Chapter Text
Percy
Luke didn’t bother knocking.
The doors of the Big House flew open with a sharp crack, wood slamming hard enough to rattle the windows. Percy stumbled in a half-step behind him, boots skidding on the polished floor before he caught himself, his shoulder grazing the doorframe as he straightened.
“What is the meaning of this?” Luke demanded.
Despite the waves of anger pouring from the two new occupants, the Big House was beautiful. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, laying in pale stripes across the floorboards and catching dust motes as they drifted. The place smelled of lemon polish, old paper, and something vaguely antiseptic that made Percy think of ambrosia wrappers and fresh bandages.
Mr. D sat behind Chiron’s desk. He was lounging there like he owned it, one ankle propped over his knee, his fingers loose around a glass bottle of Diet Coke. The liquid swirled lazily as he shifted, completely unbothered by Luke’s entrance. His eyes lifted to them—dark, flat, and already annoyed.
Chiron stood a few feet away, his posture straight, hands folded in front of him. His expression remained calm, but a palpable tension sat in his shoulders, and his weight rested unevenly on his hooves as if he’d been standing still for too long.
Next to him sat a stranger. The man was angled away in his chair, his back to Percy as his spine curved comfortably against the carved wood, one arm draped over the chair back. His long fingers played with a bronze chain hanging from the edge of the desk, spinning it so it clicked softly against the wood.
Percy watched as Luke took it all in with a single, sweeping glance. The blonde’s jaw tightened, and his shoulders squared. Clearly, nothing about the scene they’d walked into was calming his anger.
“Explain,” Luke said. His voice dropped, the sharp edge stripped away and replaced with a coldness that set even Percy on edge.
Chiron lifted his hands, palms open, the motion slow and practiced. “Luke,” he said gently. “Percy. Please. Lower your voices.”
Luke didn’t spare his beloved teacher a single glance. “You’re removing Chiron?” he said, his eyes locked on Mr. D. “Over what? Because someone poisoned a tree? How is that Chiron’s fault?”
Mr. D sighed and tipped his goblet back, taking a long drink. He swallowed at his leisure. “This decision was made with due consideration.”
“That’s bullshit,” Luke snapped. “Chiron has run this camp for centuries. He had nothing to do with the poisoning.”
“I am sure that is quite likely to be the case,” Mr. D replied, his tone flat.
Percy’s stomach tightened. An angry heat crept up his neck, the familiar warning that he was about to say something unwise at a volume everyone could enjoy. He gritted his teeth, trying to control himself.
“Then what is this?” Luke demanded, cutting a sharp hand toward the desk, the chair, the stranger.
Mr. D swirled his Coke, watching the liquid spin. “It can never hurt to be cautious, boys. There have been concerns.”
“Lord Dionysus–” Chiron began in a charitable tone.
Mr. D lifted a finger without looking at him. “Whispers,” he said. “Of the Titan Lord’s return.”
The words slid down Percy’s spine like ice. Kronos. Percy knew all about Kronos.
“And our dear Chiron,” Mr. D continued, lifting his gaze at last, “is Kronos’s son.”
Silence slammed into the room. Luke’s mouth opened, then closed. His breath came out through his nose, sharp and disbelieving.
Percy stepped forward, injecting himself into the conversation before his brain could catch up with his mouth. “That’s your logic?” he blurted.
Immediately, all eyes were on him.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Percy said, his voice climbing. “Zeus is Kronos’s son, too. Should we replace Zeus while we’re at it?”
Mr. D’s eyes narrowed, irritation flashing bright and immediate. “Watch your tongue, boy.”
Behind the desk, the bronze chain spun faster.
“Indeed,” a new voice said lightly, repeating the words with deliberate mockery. “Watch your tongue.”
Finally, the stranger turned in the chair. Up close, Percy took in the details in a rush: slicked dark hair, heavy robes that hung off his gaunt form, a wide smile that never reached his eyes. He rose smoothly, letting the chain fall so it clinked against the desk.
“Honestly,” the man said, his gaze sliding over Percy like oil, “the nerve of children these days.”
Percy’s glare hardened. “Who are you supposed to be?”
The man’s smile widened as he spread his hands. “Tantalus,” he said. “Your new camp director.”
Luke made a sound low in his throat, halfway between a laugh and a snarl. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
Internally, Percy’s mind struggled through the murky depths of his memory before it finally surfaced—Chiron’s lessons, the story of internal punishment and iternal hunger.
“Oh,” Percy said flatly. “That Tantalus.”
For a moment, something flickered across Tantalus’s face before his smile reset into place.
Percy crossed his arms. “Let me guess,” he said. “You got tired of being hungry for food, so you decided to try power instead. Bad look.”
Luke huffed out a laugh before he could help it.
Tantalus’s eyes hardened, his smile thinning into a line.
Chiron stepped forward. “Enough,” he said, his voice calm but carrying weight. “Percy. Luke.”
Luke turned on him immediately. “Chiron, you can’t just–”
“It’s all right,” Chiron said.
Percy stared at him. “It really isn’t.”
Chiron looked at Percy then and smiled—a small, weary expression threaded with a weary resignation that made Percy’s throat tighten. “I will be fine, Percy,” he said. “In truth, I find myself almost looking forward to a rest.”
Luke shook his head, his hands flexing at his sides. “This isn’t right,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to leave.”
“Camp Half-Blood will endure,” Chiron replied. “It always has.”
Luke stepped closer. “Please,” he said quietly. “Stay.”
For a second, Percy thought Chiron might.
Then Chiron’s smile softened, and he shook his head. “Go,” he said. “Out, both of you.”
Luke held his gaze a beat longer, then turned sharply and strode for the door. Percy followed, his chest tight, anger buzzing under his skin like electricity that had nowhere to ground.
Outside, the air hit Percy’s flushed face, doing little to soothe the angry churning in his gut.
Luke paced the length of the Big House porch, his boots thudding against the wood in uneven rhythms. He dragged a hand through his hair hard enough to leave it sticking up at the crown, then dropped his arm and pivoted, like he might spin back inside and keep arguing until someone did something sensible.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Absolutely unbelievable.”
Percy braced his hands on the porch railing. The wood was warm from the sun. His fingers curled around it, his knuckles whitening as his thoughts ran laps.
“They just keep doing this,” Percy said, the words sharp enough to scrape. “Every time I think they’re done disappointing me, they get creative. Gods.”
‘Gods’, was right, Percy thought bitterly. Everything really was their fault when it came down to it.
Luke let out a short, humorless laugh and resumed pacing. “The gods do love playing with their little toys with little to no regard for the possible consequences.”
Percy turned toward him, his lips tugging downward. “Chiron’s one of the ones who actually cares,” he said. “He teaches us. He listens. He–” His voice caught for half a second, but he pushed through it. “And they toss him aside ‘cause of who his dad is? That’s so stupid.”
Luke stopped. His shoulders tightened, and for a moment, he looked younger than Percy was used to seeing him—angry and cornered.
“They’re scared,” Luke said finally. “They hear Kronos’s name and start tearing out anything that reminds them of him. That's a damn fear response if I’ve ever seen one.”
Percy shivered. Could the gods really be afraid of Kronos? Of his return?
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path below. Annabeth took the porch steps two at a time and slowed when she reached them, her eyes flicking between Luke’s clenched jaw and Percy’s rigid stance.
“How did it go?” she asked grimly, already bracing herself.
Percy glanced at Luke, then back at her. “It went to shit.”
Annabeth inhaled through her teeth. “Yeah, I figured,” she said with a grimace. “Okay. What happened?”
Luke huffed and turned his stare out across camp, not trusting himself to look back at the Big House without being flush with fresh anger.
Percy scrubbed a hand over his face. “They’re removing Chiron,” he said. “Mr. D says it’s because they’ve heard ‘whispers’ about Kronos possibly returning.”
Deep inside Percy’s gut, something suspiciously close to guilt churned. It’s more than just whispers, he knew.
“Kronos?” Annabeth’s eyes widened. “But they can’t just–” She cut herself off, her jaw tightening as she recalculated mid-sentence. “Who’s replacing him?”
Percy’s mouth twisted. “Tantalus.”
Annabeth went still. “…Tantalus?” she repeated. “As in–”
“As in eternal hunger, divine punishment, and terrible decision-making,” Percy said. “Yeah.”
Annabeth’s lips pressed together. “What are the gods thinking?” she muttered almost to herself, chewing on her thumbnail as she thought. “Tantalus has been cooped up in isolation for the last millennia. What the Hades does he know about wrangling children?”
Luke snorted. “Tell that to Olympus.”
Annabeth exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “Okay. Maybe–” She hesitated, then forced the words out. “Maybe he’ll surprise us.” The words rang false with forced optimism.
Percy stared at her. “Annabeth.”
She met his gaze, stubborn and set. “I’m just saying we don’t know how bad he’ll be yet.”
Luke let out a low, incredulous laugh. “You didn’t see him, Annabeth. He’s a total scumbag.”
Annabeth shifted, her arms folding across her chest. “What’s that thing people always say? It’s always better to go into things with a positive outlook.”
Percy shook his head. “Positive outlook, schmositive shmoutlook,” he mocked back, not having it. “That’s not exactly gonna help us much when the camp is knee-deep in monster guts, and we’ve got this loser–” he jutted his thumb behind him, pointing at the Big House, “–to run the place.”
Luke turned back toward them, his eyes sharp. “Exactly.”
Annabeth’s shoulders sagged a fraction. “I hate this,” she admitted quietly. “Chiron doesn’t deserve it.”
“No,” Percy said. The pressure in his chest returned, steady and familiar. “He doesn’t.”
For a beat, there was silence between the three of them. The ordinary sounds of camp washed over them—the clang of swords from the arena, the distant shouts from the canoe lake—the steady rhythm blissfully unaffected by the turmoil up the chain of command. Soon, Percy knew, the summer campers would be returning. At that thought, the unease festering behind his ribs only grew.
Annabeth’s gaze flicked toward the hill, toward the boundary line Percy had started watching like it was a countdown. “We should keep an eye on things, just in case,” she said. “On Tantalus, especially. If the barrier weakens further–”
“It will,” Percy said, immediate.
Annabeth stiffened. “If it weakens…”
“Then what?” Percy questioned, asking the impossible.
“Then we deal with it if it comes to that,” Annabeth finished, her voice grim. “I’m sure it’ll all work out. This is Camp Halfblood.”
“Right,” Percy agreed hesitantly.
Right…
—
The attack happened three days later.
Percy was in the arena, running knife drills with Annabeth. The dirt under his feet had been churned to powder by weeks of training, fine enough that it puffed around his ankles when he pivoted. Sweat slid down the back of his neck and soaked into the collar of his shirt and the air smelled like hot metal and trampled grass.
“Again,” Annabeth said.
She came at him low, her bronze dagger flashing. Percy blocked with the flat of his short, unfamiliar blade, stepped inside her reach, and twisted his wrist to disarm. She adjusted mid-motion, shoulder slamming into his chest just hard enough to throw off his balance. He staggered back half a step, boots digging in.
“Too slow,” she said.
“You ran into me!” he shot back.
“Yeah, well, it worked.”
Lee Fletcher stood off to the side with two younger Apollo kids, correcting their stance. An arrow thudded into a straw dummy. Another split it cleanly down the middle.
Percy reset his grip and brought the knife up again. Annabeth circled, braid sticking to the back of her neck from sweat, strands of blond hair escaping and catching on her cheek. Her eyes were sharp and focused, tracking every shift in his weight.
Percy moved first this time.
He lunged, feinted right, and then cut left. Annabeth blocked, metal scraping metal, sparks snapping between them in the sun.
Suddenly, just as Percy was about to follow through, a scream tore its way through camp.
It wasn’t the sharp, competitive yell of someone getting clipped in training. It was high and panicked and full of the kind of fear that emptied your lungs.
Percy’s head snapped toward the strawberry fields.
Another scream followed. Closer. Younger.
“Percy,” Annabeth said, breathless.
And then they were off.
They sprinted out of the arena together, Lee right behind them, bow swinging up into his grip as he ran. The path to the fields blurred under Percy’s feet. He could hear the thud of something heavy hitting the ground. The snap of wood.
They broke past the last line of cabins and into the open rows of strawberries.
Two Laestrygonian giants towered over the field.
They had come through the hill. Percy could see the place where the boundary had once shimmered, now just empty air and trees. It hadn’t collapsed completely, but there were gaping holes in it, places where monsters could slip through. The ground around the tare was torn up, dirt flung aside in deep gouges.
One giant held a child in its fist.
Percy recognized her in a flash. Small. Curly dark hair. Orange camp shirt two sizes too big. Emma Ruiz. Nine. Demeter cabin. She’d asked Percy the week before if you could actually hear the ocean through a shell if you listened hard enough.
Now her face was streaked with tears, her legs kicking uselessly as the giant lifted her higher.
The second giant stomped through the strawberry rows, flattening plants with each step, berries bursting under its heel.
Lee planted his feet.
“Clear!” he shouted.
Percy and Annabeth veered instinctively, giving him a line.
Lee drew and released in one smooth motion. The arrow drove right into the giant’s wrist.
The giant roared, fingers spasming open, and Emma dropped.
Lee sprinted forward and dove, catching her against his chest. He rolled once through crushed berries and dirt to absorb the impact, then came up running, Emma clinging to him so tight her knuckles went white.
“Cabins!” Lee shouted over his shoulder. “Move!”
Percy didn’t look back to see if they obeyed.
The wounded giant howled and swung at him.
Percy drew Riptide mid-stride. The familiar weight snapped into his palm like it belonged there, an extension of his arm. It felt infinitely more natural than the short knife he’d been wielding just moments before.
He ducked under the giant’s arm and slashed upward. Bronze bit into flesh. The smell hit him—hot and sour.
Gross.
Behind him, Annabeth cut at the second giant’s calf, blade slicing cleanly through the meaty flesh before she pivoted away.
They moved together without speaking.
Percy stepped forward, driving his giant back toward the open field, away from the cabins. He slashed again, forcing it to adjust its stance. Dirt flew with each stomp.
Out of the corner of his eye, Percy could see the second giant barreling toward Annabeth. She let it, holding her ground as it approached.
At the last second, she darted sideways and drove her dagger into the back of its knee. The blade sank deep, and the Laestrygonian staggered, off-balance.
Percy’s giant lunged again, its massive fist slamming into the ground where he’d been standing a heartbeat earlier. The impact rattled his bones. He rolled, came up on one knee, and drove Riptide into the giant’s thigh. Quickly, he withdrew the blade with a sickening slurp and danced backward, out of its reach.
Suddenly, Percy’s attention was stolen by a thundering roar that echoed over the rolling hills of the battlefield. The second giant was furious and charging blindly toward Annabeth.
She ran straight at it.
Percy’s stomach dropped. Dodge, he thought desperately. Dodge!
At the last possible moment, she dropped and slid under its legs, dagger flashing upward as she sliced deep from the lower inside of its thigh to its hip bone.
The giant stumbled forward… and crashed shoulder-first into Thalia’s tree.
The impact cracked through the air like a rifle shot. The trunk shuddered. Bark split along an old fissure. A rain of brittle, dead leaves fell in a dry cascade, skittering across the ground.
Shit.
The tree had already stood thin and grey, branches stripped nearly bare. Now, another layer shook loose, another tremor running through its trunk.
The wounded giant Percy had been fighting hauled itself upright again, rage burning in its small, beady eyes.
We have to finish this, fast, Percy thought, his mind racing. Before they make their way down to camp proper.
He glanced at Annabeth. She met his gaze for half a second before nodding. That was all the confirmation Percy needed.
Annabeth took off, sprinting toward the second giant, capturing its attention. It roared and charged her, focused entirely on the smaller target in front of it.
Annabeth pivoted, turning back the way she came and drawing her Laestrygonian over toward Percy.
Percy moved back toward Annabeth at the same time, drawing his.
“Now!” Annabeth shouted.
Percy hurled Riptide. The sword spun through the air, flashing in the sunlight.
The giant he’d been fighting caught it instinctively, thick fingers closing around the hilt with a triumphant snarl. For a split second, Percy felt the absence in his hand like a missing limb. But there was no time to mourn.
Both Percy and Annabeth dropped into a crouch and rolled in tandem under the legs of the giant chasing Percy.
The second giant barreled forward and slammed into its companion. Riptide, still clutched in the first giant’s hand, drove straight through the second giant’s chest.
Bronze pierced flesh.
The giant’s roar cut off in a strangled choke. Its body disintegrated in a burst of golden dust that coated the strawberry plants and drifted through the air.
The first giant stared down at the empty space where its ally had been, confusion adling its thoughts and slowing its movements.
Annabeth was already moving. She scrambled up its back, boots digging into folds of rough skin and torn fabric. Her hair whipped loose completely now, blond strands spilling down her back, catching the sun.
Percy watched her climb, breath tight in his chest.
She reached the base of its neck and drove her dagger down with both hands.
The blade sank to the hilt and the giant convulsed. It staggered forward two heavy steps, then burst into dust.
Annabeth dropped to the ground in a crouch, dagger still raised, chest heaving.
Percy crossed the distance between them in seconds. “You good?” he asked, voice rough.
She nodded once, pushing hair back from her face with the back of her wrist. Dirt streaked her cheek, but her eyes were bright and fierce.
For a second, Percy just looked at her.
She stood in the wreckage of the field, breath coming hard, shoulders squared, sunlight turning her hair almost white at the edges.
Something twisted in his chest that had nothing to do with adrenaline.
Footsteps pounded behind them.
Clarisse charged in with her spear raised, Chris at her side. Ares campers fanned out behind them. Apollo kids with bows drawn. Hermes kids clutching knives. They slowed when they saw the dust settling.
“It’s over?” Clarisse demanded.
Percy nodded, still catching his breath.
Around them, strawberry plants lay flattened in wide swaths. The air smelled like crushed fruit and monster ash.
Then a sound rolled through the camp.
Low.
Deep.
Creaking.
Every camper froze.
Percy felt it first in his feet, a vibration traveling up through the ground. He turned slowly toward Thalia’s tree.
The trunk groaned.
A long crack split down its side. Bark peeled back in a jagged seam. The last remaining leaves curled in on themselves, edges darkening. Above them, the air on the hill wavered. The shimmer that had once guarded camp flickered visibly now, thin and unstable. It rippled once, twice.
Percy felt it give.
The air seemed almost to have a dying breath, a long, drawn-out shudder through the air. The shimmer vanished. Thalia’s tree was well and truly dead, and with it went the shield of protection around camp.
The woods beyond the hill stood clear and unfiltered, trees sharp and ordinary. There was no more barrier.
A quiet fell over the gathered campers, thick and stunned.
Percy swallowed, staring out into the dark forest that surrounded them.
Camp Halfblood’s borders were open now. And this time, there would be nothing between them and whatever decided to walk in next.