the ground a few feet away.

Clambering to her feet, a gasp involuntarily escaped her, the cold hitting before she registered the water soaking through her socks. It was an aggressive chill, the kind that burned rather than numbed. 

Percy stood with his arm outstretched. Water crystallized around her ankles, securing her firmly to the ground, ice cloudy white and solid as stone. Each desperate movement sent daggers of pain shooting up her shins as the frozen edges bit into her flesh.

Water from the lake surged upward, hunting Jason with unnatural intelligence. It caught him mid-flight, a liquid fist closing around his chest and forcing the air from his lungs. Percy closed his fist, and the water slammed Jason to earth.

Annabeth had slipped one of her shoes off with much difficulty, her hands wrapped around her other leg in an attempt to free it, when Hazel let out a blood curdling scream. Her head whipped up, the muscles in her neck twinging. 

Standing over Jason, Percy lifted his sword high in the sky. With a gut-wrenching crunch, he slid the blade deep into Jason’s stomach. Blood immediately started to pool around his torso, staining the green grass underneath them a ruby red.

Jason gasped, his face pale, eyes impossibly wide. He lifted a weak hand to his stomach, resting his fingers on the sharp metal.

Hand still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, he hummed, eyes raking down Jason’s body in observation, like he was simply bird-watching. Annabeth gagged as Percy pulled Riptide out of Jason’s body with a sickening squelch. 

Clapping a hand over her mouth, her insides rolled dangerously. Tears pricked at her eyes. This can’t be happening. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

Her brain finally made all of the right connections, and the realization almost knocked her to the ground.

Destroyer. 

How many times had he been told the meaning of his name? 

Any lingering doubts of this not truly being Percy evaporated in an instant, leaving her shaking, a hole in her heart.

Hazel smashed the ice that held her feet still with a sharp gemstone, her movements wild in rage. In a moment she was free, hurtling herself towards Percy, her spatha pointed at his chest.

“Hazel!” Annabeth screamed, her knees giving out as she threw herself forward, lower half still frozen in place, hand reaching out.

Suddenly, Hazel jerked to a standstill, frozen with her right leg still in the air behind her. With wide eyes, Annabeth stilled as she watched, eyebrows furrowed.

Percy slowly turned to look at the daughter of Pluto. He reached out with one hand, and Hazel’s foot lowered to the ground, her movements stiff like her joints were filled with rust. Jerkily, she lowered herself to her knees, a squeak escaping her lips.

Confusion clouded her mind. What was she doing? Was she giving up? Percy would cut her down in a few seconds if she—

Horror doused over her like a cold shower.

He was controlling her. He was blood-bending.

Her stomach lurched violently. The world tilted sideways, bile rising in her throat. Her own blood felt like it was crawling under her skin, as if responding to the same unnatural pull. Every instinct screamed that what she was watching shouldn't be possible—a person's body obeying someone else's will, muscles and tendons moving like puppet strings.

Percy had controlled poison in Tartarus, completely of his own natural powers. He had already transcended the limits of what his powers should have been, so she should’ve expected that whatever happened to him would have pushed his powers even further, into god-like territory. 

But nothing could have prepared her for the reality of watching her friend’s limbs move against their will.

Almost like he was bored, Percy lifted the hilt of his sword high in the sky. He slammed it onto her skull, and she collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, landing on the ground with a thud.

With her leg still stuck, she sobbed loudly, her throat raw from yelling. She punched the frozen water repeatedly, the blood on her split knuckles smearing on the ice, the delicate bones in her fingers cracking.

Dirty black Converse entered her vision, and she looked up to see Percy crouch in front of her. 

She leaned backwards as far as she could, her heart in her throat, a pit in her stomach. He tilted his head in thought, quietly gazing at her, before he surged forward, closing his hand around her throat.

A strangled cough squeezed out of her, pain exploding where he dug his fingers. His grip was hot like fire, as if he was branding her like cattle, leaving outlines of his touch on her skin. 

The smell of the sea assaulted her senses—but not the warm, comforting ocean scent she remembered. This was cold, like deep water where sunlight never reached, mixed with something that reminded her of copper pennies. 

Her vision blurred, colors muddling together, except for the horrible crimson irises that controlled Percy, taunting her.

Her hands flew to her neck, fingers scrambling for purchase, nails leaving long gashes in desperation. His hold was firm, unyielding to her desperate tugging, her muscles failing her. 

“Please,” she gasped, voice nothing more than a whisper. Black dots started to appear in her eyesight, chest burning. She felt woozy.

The red in his eyes flickered. For a moment, it vanished completely, leaving only a bright, familiar sea-green in its wake. The moment seemed to last an eternity, but in reality it was just one second, a mere flicker. He blinked, and it was like it never even happened, returning to the same gods-awful color.

Suddenly the pressure on her neck vanished. Gasping for air, she collapsed to the ground, hand clutching her sore neck. She attempted to scoot herself backwards with one, trembling arm, focusing her still-blurry vision on Percy. 

He stood stiffly, muscles tense with pinched eyebrows, and wide eyes. Seemingly in a daze, he took slow, careful steps backwards until he was underneath the shade of a nearby tree. 

In a blink, he was gone.

The ice around her ankle suddenly melted, splashing onto the ground, and she fell to her hands and knees, suddenly free of her restraint. Hiccups interrupting every breath, she stumbled to her feet, tripping over the grass as she ran to Jason, tears streaming down her face. 

His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell, and she cried out in relief, collapsing on the ground next to him. Shallow breaths escaped his lungs, the pool of blood growing larger by the second, pouring out of the wound on his stomach. 

Annabeth ripped off a piece of her Camp Half-Blood shirt, pressing down on the injury with her body weight, digging into her jeans pocket with her other hand. Placing a tiny crystal on the grass, she angled it to catch the light, a weak but colorful rainbow appearing out of thin air. 

Quickly retrieving a drachma, she tossed it in the air.

“Nico!” She shouted, her words coming out scratchy. With a jolt, he turned around, the small smile on his face evaporating as he took in her appearance; her blotchy red face covered in tears, the blood staining her shirt.

“Annabeth?” 

“I need help,” she begged. “I need you to shadow travel us to Camp.”

Nico glanced at the Iris Message, scanning the surroundings. “Hold on.” He slashed through the message in one fluid motion.

In an instant, he appeared behind her. With a gasp, he physically recoiled as he caught sight of Jason bleeding out on the ground.

“Camp Jupiter?” He crouched down next to her, placing a hand on Jason’s bicep.

She shook her head, another round of sobs rolling through her body. “Camp Half-Blood.”

Nico looked uncertain, eyes darting around, pausing when he caught sight of Hazel still slumped on the ground, blood trickling from her forehead. “Please, Nico,” she whispered.

Eyes turning steely, he grabbed Hazel under her arms to drag her closer to Annabeth and Jason, interlacing his fingers with his sister’s.

“Hold onto Jason,” He held out his other hand. “I can make the jump, but I will pass out immediately when we land. Catch me, please.”

Annabeth nodded furiously, grabbing Jason’s wrist in a tight hold, placing her other hand firmly into Nico’s.

As soon as their hands connected, reality dissolved. Shadow travel wasn't like moving through darkness—it was becoming darkness. Annabeth's senses scattered: the pressure of Nico's hand in hers and her desperate grip on Jason's wrist were the only anchors keeping her from dissolving completely.

The cold was absolute, pressing against her skin like a physical weight, seeping into her bones until she couldn't remember what warmth felt like. Sounds became muffled, distant things—except for her own heartbeat pounding in her ears and Jason's rattling, wet breaths growing fainter.

Time stretched and compressed unpredictably. It could have been seconds or hours before the darkness began to thin, like fabric wearing out. Pinpricks of torchlight pierced through, growing larger until they burst through into Camp Half-Blood.

The transition was violent. Like being expelled from one world into another. Her knees buckled as solid ground materialized beneath her feet. The warmth of the camp air felt scalding against her shadow-chilled skin. Sounds crashed back into her awareness—distant laughter from the cabins, the crackle of nearby torches, her own ragged breathing.

Nico collapsed as promised, his body going limp before she could fully process that they'd arrived. She lunged to catch him with one hand while maintaining her grip on Jason with the other, the weight of both boys threatening to pull her down.

“HELP!” She screamed, the words ripping out of her vocal cords like sharp glass. Exhaustion threatened to pull her unconscious, but her blood felt like it was on fire, coursing through her veins, and it was the sole thing that kept her on her feet. “I NEED HELP!”

She could hardly see through her non-stop tears. A figure burst through the doors of the infirmary, pulling Jason into their arms. More campers streamed out of the building, one lifting Nico out of her grasp, another checking on Hazel where she laid peacefully on the floor, blood leaking from her head.

Hands grabbed her shoulders. She tried to pull away, shaking her head, but they only held on tighter. They were speaking, but it all came through as a mumbled garble, pure noise in her ears. Slowly, as her hearing cleared, and her vision sharpened, the face of Will Solace came into view. 

“—nnabeth, I need to know if you’re injured.”

She shrank away, but he held on tighter. Jason’s blood was sticky on her hands, still warm. It dripped off her fingers slowly, leaving bright red spots on the grass next to her shoes. 

“I don’t think any of the blood is mine,” she mumbled. The bottom half of her orange t-shirt was dyed red, soaked with blood.

“Okay,” Will took a deep breath. “Okay. Does anything hurt?”

Annabeth felt numb. Completely, utterly numb. Her mind was sluggish, her limbs weak and heavy. The small, tiny part of her brain that never truly turned off was ringing alarm bells, pain blossoming in her head.

Reaching a shaking hand up to her neck, she was certain that it was an angry red, maybe even turning purple. She winced as her touch brushed the skin. 

Will’s eyes fell to the imprints of fingers left on her skin, but his face remained impassive.

“Okay.” He repeated. “Anywhere else?”

“My ankle,” she whispered back, but even the smallest noise pulled on her empty energy reserves.

Will pulled back slightly, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders, to look at her ankle. She kept her eyes firmly at the sky, not wanting to know what the ice had done to her. All she knew was it ached. 

“I’m going to take you to the Big House, okay?” He peered into her eyes. “The infirmary is a bit busy. It’ll be quiet in the Big House, at least for a bit.”

Words escaped her, but relief flooded over her like an ice bath. The thought of being fussed over in a loud, overwhelming infirmary filled with sick and injured people made her want to cry. The quiet Big House sounded nice.

One of her greatest skills was removing emotions from a situation, looking at it purely logically. She knew that the stiffness in her muscles was shock. It was the numbness that gripped her mind, clouding her thoughts so hazy that she could barely take in her surroundings, allowing Will to guide her with a gentle hand.

Despite the knowledge of her affliction rattling in her head so fiercely that pain popped up behind her temples, she felt useless to combat it. Her limbs remained sticky like tree sap, her eyes open yet unseeing, dread and panic squeezing her lungs. 

For the first time in a handful of years, she felt completely, and utterly useless, at the mercy and the whims of the gods, the Fates, the monsters who tried to feast on her. She felt powerless.

Before she realized it, Will led her to the chair at the head of the ping-pong table. Collapsing into it, she barely felt the sting as he cleaned off her cuts, robotically placing a piece of ambrosia on her tongue. It tasted like ash.

He disappeared after wrapping her hand in gauze. 

Annabeth leaned forward, putting her head on her folded arms, and cried.