Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1993

Sally never imagined that, one day, she’d be going into labor in the backseat of a beat-up yellow cab, dry heaving into a plastic grocery bag, while her panicked taxi driver—Yusuf, his name plaque reads—breaks every possible traffic law in New York City trying to get her to the hospital in time.

Then again, she never imagined that she’d be an orphan at five, a high school dropout at seventeen, and a Waffle House waitress at eighteen—not to mention twenty thousand dollars in debt.

Furthermore, she never imagined that she would fall in love with the God of the Sea. Yes, a god—like the ones from the stories—with the power to drown the entire world if he wished, but who held her with hands so soft and gentle, she never could imagine the destruction he was capable of. That summer in Montauk was the greatest summer of her life. Still, she never imagined that she would get pregnant from a whirlwind romance. Now, she was only twenty three years old, and she was going to become a mother.

It makes for a good story, she tells herself. But Sally never wanted to be in any stories. All she ever wanted was a simple, boring life, the kind that people don't bother writing about, because they're so blissfully uneventful. 

She wondered why, of all people, it was so hard for her to have a normal life. 

*

“Name?” The nurse asks Sally. She'd made it to the lobby of the emergency room, half carried, half dragged inside by Yusuf. 

“Sally,” she manages to respond, before another wave of contractions has her doubling over in pain, clinging to the counter for support. She groans. It's a guttural, primal noise, something she never knew she had in her. Another nurse gently holds her from behind, helping her into a wheelchair. “Sally Jackson," she pants in relief, sinking into the chair. "Me. I'm Sally."

“Good, good. And the father?”

Sally blinked in confusion.

“And the father, Mrs. Jackson?” The nurse repeated patiently. “Is he on his way?”

“It’s just me,” Sally says, before another contraction hits her like a brick wall. She cries out in pain. 

The nurse’s eyes soften with pity. For just a moment, Sally is grateful for the mind-numbing pain. It keeps her from thinking about him. 

*

Nine months ago, they met again at the beach. The same beach where they'd met for the very first time, during the happiest summer of her life. 

Sally loved summer in Montauk ever since she was a little girl. There was something about the warm, gritty sand between her toes and the breeze in her hair that made her feel different than she felt anywhere else. She always felt lighter. Stronger. Happier. Like as long as she had the ocean, she knew that everything was going to be OK. 

But it was fall now, and the sand was cold, and damp, and the beach was gray and sunless. She stood there, shivering slightly, surveying the vastness of the ocean. Then she blinked, and suddenly he was there, standing in front of her. When they embraced, she could smell the sea on him, and when he kissed her, he tasted like salt, just like she remembered.

“I’m pregnant.” She blurted out right as they broke apart from each other. She'd practiced the night before, rehearsing in front of her bathroom mirror until exhaustion overtook her. Still, she'd managed to bungle it. Sally cringed internally, but Poseidon's expression shifted only slightly, blinking at her in surprise. He took her hands in his. 

“Are you certain?” 

Sally stared down at her feet. “I took a test. I took more than one, actually. Just to make sure it wasn't a mistake. They were all positive. So, yeah. I'm pretty certain."

Poseidon's face broke out into a smile. "A child," he said quietly. "We're having a child." He pulled her in for another embrace, and she closed her eyes in relief, despite her heart still pounding loudly against her rib cage.

"Yes, but—" She begins carefully, still pressed against him. She hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he pulls away, looking at her expectantly. "I know that it's not allowed," she continues. "Having your child. Right?"

At those words, his beautiful eyes darkened. Sally couldn't recognize him—this wasn't the laid-back, carefree man with the breezy, crooked grin she’d fallen in love with that summer. No. This was a god, ancient and powerful, looking tired and sad. He looks up at the gloomy sky, and her eyes follow his gaze, wondering what he's looking for.

Or who. 

“Let’s go inside,” he says gently, and takes her by the arm to lead her back to the cottage.

*

In the delivery room, Sally holds the hands of the nurses because she has no one else’s to hold.

She’d read as much she could about childbirth, poring over various books in the library, in the vain effort that she might be able to prepare herself for this moment. Now, lying flat on her back with her legs spread open, Sally woefully realizes how futile her efforts were. The experience of giving birth can't be explained in words—neither can the pain. Even with the epidural, she feels like she's burning up. The lights above her are blinding. 

Delirious with pain, Sally squeezes her eyes shut and thinks of him. For a a brief second, she thinks she can smell the salt of the ocean. Her eyes begin to water. Help me, she thinks. Gods, help me get through this, please. I just need to get through this.

The nurses are speaking to her, but she can't hear them. Her own lips are moving as she babbles incoherently. The nurses think she is praying. 

Help me. Somebody. Anybody. HELP ME!

Somebody pats a damp towel against her flushed cheek, bringing her some relief. Through slitted eyes, Sally looks up at her hero in wonder. It's a nurse, but she's different from the other ones. She can just barely make out her name tag: Juanita. Juanita was beautiful. There was something almost otherworldly about the woman, Sally thought. It hurt to look at her for too long. 

Juanita leaned in closely to Sally. “It is going to be okay, Sally Jackson,” she said serenely. As soon as she spoke, a sense of calm washed over Sally and the pain began to numb. The epidural was kicking in. 

Juanita had startlingly beautiful eyes. They were rich and deep and brown—they looked how Sally thought hot chocolate tasted on a bleak winter’s day. But what Sally remembers the most about the nurse was the warmth in her voice, gentle and soothing.

Her voice was exactly what Sally had always imagined her mother's had sounded like.

*

“Remind me, why aren't you allowed to have children?"

Her immortal lover cringed. “It is not that I cannot have children. I cannot have children with mortals... like you. I—My brothers agreed that we would not father any more demigods."

"So, you can have children with your, um, wife?" Sally asked awkwardly. Poseidon, surprisingly, didn't cringe at the mention of his wife. "Yes," he answered, matter-of-factly. “It’s not her I’m worried about. She would like you."

"Like me?" Sally repeated, unable to suppress an incredulous laugh. She couldn't imagine that her boyfriend's wife would want anything to do with her, let alone like her. She'd seen women in New York catfight on the sidewalk for less dire offenses. 

Poseidon smiled, as if he could read her mind. "Amphitrite is more level-headed than my kin."

"Good thing you married outside of the family, then."

That made him chuckle. It was a welcome noise to Sally's ears, but his smile faded. "My brothers cannot know about this," he said. "If they found out..." His voice trailed off.

Sally didn't need him to finish. She rested her hands on her stomach. It was too early for her to be showing, but she could feel the change in her body. It was a marvel to know that she was carrying a life inside of her. “Well,” she said quietly. “What do we do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Me?” Sally looked down at her belly and took a deep, trembling breath. “I... I don’t know.”

Sally was used to being alone, for most, if not all of her life. Her parents were taken from her before she was old enough to understand what she’d lost. Uncle Rich—Gods bless him—had tried his best, as best as a single man inexperienced with children could, but he was never quite the same after Jim and Estelle—her parents—had passed. Eventually the cancer had taken him from her, too. Even when Sally was with Poseidon, even though it was the happiest she'd ever been, she always had the gut feeling that something this beautiful could never last. She knew that, one day, she would have to say goodbye to him. The fact of the matter was that she doesn't know how to be with anyone but herself.

Maybe you should keep it that way, a voice in her head whispers. Think of the consequences. The hardship. The fear. 

Sally found herself agreeing. If the gods found out, there would be no chance for her or the child. She would have to raise the child in secrecy, always looking over her shoulder. She's afraid. 

She was afraid, when she saw the stripe on the pregnancy test. In fact, she vomited. But to say it was all fear would be a lie. She'd been strangely happy, too. Here was something, no, someone she'd created, with the person—being—she loved the most. If the child was even half as wonderful as him, it would be enough.

Sally may have had to grow up alone in this world, but that didn’t mean that her child had to. She would give them everything that she never had.

The thought of it filled her with a quiet confidence she'd never known before. "I'm going to be a mother," she says out loud, looking up at Poseidon. 

*

Percy is born on August 18^th, 1993, at approximately 4:35 AM. 

Sally doesn’t think she’s ever cried so hard in her life since Uncle Rich died. Only these are tears of joy, not sorrow. When the doctor finally brings the baby back to her, she can feel herself shaking as the doctor holds him out for her to take. "Go on," the nurses sweetly encourage her. "It's okay." She takes Percy into her arms. 

Sally marvels at the little human in her arms, so small and pink and delicate, with a messy mop of black hair. Then he blinks his eyes open and looks up at her, and Sally gasps loudly. The nurses flock around her in concern, thinking that something must be wrong with the baby. But Sally merely laughs, blinking back tears as she cradles her son against her chest. 

“He has his eyes,” Sally laughs. “His father's eyes. They’re just like his."

The nurses exchange furtive glances between themselves, feeling sorry for the single mother. All of them except for Juanita, who leans in to take a closer look at the baby, curiously examining its face. There was an intense silence in the room as Juanita stared into the newborn’s eyes.

Sea green, like his father. 

“He does,” the beautiful nurse agreed with Sally, after a long pause. Sally was too exhausted to comprehend how strange of a response that was.

*

Hera only knew one other person in the world who had eyes that green.

Poseidon.

The name nearly slipped out of her lips before she'd caught herself. The mortal woman—Sally, that was her name—was looking up at her, and Hera noticed her arms tightening around the baby, which made her crack a grin. Her maternal instincts were already kicking in.

For the goddess of mothers, there is not a more beautiful sight in the mortal world than that of a mother and her newborn child.

After birth, mortal women are as beautiful as the goddess herself, bathed in the afterglow of their suffering. Their eyes are bright and dewy with wonder as they look at their child for the first time, and suddenly all of the pain they had just endured melts away like an afterthought. And indeed, when Hera watched Sally Jackson cradle her newborn son to her chest, her heart had swelled with pride, and the goddess felt a lightness in her that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

But the sight of a demigod robs the goddess of her brief joy. The infant's eyes are too green. There is no other logical explanation. Hera bites down on her tongue to keep herself from cursing, until her mouth is filled with the metallic taste of ichor. 

*

When she was young and unmarried, and not yet Queen, Hera's mother, Rhea, spoke to her of the future that awaited her.

The last Titan had taken the goddess’s hands in her own and whispered to her that she would be a queen, loved by all. 

But you will be more than a queen, my daughter. You will be a wife. And perhaps most important of all, you will be a mother, the Titaness had said to her. You will be the mother of all mothers who come to pass in this world and beyond. And you will guide them and serve them and most importantly, you will love them.

But the goddess had no love for mortals—not anymore. Not for all their arrogance and pride and stupidity.

Io was the first to betray her,

Jason broke her heart,

Ixion was a disgrace,

And so she had forsaken them all for her golden throne in the skies, detached and indifferent.

Sally Jackson was no exception. Hera had answered her prayer out of pity for the mortal woman, alone on her birthing bed, and put aside her disdain in a rare display of mercy.

The only thing she hated more than mortals were demigods.

*

Hera finds her brother on the beach in Montauk, wearing what she thinks is the ugliest Hawaiian shirt she’s ever seen in her life.

She has never understood her brother's desire to look mortal, or his fondness for the mortal world—and mortal women. Her husband also holds some affection for mortals, but in the end, they are still his subjects. Poseidon seems to think of them as kindred spirits.

Out of all of her kin, she understands Poseidon the least. She knows the feeling is mutual. They had never been close, and neither of them were regretful for it. It was simply the way things were. It was the way they had always been.

Which is why she doesn't know why she is here now, traipsing through the sand with some difficulty. When she gets close enough, she clears her throat. The sea god turned his head at the sound, and his fishing pole clattered to the ground.

“Hera?” His eyes widened in surprise. He has your eyes, Hera thinks to herself bitterly, recalling Sally’s breathless words. “What are you doing here, Sister?”

They stared at each other. Poseidon, she notices, is postured defensively, his expression guarded. She's only slightly offended. She can't remember the last time they had met like this, in private, not since she blessed his betrothal to Amphitrite. That was ages ago.

“Is something wrong, Sister?” Poseidon asked carefully. “Did... Did he do something?” She can hear the unspoken ‘Again?’ at the end of the question.

“Congratulations. He is a healthy boy."

He stared at her, open-mouthed but silent. 

“You already know, don't you?” She continued calmly, watching the panic surge in her brother's eyes. “You would have felt it, when he was born. So you came here to reminisce like the sentimental old fool you are.”

“Hera, I—”

“I'll be having none of your stupid excuses,” she cut him off sharply. “I know you broke the oath. I saw them, Brother. With my own eyes."

Poseidon bristles. "What did you do to them?" He barks at her. Waves crash angrily on the shore. "If you did anything to them—"

"What did I do?" Hera repeats with mounting anger. "For Gaia’s sake, I helped her give birth to him!”

The sea god deflates slightly. “You... You helped her?" 

Hera scowled and folded her arms across her chest. “Believe it or not, Brother, I still tend to my duties, when I am able. Childbirth is as much my domain as marriage. Though if I'd known I was aiding in the birth of your bastard—"

“He is not a bastard!” Poseidon snapped at her, stone-faced. “He is my son.”

"You broke the oath!"

Poseidon's voice roared over the crashing waves. “I have done once, what your husband has done hundreds of times! What he continues to do, even now!"

Hera stared down at the ground in defeat, her hands limp at her sides. She remembered why she and Poseidon were never close. The goddess detested her brother's blunt honesty, and the god had always ridiculed the perfect illusion his sister worked so hard to maintain.

But Poseidon was right. The Oath hadn't stopped Zeus from chasing that pitiful excuse of an actress. It hadn’t stopped the god from trying to hide the child—a girl—from his wife and the rest of Olympus. And it had not stopped him from returning to the mortal woman to quench his desires, no matter how many times he'd sworn to Hera that his days of infidelity were over.

“Since you’re standing here, I presume you haven’t told him,” Poseidon says, more gently this time. “I thank you for that."

“I haven’t told him, yet,” Hera corrected him icily. She watched her brother’s face pale at her thinly veiled threat. It would be a lie to deny the pleasure she felt in knowing the power she had over the sea god. “What would you have me do, Brother?" She continued. "You wish for me to keep this a secret from my husband? Our ruler?" She clicks her tongue. "I am his wife. My duty is to him."

"We have all seen how he honors his duty to you," Poseidon retorts. "Tell me Sister, how many secrets has your king kept from you?" 

"You would do well to choose your words wisely, Poseidon, if you're trying to win my favor." 

The god sighed, but his voice softened. "Sister, I am at your complete and utter mercy," he said plainly. "If you want me to get on my knees and beg, I will." His voice is small. "Please, Hera."

Hera met her brother's gaze and tried to scowl at him, but found that she couldn’t. “And what if he finds out?” She raised her shirt, to reveal the golden scars marking her abdomen, from the first and last time she'd ever tried to usurp her husband. Poseidon stares, then lowers his eyes out of guilt. He didn't do anything to help her back then. "What will I do then?"

“I will take all responsibility. He will never know that you knew about any of this. I swear it on the Styx.”

She sneers at the ground. "I've had enough of you Gods swearing oaths you can't keep."

"Hera."

They stared at each other, caught in an impasse. Hera eyed Poseidon's twitching hands, as though he was preparing for a fight. She pretends that doesn't hurt. That her own brother would come to blows with her for a simple mortal. "Tell me," the goddess said. "Why her?" 

"I love her."

Hera threw her head back and laughed. "You love her?" She repeated harshly. "If you loved her, you wouldn't have saddled her with this child. Her life, from this moment onwards, will be in constant danger."

"I gave her a choice," Poseidon replied. "I warned her. She chose to be a mother, in spite of the consequences. Of all of us, you should respect that choice."

I do, the goddess thinks. But she merely turns her head, unable to meet his gaze. “Very well, then. I think we’re done here.”

Poseidon blinked at her in surprise. “I have your word, then?"

Hera stared out at the ocean, trying to see as far beyond the empty blue horizon as she could. “Yes,” she promised him. “Don't make me regret it.”

Poseidon snorted, but when he looked at her again there was the faintest trace of a smile on his face. There were a lot of things one could say about the Queen of Olympus, but her loyalty was undoubtedly her strongest virtue. 

“Believe me," he tells her. "She is not like any mortal woman you’ve ever known. What we shared... It is—It was real."

She knows what her brother is really trying to say is that he’s not like her husband. But he is. They’re all the same to her. So easily swayed by the same desires and temptations, with no regard for the consequences of their actions. All to chase a fleeting moment of bliss, without thinking of the mess that they leave in their wake. It makes no difference whether the gods truly love them or not. The mortals are doomed. 

"Love won’t be enough to protect Sally Jackson," she warns Poseidon, keeping her eyes level with the sea horizon. 

"She is more capable than you think," she hears him say. The pair of them stood side by side, staring out at the sea together. The sun is beginning to peek out over the horizon. 

*

Maybe it was selfish of her, Sally thinks, to bring a child into a world where they would never fit in, where they were always under the constant threat of danger and death at the hands of a bunch of reckless immortal beings. Maybe she had just doomed her son to a life as difficult as hers, if not worse.

But as Sally looks down at Percy's sleeping face, she knows that there was never another option.

"I love you so much," she whispered to the sleeping infant, and gently kisses the top of his forehead.

I love you, another voice echoed in agreement. Sally straightened in her bed and looked around the empty room. She held Percy close to her, holding her breath. And then she smelled it—the smell of the ocean, on the third story of a hospital in the center of Manhattan, and she felt a gentle breeze pass through the room.

"He's perfect," the voice said, and Sally could feel Poseidon rest his chin on her shoulder, even though she couldn't see him.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she nodded. "He is," she replied. "He's wonderful."

She felt Poseidon press his lips against her forehead. "You are wonderful," the god whispered in her ear. "You are a queen amongst mortals, Sally Jackson. Never forget it."

And then he was gone, as quickly as he had come, but she could still smell the salt and brine of the sea in her nose and knew that it hadn't been a dream, even if it felt like one. Percy stirred in her arms with a small cry, and Sally gently rocked him in her arms, trying to ignore the stinging sensation in her eyes. 

"I guess it's just us now," she says out loud. The corners of her lips tugged upwards into a soft, brave smile as a stray tear slipped down her cheek. "Don't worry," she softly reassures the infant in her arms. "We have each other, Percy. And I'm never going to leave you. I promise."

Chapter Text

1996

It's a terrible day for a wedding, Sally thought to herself as she watched the rain pour down from the sky from her apartment window.

Outside, New York City is a blur of gray. Gray sky, gray buildings, gray pavement, gray smog rising from the steam stacks. Even the people looked gray, their faces glum under their umbrellas or hoods or soggy newspapers as they hurried for shelter.

Maybe the rain was a sign. There was still time to call off the wedding.

“Mommy?”

Sally whirled around and smiled at Percy, hoping that he couldn’t sense her anxiety. The three-year-old lingered in the doorway with a puzzled expression on his face, his bright green eyes round with curiosity. She feels a pang in her chest. He looks so much like his father.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

Sally crouched down to the ground, so that she could be level with. Percy. “Yes, honey,” she replied, squeezing his shoulders. “I’m just a little distracted today.”

“Because you’re marrying Mr. Ugly?” 

“Ugliano,” Sally corrected him gently, fighting back a laugh. “His name is Ugliano, Percy. You know he doesn't like it when you call him that.”

Sally caught herself twisting the small diamond ring on her finger. It was becoming a nervous habit of hers. The cheap metal gave her a rash in the first few weeks she’d worn it, but Gabe had insisted that she keep wearing it, griping about how much work he had gone through to get it for her.

“I think you look pretty,” Percy piped up innocently.

Sally looked down at herself and smiled weakly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the skirt of her white dress. “Thank you, baby.”

She wanted to wear blue, which was her favorite color. She never really liked the color white, not even for her wedding. Sally always thought it was such a cold and empty color. But when she tried to bring it up to Gabe he shot the idea down instantly.

“You can’t wear anything other than white, Sal,” he'd exclaimed, sounding genuinely disturbed by her suggestion of a blue dress. “This is my wedding you’re talking about. You’re wearing white, and that’s final!”

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”

Shaking the memory out of her head, Sally opened her arms and wrapped Percy in a bone-crushing hug. “Percy,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “I love you.”

“Are you crying, Mommy?"

“I'm okay,” she reassured him with a wobbly smile. “I’m okay. I just love you so much. And I want you to know that everything I'm doing is for you, Percy. Even if it doesn't seem like it." She knows her son is too young to understand, but she tells him anyway because it's better than nothing. "You'll always be the most important person in my world, okay?"

*

Sally wants to tell Percy that Gabe wasn’t always bad. Not in the beginning.

It was a slow afternoon when Sally Jackson and Gabe Ugliano first crossed paths with each other. Sally was buying her son an apple juice at the bodega when somebody slammed a fistful of crumpled dollar bills on the counter, startling both her and the cashier.

“For the pretty lady,” the paying stranger remarked, and he'd winked at her so shamelessly that Sally actually blushed. “It’s on me.”

Sally wasn’t used to people going out of their way to be nice to her. For most of her life, she got by being invisible and unnoticed to the rest of the world. If people did notice her, it wasn't so much out of interest as it was out of pity. Sure, there were men who found her attractive, of course, who called out to her in the street and called her things that made her bite down on her tongue in anger. Add a baby into the mix and now people couldn’t even look her in the eye. She was a walking sob story—a single mother struggling to pay the bills, juggling a minimum wage job and a newborn baby.

A baby who also happened to not be fully human. Raising a demigod, she'd learned quickly, was both a wonderful and dangerous experience. She already had to move three times before she met Gabe, the last time after a wild harpy had sent Sally scrambling down a fire escape, clutching Percy to her chest. She started carrying a pocket knife on her, even though she knew it wouldn't put a dent in any mythical monster. 

Before Gabe, Poseidon was the first—and maybe the only—person who had ever made her feel seen. When she was with him, he never made her feel like she was nobody. No, she was Sally Jackson of Montauk, and she was a queen amongst mortals. She was somebody.

But still, she was only human. And he was a god, ancient and immortal, and ultimately, forbidden.

Sally had not seen or heard from Poseidon since Percy's birth. She knew she had made her choice, and she never regretted it. But there were still nights where she laid in bed alone and strained to hear the sea breeze calling out to her as it once did, and sometimes, she could have sworn she heard his voice whispering her name.

Gabe wasn’t really Sally’s type. He was almost a decade older than her, and he was loud and crude and everything that Poseidon wasn’t. Perhaps the most distinct thing about Gabe, however, had to be his smell. He smelled horrible. So horrible, in fact, that the first time they had met, Sally thought that a carton of milk had spoiled. 

But Gabe Ugliano was surprisingly smarter than he looked, especially when it came to the subtle arts of manipulation. He made a big show of ruffling Percy’s hair and smiling down at her son like he was the cutest thing in the world, before crouching down and asking Percy if he could ask his mother for her phone number.  

And how could Sally say no to that?

*

It was a whirlwind romance, if you could call it that. The day after their bodega meeting, Gabe showed up on Sally’s doorstep with a cheap bouquet of flowers in his hand. In three months, he was on his knees in the center of her apartment with a ring, begging her to marry him.

“I need to know that you’re mine, Sal,” he had implored. “Mine and only mine.”

Sally had been sensible enough to ask him if she could think it over.

After all, she hadn’t expected to get married so young—let alone to someone like Gabe. She had her reservations about the man. He could be sweet, sometimes overwhelmingly so, but he had a temper too. Sometimes it felt like she had to take care of Gabe more than Percy. And sometimes it felt like Gabe preferred it that way. 

Still, ever since Sally had met Gabe Ugliano, not a single monster had surfaced, trying to attack Percy. One day, Sally went to the public library, and asked the librarian to direct her to the Greek mythology section. For the remainder of the day, she sat at a desk and scoured every book she could get her hands on, until her head was throbbing.

Finally, just as she was on the brink of giving up, she came across a passage in a dusty old encyclopedia that made her blood run cold. 

Few things are said to deter the monsters described in Greek myths and lore, but there have been multiple records and claims that a strong, pungent smell can mask the scent of the beast’s intended prey. It can be assumed that this is the reason many superstitious ancient Greeks lathered themselves in strongly scented oils before long and perilous journeys, for protection from any unforeseen attacks.

She came back to Gabe on the very same day and accepted his proposal.

*

On the other side of Manhattan, the Queen of Olympus stared out of her window and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight of the gray, smoggy city.

“What a terrible day for a wedding,” she muttered, drawing her robe tighter around herself.

Out of instinct, she glanced behind her, half expecting to see her husband still lying in bed, peacefully asleep. But the bed was empty, and the sheets were only rumpled on one side, where she had slept the night before, and every night before then.

She hasn’t seen her husband in several weeks now.

After centuries of marriage, the manner and frequency at which the monarchs of Olympus fought was so predictable that her husband had barely flinched when Hera hurled a stream of insults in his face, her nails clawing down the front of his rumpled suit.

She could still smell the rancid perfume and mortal sweat on his skin.

Sometimes Hera isn’t sure what she can’t stand more: the act of infidelity itself, or the empty guilt her husband feigns whenever she confronts him with the fact that she knows. She has always known. It doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.  

And yet he resents her for it. Because she is the only one who can make him feel like anything less than a king, who doesn’t cower in his presence or prostrate at his feet for forgiveness.

Because to her, he is her husband before he is her king.

She sometimes isn’t sure what she is to him. His queen? His wife? His subject?

So he’s gone and left her alone in their marble palace, to skulk about somewhere and find comfort in another’s arms, until she is ready to take him back.

Hera turned away from the window and grimaced. It would do her no good to contemplate where her husband was, or what he was doing. The years had made her weary, and soft. This time, she intended to ignore him for as long as she could.

She needed a distraction.

*

Hera draped herself in a silk robe and entered her office, where she picked up the antique dial phone that sat prettily on her white marble desk. The phone only rang once before a slightly breathless voice answered in a high-pitched, cheerful tone.

“Queen Hera,” the breezy voice, a distinct characteristic of nymphs, answered. “It is an honor. What do you need, my lady?”

“Put Echo on the line,” Hera ordered coolly. “I request her service.”

“Of course, my lady. Please hold.”

Hera drummed her nails on the desk impatiently as music played. After a minute or so, another voice came on the line, sounding equally, if not more intensely cheerful than the last one.

“H-How may I assist you, my queen?” Echo stammered.

“Echo,” Hera greeted her coolly. “You’re sounding much better these days. I presume the speech therapy has been coming along nicely?”

“Oh, oh yes. Thank you. I am so very grateful for your - your pardon-”

“Please,” Hera cut her off smoothly. “Let’s leave that nonsense behind us. My husband might have hired you to spy on me but you are under my contract now. Listen carefully. I’d like to go to a wedding today. A human one. Could you find me some suitable candidates?”

“Of course,” Echo chirped, and Hera could hear her hands clacking on a keyboard. “Is there anything specific you’re looking for, my lady? Big? Small? Expensive? Modest?”

“Modest,” Hera decided, toying with a golden, peacock-shaped paperweight that Hephaestus had made for her many birthdays ago. “I’m feeling… charitable today.”

“I have a Mr. Nicholas Garcia and Ms. Alice Lopez at St. Anthony’s today at 11:00 AM. A Roman Catholic ceremony. Groom, 36 years old. Bride, 38 years.”

“Is there anything else?” Hera yawned. “Any younger couples?”

“There is also a Mr. Dan Riordan and Ms. Ashley Sakamoto at West Park Presbyterian at 1:00. Groom, 27. Bride, 26. They’re high school sweethearts, apparently-”

“Ugh.” Hera shook her head. She could already imagine the cringe-inducing, lovey-dovey vows between those two. “No. Another one.”

“Oh! Interesting. Here’s one with quite an age gap. Mr. Gabe Ugliano, 37, and Ms. Sally Jackson, 26, at City Hall. Also at 1:00. The bride has a son-”

“Wait,” Hera interrupted, twisting the phone cord tightly around her fingers. “Repeat that.”

“The bride has a son-”

“No, not that. The bride’s name.”

“S-Sally Jackson?”

“And you said her son was three?”

“Y-yes,” Echo replied, her voice starting to sound strained. “He was born three years ago, on August 18^th. His father’s identity is… unknown.”

Hera stared blankly at the phone receiver in her hand.

You won’t ever have to think about her again, she remembered Poseidon had promised her. 

And she hadn’t, not since that day on the beach in Montauk. Not until now.

“Lady Hera?”

Hera set down the gold paperweight with more force than necessary.

“Echo, clear out the rest of my day. I want the address for that ceremony,” she said calmly, keeping her voice as level as possible. “And tell Argus to come pick me up in one hour.”

Chapter Text

1992

“I ought to marry you.”

Sally lifted her head from Poseidon’s chest and raised an eyebrow.  “Ahem. Aren’t you already married?”

“Ah, yes.” Poseidon raised his hands in mock surrender, before they returned to stroking Sally’s hair. He fell silent, and Sally worried that she had struck a nerve as the sound of crashing waves filled the moonlit room.

“Still,” Poseidon said eventually. “You could come with me.”

This time, Sally sat up straight so she could look at Poseidon’s face clearly, and was flustered to see that he seemed serious. He met her wide-eyed gaze and grinned crookedly at her, that very same smile that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Sally asked, anxiously twisting the bedsheets in her hands. “Are – Are you serious right now?”

The sea god nodded, reaching for her hand. “Come with me, Sally,” he said, his voice earnest, and his green eyes lit up like he was already imagining it. “I’ll build you a palace under the sea.”

“The sea?” Sally repeated, unable to hide her shock. “But – I can’t – I’m not – I’m just a human.”

Poseidon sat up across from her, taking her face in his hands. “No, you’re not. I haven’t met a woman like you in centuries. You’re one of a kind, Sally Jackson.”

He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, his hands resting gently on her waist.

“We could raise him together,” he whispered in a low voice. “No one will ever know.”

“Wait-” Sally pulled back before he could go in for another kiss. “How do you know it’s a boy?”

He gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know. Instinct, I suppose.”

“A boy,” Sally murmured, and she looked down at her stomach. She hadn’t begun to show yet, but she could already feel that something in her body had changed. Her heart suddenly swelled with happiness. “Our son.”

“So, what do you say?” Poseidon tilted his head. “Want to come with me, back to the sea?”

Sally smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. She breathed in the scent of the ocean on his skin and sighed deeply, her fingers curled in his dark hair. The tightness of her embrace – the way in which she clung to him like she wanted to remember the shape of his body in her arms – seemed to give Poseidon his answer, but after a brief pause she said it anyways:

“I can’t.”

She felt him sigh against her. “Okay.”

“It’s not my world.” Sally didn’t know why she was still talking, but she felt the need to explain herself to him, at the very least. It didn’t seem to matter if she was never going to see him again, anyway. “It sounds beautiful, and wonderful, but it’s – it’s not mine. I don’t want him to be hidden away from the world forever, you know?”

“Of course.” She felt him press his lips against her temple. “What will you do then?”

“I don’t know,” Sally admitted, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. “Go back to the city, find a job, maybe apply to night school or something. I’ll figure it out.” Move on from you, she thought to herself, and felt an ache deep in her chest as the reality of the summer ending began to set in.

Poseidon’s expression shifted into concern. “Can you do all of that alone?”

Sally looked up and smiled wistfully.

“I’m not alone,” she answered, and she patted her belly.

*

1996 (Present)

Sally stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as the water ran, the faucet sputtering noisily. The ceramic creaked as she leaned against the sink, inhaling deeply through her nose, before exhaling loudly.

She’d been in here for almost fifteen minutes now. It wouldn’t be long before Gabe came knocking on the door, telling her to hurry up.

But she could still change her mind.

For a second, Sally allowed herself to contemplate it. She imagined herself running down the steps of the church, far away from Gabe, far enough that she wouldn’t have to see him again. She wanted to go back to Montauk, to the beach, and throw herself into the waves like she used to do when she was a child and let them take her wherever they wanted.

Take her back to him.

“Mom?”

In the mirror, Sally’s eyes met Percy’s curious gaze, and she remembered the reason she was marrying Gabe in the first place. Flooded with guilt, she gripped the sides of the sink and lowered her head once more.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Mom?” Percy asked again.

“Yes, baby,” she replied, turning around. “Are you ready?”

“Are you ready?” Percy repeated innocently.

Sally opened her mouth to answer, but she couldn’t find the words. Before she could say anything, somebody banged on the door from outside, startling them both.

“Sal!” Gabe barked loudly from the other side. “We haven’t got all day!”

“Coming!” Sally called out. She smoothed out the skirt of her dress, then reached out for Percy’s hand, and felt an instant rush of relief as she felt his small fingers curl around hers. I’m not alone, she thought. I’m not.

She looked down at her son, the spitting image of the real man – god, whatever – she loved, and gave him a small squeeze of his hand. She didn’t know if Poseidon was watching, if he even knew what she was doing, but still, she took a moment to inhale once more, hoping that she might breathe in the scent of the ocean this time.

She didn’t.

Sally looked down at Percy, masking her disappointment with a bright smile.

“Let’s go, baby.”

*

Sally had no one to ask to be her witness at the wedding.

Her parents were dead. No siblings. The last of her family, Uncle Rich had passed years ago.

She had no friends to speak of, except maybe Janice, her co-worker at the candy shop, but even that was one of those relationships that had developed out of a certain necessity, as the two of them were left to fend for themselves behind the counter against a horde of sugar-high children and their disgruntled parents.

Gabe had offered to ask one of his friends to come, but to Sally’s relief he told her a few nights before the wedding that none of them could make it. There was a big poker game on the same day, apparently. Sally wondered how Gabe could even consider these men as his friends, if they couldn’t even reschedule a poker game for his own wedding.

At the courthouse, the clerk had looked between Sally and Gabe with a sort of startled look, before they recomposed themselves with a professional smile. “Are you here for a marriage license?”

“Yes, please,” Sally stepped forward, carrying Percy in her arms. “But, uh, we didn’t bring anyone.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” the clerk said nonchalantly, flipping through a stack of papers on their desk. “We have people for that.”

Sally glanced back at Gabe, who was fiddling with his cell phone and visibly not paying attention. He didn’t really look like someone who was overjoyed to be marrying her. She leaned in closer to the glass partition that separated her from the clerk.

“Um, another thing,” Sally added quietly. “I want to keep my last name. Jackson. Can you… take care of that?”

The clerk’s eyes flickered over to Gabe, then back to Sally.

“Yes, I can do that,” they promised with a sympathetic smile. “Miss Jackson.”

*

The wedding witness was a little old woman who looked like a nursery rhyme brought to life, with her small and sweet wrinkled face and a purple scarf tied around her head. She had the kind of face that commanded respect; Even Gabe finally snapped to attention as she hobbled towards them with her cane.

“Hello,” the old woman greeted them warmly, and her voice was surprisingly smooth and strong, for someone who looked so small and frail. She looked them up and down and nodded in approval. “What a beautiful family you have.”

“He’s not mine,” Gabe answered, with a hint of resentment in his voice. The old woman’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Sally’s grip on Percy tightened, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. What kind of person says that? “I mean, he’s my stepson,” Gabe corrected himself quickly, and ruffled Percy’s hair as if to make up for the previous comment.

“Well, congratulations on your marriage,” the old woman said sweetly, her eyes fixed on Percy with a curious, and somewhat chilling expression. “It is such a pleasure to be your witness.”

Yet for some reason, Sally had the unnerving feeling that the woman’s frailty was an illusion. There was something off about her, though it was highly possible that her premarital jitters were just making her paranoid. Nevertheless, she held out her hand and smiled graciously.

“I’m Sally,” she said. “And this is my son, Percy. It’s so nice to meet you…”

“June,” the old woman finished, shaking her hand. “A pleasure.”

Sally hadn’t noticed it before, but the woman’s voice was strangely familiar. She found herself lost in the woman’s brown eyes -  deep and rich like fresh soil, the kind where flowers bloom. It was almost as if Sally were caught in a trance, before she jerked away suddenly, feeling lightheaded. Behind her, Gabe grumbled disapprovingly and scuffed his shoe against the tile, muttering something about keeping the officiant waiting.

“I’m sorry,” Sally apologized. “I – I just – I don’t know why, but I feel like we’ve met before.”

The old woman tilted her head. “Is that so?”

“You remind me of someone,” Sally admitted. “I can’t remember who, though.”

“Hm,” the old woman smiled thinly. “How interesting.”

*

“Do you, Gabe Ugliano, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live ?”

“I do.” Gabe winked at Sally, who smiled bravely back at him.

“Do you, Sally Marie Jackson, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live ?”

“I-” Sally closed her eyes. “I do.”

*

After they are officially pronounced husband and wife, Gabe almost instantly whips his cell phone out of his pocket and excuses himself. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says to Sally, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “I’ve got a guy filling in for me at the poker game. Just gimme a few minutes, will ya?”

He planted a wet kiss on her lips before he hurried out of the room, shouting on his cell phone.

The rain had stopped. Outside of city hall, Sally went over to an empty bench and sat down, bouncing Percy on her knee.

“Do you mind?” A voice asked, and Sally looked up to see the old woman – June – standing in front of her, leaning on her cane for support.

“Of course not!” Sally scooted over to the end of the bench to give her room to sit. “Here.”

The old woman sat down next to her and the overwhelming scent of lilies suddenly filled Sally’s nose. June rifled through her handbag, procuring a fistful of candies wrapped in gold foil that she held out to Percy, who eagerly reached out for them. Sally took the candies herself.

“Sorry,” she explained apologetically. She gestured at the people walking past them. “I’m trying to teach him not to accept random things from strangers. You know how it is, in the city.”

The old woman nodded slowly. “Very good.” The way she said it made Sally feel like she had just passed a test of some sorts.

“How does it feel?”

“What?”

The old woman tapped Sally’s ring finger, which now sported a simple gold wedding band.

“Oh, right.” Sally smiled sheepishly. “I… I don’t know. I don’t feel any different.”

“I’ve witnessed a lot of weddings,” said June, her voice still eerily cheerful. “And I can tell you, my dear, that I know a marriage of convenience when I see one.”

Sally’s jaw dropped. “W-What?”

June smiled at her sympathetically, but the warmth of her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I can guarantee that just about every person in that courthouse who saw you walk in with that sad excuse of a man is thinking the same exact thing. ‘What is she doing with him?’”

Sally couldn’t believe that these words were coming from such a sweet old lady’s mouth. It dawned on her that maybe her instincts about the woman had been right about her all along, and she moved further towards the end of the bench.  

“E-Excuse me?”

“My child,” June said gravely, no longer smiling. “Please don’t try to play the fool with me.”

“What do you want me to say?” Sally protested, and the harshness in her voice surprised even herself. Who does this lady think she is? “I don’t owe anyone an explanation for the things I do.”

“But you don’t love him.”

Sally raised a hand over her mouth, completely dumbstruck. “How can you say that?”

Even so, the woman was right. Sally didn’t love Gabe Ugliano. In fact, it was as if June could see right through her. Sally no longer felt like she was talking to an ordinary human being.

“It’s alright,” June continued, and her voice was neither kind nor cruel. “You are not the first, and you will not be the last.”

“I had to,” Sally whispered, turning her face away from the woman, and her voice cracked ever so slightly as she rocked Percy against her chest. “I don’t expect you – or anyone to understand, but I had to.”

“No.” June stared at Percy, who was sucking his thumb, seeming blissfully unaware of the tension around him. “I think I understand.”

There was a long, awkward silence, save for the sounds of the city around them. But Sally could hardly hear anyone or anything, except for the sound of her heart hammering in her chest.

 “I didn’t think it was going to be like this,” Sally confessed, her eyes planted on the pavement beneath her. She kicked a crushed soda can back and forth between her feet. “I know it’s stupid, but I used to dream about this day. I guess most little girls do.”

“It isn’t stupid,” June interjected, and Sally sensed a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “Marriage isn’t just about ceremony and show. It’s a celebration of love. At least, that is what it was meant to be...” Her voice trailed off, and for a second the old woman’s face was vulnerable and sad, and Sally felt sorry for her.

“Are you married?” Sally asked gently.

June held out her left hand, flashing a bright gold band that glowed brightly, almost like it was made of sunlight. Sally gasped softly, and a small smile returned to the older woman’s lips. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve been married for a very long time. So long you wouldn’t even believe me.”

“Did you have a wedding?”

“Did I-” The old woman sputtered, before she laughed, a lovely and musical laugh that didn’t seem like it belonged to someone who looked like her. “Did I have a wedding!” She repeated incredulously, shaking her head. “Yes, I certainly did. I could never forget it.”

Sally smiled. “Sounds like a happy memory.”

“The happiest,” June agreed, and her eyes were distant, as though she were transported by the memory. “The happiest day of my life.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It was.” June’s smile faltered. “But-”

“Sal!” A voice cried out, and they both turned their heads to see Gabe finally emerging from the courthouse, waving his arms. “You ready to roll, sweetheart?”

Sally rose from the bench, but turned to the old woman, who stayed put. “Thank you for listening to me,” she said, and in a lower voice so Gabe couldn’t overhear them, she added, “Um, I’m sorry you had to witness such a depressing wedding.”

June stared at Sally thoughtfully.

“On the contrary, Sally Jackson. You give me hope,” she said softly. “Go now, child. You have my blessing.”

Blessing?

Sally thought it was a strange thing to say, but before she could turn around and ask June what she had meant, the bench was empty — save for an abandoned purple scarf that was being carried away by the wind.

*

When Hera rematerialized in her apartment, she knew that she was not alone.

In less than an instant, the goddess whirled around, her fist raised to strike the silent intruder, who swiftly caught her wrist before she could do anything else.

“Oh.” Hera’s dark eyes widened in genuine surprise, before her lips curled into a well-practiced sneer as she tore her wrist free of the intruder’s grip. “It’s you.”

“Is that any way to greet your own family?” Poseidon quipped breezily, but his eyes were uneasy, like the sea before a storm. It reminded Hera of Zeus. He thrust his hands into his pockets and lifted his chin, staring Hera down from across the hallway.

Unfortunately for him, his sister was the undisputed champion of staring contests, and after a long, uncomfortable silence, Poseidon sighed, bowing his head in defeat.

“Can we talk?”

Hera folded her arms across her chest, her face still etched with disdain. “I’m listening.”

Poseidon looked around nervously. “Is…?”

“He’s out — on a business trip,” Hera cut him off quickly before he could speculate. The look in Poseidon’s eyes made it quite evident that he didn’t believe her. Hera sighed, and with a lazy wave of her hand, beckoned him to follow her down the hall, until she stopped in front of a beautiful, ornate floor length mirror, peacock feathers carved into the golden framework. 

Poseidon watched Hera press the palm of her hand against the mirror as she murmured something under her breath. “In here,” she said over her shoulder, and took a step forwards, disappearing into the glass. “Mind your step.”

When Poseidon emerged from the other side of the mirror, he found himself in a clearing in an unfamiliar forest, underneath a pristine blue sky that couldn’t be found anywhere in the human world anymore. Overhead, the trees swayed gently in the warm breeze, sunlight peeking through the branches. And just ahead of him was his sister, standing at the edge of a clear, bubbling spring.

“This place is beautiful,” Poseidon said, walking towards her. “Where are we?” He crouched down to examine the spring, but before he could touch the water Hera stomped on his hand with her sandaled foot. “Ow!”

“Don’t touch it,” Hera scolded him, in the way a sibling might address another over the possession of a toy. “It’s my spring.”

“Okay, okay.” Poseidon rose to his feet. “Is this where you go when your husband has one of his temper tantrums?”

“I assumed you wanted to talk somewhere private.” Hera looked pointedly at him. “No one’s ever been here before but me. Zeus will never know you were here. Now say what you’ve come here to say, brother.”

Poseidon lowered his eyes. “It’s… Sally.” He pronounced her name quietly, like he was still afraid that someone might overhear.

Hera pursed her lips, but remained silent. It had been obvious from the beginning why he’d come all this way to see her. They weren’t close, after all.

“She’s marrying a monster,” he continued, and she could hear the frustration in his voice. “And – And you—” With this, her brother whirled around to face her, his eyes darkened with a rage she hadn’t seen in centuries. “You just sat there and didn’t do anything! Are you so miserable that you have to have to watch other people ruin their lives too?”

The water in the spring erupted with a loud roar, dousing them both in water.

Poseidon closed his eyes with a shudder, instantly regretting his outburst. He braced himself for the worst, half expecting Hera to punt him out of the stratosphere – which was still far more preferable than all of the things Zeus had said she’d done to his mistresses. 

Instead, Hera merely brushed a wet strand of hair away from her face and cleared her throat.

“I gave her my blessing,” she said calmly. Poseidon found her lack of rage even more terrifying.

“What?” Poseidon’s heart sank in his chest. “You blessed them?”

“I said her, not them,” Hera corrected him sharply. “Only the woman.”

 “And why would you do that?” There was a childish innocence to his question, like he could not comprehend the possibility of Hera being so generous to a mortal.

Now it was Hera’s turn to look away, the lovely profile of her face shrouded by her dark hair, which had already dried and returned to its perfectly coiffed state.

“I don’t know,” she confessed quietly. “I thought it was because I pitied her. But now I see that would be beneath her.”

“I – I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you see?” Hera looked up, her brow furrowed in frustration. “She’s marrying that pigheaded mortal to protect the boy. I won’t interfere with her decision.”

Poseidon’s eyes widened with understanding, before he closed them slowly. “Oh Gods. I – I didn’t see it.”

“Because you’re not a mother,” his sister scoffed, and he knew better than to argue with her.

“Oh, Sally…” Poseidon shook his head from side to side as though he couldn’t even begin to comprehend any of it, his voice full of grief. “I wish she didn’t do it. There… there has to be another way.”

“She made her choice,” Hera said much more gently, like her heart had finally been pierced by the rawness of her brother’s grief. “Like you made yours.”

Poseidon stood for a moment, thinking, before both his hands began to curl into fists. “If he hurts her-” He began, voice thickening with anger, but Hera grabbed his shoulders and cut him off mid speech.

“You will do nothing,” she said, and her dark eyes were desperate. “Because if you do anything to that man, then your connection to that woman will be uncovered, and so will your son, and everything will come crashing down.” On us, he knew she meant to say. The fear in her eyes said just as much. “Sally Jackson is exceptionally strong, even by mortal standards. That man cannot – he will not break her.”

The certainty in her voice reassured Poseidon ever so slightly, but he was still full of dread at the thought of Sally sharing her life with that parasite. “Do you know how helpless I will feel,” he whispered hoarsely, “If he hurts them?”

“I do,” Hera whispered back.

“Do you?” Poseidon wondered out loud, and for a moment he wondered if he saw something like guilt flicker in his sister’s eyes. “Sister, I want you to tell me something.”

Hera nodded mutely.

“If the boy had been his, you wouldn’t be doing all of this, would you?”

Hera dropped her hands from his shoulders, like he had suddenly burned her.

“Why are you doing this?” Poseidon asked.

“You don’t trust me?”

“This isn’t like you,” he continued, ignoring her question. “I just – I don’t understand you.”

“Of course you don’t,” Hera snapped, and her eyes glowed bright with anger as she took a step towards him. “Gaia knows you never have!”

And then Poseidon felt his sister press her hands firmly against his chest as she pushed him backwards into the spring, where he was astonished to find that he – the god of water – could not breathe, until his mind grew foggy and his eyes heavy-lidded with fatigue.

When he came to his senses once more, the god quickly rose to the surface, only to find himself in the middle of the ocean – like the spring was nothing more than a dream.

“Hera!” He shouted, but there was no answer. Great, he thought. Now she was going to give him the cold shoulder. He could only hope that her anger wouldn’t inspire her to do anything drastic.

*

Back in her apartment, Hera stepped out of the mirror, her body still trembling with unspent fury as she stumbled into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of ambrosia with shaking hands. A single sip of the drink had restored her strength and calmed her nerves, but she still felt tense as she paced across the room, deep in thought.

Finally, Hera made her way to the master bedroom, and flung open the doors to her wardrobe. In it hung a single white gown that shone like it was made of glass, but folded like silk in the goddess’s hands as she took it out of the wardrobe and spread it across her bed. She stared at the dress for a long time, before she slowly removed the clothes she was wearing and carefully slipped into the luminescent gown.

Hera stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked almost identical to how she had looked on her wedding day. Like all goddesses, her beauty was constant and unchanging, but in her wedding gown she seemed even more beautiful than normal — she was quite literally radiant.

Her mother had made it that way for her, she remembered. Her mother had spun sunlight itself into thread for it. You are the goddess of marriage, Rhea had told her. It is only right that you will be the most beautiful bride the heavens have ever known.

But beautiful as she was, the gown seemed to glow more faintly than before, like its vibrance was stifled by Hera’s melancholy. Her eyes were no longer full of the same youth and hope and bloom of a young bride, nor had her heart yet been hardened by years of deceit.

She found herself walking back towards her office, where she picked up the phone on her desk, and spoke into the receiver without even dialing a number first.

“Come home,” she said, and put the phone down. Then she laid down on her chaise and stared up at the ceiling as she waited.

It wouldn’t be long now.

*

Sally sat at the edge of the swimming pool with the skirt of her dress hiked up to her waist, kicking her legs in the water. At night, with the lights on, the water had an unnatural neon glare to it. She could see all of the broken, cracked tiles at the bottom of the pool, and the various leaves and branches floating up top that no one had apparently bothered to clean up. But still, she liked how the water felt between her toes, even if it wasn’t the ocean and the smell of chlorine made her nose burn.

She and Gabe had neither the time nor the money to go on a leisurely honeymoon after the wedding, so they settled with one night at a cheap hotel out in Long Island, near the boardwalk. Gabe was currently passed out on their bed after guzzling several drinks at dinner, and so she had tucked Percy into bed and come out here afterwards, looking for solitude.

She sat and watched the way the lights danced across the moving surface of the pool, twisting the golden ring on her finger up and down. A few times the ring had nearly slipped off of her finger, and she contemplated letting it fall.

And then, of course, it actually slipped from her finger. Sally watched in horror as the ring fell into the pool with a tiny splash and sank towards the bottom.

“Oh, shit,” she gasped. Shit, shit, shit! “Okay,” she muttered under her breath, rolling up her sleeves. “Okay.”

She dove into the pool, fully-clothed.

Without goggles, the chlorine stung her eyes and made it hard for her to see. She pushed back up towards the surface for air when she heard a familiar voice behind her – one she had convinced herself that she would never hear again.

“Looking for this?”

Sally stared at the stranger in shock, and at the glinting piece of metal in their outstretched hand. “No,” she breathed. “This isn’t real.”

Poseidon drew closer to her, wearing a warm but weary smile on his face. He was as handsome as ever. “I’m here, Sally.”

“No,” Sally shook her head adamantly, and pulled back when the god reached out to touch her. This is just a dream. “No, you can’t- What -  What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” the god answered, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Sally splashed water in his face in rebuttal.

“You had to come now?” Sally glanced around the pool nervously, but it was empty. She could only hope that no one would come out there and see the fully-clothed woman idly chatting with the strange, handsome man in the pool. “It’s – It’s not a good time, Poseidon.”

“There’s something I forgot to tell you, Sally,” the god said, and the seriousness in his tone made her snap to attention. “Something that I want you to know, for Percy’s future.”

Fear gripped Sally’s throat as she silently prayed that there wasn’t another prophecy or oath that she would have to worry about. “What is it?”

“There’s a place you need to know about. They call it Camp Half Blood. If… If anything ever happens, it’s safe there. For Percy.” 

Sally eyed him curiously. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because-” Poseidon rubbed his temple, looking apprehensive. “Because I don’t know if Gabe Ugliano can protect you two forever.”

“Oh.” Sally’s face was warm with embarrassment. “So you knew.”

“I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

“There are literal monsters trying to kill us,” Sally replied firmly. “As long as Gabe is around, they leave Percy alone.”

“He’s not a good man, Sally.”

Sally’s throat tightened as she stared at the face of her former lover. “I’ve dealt with men like Gabe Ugliano my whole life,” she said. “I can handle it.”

The sea god nodded in understanding. One of the things Sally always loved about Poseidon was that he always knew when to drop an argument. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

Sally’s stomach did a small flip as he closed the space between them. “Are you trying to seduce me right now?” She tried to joke lightly, but she was already half intoxicated by the scent of the ocean breeze on him. “For shame.”

She tilted her head upwards, expecting his lips to meet hers, and was a little surprised when Poseidon wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed loudly in contentment as all of the stress and tension in her body seeped out of her.

“This… is nice too,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his skin.

“I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again.” Poseidon pulled back so he could look at Sally’s face, his eyes clouded over with sadness. “The older Percy gets, the more dangerous it’ll become-”

Sally shushed him gently, and pulled him back into her embrace. “Let’s just enjoy this, okay?”

*

A heavy hand gently shook the goddess awake. Hera opened her eyes slowly and smirked up at the figure standing over her. “You came,” she said softly, and daintily rose from her reclining position on the chaise. “Did you finally grow tired of your little playthings?”

“You called and I answered,” Zeus replied, ignoring her barbed comment. His eyes hungrily skimmed over the gown that clung to Hera’s elegant frame, his cool, grey eyes gleaming with surprise. “You look magnificent.”

Hera reacted to her husband’s compliment with an air of practiced indifference. She was never the type to give in so easily to honeyed words. Zeus, who knew this better than anyone, seated himself on the edge of her chaise and reached for her hand. To both his shock and relief, she did not resist.

“You look troubled, my love,” he remarked, and gave her hand a small squeeze. “What is the matter?”

Hera’s lips nearly curled into a smile at the innocence of his question, like her husband hadn’t even considered that his philandering habits might have been the cause of her troubled state. Sometimes she was convinced that he would die first before assuming the responsibility. Ironic, for someone who declared himself a king.

At last, Hera lifted her eyes to gaze up at Zeus, whose silvery eyes had darkened with concern.

“There is something I need to tell you,” she began – and stopped.

She was suddenly transported back in time, to the open expanse of the clouds where she had first worn that gown, when the entire world had its eyes on her and she was heralded as the most beautiful bride in the heavens and the earth and all that encompassed the universe – a title that not even the likes of Aphrodite could claim.

And in the figure standing before her she saw those same silvery eyes, alight with pure wonder, and suddenly the anger in her heart and the words of condemnation on the tip of her tongue had died.

Hera jolted forward, in a daze, and was caught by her husband.

“There… There are so many things I fail to understand about you,” she said. “But loving you was never one of them.”

“Hera...” Zeus stroked her cheek. The gruffness in his voice was gone, replaced by a softness that he only ever used with her. “You know I love you.”

“I was thinking about the day we were married,” Hera said absentmindedly, her eyes distant. “I always knew that it was going to be you. I had no doubt in my heart.”

“And I you,” Zeus affirmed, sounding genuine. “Always.”

Hera took his face in her hands lovingly. “I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us,” she whispered wearily, closing her eyes as she rested her forehead against his. “No more.”

“Of course, my love,” Zeus reassured her. “No more secrets.”

And even though she knew it was an empty promise, Hera fell into her husband’s embrace, and allowed him to take her to bed.

Chapter Text

2004

They grow up so fast.

That was how Sally felt with Percy. It felt like in the single blink of an eye her bright-eyed baby had transformed into a gangly, floppy-haired teenager, who also happened to be unusually strong and prone to getting into trouble. She suspected that Percy’s godly lineage might have had something to do with it—both the strength and the trouble, that is.

From a young age, Sally noticed how quickly his cuts and scrapes healed after a bad fall on the playground or how he was able to twist off the tight lid on a jelly jar that she couldn’t open like it was nothing. And then she’d have to remember that Percy wasn’t just some ordinary kid, even though he looked and acted like one.

But Sally was determined to give Percy as normal of a life as she could. She didn’t want him to ever feel like he’d missed out on his childhood, the way she did about her own. So she packed his lunches—peanut butter and blueberry jelly sandwiches were his favorite—and walked him to the bus stop every morning, even if it meant running late for work. She hid her tips from Gabe, and whenever she had enough saved up, she’d take Percy out—to the movies, or a museum, or even Coney Island. Sometimes they would just sit in Central Park together and shared a bag of blue candy she’d swiped from work. Percy didn’t really seem to mind what they did, as long as it meant time spent away from Gabe.

“Mom?”

Percy was eleven now, and he looked more like his father than ever. She knew that Gabe couldn’t stand it. “Can I ask you something?”

It was their last weekend together before Percy went to Yancy Academy, so Sally had taken him up to the cabin in Montauk. It made her happy to know that her son loved this place just as much as she did. But there was also a feeling of dread, like ice in her veins, whenever she watched Percy play in the waves, like if she looked away for just a second that he’d be swallowed up by the ocean, swept off to some place where she could not follow him.

Sally chewed absentmindedly at the end of a blue raspberry string. The sour sugar coating made her tongue feel numb. “Sure, babe.”

Percy shifted in the sand, looking uncomfortable. The bag of blue M&M’s in his lap were virtually untouched, which frankly should have tipped Sally off sooner that something wasn’t quite right. “What is it, Percy?” She asked gently, resting a hand on the small of his back. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Percy sighed, his eyes glued to his feet buried in the sand.  

“Why do you stay with Gabe, Mom?”

He speaks delicately, almost hesitant, like he has to force the words out of his mouth, because he knows that it would upset her. But there was an edge of despair in his voice too, like he had to know. The older he became, the more he detested Gabe, and vice versa. But Sally could never bring herself to tell him the truth. And how could she?

Well, you see, honey, your father is actually an immortal Greek deity who lives in the ocean, which makes you a demigod, which means that every year that you’re alive on this planet there are more and more monsters trying to kill you, but luckily your stepfather smells so godawful that they can’t detect you, so we really ought to be grateful for Gabe, because we might not have survived for this long without him—

“Mom?”

Sally nodded. “Yeah, I heard you,” she croaked. Her throat suddenly felt very tight. “Percy, I…”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Percy said quickly, sensing her distress. “I get it.” It was just the kind of thing he’d say, if only to make her feel better. This only made Sally feel even worse, however, and she felt her hands digging into the sand beneath her to hide her fists.

“Percy,” she began slowly. “I promise I’ll tell you everything one day. It won’t always be like this.”

“Sure, Mom.” Percy didn’t sound too convinced. “He wasn’t like Gabe, right?” He suddenly asked. “My dad?”

Sally looked up sharply. “Oh Gods, no!” she blurted out, and she heard herself laugh before she could help it. “No, he wasn’t anything like Gabe. He – He was tall, handsome, and powerful.” She smiled, feeling like a schoolgirl in love. Percy’s eyes brightened as he listened to her intently. “And he… he was kind,” she continued softly. “He was a good – a good man. You don’t just have his eyes, Percy. You have his heart too.”

Percy’s green eyes were distant as he painted a picture of his father in his mind, the corners of his lips tugging into a smile. “Did he like it here too?” He asked quietly.

“He loved it,” Sally murmured softly, her eyes resting on the horizon of the ocean. Percy rested his head on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. Unlike most twelve year old boys, Percy never resisted his mother’s displays of affection, and she loved him all the more for it. Gabe once complained that all of her affection was making Percy soft, but Sally knew that real strength lay in softness. It was also what she told herself on days when she contemplated breaking a plate over her husband’s head. 

Percy squirmed in her arms. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we come back here after I finish school?”

Sally planted a kiss on the top of Percy’s head. “We’ll come back as soon as you’re home from Yancy. I promise.”

*

They grow up so fast.

It had been hundreds of thousands of years since Ares was born, but sometimes Hera still found herself looking at her eldest son when she would suddenly remember the weight of him being cradled in her arms. When his eyes were still large and dark — just like her own — and not yet the flames that burned bright in his eye sockets now, that always burned brighter when blood was being shed. She looked at her first son through the rose tinted vision of nostalgia, longing for the days when he was her son first, before he had his first taste of war.

She could not do the same for her second son, Hephaestus. She couldn’t bring herself to remember him when he was no more than a newborn, when she had eagerly peeled back the cloth he was swaddled in, and screamed at the face that greeted her. Everything that came afterwards was a blur—she was too blinded by her own disgust and rage to realize what she’d done until she’d finally noticed the absence of his shape in her arms.

Ares had run into the room after hearing her screams. The young god held a wooden sword in his hands, poised to defend his mother. “Where is it?” Her firstborn had asked, as Hera stared blankly out of the open window, her mouth open but silent. “Mother, where is the monster?”

She gripped the window sill tightly as she stared down at the glittering blue water beneath Olympus, mute with shock. The sea had taken him.

It, she tried to convince herself. The sea had taken it. That is no child of mine. It can’t be.  

“Mama?”

Her knees buckled then, but Ares had caught her around the waist, and helped her to a chair. He was only still a child in her eyes, but Ares was almost as strong as a fully grown Olympian, she realized. She knew that Zeus could never stomach the thought of anyone else rivaling his power — he had seen the savagery in Ares’ eyes when they sparred and saw a threat to his throne. “He is your son as much as mine,” she remembers telling him once, when she was tired of imploring him to spend more time with their son.

“No,” her husband replied. “That look in his eyes is yours alone, my darling.”

“It’s alright, Mama,” Ares had reassured her with surprising tenderness. It was a softness that he only ever bestowed on her. “Whatever it is, it’s gone now.”

It had taken her a long time to accept that the only monster in the room that day was herself.

*

A week after Percy left for Yancy Academy, Sally realized that she was being followed by a stranger.

She noticed him at work one day, and nudged her co-worker, Janice, in the arm. “Hey,” she whispered. “Wasn’t that guy here yesterday too?”

Janice looked up from the box of gummy bears that they were packaging and narrowed her eyes at the young man standing outside of the shop. Springs of wild curls peeked out from beneath the oversized beanie on his head, and his eyes were wide and anxious. He kept throwing nervous glances over his shoulder, like he was paranoid about being watched.

“Maybe he’s on something,” Janice observed, unfazed. This was New York, after all. Sally had seen a man pull his pants down in the middle of the sidewalk to take a dump, and nobody batted an eye. But there was something familiar about this stranger that left her feeling unnerved—like she’d seen him before.

“You want me to tell him to scram?” Janice offered, smacking her gum loudly. “He keeps looking at you.” Sally glanced at the stranger, and just as Janice said, found him staring straight at her. As their gaze locked, the stranger’s eyes widened, and before Sally could even blink, he turned and fled.

“Jeez,” Janice muttered, plopping a gummy bear into her mouth. “That was weird.”

“Yes,” Sally agreed with a slow nod. “It was.”

But then an entire week passed without any sign of the stranger, and Sally had thought she’d seen the last of him. Until one late afternoon, after her shift ended, Sally was walking to the subway when she felt that same, strange feeling overcome her, and a tingle down her spine that made her shiver. She was being watched. Sally gripped the straps of her purse tightly and took a deep breath.

“I know you’re following me,” she blurted out, and whirled around to confront the stranger, who nearly collided into her headfirst. She’s not sure whether to be relieved or alarmed when she realizes it’s the same man from the candy store, with the large hat and frightened eyes. “Who are you?” She demanded. “Are you following me?”

“Mrs. Jackson,” the stranger bleated, sounding awfully similar to a goat. She froze at the sound of her name. So he did know her. “I – I can explain! Believe me!”

People were sidestepping them on the sidewalk now, throwing them annoyed glances, so Sally forcefully grabbed the stranger by the arm and pulled them into a side alley. “Okay,” she said sternly, folding her arms over chest. “I’m going to give you thirty seconds to explain, before I start screaming for the police.”

The stranger’s eyes widened in alarm. “O-o-okay,” he panted. “Well, um, I don’t even know where to start. Um, my name is, uh, Grover. Grover Underwood, and I, uh – uh – I’m—”

“You have ten seconds,” Sally warned.

“Percy’s in danger!” Grover blurted out, and Sally found herself gasping before she could help it. “Look, Mrs. Jackson,” he continued anxiously, wringing his hands. “I know you don’t know me, but I need you to believe me when I tell you that I’m here to help you and your son. Look, I – I know he’s a demigod, okay?”

“Oh,” Sally breathed, feeling herself slump against the brick wall behind her. Her legs felt like they were turning to jelly, and all she could hear was her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “Oh Gods.”

Grover walked over to her, his eyes sympathetic. Up close, Sally could see that he was no more than a few years older than Percy. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jackson, but I really need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Okay,” Sally murmured faintly. “Okay.” She shook her head, trying to return to her senses. “I – I know a deli nearby. We can talk there.”

At the deli she’d suggested, they sat in a tiny booth in the corner, where Sally watched Grover chomp on a paper napkin like it was some sort of culinary delicacy. “So you’re… not human?” She asked him quietly. “You’re really a… a…”

“Satyr,” Grover said around a mouthful of napkin. “Yep.”

She eyed him warily. “And you’re… you’re Percy’s… guardian?”

Grover’s face reddened. “Well, uh, yes. Yes, I guess you could say that.” He tore off another piece of napkin with relish, ignoring the strange look the waitress gave him as she walked past their booth. “That’s why I’m here, Mrs. Jackson. I’m going to Yancy to keep an eye on Percy, and if there’s any trouble, I’ll take him to Camp Half-Blood, where he’ll be safe.”

Sally leaned back in her seat, speechless. She suddenly found herself remembering all of those late nights spent agonizing over Percy’s future, wishing that somebody – anybody – would magically appear out of thin air to save them. And here was their savior, at last. In the form of an anxious, gangly teenage boy who claimed to be half goat from the waist down. She doesn’t know whether she should laugh or cry.

“You’d really do that?” She managed to utter out loud. “You’d do all of that, for – for Percy?”

“I mean, it is my job…” Grover’s back straightened when he saw Sally’s dubious expression, and he puffed out his chest in a little brave way that finally won her over. “Yes, Mrs. Jackson. Believe me, Percy’s safety is my biggest priority, and I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe. I swear it on the River of Styx—”

Before he could finish, Sally dove across the table to fling her arms around the satyr, who raised his arms over his head defensively until he realized the human woman was just hugging him. “Thank you, Grover,” Sally murmured, feeling herself getting choked up. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s – It’s nothing, Mrs. Jackson,” Grover bleated, blushing furiously. “Really.”

Sally smiled warmly at the satyr.

“You can call me Sally,” she told him.

Four months later – the Winter Solstice

“It’s been half an hour,” Hephaestus said grimly from his seat at the table. “Let us begin without him.”

Without hesitation, everyone else’s heads – including Zeus, King of the Heavens, himself – swiveled to look at Hera, who fixed her second son with a loving but stern gaze. “Absolutely not,” she said, her hands primly folded in her lap as a nymph refilled her glass of wine. “We are here to dine together as a family.”

Enyo muttered something inaudible under her breath, and Hebe elbowed her, fighting back a laugh as the war goddess snickered. Hera narrowed her eyes at them and they immediately stopped, staring into their laps like petulant children. “I agree with Mother,” Eileithyia piped up after an awkward silence, and Enyo rolled her eyes while Zeus blinked at her in surprise, like he’d just noticed she was there.

Hera smiled at her second born daughter. “Thank you, my dear.” Looking at Eileithyia was like looking at a mirror — she was practically her mother’s twin in appearance. But rather than flaunt her beauty, Eileithyia preferred to live modestly in the shadow of her family, fully devoted to assisting her mother’s duties as the goddess of childbirth.

“Suck up,” Enyo hissed through her teeth, and Hera turned her attention to her oldest daughter. Of all her daughters, Enyo bore the least resemblance to her mother, except for her sleek, black hair, which she had taken to dyeing a dark red in recent decades. Like Ares, flames flickered in her irises, a physical manifestation of her insatiable hunger for violence.

“My darling, there is still blood on your hands,” Hera observed calmly, and Enyo turned her hands over and frowned at her red-stained fingertips. “Oops.”

“Here,” Hebe offered, holding out her napkin, and Zeus and Hera exchanged smiles.

Hebe. Dearest, darling Hebe. The youngest goddess was also undeniably both her parents’ favorite daughter, for she was a perfect combination of the two, with her father’s golden skin and her mother’s doe brown eyes. Unlike Enyo, who was conceived more out of spite than love, or Eileithyia, who was a pleasant but unexpected surprise, Hebe was born purely out of love.

Hephaestus sighed loudly. “Let me go find him, Mother,” he said, and began to slowly rise from his seat, but Zeus slammed his hand on the table. “Nonsense,” their patriarch grumbled. “There’s no need for that.” He breathed in deeply, and his daughters plugged their ears with their fingers as Zeus bellowed loud enough for all of Olympus to hear:

“ARES!”

Hera pursed her lips, trying to mask her irritation when Zeus’s call was left unanswered. Once again, everyone’s eyes were on her, waiting expectantly for her to make a decision. She slowly drained her glass of wine before primly dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “I will bring him here,” she decided, and snapped her fingers. “You may bring out the first course,” she said to the nymph she beckoned, before turning back to the table with a strained smile. “Please, don’t wait for me,” she assured her family, who stared at her warily. “I insist.”

“This isn’t some kind of test of yours, is it?” Enyo blurted out as someone set a crystal bowl down in front of her. “You tell us not to wait for you, but what you really want is to see who will wait. I’m not eating until one of you tries it first. I nominate Eileithyia.”

Eileithyia turned her nose upwards in disdain, her calm demeanor finally ruffled. “Fine, I will.”

“Oh for Gaia’s sake,” Hera huffed as she rose from her seat. “You are behaving like children. I am not testing you.” She reached across the table and took a spoonful of Enyo’s soup. “See?”

“Darling,” Zeus began carefully. “You needn’t do this. He’ll come on his own.”

“This is our family dinner,” Hera reminded him as calmly as she could. “And he is our firstborn – our oldest son, which means that this family dinner is not complete unless he is sitting—” She pointed at the empty chair across from Hephaestus. “Right. There.”

Zeus merely made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan as he waved her off. “As you wish.”

“And how can you be sure that you will find him?” Hebe piped up innocently. It was the sort of question that the rest of the table knew only she could get away with asking.

“Why, my sweet, I am his mother,” Hera answered sweetly. “I should know my children better than anyone, shouldn’t I?”

*

She found her firstborn in the throne room, staring up at his father’s throne. “Ares,” she called out, and when he did not turn at the sound of her voice, she strode across the room and put her hand on his shoulder. Only then did he finally turn to face her. “Oh,” he said, and there was a drowsiness to his voice, like he had just been woken from a dream. “Mother.”

The irritation she felt earlier dwindled at the sight of him, as it always did. “We’ve been waiting for you,” she told him. He stared at her blankly, his gaze hidden beneath his dark sunglasses. “For dinner,” she added, a little more firmly. “Tonight is our solstice dinner, Ares. As we have done every year for every year that has passed since our existence.”

The god of war winced. “So it is. Forgive me, Mother. I – I was preoccupied.”

“What in heaven could require your attention at this hour? The solstice has already been adjourned.”

Ares grinned crookedly, the flames beneath his sunglasses brightening as he offered her his arm. “I cannot say yet. But Mother, it will be a marvel, I promise you.”

Hera raised an eyebrow as her son steered them out of the throne room. “You haven’t sounded this excited since they shot down that duke in Austria.” She looked up at her son, frowning lightly. He was too… calm. Content, even. There was barely a trace of his trademark scowl on his face. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“Mother, I would never do anything to hurt you,” Ares told her, evading her question altogether. But before she could push him any further, the god of war fixed her with a boyish smile, and Hera saw the child he once was—that he still was, to her, at least—and she felt herself smiling back at him.

Oh, it was too easy. When it came to her children, Hera was too easily blinded by her greatest virtue as a mother – her own love for them.

“Come,” Ares quipped nonchalantly. “You said they were waiting for us.”

She gave a dismissive wave. “I told them to begin without me.”

Ares barked out a laugh, and it sounded genuine. “Trust me, Mother,” he said. “They will be waiting.”

Six months later – June, 2005

“Hello?” 

Sally smiled at the sound of Percy’s voice. “Hey, honey,” she said, raising her voice over the sound of the TV noisily blaring in the background. She was half convinced that Gabe had purposefully raised the volume after he realized she was calling Percy. “It’s me.”

“Oh, Mom. Hi.” Percy sounded relieved. “Is everything okay?” He added after a pause, sounding suspicious. “Did Gabe—?"

“Oh no, baby, we’re fine,” Sally reassured him, moving towards the kitchen to get away from the sound of the TV. She already knew the question before he could finish it. Did Gabe do something? She glanced back at Gabe, whose vacant, half-lidded eyes were glued to the television screen. “Everything’s fine over here. But what about you? How’s school going?” She leaned against the refrigerator, waiting patiently as the line went quiet on the other end. “Percy?” She prodded gently, after the silence had gone on for a second too long. “Honey?”

“It’s fine,” Percy answered mechanically, and she closed her eyes. He was very obviously lying. “Percy, you know you can talk to me,” she coaxed. “I promise I won’t get angry. Did you get into another fight?”

She heard a loud groan on the other end. “No, Mom, I didn’t. I swear. Besides, Grover wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to. He knows I’m on probation.”

Sally’s ears perked up at the name. “Grover?” She repeated innocently, feigning ignorance. The satyr had told her it was absolutely crucial that Percy remained completely oblivious of their relationship. “Your roommate?”

“Yeah. He’s, like, my best friend here, I guess.” Sally smiled to herself. She knew that Percy would take a liking to Grover. There was a pause, like Percy was thinking. “Uh, actually,” he added. “We went on a field trip last week, to, uh, the Met, and something… something really weird happened, actually.”

There was something ominous in his tone that was unnerving. “What do you mean?” Sally pressed the phone closer to her ear, questions spilling out of her mouth faster than her mind could think. “Are you okay? Did something bad happen? Did somebody try to hurt you?”

“Mom, Mom!” She could practically hear Percy rolling his eyes, the annoyance palpable in his tone. “I’m fine. It’s just—Mom, I just want you to be honest with me. Is there something wrong with me?”

Sally’s mouth silently fell open. He knows. She gripped the phone tightly, trying to mask the mounting panic in her voice as she asked, “What – What do you mean, honey?”

“I mean, am I crazy? Like, in a genetic way? I know I’m dyslexic, and I have ADHD, and I know the principal told you he thinks I have anger management issues, but I don’t know, I just thought that maybe there’s something else, you know? Something… serious? Like, maybe that’s why I feel so different from everybody else.”

Sally bit the inside of her cheek. “Oh, Percy,” she said softly. “You’re not crazy.”

“I don’t know, Mom.” She could hear the defeat in his voice, and felt a sharp pang in her chest. This is your fault, she thought to herself, and sucked in a deep breath. “I feel like a freak sometimes. Like, even more than the rest of the kids who go here, and that’s saying a lot.”

“You’re not,” Sally said firmly. “And there’s nothing wrong with being different, either. Imagine how boring the world would be if everybody acted the same all the time.”

“I guess.” He didn’t sound too convinced, but he changed the subject, like he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Are we still going to Montauk when I get back?”

“Of course,” Sally answered, absentmindedly fiddling with a magnet on the fridge. “As soon as you’re done at Yancy, we’ll go. So just hang in there, okay? It’s only a couple more weeks.”

“…I’ll try.”

“You will,” she corrected him. “And I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

She heard a familiar bleating in the background, and some muffled conversation, like Percy had put his hand over the receiver. “Sorry, Mom,” he said after a minute. “I have to go now. Dinner.”

“Of course, babe.” Sally found herself pressing her fingers to her lips, wanting to blow him a kiss that he couldn’t see. “I love you so much, Percy.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? Just a few more weeks, and we’ll be back at the beach. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” She could hear a faint smile in Percy’s voice. “Sounds good, Mom.”

She was still holding the phone in her hand, lost in thought, when Gabe shuffled into the kitchen to grab another beer. “That the kid?” He grunted. Like you even care, she thought, biting back a scowl. “What he do this time? Kill someone?”

Sally whirled around, her face hot with anger. “Don’t even joke about that,” she snapped, surprised by the coldness in her voice. Judging by the bewildered look in Gabe’s eyes, he was too. He’d grown far too comfortable with her meek, complacent wife act. “Really, Gabe,” she added more meekly, backtracking. “You shouldn’t say things like that. It’s not funny.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.” Gabe held up his hands in mock surrender. “Women,” he muttered as he roughly brushed past her, and she didn’t bother to listen to the rest of his sentence.

Sally leaned back against the kitchen counter, sighing loudly as the sound of laughter from the TV filled the apartment. Outside, the sky had darkened considerably, like it was going to rain. It stormed often these past few months—frequently enough that she’d started a habit of carrying an umbrella with her to work.

Sally remembered something Poseidon told her a long time ago, back in Montauk, when a sudden rainstorm left them stranded underneath the awning of a closed up gift shop.

“When it storms like this,” the god had said, his handsome profile tilted towards the sky. “It means my brother is unhappy.”

“You mean Zeus?”

Poseidon nodded.

“You gods are so temperamental,” Sally muttered under her breath, and Poseidon laughed. “What? It’s true, you know. All the stories are either about you fighting or seducing each other, or punishing some poor mortal who bruised your ego.”

He turned to her with a smile. “I didn’t say that you were wrong.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, and the smile on Poseidon’s face disappeared. “Another thing,” he said quietly, his eyes focused on the clouds. “When you see lightning, stay indoors.”

“Why?”

When Poseidon looked at her again, his expression was unnervingly serious. “Because lightning means that he is angry,” he said grimly. “And there is nothing more dangerous than my brother when he is angry.”

Back in New York City, a flash of lightning lit up the city skyline, and Sally jumped, startled back to reality. I wonder what’s gotten him so angry, she thought to herself.

*

“He is on the edge of madness,” said the goddess of wisdom. “Something needs to be done about it.”

Hera’s teacup clattered loudly as she set it back down on its saucer. “He is upset,” she corrected her stepdaughter diplomatically. The two goddesses sat across from each other in the corner of a bustling café, hidden in plain sight. To the mortal eye, they simply looked like two wealthy women out for a morning coffee in the Upper East Side. “And understandably so. His greatest weapon was stolen from him—"

“From right beneath his nose,” Athena interjected, keeping her tone civil. “To steal the master bolt is no simple task. It is time to consider that we are contending with a force more powerful than ourselves.”

“Power,” Hera scoffed as she inspected her nails. “What do you know of power, child?”

She had to commend Athena’s ability to keep her composure as the goddess took a deep breath, leaning forward in her seat as her voice dropped to a whisper. “We are on the brink of war, Hera. He suspects everyone.” She fixed Hera with a piercing gaze. “Even us, I am afraid.”

Hera laughed. “You worry too much, child. I pity that mind of yours sometimes.” She took a sip of her tea, feeling Athena’s grey eyes staring daggers at her. “If you think that one of our own took the bolt, you are mistaken. We are a family,” she reassured her stepdaughter. “We are past betraying each other.”

“Then you forget yourself,” Athena said quietly. “The very foundations of Olympus are built on my father’s betrayal of Kronos.”

“As are you,” Hera replied coldly. Their masks of civility were both slipping at this point, as Athena’s mouth tightened into a thin frown. ‘Child,’ she called the other goddess. But never ‘My child.’ Athena had no mother – she was her father’s child alone. Were our children not enough for you? She’d screamed at her husband, while his golden blood still dripped down his forehead. “You’re as stubborn as my he is, do you know that?”

Athena shifted in her seat, as a look of discomfort briefly flashed across her face. She never liked being compared to her father. “If we came here to count all of our past grievances, I’m afraid that we would be here for the next several hundred years,” she said, ignoring Hera’s comment. “But I did not come here out of bitterness. I –” The goddess hesitated, her brow furrowed. “I’m afraid, Hera,” she admitted at last, her voice small but earnest. “I’m afraid for my father, and by extension, all of us.”

Hera sighed. “Yes,” she murmured with a small hum. “Yes, of course you are. As am I. Do you think I enjoy seeing my husband like this?”

The goddess of wisdom’s eyes were distant, visibly lost in thought. “He will choose somebody to punish, eventually. Even if he is wrong.”

“Let him, then, and let this all be over with,” Hera said, and she stifled a laugh when Athena gave her a disapproving glare. “Ah. I forget that you are the goddess of justice. Forgive me.” She reached across the table and patted the other goddess’s hand, in a rare display of affection. “Don’t fret too much. It’s unbecoming of someone of your stature. We have already been through so much, my child. This too, shall pass.”

Athena stared at her, too stunned to speak. Hera looked down at her hand and pulled it back, like she hadn’t even realized what she’d said or done herself. After an uncomfortably long pause, she cleared her throat, ready to take her leave, but not before Athena grabbed her arm. “There is one more thing, Hera,” she whispered. “I have heard of a rumor—”

“Olympus is plagued with rumours,” Hera scoffed.

“A rumor of a demigod,” Athena continued, and Hera stiffened. “A boy, who singlehandedly defeated a fury on his own.”

“One of Ares’s, perhaps,” Hera remarked, pretending to look and sound disinterested, but Athena didn’t look convinced. “Whose is it, then?” The queen pushed, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “Maybe it’s one of yours.”

“No.” Athena shook her head. “Not mine. I always claim my own. The boy is almost thirteen years of age. The only reason he would be left unclaimed for so long is if his parent did not want his birth to be known. Which means…”

“Stop,” Hera interrupted as she rose from her seat. “Stop now, before you regret your words.”

“You know it to be true—”

“This conversation is over,” Hera snapped, snatching her purse. “If you try to discuss this with me again, I’ll have your mouth sewn shut by Arachne herself.”

“You know that if it is true, the consequences will be devastating,” Athena protested, undeterred by Hera’s bristly response. “Remember the prophecy. Nothing but suffering awaits us.”

“Somebody always suffers,” Hera hissed through her teeth. “I thought you would be wise enough to know that is the way of the world, child.”

Athena’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I am not a child,” she gritted out, no longer able to keep her composure.

“You look just like your father when you get angry,” Hera observed sweetly, before she disappeared in a spray of fine, golden mist without so much as a goodbye.

A few weeks later

“Are you going to send me away again?” Percy asked. “To another boarding school?”

Sally looked up from the marshmallow she was roasting over the fire. They were back at Montauk, after Sally had managed to charm Gabe with enough seven layer dip to get him to lend them his car. “I – I don’t know, honey,” she answered her son uneasily. She hadn’t even started thinking about the next school year yet—all she knew was that Percy wouldn’t be going back to Yancy. “I think… I think we’ll have to do something.”

“Because you don’t want me around?”

Sally’s throat tightened. Every word was like a dagger to the heart. This is what you get for keeping so many secrets, she thought to herself. What kind of mother are you? “Oh, Percy, no,” she managed to say, grabbing his hand. “I – I have to. For your own good. I have to send you away.”

Percy didn’t look at her. “Because I’m not normal.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Sally replied gently. “But you don’t realize how important you are.” She sighed, closing her eyes. Just tell him who he is, a voice in her head nagged. He’s not a child anymore. But Percy was her baby – he would always be. “I thought Yancy would far enough away,” she murmured to herself. “I thought you’d finally be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Sally felt her hand trembling in Percy’s. “I’ve tried to keep you as close to me as I could. They told me that was a mistake. But there’s only one other option, Percy – the place your father wanted to send you.” She took a deep breath, contemplating telling him the truth. There’s a special place, for people like you. “I… I just can’t do it,” she admitted, staring at the flames of the dying fire.

“My dad wanted me to go to a special school?”

Tell him, Sally. Now’s your chance. She bit her lip. If she told him now, everything would change. Forever. She wasn’t sure if either of them were ready for that.

She looked up at the waves crashing onto the shore, and desperately wished that she could suspend time—that they could simply exist there, together, her and Percy, in a place where neither of them could grow any older. It was selfish of her, she knew it. But what mother didn’t want to keep their children from growing up, from learning about the indiscriminate unfairness of the world?

She caught Percy staring at her, his eyes swirling with thousands of questions that she knew she wouldn’t be able to answer even if she could. “I’m sorry, Percy,” she said finally. She regretted bringing up the topic in the first place. “But I can’t talk about it. I – I couldn’t send you to that place.” She shook her head. “It might mean saying goodbye to you for good.”

“For good?” Percy repeated incredulously. “But if it’s only a summer camp…”

He’s going to find out someday, one way or another, the voice in her head reasoned. Would you rather him find out for himself? A flame crackled loudly, pulling her out of her daze, and Sally drew her knees into her chest, feeling a familiar lump in her throat as she willed herself not to cry in front of Percy.

“Mom,” said Percy, and she felt his hand on her back. “It’s gonna be okay, right?”

Sally wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and forced a smile as she turned to look at him. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Yes, oh yes. We will always be okay, as long as we have each other.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Percy, I know you’ve been alone at Yancy this year, and I’m so, so proud of you. But I hope you know that I’ll always be here for you, no matter where you are. Please, don’t forget it.”

Percy grimaced, and Sally blinked in surprise.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Percy said, staring into the dying embers of the fire. It was growing dark now, the sun setting over the horizon of the ocean. “I mean, I don’t know. It – It’s just when you say it like that, it sounds like you’re going to leave me.”

“Oh honey, no,” Sally breathed, and she pulled him in for a tight hug. “No, never.”

I promise, she wanted to add, but somehow, it would have felt like a lie if she did.

*

“Come to bed, husband,” Hera said quietly. “You need to rest.”

Zeus stood with his back turned to her, staring out of the windows of his office. “We are immortal,” he muttered. “We do not need rest.”

Half of the furniture in the room was overturned, as if a storm had swept through the place; the other half was reduced to splinters of wood or chunks of marble. Hera gingerly stepped over a toppled statue, unfazed by the mess. She had seen far, far worse.

“Those circles under your eyes tell a different story.” She circled him slowly, looking him up and down with a small frown. “You haven’t changed out of that suit in days, your beard is messier than a cuckoo’s nest—”

“Hera.” His voice was brittle enough to make her stop in her tracks. “I have enough on my mind as it is.”

“Talk to me, then,” she offered, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Let me help you shoulder this burden that weighs on you so heavily, my love. You cannot shut everyone out.”

She heard him sigh. “It will all be over soon, anyways,” he said. “We have tracked down the thief.”

“Oh?” Hera pulled back, unable to hide her curiosity. “You know who took it?”

“I’ve received word from the Underworld. It seems that whoever’s taken my bolt has also taken the Helm of Darkness. Hades is tracking them down as we speak.”

“I thought he would not speak to you,” Hera whispered. “Not after what happened to—”

“Yes,” Zeus cut her off abruptly. “He hates me still.” There was an edge of bitterness in his tone, that almost sounds like regret. “But he is a fool if he thinks I’ve let him run that place all these years completely unsupervised, or that the dead all swear allegiance to him just because they are no longer in the world of the living. I have my own eyes and ears down there.”

“So who is it? Who is the dreadful little thief?”

Zeus finally turned around to face her, and she was surprised by the weariness in his eyes, like the answer pained him more than he wished to convey. She took his hands in her and squeezed them gently. “You can tell me,” she whispered encouragingly, and he nodded his head slowly.

“Poseidon.”

Hera’s hands slipped out of his grasp. “No,” she blurted out in disbelief. “I mean, why? What could he possibly gain from this?”

Zeus’s eyes darkened. “Because he seeks my throne.”

“He’d sooner dive into Tartarus than rule Olympus,” Hera scoffed, without thinking. “You see how much he loves the sea. He would not trade it for anything.”

“I should not have told you. I knew you would find it upsetting.”

“I am only upset because I know it not to be true—”

“You take his side over mine?!” Zeus snapped, and his eyes flickered like a lightning bolt across a darkened sky. Thunder rumbled outside. “I should have known. Making a claim for my throne is a family tradition at this point,” he spat. “You’ve tried it yourself. Or do you not remember when you bound me to my throne?”

“That was a very long time ago,” Hera replied calmly, holding her head up high. “And I only did it because you continued to betray your vows to me.”

Zeus hung his head, and for a moment Hera wondered if her husband was going to apologize, when a harsh laugh slipped from his mouth. “So you set out to right one betrayal by committing another,” he laughed. “Betrayal is in our blood, my love. It’s in our bones.”

“The very foundations of your kingdom are built on betrayal,” Hera whispered in a low voice, and Zeus looked up at her sharply.

“What was that?”

“Something your daughter said to me,” she answered, grabbing her coat as she walked towards the door. “I’m leaving now. Don’t come home until you’re finished with your temper tantrum.” She slammed the door shut before she could hear his response.

In the hallway, she had taken all but ten steps before her knees suddenly buckled, and she pressed her back against the wall. Fumbling through her purse, she fished out her cell phone and dialed a number, clenching her other hand so tightly her knuckles shone white.

“My lady?”

“Ah,” Hera cleared her throat, trying to sound as pleasant as she could. “Echo. Could you get Poseidon on a private line, please?”

*

Sally knew that something was deeply, deeply wrong when Grover Underwood was standing at her doorstep in the dead of the night, in the pouring rain, pantsless from the waist down. “Grover?” She heard Percy’s voice over her shoulder, followed by a loud gasp.

The satyr slumped against the doorway, drenched from the downpour. “Searching all night,” he gasped, his eyes glued to Percy’s. “What were you thinking?”

Sally whirled around to look back at her son, who was pale faced as he stared down at his best friend’s legs – or lack thereof. “Percy,” Sally managed to shout over the rain, overcoming her shock. “What happened at school. What didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t you tell her?” Grover bleated, addressing Percy, whose eyes were as round as saucers. Percy’s mouth opened slightly, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out, so Sally grabbed him by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. “Percy, tell me what happened. Now!”

He stammered something about old ladies cutting a string, and how his math teacher Mrs. Dodds could fly, and Sally lowered her head, resisting the urge to vomit there and then. You should have told him, the voice in her head scolded her. You always knew this day would come.

She heard Poseidon’s words in her head, uttered in the very same cabin all those years ago. “He’ll never be able to escape it, you know,” he’d said to her, with a hint of sadness in his tone. “No matter where he goes, or what he does in his life, his birthright will always follow him like a shadow. He cannot change who he is.”

“And I wouldn’t change him for the world,” Sally had responded back then, because she had still been young and optimistic and in love with a literal god.

Now she’d realized what a fool she’d been. This is your fault. You should have prepared him better. You were his mother, and you failed him.

Sally took a deep breath, before she looked up at Percy and Grover, who were both watching her with wide, childlike eyes. “Get to the car,” she heard herself shouting to them as she grabbed her purse. “Both of you. Go!”

*

Hera banged on the doors of the abandoned water treatment plant, and sighed in relief as the door swung open. “Oh, thank Gaia—” she began, but was cut off as someone’s hand wrapped itself around her throat and lifted her several inches off of the ground.

“Did you tell him?”

She stared into her brother’s sea green eyes, gagging as his grip on her throat tightened. “No,” she managed to choke out, but his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Swear it.”

“I swear it—” Hera gasped. “I swear it on my children.”

Poseidon clicked his tongue reproachfully, in a way that oddly reminded the goddess of herself. “That isn’t good enough. Your children can be conniving little shits, you know.”

“Then – I – swear – it – on – my – mother!”

Hera collapsed to the floor in a heap as Poseidon released her from the chokehold, clawing at her own throat as she gasped for air. “I didn’t tell anyone,” she panted. “I never break my vows.”

“Then why has our dear, estranged brother sent the Minotaur after my son and his mother?”

Hera stared at him. “What?”

When Poseidon didn’t respond, she closed her eyes, and saw a vision of Sally Jackson racing through the night in a bright red car, the front window pelted with rain. In the backseat, a familiar pair of bright green eyes blinked in confusion. Both mother and son’s mouths were moving rapidly, and even though Hera couldn’t hear them, she could sense the mother’s desperation and the son’s frustration.

“They’re going somewhere,” she said out loud, blinking her eyes open. “She’s taking him to that camp, isn’t she?”

“They won’t make it.” Poseidon buried his head in his hands, sounding despondent. “Not with that beast chasing them. I have to stop it.”

Hera shakily rose to her feet. “You cannot intervene,” she asserted. “If you do so, you will have made an official claim as the boy’s father. All of Olympus will know he is your son, and Zeus will go to war with you.”

“I will not watch them die, Hera,” Poseidon gritted out through his teeth, his eyes blazing. 

“No more. No more bloodshed,” Hera pleaded. “Give me time to calm Zeus down. All of this can be resolved with diplomacy—”

“I think any chance of diplomacy died the day your husband blasted the di Angelo woman out of the sky,” Poseidon snapped. “And you shouldn’t be the one to talk of diplomacy, should you? No one likes bloodshed more than you, except maybe that pea brained son of yours—”

Hera roughly shoved him against the wall. “Leave my children out of this.”

Poseidon grinned as part of the wall behind him crumbled from the impact. “You should understand me more than anyone else in the world right now,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot let my son die.”

“I understand.” Hera cupped his face in her hands, softening her voice. She tried to emulate their mother, and the way she spoke to them calmly, even during their darkest days before Kronos had been overthrown. “I understand, my brother. But that boy has already been marked for death, even without you claiming him. Your confirmation will only give my husband a reason to blast him out of the sky.”

Poseidon lowered his eyes to the ground, not speaking.

“They are stronger than you think,” Hera tried to reassure him, but her own voice wavered, unconvincing. “I’m sorry,” she added, and it was barely more than a whisper. “I truly am.”

Poseidon looked up at her with an incredulous expression on her face. “You mean it.”

“I do!”

“No, I know you do.” The sea god said, bewildered. “That’s – That’s what’s so strange about it.”

The sky above them rumbled ominously, and Hera reeled backwards as she saw a vision of Sally Jackson’s bright red car being struck by lightning, flipping over on its side. The goddess clutched at her head as Poseidon reached for her, visibly concerned. “Sister? What is it?”

She looked up at him, unable to hide the panic in her voice. “It’s too late,” she breathed. “He found them too.”

*

Sally slowly blinked her eyes open, her head throbbing with a dull pain as she peeled her cheek off of the steering wheel. In a daze, she lifted a hand to her face, and wiped away what she thought was a tear, even though she doesn’t remember crying. And then she felt a tiny splat on the top of her head and realized it was raining.

It was raining, and the roof of Gabe Ugliano’s beloved Chevrolet Camaro had been ripped open.

She’d crashed the car – unintentionally, of course. All she remembered was a flash of blinding light and an ear-shattering roar before she’d winded up here, and Grover and Percy – oh God, Percy.

“Percy!” She shouted, afraid to turn around and look.

She nearly sobbed with relief when she heard his voice reply, “I’m okay…”

Sally was about to turn around and look back at Percy when she suddenly noticed the bulky figure moving towards them in the rearview mirror. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she made out what appeared to a set of horns on top of the figure’s head. “Percy,” she whispered. “We have to…”

From the backseat, she heard a sharp intake of breath, which could only mean that Percy had also seen it. “Who is—”

“Percy. Get out of the car.” Sally threw herself against her door, but it wouldn’t budge in the mud. “Climb out the passenger’s side!” She ordered. “Percy – you have to run. You see that big tree? That’s the property line. Just – Just get over that hill, and you’ll be safe.”

Percy gaped at her. “Mom, you’re coming too.”

Sally tried and failed to swallow the lump in her throat. Her twelve year old son was as brave as the heroes she’d read about in the books of myths she used to pore over. Oh, Percy Jackson, she thought. My sweet, brave boy. They’ll tell stories about you too, one day.

“No!” Her son shouted stubbornly, slinging Grover’s arm around his shoulder. “You’re coming with me. Help me carry Grover.”

When it became obvious that her son wouldn’t budge unless she did too, Sally finally pushed her way out of the passenger window, helping him half-carry, half-drag Grover up the hill. She could hear the creature snorting a ways behind them, and heard Percy gasp next to her.

“That’s—”

“Don’t say his name,” Sally warned harshly, and she felt Percy’s eyes on her face, surprised. “Names have power.”

Behind them, the Minotaur bellowed loudly, and Sally heard a loud explosion that seemed to indicate that the Camaro’s days were over. It wouldn’t be long before the creature caught onto their scent. Squinting her eyes, Sally tried to gauge their distance from the pine tree. It became clear to her that Percy would never reach the borders of the camp if they continued like this.

“Percy,” she said to him, taking Grover. “When he sees us, he’ll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way. He can’t change directions very well when he’s charging. Do you understand?”

From the way he looked at her, Sally knew that Percy wasn’t looking at her like his mother anymore, but as someone completely different from the person he knew. “How do you know all of this?”

You should have told him. You should have told him. You should have told him.

“I was selfish,” she murmured to herself. “Keeping you near me.”

“Keeping me near you? But—”

The Minotaur roared. Sally looked at Percy. “Go, Percy! Separate! Remember what I said.”

To her relief, he turned and sprinted away from them, and Sally grunted as she shouldered Grover’s weight and hurried up the hill. She heard the Minotaur bellow angrily, and knew he’d missed Percy. Thank the Gods.

Sally gently laid Grover down in the grass, brushing a hand over his curls. “Take care of him,” she whispered to the satyr, whose eyes were still closed. “Take care, Grover.”

She turned and saw the Minotaur staring right at her. Good, she thought as she slowly began to tread downhill. Better her, than Grover or Percy. Percy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy standing several feet behind the Minotaur, staring at her with large, frightened eyes.

“Percy!” She called out. “I can’t go any farther. Run!”

The Minotaur charged, like she expected, and she sidestepped just as she’d told Percy, but was caught by surprise when the creature grabbed her throat, lifting her into the air. Black spots began to dot her vision as the Minotaur’s grip on her tightened, dangerously close to crushing her windpipe. She heard Percy scream for her.

It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late.

She managed to lock eyes with Percy, whose eyes were shiny with tears as he stared up at her, frozen in shock. Don’t cry for me, honey, she wanted to tell him. The truth was, she’d always known that something like this was going to happen, and she was ready to accept her fate.  All she knew was that dying was worth it, if it meant Percy got to safety.

I tried to be a good mother. I wish it had been enough. I’m sorry.

“Go!” She choked out.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—

*

Poseidon dropped to his knees, his face ashen. “She’s gone,” he said, his voice thin and hollow. He looked like the furthest thing from a god, bent over the ground. He hadn’t looked this fragile since they’d stumbled out of their father’s throat, blinded by the sunlight. “Sally is gone.”

For the briefest moment, he sounded strangely and inexplicably human.

Hera stood over him, hovering anxiously. “I’m sorry, Poseidon.”

“I loved her, you know.”

She swallowed dryly. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes. I know.” She slowly crouched down, so she was eye level with her brother, whose face was still turned to the ground. “I – I know we are not close,” she began delicately. “And there is a reason for that, as there is for everything. And when I go back to Olympus, I do not think I will be able to see you until this business with the bolt is over. So if there is anything I can do for you, Brother, you must tell me now.”

Poseidon made a small noise in his throat, and for a second Hera feared she would have to endure her least favorite brother crying on her shoulder, until she recognized the sound of laughter on his lips. But it wasn’t his usual laugh – it was tangled with bitterness, dripping from his mouth.

“It’s funny you say that,” he murmured. “All I want right now is our mother.” He looked up at her, his green eyes almost gray with grief. “Is that strange?”

“No,” Hera answered softly. “It isn’t.”

She remembered running into her mother’s arms after she first discovered Zeus’s affair with Io, staining the front of her gown with her river of tears. Rhea did not try to give her advice, or pity, like her sisters. Nor did she try to take advantage of her distress through the guise of comfort, like her brother Hades, who held her until she had to pry his cold fingers off of her. The Titaness had merely stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, humming an old lullaby. She had been the only one to see the goddess with a wounded heart and tried to mend it with the most simple and intricate solution of all—love.

“I miss her,” Poseidon said.

They both fell quiet for a moment. Hera felt her brother’s eyes on her face. “You look so much like her,” he observed. “You really do.”

“I look like her, but I act like my father,” she said flatly, recalling her siblings’ insult for her in their younger days. That was how the others used to recognize her, in the old world, when the names of her parents still held more power than her own. Rhea’s beauty and Kronos’s temper, Gaia had crooned once. You are the most dangerous child yet. “You used to say that to me. All of you. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Poseidon admitted, sounding a little ashamed of it.

“Our father was a monster. I’m not a monster. I’m not.” Hera bit her lip. “I’m not.” She repeated, desperate to convince herself, but felt unconvinced. “Am I?”

“No more than I am.”

It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either.

“I have done terrible things,” Hera whispered, thinking of Hephaestus and his limp foot, forever dragging behind every step of his. “I—”

“No more than I have,” Poseidon stopped her before she could descend into a spiral of guilt. “Power means nothing without knowing what terrible things it makes one capable of.”

“Then I must be very powerful,” Hera murmured, and Poseidon laughed, though the sound was brittle between his teeth. Then the laughter died as quickly as it came, and she heard him suck in his breath sharply. “What is it?”

Poseidon’s eyes widened. “Percy,” he sighed with relief, his eyes brightening a little. “He made it. He is safe.”

Hera nodded, not speaking. He was safe, yes. But he was still a child without his mother. A mother whose blessing she had given, even though it clearly did not do her much good in the end. “Take care, my brother,” she said, and gave the sea god’s shoulder a light squeeze. Poseidon looked up at her, startled.

“Back to Olympus?”

She shook her head.

“I think it is time for me to pay our brother in the Underworld a visit.”

Chapter Text

Central Park

“Here we are, my lady,” Argus said gruffly. With a sweep of his hand, he gestured at the mass of boulders behind him. “The Doors of Orpheus.”

The goddess frowned slightly as she smoothed a hand over the silk scarf wrapped around her hair, her face hidden underneath her large, dark sunglasses. She couldn’t take any chances of being recognized, even though it was the middle of the night. If Zeus was as paranoid as Athena said he was, there was always the possibility that she was being followed.

“Here?” She asked, eyeing the rocks dubiously. “It looks so… plain.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Well,” she sighed. “The more unassuming, the better, I suppose.”

Overhead, a light rain was sprinkling, indicating that Zeus’s temper had finally waned – for the time being. But by the time the morning came, she knew that he would be looking for her, with flowers in his hand and a halfhearted apology on his tongue.

Spurred on by this thought, Hera turned to Argus. “How do we open this door?” She asked him, a little embarrassed. She had never entered the Underworld through any other door except the special door that was installed in Olympus, that only her or her siblings could pass through. But that door had been closed for decades now, ever since the di Angelo incident. Hades had shattered it from the other side, barring them from entering.

None had seen – or talked to him since.

Argus cleared his throat awkwardly. “This door was made by Orpheus,” he explained. “Thus it requires a song to be opened.”

“A song?” Hera repeated, both amused and bewildered. “What kind of song?”

“It can be any kind of music,” the giant told her. “It does not have to be beautiful. It just has to be earnest.” After Hera looked at him, dumbstruck by this information, he begrudgingly added. “If my lady requests it, I can…”

“No, no,” Hera cut him off. “I can do it.” She cleared her throat, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. She was no Muse, after all. “Very well then,” she murmured to herself, and very quietly, she began to hum the tune of an old lullaby she used to sing to her children.

The boulders in front of her began to split apart, opening up into a dark tunnel.

Argus clapped his hands in delight. “It’s working, my lady!”

The goddess gave an involuntary shudder as she stared into the dark entrance. It reminded her too much of her father – of his throat, when he’d swallowed her whole, entombing her in his belly. She drew her coat tighter around her, and felt Argus come to her side, as though he could sense her discomfort.

“My lady, my offer to follow you still stands.”

“It’s alright, Argus,” she said, giving the giant a small smile. She knew that he would follow her into the depths of Tartarus if she asked. “I can manage myself from here.”

“Please, be careful,” he warned her. “I fear Lord Hades will not take kindly to your visit.”

No, he won’t, she thought to herself, remembering Hades’ threat to Zeus after Maria di Angelo was killed.

I will take everything you love, as you did from me, the god of death had gritted through his teeth, his black eyes burning with white hot rage. You got everything you ever wanted. I want you to know what it feels like to have nothing.

“Do not worry,” the goddess reassured him, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “The bonds of family are always stronger than we think.” She patted him affectionately on the cheek, like a mother doting on her son. Over time, she’d come to see the giant as her own family. Sometimes she felt Argus cared for her welfare more than her own children. “Thank you, Argus.”

He bowed his head, blushing. “Safe travels, my queen.”

Holding her breath, Hera stepped into the tunnel, and began her descent.

*

She had every reason to hate the dark.

Before they became Olympians, darkness was all the five of them had ever known. Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, Poseidon. That was the order in which they had fallen into the pit of their father’s stomach. They spent the formative years of their existence living down there, in an abyss so dark that one could not even make out the shape of their own hands.

And it was quiet. So, so quiet. The silence down there was deafening. So much so, that for a period of time they believed themselves to be mute, until Hera had enough one day and screamed, her voice shattering the silence.

“LET ME OUT,” she had screamed. She cannot remember how the words came to her. She only remembers how dark it was — so dark that she found herself choking on it, imagining her lungs filling with inky blackness, and so she had squeezed her eyes shut and screamed.

And that was how they learned that they had their voices.

Hestia sang to them. Demeter cried. Poseidon talked too loudly and too often, like he wanted to fill up the silence with the sound of his voice. Hades, on the other hand, hardly ever spoke at all.

And Hera?

Hera screamed. She screamed until her throat was raw. She screamed for her father, so he would be constantly reminded of the suffering he put her through. For her mother, in hopes that she would come and rescue them. For her siblings. For herself. But mostly the goddess screamed because she knew that as long as she had a voice, she was alive, and that there was more to life than only darkness.

There is more, she used to tell herself. There is more to this life. I want more.

More, more, more—!

*

She’d gotten as far as the palace steps by the time Hades found her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a deep voice said, and Hera found her feet stuck to the black marble beneath them, unable to move. Her brother stepped out of the shadows, his mouth drawn in a thin, tight frown as he approached the goddess. “I could have you punished for trespassing, you know,” he added, slowly circling her like an animal stalking its prey. “Maybe I could have you turned to marble, right here, just like this. You would make a lovely statue.”

“I’m sure I would,” Hera replied coolly. “I’m not sure my husband would agree.”

Hades’ dark eyes narrowed at the mention of Zeus. So he still hates him, Hera thought with a sinking feeling in her chest—the pain of Maria di Angelo’s passing was still fresh in her brother’s mind. For their kind, after all, sixty years was nothing.

“All the more reason to do it,” he snarled. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to take away his most prized possession.”

“But I am your sister,” Hera said gently, ignoring his calculated jab at her. “And I know there is love in your heart for me yet, Hades.”

He looked at her, taken aback by her soft approach. But something in his cold, piercing gaze faltered, and he sighed heavily in defeat. So he still cares, she thought, feeling relieved. It comforted her to know he still valued his family, to some extent. “Follow me,” he grumbled, and she found her feet able to move again. “I know you would not come here unless it was important. You hate this place.”

It was true — she had not come to the Underworld since Hades’ wedding. “You are right,” Hera acquiesced, following him down a long corridor. She couldn’t pretend to like the Underworld even if she tried. She certainly wasn’t going to try to start now. “I came here to ask you for a favor, actually.”

Hades barked out a laugh. “And here I thought you simply wanted to see me, after all this time,” he quipped, and the sarcasm was not lost in his tone. “I was a fool to think you might have even missed me.”

The god stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “Let me make this brief for you, Sister, so you don’t have to spend any more time down here than necessary. There isn’t anything you could ask of me right now that I would agree to. Go try your luck elsewhere.”

Hera stared up at Hades. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror, sometimes. With their coal black hair and dark eyes, Hera and Hades bore the strongest resemblance to each other, among all of their siblings. These were the features they had inherited from their father—Kronos. It made them look formidable. At times, terrifying. But Hera was lucky to have inherited their mother’s beauty, and Hades had his mother’s gentleness, even if he rarely displayed it.

But Hera knew her brother — and his true nature. The side of himself that he hid long ago, to maintain his image as a strict and ruthless ruler.

The goddess remembered when they were still entombed in Kronos, and how she once knew him solely by the touch of his cold hand, reaching for hers in the darkness. She had been screaming. Don’t hurt yourself, a small, low voice had whispered in the dark. It was the first time she had ever heard her brother speak.

She reached for Hades’ hand now, and squeezed it. “I have missed you, you know,” she told him plainly. “I really have. And I will do anything to fix what has been broken.”

He looked pained, but then he steeled himself, pulling his hand away. “If you’re asking me to forgive him, I will never—”

“I didn’t come here because of that,” she blurted out, cutting right to the chase. “I need to see someone. A – A mortal.”

Hades frowned disapprovingly, but he looked curious. “Who?”

She stared down at her feet. “Her name is Sally Jackson,” she said quietly. “She should have arrived here no more than a few hours ago.”

Even Hades, who could hide his emotions better than anyone she knew, looked shocked. “The demigod’s mother. Why?”

Hera folded her arms over her chest. “She’s… She’s one of mine,” she confessed, feeling herself blush. “I gave her my blessing.”

“You gave a demigod’s mother your blessing,” Hades said slowly in disbelief. “You.”

“I didn’t know her child was a demigod!”

“Hm.” Hades looked at her curiously. “What do you want with her?”

She appreciated how straightforward Hades was, and wondered if she’d grown too used to the constant theatrics of her peers in Olympus. “I wish to speak with her,” she answered.

He narrowed his black eyes. “About?”

“She died without knowing if her son survived,” Hera said quietly. “She deserves to know he is safe. I owe her that.”

“Well, that is a pity,” Hades said mockingly, his voice cold as ice, and Hera realized the trap she’d walked right into. “That reminds me, my children deserved to grow up with their mother. Now they live alone and unloved, believing themselves to be orphans.”

Hera wrung her hands, at a loss. “I’m… sorry."

“You’re sorry?” He repeated incredulously, and laughed wildly. The sound made Hera cringe—it was harsh and unnatural in his mouth. “Get out,” he gritted through his teeth, and the air seemed to grow colder as he took an ominous step towards her. “I should not have even let you come this far. This was a mistake.”

“Hades, I’m sorry—”

“Stop saying that!” The god bellowed, and the ground beneath them rumbled as the palace around them groaned, like it was alive. Losing her balance, Hera grabbed onto a pillar for support, hiding her face so he couldn’t see the terror that flashed across her face.

“You’re not sorry,” Hades hissed, turning his face away from her. “What do you care of my pain? No one in this wretched family cares for anyone but themselves—”

Hera’s head swiveled around sharply at that.  “How dare you,” she interrupted him. “You accuse me of not caring?” She raised her voice, not caring if anyone could hear her. “Do you remember when Zeus freed us? Do you remember when Demeter saw you and cried, because she said you frightened her? Because you looked like father. They thought you were strange, and different. But not me. I defended you! Because you are my—”

“Family,” Hades finished for her. The anger in his eyes had subsided, now replaced by something that looked like shame. “Yes, I know. I – I remember.”

Hera sighed, massaging her temple. “I didn’t come here to fight, Hades,” she said wearily. “If you want me to leave, I will go.”

“No,” Hades said, rather hastily. “I mean—” He lowered his eyes, unable to look at her. “You can stay,” he conceded, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Stay.”

Hera gave him a small smile. “Alright,” she acquiesced, relieved that the two of them had finally reached a tentative peace. “And what of Sally Jackson?” She added, and Hades’ face fell, like he’d been hoping she would have forgotten the original purpose of her visit. “May I see her?”

Wordlessly, her brother made a small gesture with his hand, and a door carved out of obsidian appeared out of thin air before them. “There is something I should tell you,” Hades said as he snapped his fingers. The door opened with a blast of cold air that made Hera shiver. “But what I tell you next, I am swearing you to the utmost secrecy, Hera.”

The goddess peered over his shoulder into the gaping blackness that the door opened into, fighting back another involuntary shudder. “What is it?”

“I suppose it might bring you some relief to know,” the god began as he beckoned her to follow him through the door. “That Sally Jackson is not actually dead. Not yet.”

*

Sally was dreaming. She was either dreaming, or she was dead , because Uncle Rich was standing in front of her, and he had been dead since she was seventeen years old.

They were standing in a wide and open field, the long grass swaying in the breezeless air. Sally gasped when she felt something brush her arm, and watched as another person walked straight past her, not even seeming to notice her. There were people everywhere, she realized. All around her, milling about aimlessly. But their faces were blank and quiet, like they weren’t entirely there.

They… They were like ghosts.

Unnerved by this realization, Sally turned back to the familiar sight of her uncle’s face. “Uncle Rich?”

“Hello,” he said, and she was shocked to hear his real voice, not that whittled down, raspy whisper that the lung cancer had reduced him to in those last final months. He looked better too. Healthy. His skin was no longer sallow, his cheeks no longer sunken.

“Oh my—” Sally threw her arms around her uncle, who had no reaction. “Uncle Rich! Is that really you?”

“Who?” Her uncle replied, and Sally’s heart sank in her chest. Could she be wrong? Had she mistaken a stranger for her uncle? But then she looked at his eyes and saw the same shade of blue staring back at her, and she knew it had to be him.

“Who’re you?” Rich asked, and Sally felt a pang deep and low in her gut.

She tried to smile. “It’s me, Rich,” she replied. “It’s Sally.”

Her uncle looked at her contemplatively, and she stared back at him, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “I dunno,” he said after a long pause. “I don’t remember nothin’ anymore.”

“I’m your niece,” Sally said, and Rich blinked, completely unfazed by this development. “You – You raised me after Mom and Dad…” She shook her head. Trying to explain was clearly useless. “Am I dead?” She asked him, and his eyes seemed to light up in understanding.

But then he looked her up and down, and his face was flooded with confusion all over again. “I dunno,” he answered. “Who’re you?”

She bit her lip, trying not to cry, when she suddenly heard a voice overhead that made her skin crawl. You should not be out here, mortal woman, the voice said, half playful, half scoldingly. It sounded unnatural. Inhuman. Your fate has not been decided yet. For now, you will sleep.

She felt her eyelids grow heavy.

Sleep, Sally Jackson.

*

Hera followed Hades into a dimly lit room carved entirely from black marble, the only source of light being a large fireplace, crackling with cold white flames. And there, in the center of the room, stood the figure of a mortal woman, encased in a beam of golden light. Hera gasped audibly at the sight of her.

Sally Jackson. The woman’s hazel eyes were round with fear, her mouth still open in a half formed cry. Hera shuddered at the sight of it.

“Can – Can she hear us?” She asked her brother, who shook his head. She waved her hand in front of Sally’s face. “Or see us?”

“She is in a deep sleep,” Hades explained. “Well, really, she is on the precipice of death. In limbo, as one might say. It’s possible that she might even be able to see the dead. I managed to stop her soul from fully passing on, but I haven’t brought her back to the side of the living.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t decided what to do with her yet.”

Hera pursed her lips as she carefully examined Sally. “But there is… there is still a chance that she will live?”

“Yes. If I decide it.”

She looked back at Hades, arching an eyebrow. “You kept her like this on purpose. Why?”

“I supposed that she would make a good bargain. In case her thief of a son decides to negotiate with me.”

“And what if the boy does not have what you want?”

“Then she will stay, and she will die,” Hades answered with an air of cold indifference. He walked across the room and joined Hera’s side, staring pensively at the mortal woman like she was nothing more than a statue, and they were in a museum. “She is quite lovely,” he admitted after a long silence. “It’s no surprise Poseidon was willing to break the Oath for her.”

“And look where it’s gotten her,” Hera retorted sharply.

Her brother had no response to that.

“I wish to speak to her. May I speak to her now?”

Hades lowered his eyes, frowning. “Well,” he began, and Hera took a sharp breath, sensing trouble, by the sound of his voice. “The bind I’ve been using to keep her here, in this state, well, it is incredibly powerful. If I were to undo the bind, and release a living, breathing mortal into the Underworld—face to face with you, no less—she would go blind with madness.”

Seeing the look of disappointment on Hera’s face, he added in a low voice, “I’m sorry I did not tell you sooner. I thought if you knew… you would leave.”

She sighed, but any anger or irritation was extinguished by the sincerity of her brother’s apology. “So there is no way I can speak to her?”

“Not unless you want her to go mad.”

Hera tapped her chin, thinking. She is in a deep sleep. “You said she was asleep,” she remarked, and looked up at Hades curiously. “Does that mean she can dream?”

His black eyes widened, the gears in his mind turning. “Yes. Yes, I suppose she is. You want to try to speak to her through a dream, don’t you?”

“I don’t suppose you could call in Morpheus for a favor, could you?” Hera asked him sweetly.

She was no siren, but when they were young, she’d always seemed to be able to talk Hades into doing favors for her. He was far more compliant than Zeus, who could be pigheaded, and the thought of asking Poseidon for anything back then was laughable.

She hoped she had the same luck now. “Please?”

Hades rubbed his forehead, hesitating, before sighing loudly. “Very well.”

Hera bit back a pleased smile. It was comforting to know that some things hadn’t changed.

*

Sally woke up with sand in her mouth, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“Ack!”

She sat up straight, spitting out the mouthful of sand in disgust. When she blinked her eyes open, she saw the ocean at her feet, the sea foam dancing at her toes as the sound of waves flooded her ears.

Montauk. She was back in Montauk.

She could feel the sun beating down on her, the sunlight warm on her skin as she shakily rose to her feet. Overhead, the sky was a clear, cloudless blue. It was summer, and she was wearing blue.

“Sally!” A voice called out behind her. Sally froze, her feet locked in the wet sand as the waves splashed around her. She knew that voice. She thought she would have forgotten it by now, but as soon as she heard it she felt like a child again, longing to be held and protected.

“M-Mom?”

She turned around ever so slowly, towards the direction of the speaker, and her mouth fell open in shock as she looked her mother in square in the face.

Sally silently took in her mother’s chestnut brown hair, so similar to her own, and the outline of her lips, slightly chapped from the sun, curved into a warm smile. The skirt of her white sundress ripples in the breeze. Her mother is just like she remembered her—beautiful and bright and young. They are practically the same age now.

“Mom!” Sally threw her arms around the other woman’s neck, squeezing tight. She was too afraid to let go, afraid that the wind would take her mother away from her again.

“Oh, Sally,” her mother said, and there was something different about her voice. It sounded lower. Older. Like someone else entirely was speaking through her mother’s mouth. “You brave girl.” 

Sally closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of sea salt and suntan lotion on her mother’s skin. “Am I dead?” 

For a moment her mother is silent. “No,” she says after a pause. She doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “You are not.”

“Am I dreaming?”

Her mother pulled back to look her straight in the eye, her brow furrowed in concern. Sally makes a strange observation in that moment — her mother’s eyes were brown. Not blue. She remembered her mother’s eyes being blue.

“What do you remember, before you came here?” Her mother asked.

“Um.” Sally wetted her lips, thinking. “I – I saw Uncle Rich in this field, like… like we were in Kansas or something. And then, before that, I…” Her voice trailed off as she strained her mind to remember the events preceding her strange encounter with Uncle Rich.

“It’s alright,” her mother said, noticing her struggling. “Do you know where your son is?”

“Percy?” Sally blinked. “Yes, of course, he’s—” She found her mind blank, and she felt something like a stone in the pit of her stomach, a kernel of panic unfurling inside of her. “Percy, is he okay?! Is he in danger?” She smacked a palm to her forehead. “I – I can’t remember. I can’t remember where he is!”

Her mother shushed her gently. “Your son is safe, Sally.”

Her voice was soothing, but Sally still gnawed at her bottom lip with worry. “I want to believe you,” she said. “But I don’t even know how I’m talking to you right now.”

Her mother smiled wistfully, cupping her face with one hand. “Call it a dream, then. A good one, I hope.”

Sally craned her neck towards the sky, squinting against the bright glare of the sun. “I used to dream about you all the time,” she found herself saying. “When I was little. Sometimes it felt like I saw you every night. But then I had Percy, and you stopped being in my dreams. It was like I didn’t have time to think about you anymore, when I had to be someone else’s mother. I did everything by myself, too. And it was hard, Mom. It was really, really hard.”

Her mother was quiet, listening intently.

“But sometimes… I used to get this feeling. That someone was watching me, and when I felt like that I knew everything was going to be okay. I told myself that it was you. Even though it wasn’t, probably. I’m not sure.”

“Who did you think it was?”

“I don’t know. Maybe an angel, or – or something.”

“An angel,” her mother repeated, sounding slightly amused. “Like the Christians believe in?”

Sally frowned. “I guess. I don’t… I don’t know what I believe in anymore.” She looked out towards the ocean. “I wish you could have met him,” she said softly. “Percy, I mean.”

“I have seen him. He has his father’s eyes.”

“Yeah, he doe— Wait, how’d you know that?”

Her mother’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve been watching you.”

“So it was you, then.” Sally smiled. “My guardian angel.” She looked down at her feet, where water was beginning to pool around her ankles. The tide was rising. “I wish you never got on that plane,” she said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “You know, I was all alone after you guys were gone. I really needed you and Dad.”

Her mother’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “They – We never meant to leave you, Sally.”

“But you did.” Sally rubbed at her eyes, sniffing loudly. The water had risen up to her knees. “You left me.”

“I’m sorry, Sally.”

The waves were drawing nearer. They looked bigger. Ominous. Like they were threatening to crash over their heads. Sally wanted to move, but she found her feet planted firmly in the wet stand, stuck. The water made her think of Poseidon, and she remembered the little castle under the sea that he promised her.

“Mom, take my hand,” she called out, reaching out for her. The waves crashed around them, almost knocking her over. “Mom!” But her mother shook her head, and turned towards the sea. “Mom,” Sally pleaded, and she sounded like a little kid again, small and frightened. “Mom, please. I can’t lose you again.”

Her mother looked at her lovingly. “Your mother’s love will always be with you,” she said. “It lives on in you, Sally Jackson.”

“Who are you?”

A wave knocked Sally over, and she felt face first into the churning water. When she got back to her feet, choking and spitting up water, her mother was nowhere to be seen. “Mom?” She screamed, her throat burning. Her eyes stung. She couldn’t tell if it was from the water or from crying. “Mom, come back!”

She was treading water now, her feet unable to hang onto the sand. The waves were roaring in her ears, and she had to raise her voice to hear herself over them. “Take me with you!” She shouted hoarsely. “I’m ready, Mom. I’m ready to go—”

No, a voice cut her off. It was deep and low and made her blood run cold in her veins. It is not your time yet, Sally Jackson. Your fate has yet to be decided.

“I want to wake up now,” Sally said. She wanted to wake up in her tiny apartment in Manhattan, with the sound of the city in her ears. She almost missed the thought of Gabe snoring loudly besides her. “I said, I want to wake up!”

You are better off in your dreams, for the time being, another voice said. It was the same voice from the fields, when she saw Uncle Rich.

“Shut up,” she retorted bluntly. “I’m not scared of you.” She swore she heard a laugh, somewhere in the distance.

It was then that she suddenly felt the water pulling her into a large wave, possibly the largest she’d ever seen. It was going to swallow her whole. Panic seized her, but she tried to remain calm.

You love the sea, she reminded herself. You love the sea. You love—

The wave crashed over her, sending her tumbling into the depths of the ocean.

*

“Will she be alright?” Hera asked, staring into Sally’s frozen face. The silver-haired figure standing beside her stirred back to life, slowly blinking their eyes open as they stretched their arms over their head. “I fear appearing to her as her mother might have been too distressing.”

“She will be fine,” the stranger assured her. She turned her head and was met with the dream god’s piercing blue gaze. Morpheus, the lord of dreams. “My queen,” he remembered to add. “It has been a while since our paths have crossed, no? I have not seen an Olympian in these halls since—”

“That will be all, Morpheus,” Hades interrupted curtly from the fireplace, where he stood with his back turned to the flames, watching them carefully. “We appreciate your assistance.” The tone in his voice was final, as if to say, Now leave.

Morpheus nodded in understanding. He smiled, but his jaw was tight as he bowed to Hera. “My queen.”

“Morpheus.”

“I can see myself out, thank you,” the god of dreams said over his shoulder as Hades took a step towards him. He sauntered over towards the door. “You know how to find me.”

They waited until the god had closed the door behind him, until the sound of his footsteps had receded. “I hope you will forgive the tension. He has been acting strange as of late,” Hades told Hera quietly. “He disappears for long stretches of time, unseen and unheard.”

“Sounds like my husband,” Hera quipped dryly, and an awkward silence hung over their heads, until Hades cleared his throat, gesturing at the two chairs in front of the fireplace.

“Come, sit. You should drink something.”

Hera sank into the smaller chair, running her hands over the flowers carved into the wooden armrests. “This is your wife’s chair,” she observed out loud, as Hades poured nectar into two small fluted glasses. “I should not sit here.”

“I assure you she will take no offense to it,” Hades said as he handed her one of the glasses. Hera took a small sip. Nectar was powerful, even for immortals—that single small sip revitalized her. “She would give it to you herself, if she were here.”

“How is fair Persephone?” Hera asked politely. She still found herself thinking of the spring goddess as Demeter’s daughter first, rather than the queen of the Underworld. In her eyes, she was still a child. Demeter thought the same, evidently. She still coddled her daughter, and bemoaned the months that she left for the Underworld.

Her brother’s face brightened ever so slightly at the mention of his wife. “With her mother,” he answered, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. “The days are lonely without her.”

“She will return to you soon.”

The harsh lines of Hades’ pale face faded away as he smiled at the thought of his wife. Hera felt a knot in her stomach, and she stared into the bottom of her glass as Hades straightened in his seat. “What is the matter?” He asked, noticing the sudden shift in her mood.

“You smile so easily for Persephone, and yet…” She hesitated, unsure of herself.

“Go on,” Hades prodded. “Say what you mean to say.”

The words slipped out of her mouth before she could think better of them. “You love your wife, and yet you still mourn that mortal woman. Is one love not enough for you?”

Hades looked away, the expression on his face impossible to read. That was something she never liked about him—one wouldn’t know if he was angry until it was too late. She flattened her back against her seat, bracing herself for the worst.

“I did not intend it,” Hades said absentmindedly, and Hera looked over at him in confusion. “I did not intend to love Maria. It – It was beyond my control.”

She gave him a pointed look. “You think you had no choice in the matter, did you?”

“Love is not a choice,” Hades replied. His eyes were distant. “It simply happens to us, and only then are we able to make our own decisions about what to do with it.”

Her fingers tightened on the arms of her chair, nails scraping against wood. “With that sort of logic, you may as well be telling me that Zeus has had no choice but to humiliate me all these years—"

“Your husband doesn’t do the things he does for love,” Hades cut her off. She notes how he doesn’t use Zeus’s own name, like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “He just wants to be worshipped. But what I shared with Maria, I—”

He paused abruptly, looking down at his hands. Around one of his fingers, a ring – a black band of onyx – glinted in the light of the fireplace. His wedding ring.

“My love for Maria does not diminish my love for Persephone,” he explained to Hera quietly. “I love them both. But—” His black eyes narrowed, and she detected a trace of bitterness in his next words. “But I suppose you wouldn’t understand. You have only ever loved Zeus.”

She blinks in surprise to hear his name come out of Hades’ lips, even though he spits it out like the words are poison to him. “No,” she agreed with him. “I do not understand.” But she reached across the space between them and rested her hand over his. “But the only thing that really matters to me is that you are happy, Hades. And if that mortal – Maria,” she corrected herself. “If Maria made you feel that way, then I am sorry that she was taken from you. I truly am. I hope you will believe me.”

Hades said nothing, but he put his other hand over hers, his eyes focused on the flames dancing in the fireplace. But she heard it anyways, all the same, in the silence they shared together.

I believe you.

*

Washington D.C., 1944

“All this, over a mortal woman,” Demeter had spat, her feet crunching loudly over broken glass as she entered the hotel room, or what little remained of it. “When he is married to my Persephone, no less. It’s disgusting.”

Hera had turned from where she’d been standing, in front of a toppled crystal chandelier, her reflection scattered in the bits of glass on the floor. “I don’t understand it either,” she said, looking up at the sky, darkened with smog. A light rain fell over their heads, and in the distance, she heard the droning of planes. Off to war, she thought to herself bitterly. Off to die. “I… I thought he was happy.”

Demeter made a noise of disgust in her throat. “Happiness makes no difference. You know what they’re like. He just wanted more. They just want to take every pretty little earthly delight that crosses their sight—”

“I know,” Hera snapped, the insinuation in her voice all too clear. Don’t remind me.

Her sister scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “I hope I don’t sound too awful,” she said. “But, in a way, I am glad he found solace in that woman, if only because I got to see Zeus rip it right out of his hands. Now he knows the pain I felt, when he took my only child from me.” She looked over at Hera and smiled, baring her teeth. “Do I surprise you?” She asked. “You’re not the only one who can be cruel, you know.”

“Persephone agreed to marry him,” Hera reminded Demeter primly, ignoring the obvious slight directed towards her. “It was her choice, in the end.”

Demeter looked like she’d been struck across the face. “You always take his side,” the earth goddess said accusingly, pointing her finger in Hera’s face. Anger rippled in her brown eyes. “Even though you should have been the most understanding. You are a mother too!”

“We have more pressing matters at hand, Demeter,” Hera snapped, tearing the red cross lapel pinned to the front of Demeter’s coat and shaking it in her face. “People are dropping dead like flies. Children being rounded up like cattle for slaughter. What about their mothers? The entire world is tearing itself apart, and you’re still sulking over your daughter’s marriage?!”

She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. There was enough conflict in the world at the moment—she didn’t want to deepen any more rifts. “I’m sorry,” she said, more quietly. “I know she is the light in your life. You are the most loving mother I know.”

Demeter softened at the compliment, but her jaw was still clenched. “I wish it had been you,” she murmured, so softly that Hera had to strain to catch her words.

“You wish it had been my child instead?” She bit back a smile, trying to imagine Hades married to any of her daughters. Enyo would have eaten him alive.

“I wish it had been you,” Demeter repeated, her face cold and impassive. “You were better suited for the Underworld than my Persephone ever will be.”

Hera was so momentarily stunned that she forgot how to speak. “You don’t know what you are saying.”

“Don’t be a fool, Hera!” Demeter cried out, her frustration boiling over. “She even looks like you. Isn’t it obvious?! He couldn’t have you, so he took her instead—”

There was a harsh crack in the air as Hera slapped her sister square across the face. “What are you doing?” She hissed. She half expected Zeus to appear there himself, and throttle them both for even having this conversation. “Are you trying to get yourself blown out of the sky?!”

She was unnerved by the smile on Demeter’s face, her cheek bright red from where her hand had made contact. “It’s true,” she laughed, and spat ichor on the ground, wiping the corner of her bruising mouth. “You’re either a brilliant actress, or you’re really as blind as Tiresias.” She smoothed back strands of her wheat blonde hair, recomposing herself. “My Persephone wasn’t born for that world,” she choked out. “She was born to feel the wind in her air, and the grass under her feet. She wasn’t made for that – that cage.”

Hera couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice. “But I was?”

Demeter looked at her somewhat guiltily. “There is a darkness in you,” she admitted. “Death becomes you, Hera.”

The room fell silent, save for the sound of planes droning overhead and the traffic in the streets below. Hera cleared her throat. “I should not have hit you,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “You – You should hit me back.”

It was the kind of logic they used as children, and the two of them almost smiled because it sounded so silly. She felt an ache in her chest, longing for the days when they used to play together in fields of wildflowers, when neither had known yet what the world held in store for them. But Demeter shook her head. “I don’t need to,” she said, and Hera understood the implication. I have already hurt you, her sister meant. The damage has been dealt.

And it was true. Her words had twisted in her like a knife, deeper than any physical pain could inflict.

There is a darkness in you.

*

“Why did you help her?” Hades asked. They walked slowly through the palace gardens, side by side, as Hera halfheartedly inspected the leaves of a silver poplar tree. The garden was clearly Persephone’s influence—it was the most colorful part of the Underworld, the only place where life still flourished. “I don’t recall you ever being so fond of mortals.”

She turned her nose up in a haughty manner. “What is there to be fond of?”

“You loved Jason,” the god countered.

She stiffened at the name. At the memory. Her golden boy. Her hero. “I did,” she replied. She’d nearly loved him like he was one of her own, to the point where Ares became sick with envy. “I thought he was different. And then he proved himself to be as weak as any other man.”

Hades was watching her keenly. “Still, you came here on your own accord. For her. You wouldn’t do that for anyone.”

She walked towards the base of a pomegranate tree, brushing her hands over the leaves. She grasped one of the ripe fruit between her fingers, wetting her lips with hunger, before she remembered where she was. Her hand dropped down to her side, fingers twitching. For a moment, she imagined herself in Persephone’s place, and wondered if the young goddess had eaten the pomegranate unwittingly, as some accounts said. Like Demeter claimed.

Or perhaps, she had known the consequences, and had taken a bite despite them. Perhaps the spring flower had thorns of her own making. 

“I wanted to remember what it was like to be good,” Hera answered honestly. “I wanted to feel like the goddess people used to love. Not the one they feared.”

Hades nodded, understanding her clearly. He was the god of death—the title alone was enough to make mortals afraid of him. Perhaps that was why he loved Maria, who saw nothing to fear in him.

“You are good,” he said. It was kind of him.

She tried to smile, but felt her bottom lip wobbling. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, anyways,” she said, her voice tight. “There won’t be a world to worry about when we’re done tearing each other apart.”

“The tide can always turn,” Hades responded, in a weak attempt to comfort her. But it was not a promise. She knew that he could declare war on her husband by tomorrow, if he wished.

Hera quickly wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “You sound like Poseidon.” That idiot loves his ocean metaphors, she thought to herself, and felt an unusual rush of affection for the sea god. She supposed she had come here for his sake, just as much as Sally Jackson’s. “Thank you,” she remembered to say, at last. “I thought you would turn me away.”

“You?” Hades shook his head. “Never.” His lips twitched in amusement. “Besides, you never take no for an answer. Though I am surprised you came here on your own, willingly.”

Hera stared up at the leaves of the pomegranate tree. “Demeter said this should have been my domain, once,” she confessed quietly, to a startled looking Hades. She chose her words carefully, dancing around what Demeter had really meant. “She thinks I am better suited for this place than Olympus. Do – Do you think she was right?”

His brow furrowed. “You? Here? In the Underworld?” He shook his head dismissively. “No.”

His reply was so quick, so self-assured, that Hera almost felt offended. “No?” She pressed. She wasn’t going to be able to let this go now. “Why not?”

He sighed, like he didn’t want to elaborate, but then he began to speak. “I remember when I saw you, after Zeus had rescued us. We were half blind, because we’d never seen the sun before. Do you remember?” He closed his eyes, as if he were imagining it in his mind. “I could not see,” he continued. “It was so bright. I thought I had gone blind, and then…”

He opened his eyes. “And then I saw you. You were dancing, with our sisters. And, well, I remember thinking that I had never seen someone made of sunlight before.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I knew it then. You were made for that world. A world filled with light, like you. Just as I was made for this world.” He smiled at her wistfully. “I know you pitied me in secret, but I never minded the darkness like you did, Hera. I prefer it, really.”

“You are happy, then? Here?”

The god paused. “Well – I will be happier once my helm has been returned to me.”

She cringed. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

“And I would be happier, if your husband tried to give me an earnest apology.” He fixed her with a knowing stare. “For my loss.”

She wrung her hands, getting the message. “I see.” Glancing down at the gold watch on her wrist, her eyes widened. “I must go. The sun will be rising soon.”

“So you will rise with it,” Hades said, steering her back towards the palace, where they found themselves back in the hallway when she had first entered. He walked her further into the palace, until they stopped in front of what appeared to be an old-fashioned elevator. Judging by the handiwork, it had to date back to the mid twentieth century. “This will take you back to the surface the quickest,” he explained. “I – I had this made for Maria and the children. Should they have wished to visit me.”

Hera looked up at him as he pulled the bars across the elevator. “I will not forget the kindness you gave me today, Brother.”

He bowed his head to her. “Give yourself more credit. My kindness is all owed to yours, Sister.”

*

The god of dreams greatly admired the mortal woman’s courage in the face of things she had no way of understanding, so he imparted her with a gift before he left her mind.

One more dream.

Sally washed up on the shores of a beach. It wasn’t Montauk—it couldn’t be. The sand was too white, the water too clear. Palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze overhead. It was the most beautiful beach she’d ever seen in her life, like something on the cover of a travel catalogue. The kind of place a person like her could only ever dream of seeing.

She sat in the sand, staring dumbfounded at the scenery, when she heard a voice that made her heart leap to her throat.

“Mom!”

Percy ran to her, throwing his arms around her neck, and Sally nearly wept for joy as she clutched him to her chest. “Thank the gods,” she breathed, her voice wet with tears. “Thank the gods.” She brushed Percy’s bangs back so she could inspect his face clearly, cupping his face in her hands. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Her son rolled his eyes. “I’m completely fine,” he retorted with the insolence of every teenager ever. “You have to stop worrying about me, Mom.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on,” he said. “Dad’s waiting.”

That threw her for a loop. “Are you talking about Gabe?” She asked in astonishment.

Percy’s sea green eyes blinked in confusion. “Who’s Gabe?”

When she didn’t respond, the teenager rose to his feet, dusting the sand off his swim shorts. “Mom, come on,” he said, holding his hand out. “Seriously. Dad’s making mahi mahi tacos. Your favorite.”

“Wait—” Sally closed her eyes, trying to clear her spinning head. “Your – Your father. What does he look like?”

Percy cracked a carefree grin, his green eyes twinkling in amusement. “Uh, Mom, did you hit your head on a rock or something? You’re always saying I look just like him.”

It was obvious to her then. This is a dream, she realized. 

Percy looked at her, perplexed. “Mom?! You’re crying!”

She forced a wobbly smile to her lips as she brushed the tears from her eyes. “I know. It’s okay, honey. I’m – I’m just really happy.”

If this is a dream, so be it, she thought. At least it is a good one.

She took Percy’s hand and rose to her feet, smiling down at her son. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s go see your father.”

*

Zeus found his wife perched on the edge of the roof of a sixty story high rise building, staring out at the horizon.

“What in Gaia’s name are you doing?”

“Enjoying the sunrise,” she answered without turning her head. She patted the space beside her invitingly, and with a grunt, the king of the gods swung his legs over the iron scaffolding and sat down next to her.

“There are better places to see the sun rise,” he said. “More beautiful places. I could take you to them right now.”

But she shook her head, her eyes unblinking. He found her calmness unnerving. He much preferred it when she was emotional, even if it meant getting a scratch or two.

“I am sorry,” Zeus said cautiously. “For last night.”

“Do you think I make a good queen?”

“What?” Zeus sputtered, completely taken aback by the question. “Of course, darling. You were always my only choice—”

“No, not like that.” Hera waved a hand dismissively, cutting him off. “Am I a good queen, for Olympus? For our people?” She frowned, her deep brown eyes round with worry. “Do they love me? Or do I scare them so much they have to pretend they love me?”

This was certainly not the conversation Zeus expected to be having. “Well, you are scary,” he replied in jest. “Terrifying, really.” Smiling, he glanced at his wife, and was dismayed to see her expression still unchanged. Switching tactics, he leaned in closer to her, taking her hand in his. “Scary or not,” he told her. “I love you all the same.”

She swung her legs idly over the ledge. One of her high heels was dangling from her toes, threatening to fall. Zeus reached forward and slipped it back on. “I just don’t want to be remembered like our father,” she confessed. “I know I’ve inherited his capacity for anger.” She absentmindedly toyed with the clasp of her golden wristwatch. “His hatred. His darkness—”

Zeus lightly grabbed her chin, turning her face to look at him. “I will not deny you your faults,” he said. “For I have them too.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But you are not like him, Hera. You are infinitely more kind, more loving, more good—”

Her eyes searched his own, as if she were searching for the truth. “You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

She looked down at her hand in his, and gave it a slight squeeze, before deftly changing the subject. “Is there news, of the demigod?”

“Hm? Oh.” Zeus made a face. “Him. I’ve received word from Dionysus of a newcomer, under the care of Chiron at his camp. I think it might be him.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Well, if he is the thief you say he is, you need him alive. How else will we find the whereabouts of your bolt?”

The god sighed, annoyed. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

“I usually am,” she reminded him, with a slight air of condescension that delighted Zeus, because she was acting normal again. She caught him smiling at her and laughed. “You see? I am not always good.” She shook her head. “But I – I would like to be. I would like to try.”

“I would like to be, too,” Zeus admitted quietly. His face wore the lines of his fatigue, all of his exhaustion finally catching up to him. Even gods had their limits. “And I… I do not want to lose another brother over this prophecy.”

Hera stroked his cheek. “No,” she agreed. “Me neither.”

He looked out at the sun, which was now rising over the cityscape, painting the skyscrapers awash with a golden pink hue. “Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere?” He asked his wife. “We could go to Everest. We could climb it, even. You know what Ares says. Light exercise might do us some good.”

Hera shook her head, visibly lost in thought. “I have forgotten how lucky I am, to see the sun rise.” She lowered her eyes to her hands in her lap. “You don’t know what it was like. To grow up in the darkness. For a time, I thought that I’d done something wrong, that - that I belonged there. I never thought I’d see anything as beautiful as the sky.”

As beautiful as you, she thought. The god had left her dazed, the first time she laid eyes on him. For Zeus had grown up under the warmth of the sun, never touched by the darkness of their father’s cruelty. She wondered if that was what had drawn her to him. She wanted to be near his light. She wanted to forget the dark. She’d always wanted more.

“You belong here,” Zeus said. “Watching the sun rise. With me.”

Evidently, he had said something right, because the goddess finally smiled, and he was pleased to feel her lips on his.

*

Camp Half Blood

Argus’s eyes snapped open as he jolted awake. He’d been standing guard over the demigod for two days, who had barely stirred in his sleep. A camper poked her head through the doorway, her sharp grey eyes glinting with curiosity as she stared at the sleeping demigod. Then she caught Argus watching her, and her face reddened.

“Did he say anything?” She asked quietly.

Argus merely shook his head, and the girl shrank away from the door, disappointed. The children of Athena always wanted answers, but sometimes they were annoyingly persistent about it. Still, the camp had been buzzing with excitement since news of the mysterious newcomer had spread.

Then the giant heard a small moan, from the bed, and a frail voice, croaking, “Mom…?”

The camper rushed back into the room and was at the boy’s bedside before Argus could stop her. Together, they watched the demigod’s eyes flutter open.

“Green eyes,” Annabeth observed matter-of-factly. “Like grass. Maybe he’s Demeter’s son?”

Argus grunted.

“He’s not bad looking,” she added thoughtfully. “Maybe Aphrodite is his mother.”

Argus snickered, and the daughter of Athena’s face turned pink with embarrassment. “Whatever,” she scoffed, feigning disinterest. “He – He drools in his sleep!”

Chapter Text

June 11 (10 Days till Solstice)

(AKA Percy Jackson Receives His First Quest)

They gathered in the throne room in secret—all of the major Olympians, except for Hades and Poseidon, whose absences were to be expected.

Hades had not stepped foot in Olympus since the end of the last world war, and even then the visit lasted only a matter of seconds—just long enough for him to sign the pact between himself and his brothers, to prevent a war of that scale from ever occurring again. He was gone before the ink could even dry.

As for Poseidon, no one had seen or heard from him for several days, and now it had become abundantly clear why, ever since the news from Camp Half Blood had finally broken out.

The god of the sea has a mortal son.

The room buzzed with a nervous energy as the gods who were present whispered amongst themselves, most of them still shocked by this revelation. When Hera accidentally made eye contact with Athena, the goddess of wisdom gave her a knowing look, as if to say, I told you so. Hera turned her head away to hide her scowl, refusing to give her stepdaughter any vindication.

“I’m not surprised,” she overhead Aphrodite saying to Artemis, who couldn’t have looked more disinterested in the conversation taking place. “Forbidden romance has always been so in.” The love goddess’s eyes flickered to Ares as she spoke, giving him a look so obscene and indiscreet that Hera felt like slapping her.

“Hello Sister,” a warm voice murmured, and Hera was surprised but happy to see Hestia standing next to her, her face half hidden beneath a brown shawl. She linked her arm with Hera’s and steered the two of them to a quiet corner, where they could speak without being disturbed.

“Don’t mind her,” Hestia whispered, clearly referring to Aphrodite, who was now twirling her hair around her finger as she shamelessly flirted with Ares. “She is only upset that this business with Poseidon has taken all the attention away from her.”

“Oh good, you’re both here,” came another voice. Demeter joined them, wearing a smile on her face. She was always happier in the summertime, when Persephone was with her. She still had dirt on her hands, as though she’d come straight from the garden. “My sisters. You look well.”

“Likewise,” Hestia greeted warmly. “Yes,” Hera added politely. The three sisters stood there, united but awkward. The threads of their bond were frayed—they were not as close with each other as they used to be. And yet in times of trouble they often found themselves drawn to each other out of instinct, the way they had since they were children.

Demeter put her hands on her hips, surveying the room with a frown. “What a mess,” she sighed. “We cannot even go twenty years without one of those idiots breaking their own oath.”

Hestia’s eyes swiftly moved to Hera’s, whose jaw had involuntarily clenched. She didn't like being reminded of her husband's infidelity.

The doors to the throne room swung open, and the room fell silent as the sound of Zeus’s heavy footsteps echoed against the marble walls. “Be seated,” he commanded, his voice booming like thunder, and the gods scattered apart as everyone retreated to their respective thrones. Hera took her seat beside her husband, who leaned back in his throne lazily, clearly trying to mask his own exhaustion with an air of indifference.

“It has come to my attention that my brother has broken his oath,” he began. “Dionysus has come all the way from the camp to confirm it. Perseus Jackson is a demigod, claimed by Poseidon himself.”

“Did you see it?” Athena asked, staring across the room at Dionysus, who was slouched in his seat. “With your very own eyes?”

The god of wine rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need to. They’ve got the same eyes, same hair. The little twerp asks too many questions for his own good and gets into trouble if you take your eyes off of him for even a second.”

“Yeah, that’s his son, alright,” Hermes said with a smirk, entertained.

Artemis raised her hand, not speaking until Zeus nodded to her. “Does this mean the prophecy is real, then?” She asked bluntly, and the room exploded into chaos as everyone began to argue with each other.  

“Do you really still believe in that nonsense?!”

“Hey, that nonsense you speak of came from the mouth of the Oracle of Delphi herself—”

“Come on, the oracle has been cursed for years. You saw what it did to that woman. How do we know her prophecies aren’t cursed either?”

“Don’t you dare bring May into this—”

“And when have the Oracle’s prophecies been wrong?”

Hera closed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. Children, she thought to herself. Children, the lot of them. She preferred the sound of an infant wailing to this.

Just when Hera felt her head was going to split open, one voice prevailed loudly over the others, drowning them out. To her surprise, the voice belonged to none other than Hestia, who had risen from her seat, her eyes blazing with golden flames as she spoke the words of the prophecy aloud.

“A half-blood of the eldest gods,

Shall reach sixteen against all odds,

And see the world in endless sleep,

The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap,

A single choice shall end his days,

Olympus to preserve or raze.”

The goddess looked around the room. Everyone stopped talking, for few commanded respect like Hestia, who was loved by all. “Real or not,” she said sternly, and it had been a long time since Hera had heard her sister use that voice. “I don’t believe Zeus gathered all of us here so we could ponder the merits of the Oracle.” She looked directly at him. “Am I correct in saying so, Brother?”

Zeus gave his sister a look of gratitude. “Yes,” he sighed. “It is not the Oracle we should be concerned with. It is the boy, who never should have been born.”

Hera suppressed the urge to remind her husband that, in terms of their marriage vows, more than half of the immortals in the room should have never been born either.

“Alright then,” Ares drawled. “The answer’s simple. We kill him.”

“How creative of you,” Hephaestus murmured, idly fiddling with a wrench in his hands.

Athena cleared her throat. “I hate to admit this, but I agree with Ares. The boy must die.”

The god of war sarcastically blew her a kiss, which she responded to by wrinkling her nose in disgust. Aphrodite looked between the two of them, simultaneously appalled and intrigued. Hephaestus smirked to himself.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Apollo cut in. The sun god pushed his sunglasses up his head, revealing his glittering golden eyes. “Guys, I think we should chill. We’re talking about killing a kid here.”

“Chill?” Athena repeated incredulously, and the word sounded funny in the goddess’s mouth. Artemis covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a laugh. “You want us to just sit back and watch Olympus fall?”

“Olympus to preserve or raze,” Hephaestus quoted. “The prophecy does not only spell out our doom. It implies there is a chance the boy will save us.”

“That’s right,” Hermes agreed. Typical, Hera thought. He’d always been the most sympathetic to the half-bloods.

“And there is a chance he’ll be the end of us, too,” Athena replied coldly. She turned to look at Zeus. “Father, what would you have us do?”

“Oh, yeah, play the daddy’s girl card,” Ares sneered. Athena rose from her throne, her grey eyes blazing with anger. Ares laughed and jumped to his feet. “You wanna fight, little sis? C’mon. Give it to me.”

“I am not your ‘sis,’ you troglodyte.”

“Ares, stop it,” Aphrodite hissed, looking embarrassed.

Zeus banged his fist on his throne. “ENOUGH!” He roared. “Sit down, the both of you. I will not delay this any longer. Dionysus, you bring us news from Camp Half Blood. Speak your share, my son.”

All eyes turned to Dionysus, who squirmed in his seat, as though uncomfortable by the attention thrust on him. “I could really use a drink for this,” he joked, but his smile withered as Zeus stared him down. “Alright, fine,” he sighed. “Chiron has proposed that before you decide to fry the kid to a crisp, you give him a chance to prove his innocence. Let Percy Jackson go on a quest, and recover your lightning bolt.”

Zeus sat back in his throne, surprised. He looked over at Hera, as if asking for her opinion, and the goddess gave him a subtle nod. Give him a chance, she mouthed. Zeus closed his eyes, before turning back to Dionysus.

“Very well,” he said. “And how much time do you propose we give him?”

“Chiron requests a month.”

Zeus threw back his head and laughed. “No.”

“He has no training, no experience,” Athena scoffed. “He will never succeed, no matter how much time you give him.”

“I guess that’s why Chiron’s sending your daughter with him,” Dionysus shot back. Athena’s mouth snapped shut. “Yeah, her and that wimpy little satyr. Yeesh.”

“Grover Underwood is a noble servant of the earth,” Demeter defended the satyr.   

“The summer solstice is in ten days,” Zeus said, talking over them. “We will give him until then. To find the bolt and bring it back to me.”

“Ten days?! Chiron’s gonna love that,” Dionysus muttered to himself as he swayed to his feet. “Alright, I’ll go and tell him. Sooner the better, I guess. See ya.”

As the rest of the gods began to shuffle out of the throne room, Hera rested her hand over her husband’s. “You did well,” she murmured, and he gave her a fatigued smile. “Ten days is quite generous, coming from you. I believe there is hope yet. He has made it to the age of twelve, after all.” 

He shook his head in disbelief. “Yes. Poseidon’s son lives,” he murmured. “My daughter was not so lucky.”

So the memory of Thalia Grace had come back to haunt them yet again. Damn her. Damn Beryl Grace too. Those children never had a chance with that disgrace of a woman for a mother anyways, not that Zeus seemed to care. Percy Jackson had only managed to survive for this long because Sally possessed more love and strength than a hundred mortals combined. 

Hera pulled her hand away from her husband, staring ahead into the distance as she silently seethed. All of her preaching about turning a new leaf crumbled beneath her anger. She would never swallow her pride for the Graces. Never.

“Let us hope the boy succeeds where your daughter has failed then,” she remarked. It was a low blow, and she knew it. Zeus didn’t look at her as he rose from his seat, leaving the throne room without her.

June 12 (9 Days till Solstice)

(AKA Percy Jackson Kills Medusa and Narrowly Escapes Death)

In the mailroom of Olympus, a large crowd had gathered after somebody had reported that Poseidon’s demigod son had sent them a gift from his quest. Hera could not withstand her curiosity any longer and joined them, though she stood in the doorway, watching nymphs and minor deities shove each other to get a better look at the cardboard box sitting on the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hera asked Echo, who had accompanied her down there. “What did he send us?”

“I – I don’t know,” the nymph stammered. “Shall I go and find out?”

“Yes. Go.”

As she watched her assistant dutifully scamper off to investigate, Hera felt somebody materialize next to her, and she begrudgingly nodded at Hermes, who tipped his mailman’s cap at her in greeting. “Couldn’t resist?” The god teased. “I don’t blame you. This might be the most exciting quest we’ve had in ages.”

“I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Hera lied, trying to feign disinterest. Hermes’ bright blue eyes twinkled, and she knew he saw right through her act. They were all invested in Percy Jackson’s quest, though she doubted any of them knew how much she cared for the boy’s fate.

“The son of Poseidon has sent us a gift,” Hermes explained cheerily. “It came with a note,” he added, handing her a small slip of paper.

THE GODS

MOUNT OLYMPUS

600^TH FLOOR

EMPIRE STATE BUILDING

NEW YORK, NY

WITH BEST WISHES,

PERCY JACKSON

The letters were crooked, hastily scrawled. Very clearly the penmanship of a twelve year old boy. Hera handed back the paper to him. “What is this gift you speak of?”

Hermes grinned. “Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

She glanced at the crowd of curious onlookers, frowning, and Hermes clapped his hands together, the sound echoing loudly across the mailroom. “Your queen is here!” He called out cheerfully, but firmly enough that everyone knew he meant business. “So move it.”

The crowd parted for Hera as she slowly approached the cardboard box. She ignored their open-mouthed stares. They weren’t used to seeing the queen of Olympus up close, and it was possible a few of them had never seen her in person before. She scarcely wandered around Olympus anymore, like she did before her marriage. The room fell quiet as she approached the gift.

Peeking over the edge of the box, she made out what vaguely looked like a nest of snakes before someone grabbed her arm suddenly, pulling her back.

“Careful,” said a familiar voice. She turned her head in surprise. Hephaestus shook his head at the box. “You must use this.” He handed her a small glass mirror. “You cannot look directly at it.”

She held out the mirror glass and raised her eyebrows when she saw the lifeless eyes of Medusa staring back at her. If it hadn’t been for her son, she would have turned to stone in front of a good number of her subjects, which would have been humiliating, to say the least.

Hermes had known what was in that box, and hadn’t warned her. She whirled around to glare at him, but the god had already fled the scene. “That trickster,” she muttered under her breath, before turning back to her son. “So,” she said dryly. “Percy has met Medusa. I’m sure he reminded her of his father.”

Hephaestus grunted. “He’s got a lot of nerve, sending her up here like this.”

The corner of Hera’s lips twitched upwards, and she hid her face so Hephaestus could not see her smile. “Just like his father.”

June 14 (7 Days till Solstice)

(AKA Percy Jackson Gets Stuck on a Water Park Ride and Narrowly Escapes Death… Again)

“What is this?” Zeus shouted over the static. “What’s going on now?”

They stared at the large television screen mounted on their wall—a gift from Hephaestus, who had installed it himself. It was more of an aesthetic choice, than something they actually used. Zeus preferred jazz clubs, and Hera the opera, and so between the two of them, they had only ever turned on the television a handful of times.

“I knew we should have gotten rid of it,” Zeus snarled.

“But it was a gift,” Hera protested, and her husband rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just turn it off?”

“I. Am. Trying.” Her husband gritted out through his teeth, but the static continued, defying the remote’s commands. “This infernal contraption—”

“I’ll call Hephaestus—”

“Don’t bother. Let’s just be rid of this thing once and for all!”

“Wait!” Hera pointed up at the screen. “Look, look. It’s doing something.”

The two of them tentatively approached the television. The static had come to an abrupt halt, and the screen was black, save for a few words thrown up on the screen.

BROADCASTING LIVE TO OLYMPUS…

00:03

00:02

00:01

“It’s counting down to something,” she observed out loud, and they turned to look at each other, bewildered.

“Counting down to what?”

As if the television had heard them, the screen changed again, and the sound of screams filled their ears. The source of the screaming appeared to be two teenagers, and it took a flash of green for Hera to recognize the boy as Percy Jackson, who appeared to be steering – or attempting to steer – a boat. The girl next to him, with her piercing grey eyes, could be none other than Athena’s daughter.

“What in Tartarus,” she heard Zeus whisper in disbelief. They both watched the pair of demigods swat off mechanical spiders as they bickered with each other, until the screen suddenly flickered back to black, and the television finally clicked off.

Hera could feel her husband looking over at her. “Was that—” He began. “Is that… Is that him?”

Hera nodded, and Zeus made a noise that was somewhere in between a groan and a chuckle. “He has Poseidon’s eyes,” he remarked, looking amused. “He looks a lot like him, actually.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “He does.”

“So,” Zeus said slowly. “The fate of Olympus rests on this… boy’s shoulders.”

Hera snorted through her nose as a laugh escaped her lips. It was a laugh that few others had heard—loud and undignified, without any restraint. “We’re doomed, aren’t we?”

June 20 (1 Day till Solstice)

(AKA Percy Jackson Escapes the Lotus Casino)

“It’s been five days,” Athena said, her grey eyes filled with consternation. She paced across the floor of her office like she couldn’t keep herself still. “Five days and no sign of them. The solstice is tomorrow and we have no report of their whereabouts. And my daughter is with him!”

Athena was usually the most calm and collected among the pantheon in the face of danger—to see her so visibly unnerved was worrying. The goddess of wisdom cringed, as though she was embarrassed by the heartfelt emotional outburst.

“Annabeth never should have gone on that quest,” she sighed. “But she is as stubborn as she is brave.”

“I am sure they are safe,” Hera said, but it sounded unconvincing even to herself. She only came to see her stepdaughter because she had hoped Athena might have been able to give her some reassurance. So much for that.

The truth was that all of Olympus had been on edge since Percy Jackson and his motley crew had suddenly disappeared off the map several days ago, after stopping for refuge somewhere near Las Vegas. Many had already presumed that they were dead.

The Solstice was tomorrow. Zeus’s bolt was still missing. And if Percy Jackson, by some miracle, was not already dead, he would surely be dead by tomorrow if he returned from his quest empty handed.

“They are safe,” Hera echoed, though the words were hollow. She didn’t want to give up hope yet. It would be a disservice to Sally Jackson. “We shouldn’t worry—”

“I don’t think understand—” Athena snapped out of frustration, until she seemed to suddenly remember who she was talking to. She sucked in her breath sharply, walking over to the window, her back turned to the other goddess. “What I meant,” she corrected herself carefully. “Is that your children are gods. You never have to worry about seeing them get hurt, or worse.”

“Oh, but I do worry,” Hera replied softly. “And my children are not impervious to pain, as are we.”

Athena pressed her forehead against the window glass, closing her eyes. “I was not made for motherhood,” the goddess admitted quietly. “In the beginning, they were simply a means to an end. A way to pass on my gifts, to secure my legacy.”

She turned from the window, fixing her steely gaze on Hera, who was still sitting primly in the chair across from her desk. “I know you thought the same thing,” she continued. “You always thought I wasn’t a real mother.”

Hera bristled at the accusation, even if it was true. She had been indignant when she found out Athena was crafting children in the same manner as Hephaestus and his inventions. No, she felt cheated. Leave it to her clever stepdaughter to find a way to curtail all of the time and pain she had experienced for her own children.

“You told my father just as much,” Athena continued. “You thought I was arrogant. And you were right. I thought I should give you the satisfaction of knowing that.”

Hera turned her hands over in her lap. “That was a long time ago,” she replied. “You – You’ve always been a good mother. You’ve changed. You’ve… grown.”

Athena gave her a strange look, but something in her eyes softened.

“So have you.”

June 21^st (Day of Solstice)

(AKA Percy Jackson Completes His Quest)

Hera awoke to the sound of a fist banging on her front door. A brief glance at the clock on her bedside table told her that it was far too early to be having guests. It wasn’t until she turned over in her bed and found her husband’s side of the bed empty that she finally sat up. Something must have happened.

Then she remembered the date and found herself scrambling for her robe.

She tried to push aside the feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach as she headed for the front door. She found herself silently praying that Percy Jackson was not dead. Don’t let him be dead, don’t let him—

“Yes?” She blinked in surprise at the figure on her doorstep. “Oh. It’s… you.”

Aphrodite brushed back a strand of dark hair. She’d always looked like her mother Rhea, in Hera’s eyes, but her eyes were blue today. Like Sally Jackson. But her expression was agitated. Jumpy. And she kept glancing over her shoulder, like she was afraid of being followed. “Hera. You know I wouldn’t have come here like this unless it was important—”

“Tell me.”

“Well, I suppose there is good news, and bad news—”

“Tell. Me.”

“The good news is that Poseidon’s son retrieved Zeus’s bolt,” Aphrodite blurted out. “So I guess we’re not all going to kill each other.”

Hera reached for the doorframe, trying to downplay the overwhelming relief that had just washed over her. “And the bad news...?”

Aphrodite’s face twisted into a grimace, and Hera’s dread returned once more.

*

“So, he sent you,” Ares said dryly. The god of war was lying face down on a leather sofa, in the center of his sparsely decorated living room. “He just had to twist the knife in deeper, didn’t he?”

He rolled over onto his back, and Hera was surprised to see his eyes bare, the flames flickering erratically. “My own mother,” he scoffed. He sounded nonchalant, verging on the edge of bored, but the eyes gave his distress away.  “Hello, Mother.”

She decided to skip over all the nonsense about his paramour showing up on her doorstep and instead jumped straight to the point. “Did you do it, Ares?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Ares said curtly, ignoring her question. He folded his hands behind his head with a heavy sigh. “Lay it on me. What’s my punishment?”

Hera sighed. “Did you take your father’s Master Bolt?”

Her son’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t need this right now. Actually, this is the last thing I need right now, to be interrogated by my own mother—”

“Ares.” Her voice was stern now, bordering on angry. “Tell me the truth. Tell me or I will make you.”

He stared at her, taken aback by the intensity in her voice. She hardly ever raised her voice at him. She held his stare unyieldingly, and she saw herself in her son’s stubborn but proud gaze. Zeus was right—he was more of her making than his.

They might have been trapped in a stalemate all day, but Ares suddenly looked away, his expression troubled. “It wasn’t my fault,” he protested. “I mean, sure, I did some things but – but I didn’t do it alone. He told me to do it. He spoke to me in my dreams.”

She made a space for herself on the tiny corner of the couch that wasn’t taken up by her son’s hulking figure. “Who?”

He stared up at the ceiling, refusing to look at her. He was toying with a large knife in his hands, like a child might with a precious toy. “Father told me not to tell you.”

“And since when have you ever listened to anything your father has told you?”

That elicited a small laugh from the war god. “Alright then. If you really must know… it was Kronos,” he confessed. “Good old grandpa. He told me if I did it, he’d give me the greatest war the world has ever seen.”

At the sound of her father’s name, Hera suddenly lurched forward, trembling. Ares sat up, looking at her with concern. “That’s impossible,” she breathed. “Kronos is done. He has no power. Not anymore.”

“That’s what he wants you to think.”

She looked up at him, her eyes widening. “You would have betrayed everything we’ve built, all for your own amusement? For one of your silly little wars?”

“I made him promise that no harm would come to you—”

Hera shook her head. “Oh, but it’s too late for that.” She twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hands, trying to keep them from shaking. “You hurt me, Ares,” she said out loud, sounding surprised, like the idea had never crossed her mind before. Because it hadn’t.

The expression on Ares’ face was so foreign it took her a moment to understand that he was hurt by her words. “Mother—” He said, almost pleadingly. It was the closest he’d ever come to an apology, but she knew him well enough to not expect one. His expression shifted into anger, his eyes brightening. “Fine. I’ll take all the blame. That’s what you need anyways. Someone to blame. But don’t forget – I am as you made me,” he spat, rising to his feet. “So really, you’ve hurt yourselves. Not me.”

Hera stood up. Even then, he still towered over her, and she had to raise herself on her toes to cup his face with her hands. “This doesn’t change my love for you,” she told him quietly. “It doesn’t. You are right. This isn’t all your doing. I was blinded by my love for you.”

“Mother...” His voice was unusually small. Desperate, almost.

“I’ll tell your father that the matter is settled,” she continued calmly. “I will tell him that you are remorseful, and that there will be no need to punish you. But you will vow to me that you will never betray your family ever again.” Her hands tightened around his face. “Do you understand me?”

The flames in Ares’ eyes were dull. “Yes.”

"Promise it."

"I... I promise."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and was surprised when he dropped his head on her shoulder wearily, curling into her like he did when he was small.

“Oh, my son," she whispered, stroking his shorn head. "My son.”

LATER

Hidden behind a pillar, Hera finds her least favorite brother still standing in the throne room, staring at the door that his son had walked out of.

“Well?”

Poseidon’s eyes widened, startled by the interruption. “Oh,” he murmured as the goddess revealed herself from her hiding spot. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

The goddess came to an abrupt halt, standing face to face with her brother. They smiled at each other tentatively, as though a week ago they hadn’t been at each other’s throats, about to kill each other over their children.

“It’s good to see you, Brother,” she said after an uncomfortably long pause.

The sea god raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“Well.” She shrugged. “Better than seeing you and Zeus trying to kill each other.”

That got a laugh out of him. “That’s true.”

Hera glanced at the door, which was still left slightly ajar. “I suppose we have your son to thank for that,” she said quietly. “You must be very proud of him.”

Poseidon scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “I am. I am,” he agreed. “Of course I am,” he repeated. “Regrettably, though, I didn’t tell him.” He looked down at his feet with a pained grimace. “I’m afraid I said all the wrong things,” he confessed. “When I saw him… I hardly knew what to say. Truth be told, I… I was overwhelmed.”

“Of course you were. It was your first time meeting your son. And just imagine how he felt, seeing you.”

Poseidon nodded, but his brow was furrowed. “I’m afraid that he hates me,” he admitted. “And he should. After everything I’ve put him and his mother through—”

“Is Sally—?” Hera began to ask, before catching herself. “Is she alright? His mother?”

Poseidon gave her a curious look. “Yes. Hades sent her back, after the helm was recovered. She’s back in Manhattan, waiting for him, I’m sure.”

“Ah,” she replied nonchalantly, trying to hide her joy. “Good.”

“He’s so big,” Poseidon said, and it took her a moment to realize he was talking about Percy again. “He’s grown so much over the course of a week alone. I wish – I wish I’d known him sooner. I wish it didn’t take this mess to bring us together.”

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Your son is a hero,” she said, and she actually meant it.

“Ah.” He smiled wistfully, turning to look her in the eye. “But that’s the thing. A hero’s story always ends in tragedy. Even he knows that. As young as he is, he already knows that.” He closed his eyes. “Now that I’ve seen him… I’m more frightened now than I was before.”

“Mother always told me that was the price of loving something.”

Poseidon blinked. “What?”

“She said to love someone, is to allow yourself to feel all of the ugly things we try to avoid at all costs. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Pain. We feel those things, in the hope that our children will never have to. But… they will. They do.” She felt a lump in her throat that wasn’t there before, and quickly swallowed it. “We cannot shield them from the world forever. But to love someone, is to accept that pain.”

She forced a smile to her lips. “Your son does not hate you,” she reassured Poseidon earnestly. “He was made with love, and that love lives on in him. I see it in the way he cares for his mother.”

“You almost sound like you’re fond of the boy,” Poseidon teased, but his eyes were soft, like he was touched by her words.

She brought a finger to her lips. “Not a word out of you,” she warned her brother. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m getting soft. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“I won’t say a word. I promise.”

Poseidon cracked a grin at her, and she allowed herself to return it.