Chapter Text
4,591 Years Ago
The Oracle’s Temple
Delphi
Ancient Greece
Apollo
The incense curled in lazy ribbons toward the cavernous ceiling of the temple, sweet with myrrh and laurel smoke. Worshipers knelt in hushed rows, eyes wide as if the very sunlight embodied in Phoebus Apollo might scorch them should they look too boldly.
Apollo basked in it. The golden god sprawled upon the marble throne carved in his likeness. A pure gold lyre in one hand, the other draped over the armrest as maidens fanned him with white peacock-feather fans. Each mortal that dared draw close was rewarded with a smile that could topple cities or a glance sharp enough to cut through silence itself.
“Sing louder,” he commanded to the chorus of priests, a grin tugging at his lips. “If the God of Music cannot hear himself praised over the cicadas outside, then you are failing me.”
The choir hastened to obey. Apollo chuckled and tipped his head toward one trembling devotee lingering too long at his feet.
“Yes, little dove, you may touch.” He extended a gleaming hand, and when the girl dared to brush her fingers over his knuckles, he bent and pressed a mocking kiss to her wrist. Gasps echoed. Apollo thrived on them.
Today was meant for ceremony. His ceremony. No longer the god merely of archery and light, but of the sun itself, crowned sovereign of prophecy, his glory immortalized in Delphi. A new Pythia would be anointed, his mouthpiece upon the mortal plane. Another reminder that every vision, every truth, would flow through him.
The maiden chosen trembled as she was led forward, clad in white and crowned with laurel. Apollo watched her with idle curiosity, ready to bask in her awe. But when her eyes lifted to his, they burned strangely—clear, unshaken, as though some deeper fire moved behind them.
She took his offered hand. Instead of bowing, she clutched his wrist tight. Her voice split the air, not her own but heavy, resonant that weighed with something that clawed even at Apollo’s golden heart.
“From mortal womb a twin shall rise,
Poseidon’s child with sea green eyes.
She is thy soul, thy destined flame,
Thy ruin bound, thy dawn the same.
Pure must thou walk, or lose her hand,
And hollow reign over sun and sand.”
The temple fell silent. Even the cicadas beyond the marble steps hushed.
Apollo blinked. Then laughter burst from him, loud and ringing, filling every corner of the sacred chamber.
“Purity? ” he drawled, shaking free her grip as though it burned him. “Sweet maiden, you speak nonsense. I am a god . I have no need of chains of chastity nor of impossible riddles dressed as poetry.”
He rose in a blaze of sunlight, spreading his arms so the gold threads of his chiton caught the firelight.
“My happiness is the world’s devotion. My wealth is eternal. My prize…” he winked toward the nearest maiden, who blushed crimson, “is whichever lips I choose tonight.”
The priests and supplicants laughed nervously with him, eager to please. But the Pythia only gazed up at Apollo with eyes that saw far too much.
And though he scoffed, some quiet place within him, some buried part of the boy who once begged for love, shivered.
~
Mount Olympus
Thessaly
Ancient Greece
The golden halls of Olympus rang with laughter. Goblets clinked, firelight danced across polished marble, and the air was thick with wine and boasts. Zeus lounged at the head of the feast, Hera’s sharp eyes cutting every foolish grin, while the sons of Olympus roared with one another about the spoils of their power.
“A hundred daughters shall be born of me,” boasted Ares, slamming his cup down, bronze armor rattling with his mirth. “Warriors all, bathed in blood before they walk.”
Hermes smirked over the rim of his wine, his voice a silken taunt. “And I will have sons clever enough to steal your armor before they’re weaned.”
The table erupted in laughter. Dionysus, flushed with his own vintage, sang out some bawdy praise of women’s lips and soft thighs.
Apollo leaned back in his throne, eyes half-lidded, golden hair catching every torch flame. He raised his cup high. “Then let them come by the dozens,” he declared, grin dazzling, voice pitched to match their merriment. “Maidens and queens alike beg for me already. Why should I not bless the world with a lineage brighter than the sun itself?”
Cheers thundered. Ares clapped him on the shoulder. Hermes chuckled into his goblet.
Yet beneath Apollo’s smile, the words from Delphi coiled like smoke. A twin daughter of the sea, your undoing, your beginning…
He drowned it with wine. With laughter. With careless boasts about future conquests. But the taste remained bitter.
Later, when the feast had ended and the gods gathered to witness his sister, Apollo stood at the edge of the dais. Artemis’s silver bow gleamed as she knelt before their father, her voice steady as she swore herself to maidenhood, to untouched vows, to eternity unbroken by desire.
The Olympians watched in reverence. Apollo’s chest tightened.
He swallowed hard. His throat burned as if swallowing flames.
Artemis rose, sanctified in her new name, and Apollo’s lips parted, no longer curved in arrogance. No laughter left in him.
As the last vow left her lips, the words of Delphi came rushing back, unbidden, relentless.
Adelfí Psychí.
Soulmate.
His ruin.
His dawn.
“Mine,” he whispered to himself. Soft and broken. “She is mine. ”
~
Present Day
Mount Olympus
Empire State Building
Manhattan, NY
Stormlight bled across the marble as the gods gathered. Thunder cracked overhead though no storm had been called. The sky outside Mount Olympus swollen with Poseidon’s grief. For three years, the seas had raged without pause. Hurricanes scarring coastlines, whirlpools tearing at ships. Every mortal who prayed for calmer waters found no relief, because the sea god himself could not find peace.
Poseidon sat hunched on his throne, beard unkempt, salt clinging to him like brine. His trident leaned heavy at his side, waves rising and falling in restless rhythm against the feet of his colossal seat.
“Three years,” he muttered, voice like a breaker smashing rock. “My son is not in Tartarus, Hades swears it. Thanatos himself confirms he has not passed into death. Sally is grief stricken. What am I to tell her?”
His fist tightened. The trident groaned. “Where is he?”
Across the circle, Zeus’s knuckles whitened on the arms of his throne. “And what does that tell us, Brother? Three years without a word. Not even to his own mother. You see devotion in absence. I see danger.” Lightning crackled down his arm. “Heroes have turned before. Perhaps your son now bends the knee to an enemy who would see Olympus burn.”
Poseidon surged upright, “Never! You dare accuse him? Percy saved Olympus countless times. He’s shown his loyalty. He would not betray us.”
“Would you stake the world upon that?” Zeus’s thunderous gaze swept the room. “What if the Titans hold him captive? What if Gaia’s remnants stir beneath the earth? Would you have us wait while your grief drowns the mortals in endless storms?”
Ares leaned forward with a wolfish grin. “If the boy has been taken, then he is weak. And if he has betrayed us, he deserves no mercy.”
“Spoken like a true brute,” Athena cut in coldly, her gray eyes sharp as blades. She leaned on the arm of her throne, voice ringing with reason honed to steel. “Yet Father is not wrong to demand answers. Three years is not the silence of loyalty. It is the silence of abandonment. Even his own…”
She let the words linger, “Even his closest companions have moved on.”
Poseidon’s storm roared through the chamber. “Do not speak of loyalty. You and your children twist it to suit yourselves. My son’s heart was constant yet your daughter has already cast him aside.” His voice cracked like a tidal wave against stone. “Do not lecture me on faith.”
For the first time, Athena’s lips tightened, but she said no more.
In the uneasy quiet that followed, Apollo leaned forward, sunlight flickering faintly across his golden shoulders. His usual smirk was gone.
“Percy wasn’t like the others,” he said softly. “He chose to fight for Olympus when even gods faltered. If he’s missing, it isn’t because he betrayed us. Trouble finds him, always has.”
His eyes darkened. “And if he hasn’t come back… it’s because the trouble was bigger than even him.”
Zeus’s voice cracked like lightning. “And yet there is more.” His gaze swept the circle, hard and grim. “A new shadow rises. Whisper of a power moving across Europe, across the far continents. Immortals, gods and creatures alike, have fallen. Struck down. Their ichor spilled like mortal blood.” His jaw tightened. “They call it the Godkiller. ”
The name shivered through the air. Even the fire on Hestia’s hearth dimmed.
Ares snarled, his hand tightening on his spear. “Who dares? What weapon could unmake us?”
“There is no weapon,” Hades said darkly, the shadows deepening around his throne. “Something worse. Whoever this Godkiller is, they wield power that can entirely unmake immortals. I have felt the rift left behind each death.”
Hermes, for once sober, shifted uneasily. “If Percy vanished, and the Godkiller rose in the same breath… maybe it’s no coincidence.”
“Or perhaps,” Athena countered sharply, “he is the Godkiller.”
Poseidon’s roar shook Olympus, waves flooding the floor at his feet. “You dare!”
“Enough,” Zeus thundered, his crown blazing. “We cannot sit idle while this Godkiller hunts unchecked nor while Perseus Jackson’s fate remains unknown. Artemis!”
His thunderous gaze locked on his daughter. “Take your Huntresses. Track him. Find Perseus Jackson—alive, captive, or traitor. And if the Godkiller is tied to him, you will uncover the truth.”
Artemis inclined her head, calm where her twin fidgeted. “I will find him, Father. No prey eludes the Hunt.”
The council stirred uneasily. Some with suspicion, some with sorrow, some with thoughts they dared not voice. Outside, the storm raged on, as if echoing Poseidon’s grief.
And in the circle of thrones, the name none dared speak aloud pressed heavy on every god’s tongue.
Percy Jackson.
~
Angels Landing
Zion National Park
Utah, USA
The camp of the Hunters of Artemis sprawled atop a jagged canyon wall, white tents and silver firelight blending into the winter dusk. Snow dusted the red stone cliffs, coyotes howled in the distance, and every tree seemed to bristle with unseen arrows.
Apollo shimmered into being at the edge of the camp, his golden glow jarring against the icy stillness. The Hunters didn’t flinch — they’d seen gods appear before — but their hands lingered on their bows all the same.
Artemis emerged from her tent, silver cloak flowing behind her, eyes hard as the moon. “Brother,” she said coolly, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”
Apollo tried for a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Pleasure might be generous, sis. More like… frustration.” He gestured vaguely toward the mountains. “The old man’s breathing down my neck about progress. Have you found anything?”
Artemis shook her head once. “No signs. No rumors. Nothing. If Perseus Jackson lives, he hides well. Too well.”
At the campfire, Thalia Grace looked up sharply. She was hunched over her bow, polishing the string with furious precision, her black jacket dusted with ash.
“He’s not hiding,” she snapped. “Something’s keeping him from coming back.”
Her electric-blue eyes sparked, daring anyone to contradict her. “Percy wouldn’t just vanish. Not like this. Not without a fight.”
Apollo sighed, dropping onto a log beside the fire. “Kid, I want to believe that too. I like the guy, sass aside, he had guts. But months of silence, plus the Godkiller thing tearing through Europe… even I’m starting to wonder if maybe…” He trailed off under Thalia’s glare.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Her voice cracked like thunder.
Artemis lifted a hand, calming the air. “Speculation solves nothing. But facts are scarce. If Percy is tied to the Godkiller, we will find him. Yet Europe is dangerous ground. Gods have already fallen there. To take my Huntresses across the ocean blindly would risk more lives than it saves.”
Thalia’s hands tightened on her bow. “He’s not just a friend. He’s family. And if there’s even a chance he’s in trouble, we have to try.”
Artemis’s eyes softened, though her voice remained cool. “A hunt for Perseus Jackson, in the age of the Godkiller.” She glanced at her twin. “It seems fate is not finished with us yet, Brother.”
Apollo swallowed hard, the firelight catching in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Feels like it’s just beginning.”
The coyotes howled again in the distance, and the Hunters’ camp sat heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. Europe loomed, the Godkiller stirred, and far from Olympus, Thalia Grace had just set prophecy into motion.
~
A Few Weeks Later
Stonehenge
Salisbury
England, UK
Artemis
Artemis stood among the stones, pale and immovable as the moon, her silver cloak snapping around her boots. The ring of monoliths towered overhead, jagged shadows against a stormy sky.
Her Hunters moved in silence, bows strung, eyes sharp, every step a measured dance across the grass. To mortal eyes, Stonehenge was nothing but ruin. But Artemis felt the weight of what still lingered here, the threads of magic where forgotten immortals still roamed.
“We stay sharp,” she ordered, her voice carrying across the stones. “Rumor places a Dullahan in this region. An old Celtic headless rider. One of the last of its kind.”
Her silver eyes narrowed. “That makes him prey. And prey draws predators.”
The Hunters exchanged glances. They all knew what she meant.
For weeks now, the killings had grown bolder. Names lost to time whispered on the wind: pucas in the Irish countryside, banshees older than Wales, slain with no trace left but a puddle of ichor. Wherever the Godkiller walked, immortals fell. Not vanquished but erased from existence.
Artemis’s jaw tightened. “We tracked movement in southern England. Signs again in Ireland. The pattern is clear. If the Dullahan still rides, he will be next.”
She turned in a slow circle, scanning the horizon, every sense stretched taut. The plain was too open, too exposed. Her skin prickled with the feeling of being watched.
“High alert,” she said softly, but every hunter heard. “The Godkiller may already be near.”
A ripple of unease swept through the ranks, but no one faltered.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint echo of hooves across the plain.
Artemis’s eyes narrowed.
It seemed the rumors had not lied.
The air shifted as Artemis raised a hand, and her Hunt froze, melting into the long grass and shadow of the stones. Silver arrows notched soundlessly. Every eye followed her gaze.
Out of the misted horizon thundered the Dullahan. Black steed, rider headless beneath a battered cloak, the saddle glowing faintly with cursed fire. Normally, such creatures rode with dreadful confidence as they were harbingers of death.
But this one… it was almost like he was fleeing. The reins yanked tight in skeletal fingers, the steed’s flanks lathered with sweat and foam. Panic radiated from every hoofbeat.
Artemis’s eyes narrowed. Even the death bringer runs.
Then she saw why.
Another rider crested the plain, hooded, faceless, gaining ground with impossible speed. They were astride a massive steed, black as midnight, its hooves striking sparks against the stone.
The Dullahan urged his mount harder, but the hooded figure raised a single gloved hand.
Artemis tensed. No…
Invisible strings snapped tight. The Dullahan wrenched backward in the saddle, limbs contorted like a puppet’s. His horse screamed, legs faltering beneath the sudden unnatural weight. The cloaked figure’s fingers curled tighter, dragging the immortal rider back as though fetched from the very air.
The cloaked figure curled their fingers tighter. The Dullahan’s entire form convulsed, glowing with a dreadful inner light before bursting into mist with a sound like shattering glass.
A spray of golden ichor spattered the grass. Then nothing. The Dullahan was gone.
Her hand trembled once before she steadied it on her bow. She had seen monsters slain before. But never so swiftly. Never so cleanly.
The hooded rider lowered their hand, the mask tilting up toward the stones, toward the Hunt’s hidden vantage. Artemis’s breath caught.
They knew.
“Steady,” she whispered, though her voice was barely air. “Not a sound.”
The Godkiller lingered a moment longer in the mist, then was gone, swallowed by the plain as if they had never been there at all.
Artemis’s Hunters exchanged fearful glances. One finally breathed, “My Lady… what was that?”
Artemis did not answer. For the first time in centuries, she was not sure.