Chapter Text
On Wilds and Woods she fixed her desire:
Forgoing what Youth and tender Love inspire.
‘Give me, my Lord’, she said, ‘to live and die
A shining Maid, without the Marriage Tye.
'Tis but a small Request; I beg no more
Than what Diana's Father gave before.’
~
And so as in empty Fields the slain stalk burns,
Or nightly Travellers, when day returns,
Their enduring Torches on dry Hedges throw,
That catch the Flames and ignite all the row;
So burns the God , ravaged by desire,
Feeding in his Breast a futile Fire:
Ω
Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book I
PERCY
He pulled his collar up against the breeze out of habit. Sat on the cool ground, they were sheltered beneath an overpass, his arm resting on his knee as the fire to his right spluttered, desperately trying to stay alight. The young girl asleep beside him snored softly beneath a grubby blanket, her head pillowed by Percy’s coat, which had been fairly unnecessary anyway. He didn’t feel the cold anymore, not in the same way.
“We are summoned to Olympus, young godling.” A girl’s voice, familiar and gentle, warmed the ichor in his veins. "Zeus grows uneasy."
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a storm could be seen brewing over the Atlantic, slowly edging closer to shore.
“They sent the big guns to round me up this time, huh? I thought I was only a minor god.” Percy might have been annoyed if he’d had the energy. But a decade of godhood had mellowed him, and it was Hestia. Of all the gods, she least deserved his derision.
“Minor only in the way that I am. An Olympian without a need for a throne. And I am no messenger, Perseus. I sensed your presence at the hearth.”
Percy scoffed and gestured to the paltry fire. “This? This counts? If I sat by a lit cigarette stub, would you sense me there?”
“Home is not always what we expect it to be,” Hestia said simply as she kneeled, her legs tucked snugly underneath her, to tend the flames. Despite the frigid breeze coming off the water, she wore only her usual brown cotton dress and had her hair tied up in a cream linen shawl. Percy supposed if the cold meant little to him, then it was nothing to her. The goddess of the hearth could never be cold. “To her,” Hestia nodded to the sleeping girl, “this is home enough for tonight; she is warm and sleeps dreamlessly. She goes to her new home tomorrow?”
“I've contacted the cloven elders. A guide will be here in the morning.”
“Meanwhile, you are here to keep the nightmares away?” Hestia smiled warmly.
“Just 'til the morning,” Percy confirmed.
“You will not travel home with her?” She asked, eyes downcast as she poked and prodded at the fire. The flames grew higher and ever more comforting, a golden heat spreading outward.
“It's not my home…,” Percy said, staring out across the Hudson as though if he looked for long enough, he would be able to see Camp Half-Blood in the far distance.
“It is the home of your charges, the center of your sphere, it could be your home again if you desired it,” Hestia suggested.
“I'm of more use out in the world with the unclaimed; kids like Tabby.” Percy sighed and laid a hand over the sleeping girl's forehead. She relaxed at his touch, the tiny line between her brows disappearing. “That's what I chose.”
There was a long pause. The rumble of the highway above, the rush and rhythm of the river, and the crackle of the fire filled the air under the starry canopy. Percy sunk into it. It was the closest he got to sleep these days. He let the monotony of the noise and the warmth of Hestia’s renewed fire cover him and ached for the simple pleasure of curling up in the quiet of his bed at home, the faint, comforting smell of dollar store detergent on his pillow and the distant sounds of his mom and Paul watching TV in the next room. He remembered his bed at camp, the way he’d made it his own. By the time he’d left, the trickle of the fountain and dancing lights reflecting off the water onto the walls had felt like home too. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture how the little hippocampi on Tyson’s mobile had danced as they hung above him in the seconds before his eyes fluttered shut.
Hestia broke the silence eventually. “It won't be long until the girl is claimed. Athena is not one who forgets. She is wise enough to know the cost of indifference.”
Percy stiffened and tried to forcibly push the memories from his mind; the outline of a face, the color of an eye. But he wasn't quick enough. Old feelings of inadequacy, guilt and regret rose to the surface. He didn't feel his emotions in his body quite the same way as he had as a mortal, but, if anything, that only made them all the more intoxicating, filling his head to burst. “It's not enough, though. I thought… I thought if I chose to become a god myself, if I chose them as my sphere of influence, I could protect them. Nico’s been missing days now. What good am I if I can’t find one of the most powerful half-bloods on the planet? I should have just made them all promise on the Styx to do better...”
Hestia seemed to ponder this a moment. “Their memory is fickle, their promises are soon broken. Even solemn oaths mean little. You have done well to remain loyal to your own oath.”
“I had a great coach,” Percy said, looking fondly at Hestia.
She smiled back at him, though there was a bittersweet sadness in her glittering, golden eyes. “Home should be a constant, and I am a manifestation of my sphere. But you, you were born mortal, and your spheres are ever-evolving, dependent upon our family, their choices. You have done well. Do not diminish yourself.”
“Did you come here just to tell me to buck up?” Percy asked.
“I did not.” Hestia raised her hands and, with a shimmering golden light, in them appeared a familiar jar, a ‘pithos’. The term came to him in a memory and so he heard the word in Prometheus’ silky voice.
Even having not laid eyes on it for almost a decade, he recognised it immediately. Its black and white designs and the leather strap that fastened it shut were unchanged from the day he'd gifted it to the goddess that sat before him.
“Take it.”
Percy was alarmed. “I gave it to you, Lady Hestia. I don’t-”
“Only for a moment,” she insisted, holding it out for him to take.
When Percy took it, he felt it immediately through the layers of clay, paint, and glaze; a frantic fluttering beneath his fingertips. With a quizzical brow, Percy raised his gaze to meet Hestia's. “I’m guessing this doesn’t mean she’s got a stomach ache.”
“Elpis is restless,” Hestia explained. “A time of great turmoil is coming. For your sphere more than any.”
“The next great prophecy?” Percy clenched his jaw. Somehow he’d sensed it. Ever since Hera had disappeared, things had felt different. And then Nico had vanished too. Olympus and Camp Half-Bood were on edge, with no leads for either disappearance that Percy knew of.
“Today, a young man arrived at Camp Half-blood, Hera's champion, already claimed and awaiting a prophecy. It begins with him. Within the year, seven half-bloods will arrive in Athens hoping to thwart the earth mother as the oracle foretold. We gods cannot interfere in prophecies, we must yield to the Fates, but you are not like us. Not quite. As the patron of demigods, it lies within your sphere to involve yourself. What's more, like Dionysus, you were raised from a mortal life to godhood. It is a different form of immortality. It takes time to grow into, and you are so very young. You have not even divided forms yet.”
The thought of it made him shiver. It always had. The idea that one day there would be multiple versions of him walking around all at once all the while changing, diverging from and reconverging with one another. “I don’t feel young. I feel like Phil Conners, stuck in a time loop for decades. My face stays young, but that’s it. Maybe I should get some hobbies. Learn ice sculpting too. Might take the edge off. Ha!” At least he still made himself laugh with his terrible, accidental puns. The laugh was quickly followed by a grimace.
Hestia was staring at him in confusion, her lips pressed firmly together.
“Groundhog day?” Percy huffed. “What’s the point in being immortal if you don’t know the classics.”
“I don’t care for Bill Murray,” Hestia said in a frank tone.
“Ah,” was all Percy replied, unsure what to do with this newfound knowledge. “Fair enough.”
“You are evading,” Hestia accused though her tone remained even.
‘You run away from things when you’re scared! You’re a coward, Percy Jackson.’ He could swear he heard her, and not just in his mind. The voice seemed to echo through the night. Cool and pained, cracking at the last moment, a little intake of breath on his name. Just as he remembered it. It was one of the burdens of godhood; his memory never failed, even when he wished it would. He set his eyes on Hestia, struggling to appear unaffected. “I won’t run when it matters.”
“Giants can only be defeated by gods and their children united. Your charges will need you, but not quite yet. Listen for their prayers, but you must not interfere until the right moment."
Percy regarded her darkly. “Don’t ask me to ignore their prayers. That’s not me. I won’t be that kind of… patron.” Even after all this time, he still couldn't bring himself to use the g-word to describe himself.
Hestia considered him with such sympathy and kindness it made him want to hurl the nearest building into the river. “You must understand, as gods, defying the Fates endangers all but ourselves. You may never die, but you still have loved ones who can. The Morai would not hesitate to cut their threads if you disturb the pattern they have chosen.”
Percy scowled at his sneakers. “When I suspected the great prophecy was beginning, I spoke with Apollo.”
Hestia raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, on purpose, believe it or not. He did a good job of dancing around my questions until I left him alone. Literally. Five haikus and two renditions of Let Love Lead The Way by the Spice Girls.” Percy rubbed his temples to ease the impossible headache that somehow formed at the memory of cornering Apollo on Olympus a few days before. No matter how badly Percy had wanted answers, he’d had to walk away once a few of the Muses, specifically Euterpe, Terpsichore, and Erato, had caught on and enthusiastically joined in as Apollo’s backup singers. They were usually fun to hang out with, but their inability to take anything to do with demigods seriously did grate on him sometimes. He’d even caught the more sedate Melpomene happily clicking and swaying along next to him, which had been the last straw.
Hestia moved her gaze from Percy’s brooding form to the sleeping little girl at their feet once again. “Take her to Camp Half-Blood yourself. Seek out Apollo’s oracle. She is his mouthpiece on mortal matters, she may be able to share with you what he cannot.”
The thought of seeing Rachel filled Percy with deep apprehension. He hadn't seen her in a long time. They weren’t exactly close anymore, despite still being on good terms. She still knew him better than most, though. Even as a god, she often saw right through him in a way few did. But if visiting her meant a better understanding of what the future held, it was worth it. These seven demigods would be up against terrible odds, and he knew what it was like being the subject of a great prophecy. Anything he could do to warn them, to keep them alive, he would.
When dawn broke, the fire had died, and Hestia was long gone.
“Who… who are you?” The groggy girl woke, rubbing her right eye free of sleep as she raised herself on her left elbow to frown at him.
Percy paused for a moment, blinking as he took in the sight of her. Her hair was dark but curly, and she had paler skin paired with a sprinkling of freckles, but those familiar bright, gray eyes observed him with a calculating severity. She was nearly eleven but small for her age with rounded cheeks, making her seem even younger. She was a baby in many ways, yet she was older than Annabeth had been, a good three or four years older. He couldn’t help but think about that. “I used to be like you. I’m here to take you somewhere you’ll be safe.” It didn’t answer her question, but it was all she needed to know for now. “Did you sleep well?”
She appeared to ponder him a moment, suspicious. “I didn’t have any nightmares.”
He smiled. “Good. My name’s Percy. What’s yours?” He already knew it, but it was always polite to ask.
“Tabitha- well, Tabby,” she said, drawing herself up into a sitting position, wrapping her arms around her knees and rubbing her arms to warm them. “Tabby Quinn.”
Percy reached behind her, making her wince. “Sorry, um, here,” he grabbed his puffy blue coat, the one he’d put under her head whilst she was sleeping and held it out.
She gave him a small smile of thanks and swung it over her shoulders. It sat like a cape, spreading out across the ground, far too big for her tiny form. “You’re like me? You see the monsters too?”
“I used to be like you,” Percy emphasized. “And yeah, I’ve met a lot of monsters. Is that what you were running from?”
Tabby nodded. She’d picked up a stone and turned it over in her hands absent-mindedly. “I killed one, I think. It exploded. My dad’s scared of me. He says he’s not, but he is. I saw it.”
Percy just nodded. It was a familiar story.
“My lord Perseus,” A pitchy, merry voice and the sound of light footfall reached them. “It’s an honor to see you again.” Right on time, as usual.
Percy sighed, a little exasperated at the use of formalities, but looked over his shoulder to smile warmly at the approaching young Satyr. “Just Percy, remember. It’s good to see you, Hadden.”
Hadden pranced over, and Tabby drew back, her eyes wide at his sudden, spritely appearance. The young Satyr looked like a preteen, despite having been born the same year as Percy, and was sporting a huge smile and a faded khaki ‘grow your own way’ t-shirt. He’d elected to wear a cap and fake feet, as Percy had suggested, knowing it might freak Tabby out to have a goat boy skip down the bank toward her without warning.
Percy gestured to the Satyr. “Tabby, this is Hadden. He’s a friend. He guides people like us to a safe place.”
“Claimed?” Hadden asked Percy.
“Not yet,” Percy responded.
“What’s that?” Tabby looked between them, perplexed.
Hadden took a seat on the ground and began to explain everything in the gentle, rehearsed way he’d been trained to do. To Percy’s surprise, Tabby listened and nodded along, not so much shocked as intrigued. If anything, she seemed relieved. It was clear that finally having an explanation was comforting. An expression of awe overtook her as Haddon removed his battered black baseball cap to reveal where small horns peeked through his dark curls.
“So who’s mine? My dad- he never talked about my mom. All he said is that she left.” There was an edge of bitterness in her voice.
Percy bit his lip. For a moment, he was tempted to tell her, but it wasn’t his place, and Athena definitely wouldn’t appreciate it. He could only encourage claimings and protect half-bloods, not disclose the movements of the other gods. “They’ll claim you when you reach Camp, I’m sure.”
Tabby’s eyes bore into him. “Who’s your parent?”
Percy smirked. “Sally Jackson. She’s an award-winning author from Hunts Point, and she makes the most incredible blue chocolate-chip cookies.”
Tabby giggled, rolling her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
Percy grinned, extremely satisfied with himself for successfully getting Tabby to laugh. “Yeah, um, Poseidon. That’s my dad. My mom’s cooler, though. Trust me. My dad would agree.”
Tabby’s eyes lit up. “The sea god? That’s so cool!”
Percy snorted. He was sure Tabitha’s mom wasn’t enjoying that comment.
“It is very cool,” Haddon agreed, nodding. Looking out across the Hudson, he narrowed his dark brown eyes and seemed to make a decision, “I think it’s time. We shouldn’t stay out in the open much longer.”
“Haddon’s right. Come on, let’s get you safe.” Percy stood and helped Tabby as she struggled to wrangle her arms into Percy’s coat, the sleeves flopping over the ends of her arms. He spent a moment folding them up for her, then held out his hand, unsure if Tabby would take it, but she did. She smiled up at him, the corners of her gray eyes creasing, the trust in them leaving a lump in his throat.
RACHEL
Rachel wasn’t sure what to make of it when Percy Jackson strode into her home atop the highest hill at Camp Half-Blood. He looked as though he didn’t know what to make of it either, a worried expression marred features she’d once found so handsome. They still were, she supposed, but they seemed so boyish and unfinished to her now. With the eyes of an artist, could see the outline of the man he could have become if he’d chosen mortality, and she mourned him. It was a disquieting reality, something that had assisted in all but destroying her relationship with Percy. She couldn’t bear to look at him sometimes, and she suspected he couldn’t bear to see the expression on her face when she did.
“Hello?” was all Rachel managed in her confusion as he strolled right into her studio. She set down her paintbrush and wiped her hands on her paint-stained overalls, adding some navy blue smear marks.
“Hey, Rachel. How’ve you been?” Percy said as though it had been weeks and not years since they'd last spoken. He ran a nervous hand through his dark hair. It seemed longer than the last time they had seen each other, but Rachel didn’t know if that was possible. Did god's hair grow? She didn’t think so.
Her expression must have mirrored her internal speculation because Percy patted his face and asked, “Have I got something?”
“No, just as ungodly as usual,’ Rachel quipped.
“Thank you,” Percy responded, cracking a smile. Peering around, he took in the collection of colorful canvases strewn about them, stacked at various angles.
The cavernous, round room was reminiscent of a regency-era orangery with its domed glass roof. ‘Plenty of sun! Everyone needs a lot of that, especially an Artiste,’ Apollo had said as he’d given her a tour when it had first been built, winking and flashing a blinding smile. The walls not set with arched windows were painted a pale, minty green, not that you could see any of the color, owing to the wooden shelves that covered almost every inch, piled high with supplies and books.
“To what do I owe the honor, my lord?” Rachel asked teasingly, following Percy with her eyes as he meandered, hands in his pockets, admiring her work.
Seemingly reluctant, he tore his gaze from the art to set his eyes, a deep, murky green today, on her. “You know. You’ve felt it too.”
Rachel clenched her jaw tightly for a moment. “Yes.”
“I tried to speak to Apollo about it, but he refused to tell me anything.” His eyes were wide and pleading, telling Rachel all she needed to know.
She sighed. “I don’t know much, Percy. Only that it's coming to pass. You know I gave a prophecy last night?”
“To this Jason guy,” Percy confirmed. “I heard.”
Rachel wasn’t sure if he meant he'd eavesdropped in some godly capacity or that he’d stopped off for a chat with Chiron on his way over. Regardless, she began to recite it, “‘Child of Lightning, beware the earth, The giants' revenge the Seven shall birth.’ It’s talking about the seven mentioned in the great prophecy, that seems obvious. Apart from that, I have only glimpses. Things that will be, and soon. Glimpses like this,” she gestured to her current project.
Percy wove his way back to her, peering over her shoulder to squint at the art, a work that seemed to be in hurried motion, blurry shapes marked out in deep purplish grays and blues that were almost black. An indistinct group dressed in silvery-white, their backs to the onlooker, made their way toward the dark shape of a house. Before it, as if guarding, some great figure holding a kind of melee weapon in their grasp was only a shadow, silhouetted black against the lightning storm that raged around them. Percy raised his hand, hovering as if about to touch the wet paint.
Rachel slapped it away and glared, expecting indignance from him.
Instead, Percy ignored her completely and continued to stare at the image, something akin to despair etched onto his features. “Are those the Hunters?”
Rachel’s heart dropped into her stomach. She realized Percy was right, it was the Hunters she had seen in her vision. The silver sheen of their clothes and the moonlight their bodies emitted seemed unmistakable now. Tentatively, she turned to Percy. “You can’t interfere.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that,” Percy muttered, keeping his gaze trained on the painting, his tone somewhere between bitter and playful, “don’t you all know interfering is my favorite thing.”
“Percy, you can’t interfere. Some of the Hunters may be half-bloods, but they’re immortals too. Their destinies belong to Artemis and the Fates themselves, besides… I can just feel it. You would put them in danger by interfering.”
Percy huffed. “There’s that word again.”
Rachel reached out and gripped his wrist tightly, demanding his attention. “Promise me you'll let this play out the way it has to. Promise me, for her sake.” There was a desperation in her voice she couldn’t hold back.
When he finally looked at her, there was a rare vulnerability in his eyes that only served to make him seem even younger than he looked. “I-” He swallowed audibly, “I’ll stay away.” Grinding his teeth a moment, he added in a resigned murmur, “ I’ve gotten good at that, you know.”
Rachel’s heart ached to watch the emotions as they flickered over Percy’s otherwise familiar face. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the boy she’d known when she was a girl, but he wasn’t here now. Though Percy was still sixteen in some ways, his soul grew older every moment, and the pains of his past grew in number, only rooting themselves deeper as the years marched onward.
ANNABETH
Annabeth was filled with bitterness as she turned the silver coin over in her fingers, trailing a thumb over the imprint of an owl, wide-eyed and watchful. She felt those eyes everywhere. Bright, gray eyes peering down at her. Waiting to see her next move.
“You know what you must do,” Artemis said as she watched Annabeth’s face contort. “Rome awaits.”
“How can she ask me to leave? I’m pledged to the Hunt. To you.”
“But you are still her daughter, and even gods cannot forsake the Fates. The prophecies are clear.” Artemis cast her eyes down to admire the shine of the knife she was cleaning.
“Prophecies?” Annabeth’s head shot up. "Plural?"
“The next great prophecy is coming to pass. For months we have felt it. The Wolf House was only the beginning. Seven half-bloods will travel to ancient lands, and it is clear you must be one of them. If I was not sure before, your mother’s actions have confirmed it.”
Annabeth shivered at the memory of the Wolf House. The image of Thalia lying stiff and cold on the ground still haunted her even though her friend was once again perfectly healthy,
“My mother, she was… different. The way she acted, it was like…” Annabeth trailed off, regarding Artemis carefully, a little unsure if she could bring up what she wanted to, though it was something they both knew Annabeth had witnessed herself.
For a moment, the goddess flickered, a slightly older girl with dark hair taking the place of the auburn-haired child. “It is for her as it has been for me. As you have all seen, our aspects are in conflict. I am one of the lucky ones; Diana is not so different from me. For your mother, whose Roman counterpart so diverged from her original form, it would be almost impossible to remain... balanced. I’m afraid the situation will only grow more dire.”
Annabeth considered all the information in light of the discovery she was one of the Seven. In truth, she’d begun to figure out who it would be ever since Jason Grace had told them of his prophecy, but she had never once thought it could involve her. Surely being a subject of one great prophecy canceled you out of the next one? “Thalia’s brother plans to sail back to his camp next year, the Roman camp, with three Greek demigods, Piper Mclean, Leo Valdez and Will Solace. I assume Nico di Angelo will be found at the Roman camp?”
Artemis raised her cool, silver gaze. “I will give you leave. You must go to Camp Half-blood and convince Will Solace to remain. This is not his path, his presence would be dangerous, for all the Seven but most especially for him.” Pondering a moment, she added, “He is a good man, and my brother has lost enough of his sons.”
Annabeth’s eyes widened. “I can’t do that. By the time they set sail, he won’t have seen Nico in months. If it were…” She trailed off again. Everything about this conversation was throwing her off. Usually so articulate, she couldn’t form her thoughts into sentences. She had been perfectly content in her life as a Hunter, only to have her mother come and drop a potentially very deadly quest on her shoulders. When she was younger, she had wanted a quest so badly, especially one from her mother, desperate to prove to Athena she was worthy of her attention. How unsettling she found that now.
Artemis went back to cleaning her already gleaming knife. “It is the way it must be.”
It was clear the conversation was over. Annabeth tried not the feel rejected by this cool dismissal but failed. Whilst Artemis wasn't exactly the effusive kind, she seemed unusually indifferent to Annabeth's departure.
When she left Artemis’ tent, a familiar form was waiting for her, barely visible in the dark under the thick canopy of trees, only tiny spots of moonlight dappling the ground.
“So?” Thalia asked.
“She’s letting me go.”
Thalia sighed, resigned but upset. “For how long?”
“However long it takes, I think,” Annabeth said, shrugging as though it wasn’t important. She mostly wanted to placate Thalia, to convince her she wasn’t bothered. Making a big deal of it would only make this harder. Annabeth began to walk, heading in the direction of her tent.
Thalia fell into step beside her. “This isn’t supposed to be your job anymore.”
“Yeah, I thought that was the deal too,” Annabeth agreed.
“I don’t like the sound of it, this prophecy. Seven? When has seven ever been a good number for a quest? And only demigods. Giants can only be defeated by gods and heroes together. How do they expect seven demigods to defeat them? The gods are fracturing, and we all know it will only get worse.” Then a thought seemed to occur to Thalia, and her jaw went slack.
Annabeth could see Thalia had caught up. They both knew they were thinking of the same person. Annabeth could see it in her sister’s eyes; the image of a god that was purely Greek, undivided, with every reason to be involved in the progress of a demigod’s prophecy. They both knew he was sure to involve himself one way or another, he wouldn’t be able to help himself.
“And she’s still letting you go?” Thalia said with a look of bewilderment.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Annabeth hissed. What Thalia was implying was quite frankly insulting, after everything. “You can’t truly believe I would be so weak as to-”
“It has nothing to do with weakness,” Thalia cut her off. She reached out to grip Annabeth’s shoulder, her blue eyes shining with emotion. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, but we both know she won’t give you a second chance.”
“She won’t need to,” Annabeth insisted through gritted teeth, ripping her shoulder from Thalia’s grip.
The doleful and slightly dubious way Thalia looked at her made Annabeth want to hurl rocks at her face, but she kept her arms firmly at her sides as she marched the last few yards to her tent.
ANNABETH
Approaching Camp Half-Blood again, especially without her sisters, felt strange. Pausing to look down at her sixteen-year-old body, meditating on the silver glow of immortality she was exuding, she shuddered. She felt much older than sixteen, not even her true twenty-five years, but fifty or eighty. Time in an immortal form felt so immaterial that if someone had told her, she’d spent a hundred years with the Hunt, she might have believed them. This was her home, her childhood home, and yet she felt foreign to it now. A ghost to the friends and siblings who had kept on growing up as she stayed a child.
Annabeth chose to sneak into the camp, taking the long route to the big house to avoid the worst of the stares for now. To her good fortune, she found Will alone in the infirmary.
“I’m so sorry,” She concluded quietly after she’d finished relaying all she knew.
The twenty-five-year-old son of Apollo sat down heavily. “So… is he at the Roman camp?” His golden hair and beard glowed in the sunlight streaming through the window, but his blue eyes were dark, downcast as he picked at his worn jeans. He didn’t look entirely healthy, shadows under his eyes and his cheeks pale. Annabeth suspected the beard wasn’t just something new Will was trying out.
“I don’t know,” Annabeth answered honestly. “But we will find him, I promise.”
“She said I’d die?” Will said incredulously, brow furrowed.
“She only said the Fates wouldn’t look kindly on it,” Annabeth summarized. “That it would put people in danger.”
He took it well, all things considered. Annabeth supposed he'd become very used to receiving bad news. After a moment of anxiously running his hands through his curls, Will caught sight of his watch and groaned. “Gods… I’m late for the council.”
“I should come with you,” Annabeth said, not exactly enthused by the idea. She remembered something Jason had said to her upon their brief meeting a couple of weeks previous. ‘So, you’re Annabeth? You’re kind of a legend at Camp.’ The fact a young man who hadn’t spent more than a few days at Camp Half-blood a decade after she’d left knew her by name was disquieting. All this time, she’d assumed, or perhaps hoped, people would begin to forget. Now she worried about what they said about her, the war, and her decisions. Most of all, she worried about what they said about her and Percy. Was she the villain? Was he? Was there any kind of narrative around their relationship at all? Perhaps she was being egotistical. Perhaps she was worrying for no reason, and she and Percy were only acknowledged as friends and leaders. After all… that had been all they were really.
“No time to waste, I guess.” Will stood, jolting her from her thoughts, and motioned for Annabeth to lead the way.
JASON
As the next few months passed, Jason concluded that Annabeth Chase was a strange creature, even for a glowing, endlessly sixteen-year-old demigod. She exuded a power Jason wasn’t convinced was only the effects of immortality. The eerie moonlit glow to her form held far different energy from the severe kind she emitted when he met her gaze directly. She might not have looked not a day over sixteen, but her stormy eyes held a shrewd intelligence that he imagined could match up to any sage, ancient being she came across.
Will hadn’t shared his reasons when he’d relinquished his spot aboard the Argo II, but he had insisted Annabeth had to be the one to go in his place. Jason had been unsettled at first. After all, he’d be a fool not to wonder what Annabeth had told Will to get him to agree to that after he'd spent every minute of Nico’s disappearance relentlessly searching. But this was Thalia’s closest friend, a sister to his own sister, and she had fought by his side at the Wolf House. Not to mention, from the sounds of it, she was possibly the most experienced demigod in the world, even more so than himself. A veteran battle strategist who’d helped lead seventy-five teenage demigods to victory against Kronos with only sixteen lives lost? It was a miracle they hadn’t lost most of their forces with the odds they’d been facing. He would be a fool to turn down her help if she was offering.
It seemed to disconcert the entire camp, Annabeth’s reappearance. She was a story told around the campfire here. Most of the kids had started out treating her with reverence in the first few days, but Annabeth had made it very clear she didn’t have much time for it, especially when even her own younger siblings participated, and so they’d reigned that in pretty quickly. They continued their whisperings, though. Jason supposed Annabeth could guess at what they said behind hands as she passed by; how it was her blade that had slain Kronos, the one that was still strapped to her arm, how she’d brought the statues of New York to life, how she’d jumped from a Pegasus into a falling helicopter as it plummeted to the ground and piloted it and the oracle to safety. Jason had assumed the tales embellished until he’d spoken to Will about it, and he’d confirmed it all to be true.
As much as he heard about her, he didn’t get many chances to speak to her properly and sort the fact from fiction. When he did, their conversations consisted of Argo II plans with Leo and Piper and sharing memories of Thalia. These discussions were the only time Jason would see Annabeth begin to open up. It never seemed to last for long, though. She would smile as she reminisced, and then it would falter, and she would get this melancholy, faraway look that marked the end of whatever story she was sharing.
Piper asked one day, as they watched Annabeth chatting with Leo from the far end of what was just beginning to look like a ship, “Does she ever mention Percy to you?”
Jason had been taken aback by this sudden question. “Uhh, you mean Percy Jackson? Um, I don’t think-”
Piper had lowered her voice to a whisper as she cut him off, “Will says she took a poisoned knife for him once, during the Battle of Manhattan. Threw herself in front of it. Almost died. Now she doesn’t even mention him?” There was an element of fear in her tone, “How do you fall from that height without breaking?”
“I don’t know,” Jason answered honestly. He thought of that melancholy, faraway look and, all at once, recognised the terrible grief in it too. “Maybe you don’t.”
It was the middle of the night, and Jason had been tossing and turning for hours in the solitude of Cabin One, going over the past month's events in his mind. Eventually, he swung his feet down to the floor. Kneeling at Thalia’s old bed, her possessions undisturbed and perfectly preserved even after over a decade of absence, he pulled a deep blue box about the size of a small loaf of bread from beneath the frame and sat on the bed to open it. He’d peeked before but not looked through it out of respect. Tonight, his curiosity won out.
It was a memory box of sorts, full of little trinkets, most of which wouldn’t mean anything to anybody but Thalia. Jason’s fingers sifted through until they found paper. Some notes, a letter or two, and photographs. Jason brought the first photo close to his face in the dim light. It was a polaroid, a closeup. The little girl in it was unmistakably Annabeth, and she couldn’t be more than eight or nine. Her blonde curls were wild, perhaps a bit matted, and there was some kind of grime smudged on her forehead, but she looked carefree, showing off the gap in her grin where she’d lost a tooth. The next photo revealed a slightly older Annabeth in her early teens, arm in arm with Thalia, a satyr Jason knew to be Grover Underwood, and a lanky, smiling boy of a similar age to Annabeth, with windswept black hair and glittering green eyes. Annabeth and the boy both sported a streak of gray that started at their hairline, a quirk Annabeth still had. They were all wearing their orange camp shirts and beads, though, on Thalia’s necklace, there was only one, the golden fleece, for the only summer she’d ever truly been a camper. She must have left for the Hunt pretty soon after this photo was taken because she looked the same as when they’d reunited a month ago. In a faint hope, Jason flipped the photo, the corner of his lip quirking when he saw what he’d been searching for. In clear letters, carefully but haltingly inscribed: ‘Thalia, Grover, Percy, and I. Summer 2007.’
This wasn’t just a photo of Annabeth, it was one she had held once and given to Thalia at some point. And there was that name, Percy. So this was Percy Jackson? This kid with messy hair and what looked like a ketchup stain on his oversized shirt became a god? Jason smiled, his brows knitting together all the while. It was hard to reconcile the boy in the photo with the mind-bendingly heroic exploits everyone circulated. Except it was true that the older counselors who’d known him as a demigod always seemed to undercut those exploits with a playful dig and a laugh. Neither Clarisse nor Malcolm could talk about Percy without making fun of him at least once, not caring that he could technically smite them now. Jason supposed it was hard to find a guy intimidating when you’ve watched him get chased through Camp by an angry cleaning harpy wielding rubber gloves like throwing stars, even if he was a god now; that was one of Clarisse's favorites and she retold it a lot. Percy had had made the mistake of back-talking during washing-up, and it had got him chased through Camp and down to the lake, where he'd managed to jump in and escape but not before the enraged harpy had landed several hits to the back of his head with a series of satisfying 'thwap' sounds.
Jason found himself reluctant to put the photo back. It felt like a shame to put it back in a box to sit untouched for another decade or two.
PIPER
Annabeth jumped about a foot out of her desk chair when Piper poked her shoulder gently to get her attention. Some 90s indie band was blasting from her headphones. One of those songs you know but can’t name from an early 2000s teen movie.
“Would you train with me?”
“What?” Annabeth looked up from whatever it was she was sketching. She pulled out the headphones, still blaring, from her ears with fingers covered in graphite dust.
Piper had observed that when Annabeth wasn’t at Rachel’s, she would often shut herself up in the Artemis cabin and deafen herself, blocking out the sounds of Camp with music as she scrolled through her golden laptop and scrawled ideas onto paper using borrowed art supplies from Rachel’s extensive collection. The girl needed to get out for once, and Piper could use a challenging sparring partner.
“You fight with a knife, right? Then train with me,” Piper suggested. “Prepping the Argo is important, but you need to prepare yourself too.”
Annabeth narrowed her eyes, and for a moment, Piper thought she would get thrown out, but then the ghost of a smile turned the corners of Annabeth’s mouth. “You’re on, McLean. Meet you at the Arena in an hour?”
When Piper arrived, Annabeth was already waiting for her. At first glance, without her silver parka and combat boots, she looked just like any old camper in a Camp shirt with a stain on the shoulder and a hole in the sleeve, an extensive string of beads around her neck. The shirt was an older design though, barely noticeable, but it was clear it was over a decade old. She turned a gleaming celestial bronze blade in her hands, observing how the light moved over it. Piper could see it was wicked sharp even from all the way over the other side of the Arena and almost the length of Annabeth’s forearm. A sword-like dagger, more than a knife, not unlike Piper’s weapon, Katoptris.
Within the first half an hour, Piper had learned about four new tricks for disarming. Clearly, the Hunters drilled regularly because Annabeth moved like a demon, keeping Piper on the defensive. Eventually, she had to call time, begging for a break.
“Gods, remind me never to pick a fight with a Hunter,” Piper said, falling onto a bench and reaching for her water.
Annabeth didn’t even look sweaty. Perks of immortality, Piper supposed. But she was a bit out of breath. She sat down next to Piper and reached for her water as well. There was a soft look in her gray eyes as she cast her gaze over the Arena, a wistful smile forming. “Feels weird, fighting here again. Good weird, though. I trained here for years, from when I was seven years old. Being here… feels like going back in time. Except-” A frown formed, denting her brow.
“The people are different?” Piper suggested.
Annabeth’s shoulders sagged. “Not all of them.” She tucked a stray golden curl behind her ear, and just for a moment, she truly seemed sixteen. “But I haven’t seen them in so long. Time when you’re immortal, it starts not to make sense, and we don’t keep track in the Hunt. Logically I knew it had been ten years, but being here, seeing everyone, it makes it real.”
Piper swallowed roughly before daring to ask her next question. “Any regrets?”
Annabeth laughed shortly, but there was no joy in it. “Oh, plenty. But joining the Hunt isn’t one of them.”
They trained for a while longer before calling it a day and heading back toward the cabins. Annabeth seemed to be meandering a little, and Piper understood why. She doubted Annabeth had stopped to take in all the changes until now. Piper had only ever seen her marching across Camp with purpose, her gaze fixed ahead of her. But now, their talk seemed to have mellowed Annabeth a bit. As they approached the omega of cabins, Annabeth looked left and right, taking in the third line of cabins added for the children of minor gods. A fourth of them were empty, but that was better than when Piper had first got here, and they hadn’t even existed, all their kids claimed but still crammed into the Hermes cabin.
Piper returned from her reminiscences as Annabeth passed by, brushing shoulders with her, seemingly dazed, her lips parted as she approached the first cabin on the left. Cabin 21. A bright blue, cheery-looking cabin with a chimney that always puffed smoke. Not the dark gray smoke that rose from the Hephaestus’ cabin’s forges, but a pale smoke that smelled of a night by the campfire, smores and all. Above the door, carved in marble, was the symbol of a jar, flanked on either side by a wave design. The door was shut, and Piper had never seen anyone go inside.
She felt she should say something, “They built that about a year after I got here. There was a council meeting just before I became a counselor. He said he didn’t need one, but the deal was that all the minor gods would get cabins.” Piper remembered that day fairly well. All the counselors had come to dinner seething because there had been a fight over whether or not Percy should even have a cabin. Of course, Piper had unfortunately received an account of it from Drew first, who was on the ‘well, obviously’ team. She’d been of the opinion that he was a male god, and they all had demigod kids at some point, so clearly, he should have a cabin. She’d tacked on some rather tactless statements about a certain daughter of Athena, and then ‘It’s not like he’s still going to be pining after her a thousand years from now. I give it another ten years, at most.’
Annabeth didn’t say anything, she didn’t even move or acknowledge that she’d heard Piper. She just kept staring, her mouth closing as her jaw tightened.
“One thing I’ve never understood is the jar. Doesn’t exactly say Savior of Olympus,” Piper put some humor in her tone and forced a smile, desperate to lighten the mood as she noted the tension in Annabeth’s shoulders.
“It’s Pandora’s jar. The host of hope.” Annabeth’s voice had lowered to little more than a whisper. A memory swum in her eyes, but Piper didn’t dare ask what it was. Annabeth shook her head as if to banish it and turned away from the cabin. “Um, same time tomorrow? If you like.”
“Yeah, sure,” Piper said, following Annabeth with her eyes as the Hunter rushed off. She watched as Annabeth jogged over to the fire that was kept alight at the center of the great omega and kneeled at the edge beside a girl who was tending to it. A girl Piper had seen before, many times, but never really noticed. A girl who’d never aged or changed to Piper’s memory, her dark hair tied up in a scarf, a plain brown dress, and shoeless feet. Both her face and attire timeless.
“Hestia,” Will seemed to appear out of nowhere to answer the unspoken question in Piper’s expression, a melancholic smile on his face.
“Hestia?” Piper said, breathless. “You’ve met her before?”
“A few times. First on Olympus, just before the battle of Manhattan”
“And she just… hangs out here?”
“I think she exists at every hearth, every home, but yes, a big part of her just kinda ‘hangs out’ here.” Will folded his arms and sighed. “She favored Nico. It’s one of the things that makes me hopeful that he’s… you know… safe.”
Piper wordlessly placed a hand on Will’s arm, and he let out a ragged breath. “Wonder what Annabeth wants with her,” he said, rolling his shoulders and steeling himself, clearly not wanting to think on Nico for too long in case it overwhelmed him.
“We were by Percy’s cabin, and she just kinda took off,” Piper said, replaying the moment in her mind. “We talked about his symbol, and then she ran off to talk to Hestia.”
“Pandora’s jar.” Will chewed his lip. “Prometheus gifted it to Percy during the war to tempt him to give up hope. It was a bad day. Annabeth had just taken a poisoned knife, we still didn’t know who the spy was, and we’d taken a lot of losses. My big brother, Michael, he-” Will cut himself off and swallowed the lump in his throat. “In the end, Percy gifted the jar to Hestia.”
“But it’s still his symbol?”
Will’s next words were filled with passion. In the style of a true son of Apollo, they were spoken like epic poetry from the mouth of a Rhapsode, “Percy didn’t pick it, that was us. He didn’t even want a cabin. We all chose the jar as his symbol, and we did that because he gave it away. It was a reminder that you don’t lose hope even when the odds are bad. Ever since he became our patron, more of us survive. More of us have made it into our twenties, even thirties, than ever before. It’s not a coincidence, Piper. He's been protecting us.” After a moment, he added softly, “He gave up a lot to do that. The least we can do is not give up hope.”
Piper followed Will’s gaze back to where Annabeth was still sitting cross-legged in front of Hestia, deep in conversation. Hestia reached out tenderly and placed a hand on Annabeth’s jaw, stroking her cheek with a thumb. It was a motherly gesture that seemed strange from a girl who didn’t look any older than thirteen, but then Hestia flickered. Her place was taken by a beautiful young woman with warm, dark eyes and black hair that was drawn back from her face, covered by a length of white fabric that draped over her head and about her shoulders loosely.
Piper concentrated, a name coming to her, “Vesta?”
Will nodded in confirmation.
“What do you think she’s telling Annabeth?”
Will shrugged, resignation in his tired eyes. “Doubt either of them will ever tell us.”
ANNABETH
Rachel was a safe haven, or at least her home was, despite the creepy vision paintings. They could be avoided, for the most part, as long Annabeth stayed out of her studio. Mostly she sat in the library. It was a soothing, airy room with the comfiest couches Annabeth had ever had the pleasure of sitting on. The god of the sun knew his upholstery. The large, north-east facing bay windows spilled indirect sunlight into the space, framing the long island sound where it sparkled in the distance. Annabeth often came to work at the desk tucked against the wall, searching Daedalus’ laptop for anything that could assist them on their quest or in the building of the Argo II. She’d given it to Malcolm for safe-keeping when she joined the Hunt, knowing she wouldn’t have time or use for it. As much as she was a Hunter, she’d been the architect of Olympus once too, and returning to her old passion was refreshing. Occasionally, Rachel would pass through, placing a cup of tea next to Annabeth and flipping through a book before returning to her studio.
Rachel’s kitchen was the only one at Camp apart from the one by the pavilion, and a lot of the time, Annabeth didn’t feel like sitting alone at Artemis’ table, so she would join Rachel for meals. She was sure it would have been fine for her to sit with her siblings, but most of them were nosy, wide-eyed teenagers, and it felt like some small rebellion against her mother to choose to be anywhere else.
Worst of all, when she did sit in the pavilion, she had to look at the empty tables; It seemed that Hades had kept his oath until the end, and Poseidon’s only indiscretion had been Percy. Even nearly ten years later, no children sat at their tables, not yet anyway. It only reminded Annabeth of how different things were now. A memory assaulted her. Percy dropping mustard from his hotdog onto his shorts only to look around for witnesses and see her laughing quietly at him from her table. He’d grinned at her, sheepishly dabbing at it with a napkin before balling up said napkin and throwing it at her with all his might. It barely made it a foot, falling so comically far short of her table that they had both burst out laughing, startling everyone around them.
“There’s more pasta in the pot if you want it,” Rachel offered as she mopped up her sauce with some bread.
Annabeth shook her head absentmindedly. “No thanks.”
Rachel sighed, putting her cutlery together on her plate. “Did you see Percy at the Wolf House?”
Annabeth tensed, the abruptness of the question catching her off guard. “What?”
Rachel just waited expectantly, knowing Annabeth had heard her.
“No, I mean, why would he have been there?”
Rachel smiled unconvincingly and stood, beginning to gather the plates. “He wouldn’t. Or shouldn’t have been. It doesn’t matter.”
Annabeth thought back to that night. To the terror and the storm. There hadn’t been any sign of Percy, even if for a moment she had wished there was.
“And, um, Annabeth.” Rachel turned to face her, leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed over her paint-stained overalls. “You can say his name, you know?”
Annabeth’s nostrils flared as she clenched her fists under the table. “His name has power now.”
“You won’t suddenly summon him, and I can guarantee you,” Rachel sighed, throwing her gaze to the heavens, “he’s keeping an eye on you whether you say his name or not.”
Annabeth shivered, her shoulders rising defensively. “I’ll head back to my cabin now.”
Rachel pressed her palms on the table and leaned in, trying to hide her exasperation but failing. “Can I at least show you something first?”
Fairly reluctantly, Annabeth nodded and followed Rachel out of the kitchen and down the hall to her studio, the pungent smell of turpentine hanging in the air. Rachel began picking through her canvases for the right one. “I keep having this dream. I spoke to Clovis about it, and he thinks it’s a vision.”
“Well, that would make sense,” Annabeth said dryly, “you know, for you.”
Rachel rolled her eyes and hefted a canvas from beneath three others, holding it up for Annabeth’s appraisal.
“It’s not your best,” she said, one eyebrow raised.
Rachel sighed heavily and placed the canvas on a nearby easel so she and Annabeth could stand side by side to view it. “What annoys me is I can’t paint it.” She began to chew her lip furiously.
“It’s just darkness?” Annabeth enquired, taking on a more serious demeanor.
“Yeah, darkness and this whistling and rumbling, wind rushing, tearing at my clothes, and weightless terror. You know that feeling you get for a split second when you think there’s another step to the stairs and there isn’t? It’s that, for what feels like hours and hours, and then I wake up.”
Annabeth shivered. “Why are you telling me? I’m no Clovis.”
Rachel reached out for Annabeth’s elbow. “I wanted to warn you.”
Annabeth felt cold terror settling in the pit of her stomach at the thought. “You think it’s to do with me?”
Rachel paused before shaking her head lightly. “Well… no, not necessarily, but I think it’s to do with the quest of the Seven.”
"Well, I promise to do my best to keep all of us away from any cliff edges and or ravines at night,” There was an edge of humor to Annabeth’s tone. Still, she knew her expression probably made it apparent that she was unsettled because Rachel didn’t even attempt a laugh.
PERCY
Percy felt out of place. Though perhaps that was his fault. Maybe he had made himself too much of a stranger.
He’d crashed the war council in his camp shirt and beads to look as inconspicuous as possible, but there was no real way to ignore what he was. Surrounded by his friends, once peers, now all in their mid-twenties and back as counselors for the summer, he stood out like a sore thumb. They’d also placed him at the head of the table as though he were someone important, which didn’t feel great. Even Rachel was strange with him, greeting him with uncertainty. She’d looked like she wanted to tell him something but then had Clarisse punched him hard, announcing she’d always wanted to punch a god before dragging him into a hug that would have broken a rib or two if he were mortal. They’d thrown insults back and forth for a minute before he’d been introduced to the newer camp residents. He knew them all already of course, he’d been watching over them even if they’d never met him before. The only exception was the elusive Jason Grace, the son of Jupiter, who looked nothing like his sister but for the electrifying blue eyes that watched Percy from behind gold wire frames. Percy knew nothing of him, he'd had no idea Thalia even had a brother, and it troubled him. If he couldn't sense Jason, then what else was he missing?
Before he knew it, he was cornered by a very curious Leo Valdez, who’d taken the seat next to him and was asking a multitude of questions about godhood, most of which Percy had no idea how to answer. At twenty-five, Leo still looked about seventeen with his short, skinny frame and youthful, elfin face, though his demeanor put him around the age of eight.
“How come you still look sixteen? Can you look older? I thought gods could look how they liked?” Leo’s face was far closer to Percy’s than he would have liked.
“Um… Probably. I don’t know. I’ve never tried.” Percy considered it a moment, trying to look older, but was quietly terrified he’d do something embarrassing like accidentally get distracted and turn himself into a dolphin. Animals he could do, especially sea creatures.
The door was flung open, and Percy’s gaze was drawn to it with everyone else's, and there, without warning, stood a startlingly familiar figure.
A sudden complete silence fell over the Rec room, the only sound the chirps of Seymour the leopard head where he was mounted on the wall, a parting gift from Mr D prior to his return to Olympus for the Solstice. Percy had pointedly ignored Zeus’ invitation, as the king of the gods had learned to expect.
She hadn’t changed at all since he’d last seen her, which he supposed shouldn’t be a surprise. For a moment, his godhood seemed forgotten, and he felt his emotions bleed out into the whole of his body, his heart throbbing against his ribcage. His stomach flipped. If he could be sick, he was pretty sure he would have thrown up all over the ping pong table. There was a loud screech, and he realized it had been the sound of his chair moving across the floor as he involuntarily stood.
Her bright gray eyes hadn’t wavered from him since her entrance, and after noting his response, they grew ever more stormy.
It probably didn’t last more than a second, their standoff, both of them staring from opposite sides of the room, taking the other in, but for Percy it seemed to last a lifetime. Her blonde curls weren’t interwoven with silver threads and braided back from her face in a simple half-up, half-down style like they tended to be when she was with the Hunters, but just stuck up in the same simple pony she’d used to sport before. Her silvery aura seemed to melt away, leaving only the intense look in her eyes. For a moment, she was the slightly grubby, beautiful girl who’d kissed him in the center of a volcano, and he wasn’t a god, just an oblivious fourteen-year-old boy steadily falling in love with his best friend.
Annabeth was the first to draw her eyes away to smile a little insincerely at the rest of the gathering, “Sorry I’m late.”
Percy used the absence of her gaze on him to recover, sitting back down heavily. For once, he was glad he didn’t have blood anymore because all of it would have rushed to his face. He gritted his teeth, wondering if his cheeks were glowing instead. Most of the gathering were looking Annabeth’s way, but a few faces were still turned in his direction, and so he tried to look as unaffected as possible. He wasn’t convinced he managed it. When he eventually tuned back in, Jason was speaking, and Piper McLean was the only one not listening. She watched Percy until he met her gaze accusingly, daring her to keep looking at him.
“We have our crew. We have our ship,” Jason looked around at those gathered, “and I don’t think we’ll ever be better prepared.”
With a smirk, Leo added teasingly, “Annabeth has made sure of that.”
“We’re all in Artemis’ debt for allowing her to come,'' Katie Gardner commented protectively before resuming chewing her lip agitatedly.
“My mother insisted, Katie,” Annabeth said, opting to fiddle with the edge of the table rather than meet any of the numerous pairs of eyes on her.
Percy’s fists clenched in his lap. It wasn’t every day Athena and Artemis agreed on something.
“I’ll be coming too,” Percy said. Until this moment, he hadn’t been entirely sure of his place, he wasn’t one of the Seven, but if Annabeth was going, he was going too. He’d made a promise a long time ago to fight by her side, and she needed him now. They all did. So many of these heroes had beaten the odds, making it well into their twenties, and it had given him hope that things could be different. He wasn’t going to let that slip away. “Giants can only be defeated by gods and heroes working together, and I’m perhaps the only one who can defy Zeus completely in his command to stay out of the war,” there was a distant rumble as Percy spoke. He ignored it. “Even he can’t deny me my sphere. Not that I've ever made much of a habit of doing what he tells me anyway.” When he steeled himself and looked at Annabeth, he found her eyes shining, but he couldn’t figure out what with; anger, fear, or…
“Percy,” Chiron said, all attention turning to where he sat in his wheelchair halfway down the table, “the prophecy makes no mention of you.”
Clarisse snorted. “That’s never stopped him before.”
“Percy’s right, Chiron,” Rachel’s tone was one of resignation. “This is a journey he has to make too.”
The way she said it sent a shiver down Percy’s spine.
“Then it’s decided,” Jason said. “The summer solstice is tomorrow. Good a day for it as any. Are we ready, Leo?”
The young man scrambled to sit straight and look like he’d been paying attention. “Give me until midday. I can have her ready.”
ANNABETH
Annabeth had always been a careful packer, and she threw herself into preparations. Having the Artemis cabin all to herself made it easy to stay out of everyone's way and focus on the task. It was a good distraction from what had happened at the war council. Perhaps she should have thought a little longer about her entrance after she’d been told Percy was there. She wasn’t even sure what had left her so incensed. After all, she wasn’t angry with him anymore. At least she didn’t think so. If anything, there had been a small part of her that was desperate to see him.
After a restless night, she woke early and mulled for hours over what to wear, her Hunter gear or the Camp clothes she’d kept all these years for some unknown reason. Eventually, she pulled her silver jacket and black combat boots on over her Camp shirt and jeans and tied her camp necklace around her neck. Squaring up with herself in the mirror, she fingered the beads lightly, faltering on one right in the center. The green trident seemed to glimmer in the silver light emitted by the walls of cabin eight. ‘Gods,’ she muttered, angered by how unstable she felt. How was she meant to complete this quest if just being around him distracted her like this?
Deciding it was probably safe and that most of the camp would be at breakfast, she emerged from the cabin. She should have known she wouldn’t be so lucky. Looking about to check no one was watching her, a pair of green eyes met hers from where Percy was sitting on the steps of the Poseidon cabin. With the same dumbstruck look he’d been wearing yesterday, he stood at the sight of her. She knew there was no point in trying to avoid him, but she would give it a good go. She began to march in the opposite direction with purpose.
He caught up to her in seconds. “Hey, um, can we talk?”
“What about?” She tried to keep her tone light.
“Annabeth, please. We should talk.”
He said it so gently it made her want to hit him or maybe cry. Catching her wrist lightly, he stopped her in her tracks, and her gaze found his. Her heart thundered, and it sent a jolt of fear through her. “We don’t have to be friends to complete this quest, Percy.”
He looked so pained she could barely look at him. “Are we not even friends anymore?”
His hand felt so familiar around her wrist, so solid, it was easy to forget what he was. He looked just the same as the day he’d taken immortality. Like her, he hadn’t grown any older. His permanently windswept black hair hung over his forehead, its grey streak still present, matching hers, and his green eyes shone with the same resentful sadness they'd had the day he’d heard the full prophecy. She’d fully accepted she could lose him that day.
“You know where I stand, Percy,” she struggled to keep her tone as level as she could with him looking at her the way he was; those soft, sad eyes boring into her, reopening a wound that had barely begun to heal.
“Annabeth?” Will’s voice broke through, and Percy dropped her wrist, stepping back and stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.
Annabeth looked around for Will and found a few campers watching them closely. Pointedly ignoring them, she searched until she found him standing about ten paces behind her, beckoning for her to follow.
“Percy, you should come too. They’re doing final checks.”
Annabeth didn’t get a moment to continue her conversation with Percy afterwards. Leo dragged her into last-minute preparations, which, honestly, she considered a mercy. An hour later, the wind was rushing through their hair as Leo cackled and whooped, revelling in his creation, pulling the throttle back as far as it would go.
PIPER
Piper watched the strange godling as he leaned over the edge of the boat, his hair flowing wildly in the breeze, a wounded expression etched deep across his features. It was hard to believe what he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t look the part. He did have certain qualities; a face that could have been carved out of marble, commanding energy, and swirling green eyes that were just a little unnerving to look into. But then, in many ways, he seemed so much more human than the other gods she’d had run-ins with. Even more so than some mortals, she’d met, if she was honest. He didn’t glow, or impose, or imply his superiority with his words or form. The slight aura of power to him and the striking nature of his features, weren’t all-encompassing. For the most part, he looked like a boy, no older than the boy in the photo...
With an unsure hand, Piper pulled it from the inside pocket of her snowboarding jacket and her next breath caught in her throat.
At the moment depicted, Percy clutched Annabeth to his side with an arm around her waist as she slung hers around his shoulders. It was a candid, taken after what looked to be a chariot race Piper guessed by the padded leather gear they wore and the familiar track she could see a slither of in the background. They were both in their orange camp shirts, sporting matching triumphant smiles as their shining eyes met. Piper realized then she’d been wrong about them being no different. Whilst they weren’t much different physically, the kids in this photo were not the same people she was on the Argo II with. Their faces might not have aged, but their souls had, for better or worse. What was behind their eyes today was a history of hurt the two kids in the photo had no idea about.
Piper had arrived at camp almost a decade ago, not long after the war. Mentions of Annabeth and Percy made in passing had meant little to her. She’d simply brushed them off as part of the camp’s history. She hadn’t the framework then to understand the gravity of what they’d done or become; ‘Oh, yeah, they made Percy a god for beating Kronos. He still shows up sometimes.’ ‘Annabeth’s not around anymore, she joined the Hunters of Artemis after the war.’ Drew had made some comment about Annabeth’s choice being a ‘waste’. Piper had initially brushed that off as Drew being judgemental, implying a life without romance could never be fulfilling. She remembered calling Drew out on it, saying, ‘Maybe she didn’t care about having a love life. Not everyone does, Drew.’ The whole Aphrodite cabin had stilled at this, listening in. ‘All I know is,’ Drew had begun, smirking in the knowledge she had the upper hand, having known Annabeth personally, ‘if Percy Jackson had looked at me like that, I wouldn’t have pledged myself to eternal maidenhood.’ Lacy’s determined little voice had piped up in defense of Annabeth, clearly a fan, ‘What was she supposed to do? What does your future even look like when your boyfriend’s a god?’ Valentina had spoken next, a solemn wistfulness in her tone, ‘It’s so romantic and tragic. Do you remember how upset Mom was? Gods, that week was awful. None of us could get our hair right.’ And so cabin ten descended into an inane conversation about bad hair days that caused Mitchell to catch Piper’s gaze and share an eye-roll.
Later she’d pulled Mitchell aside, wanting to understand more about what Drew had said.
‘I don’t know what to tell you, Piper. We all thought they would happen. Drew wasn’t kidding. The way they looked at each other was… something, you know? We were desperate to give them a push, but Mom made us all promise not to interfere, said that it had to play out with the Fates.’
‘The Fates?’
‘Yeah, well, they were subjects of the great prophecy. Even Mom couldn’t mess with them too much, they’re tethered souls, the number of prophecies… it wove their threads so tight. The Fates govern their paths. Even gods don’t mess with that kinda stuff.’
Piper had discovered the photo a few years later, after a council meeting, wandering back to the Big House’s pseudo-hall of fame, or ‘hall of heroes', she supposed. Back then, she hadn’t known it was them, but the photo had made an impression. They were one of the only photos that showed a pair in a moment of action, rather than a portrait of an individual, the matching gray streaks in their hair raising a hundred questions. Meeting them, watching as they stood face to face at either end of the ping pong table, she hadn’t been able to look away. Percy had been especially terrible at hiding his emotions, they’d seemed to ripple out from him, filling everyone else in the room with the same hurt and longing visible in his face. Finally, Piper understood what her siblings had been referencing all those years ago. Afterwards, she’d found herself in the hall of heroes, staring at that photo, now fading slightly with age. This time, for a reason she didn’t understand, she’d reached out and plucked it from where it was pinned up, slipping it into her jacket.
“Hey,” was all Piper said as she approached Percy.
“Oh, Hi, Piper.”
They’d never spoken before, but he seemed familiar with her somehow. No need to confirm her name. But she supposed it was pretty much his job to know it.
Piper leaned against the balustrade next to him. “I hear you aren’t taking a cabin?”
“I don’t sleep,” Percy answered with a shrug. “And there’s not enough. They’ll all be needed when we pick up the others.”
A thought came to Piper then. “Do you know who they are? Since… you know, it’s your sphere.”
Percy shook his head. “Roman demigods aren’t. I can’t even sense the Roman Camp. Just as well. If I had a Roman form, I’d be fracturing like the rest.”
Silence fell for a moment, then Piper circled back. “How does it feel, never sleeping?”
Percy laughed, but it was an empty sound as he gazed out across the green plains below, his eyes reflecting the shade of the lakes far below, an ever-so-slightly translucent stained glass green. “Like the longest, most insufferable day of your life. I miss waking up late on Saturday mornings, smelling pancakes and coffee in the air, and my mom playing Motown in the kitchen. I miss dreaming. Sometimes I even miss the creepy prophetic nightmares.” He winced, clearly realizing this was quite a lot to share with a near stranger. “You doing some Aphrodite sorcery right now?”
“No,” Piper admitted truthfully, a knowing smile on her lips. “I think you just needed someone to talk to.”
“Yeah, well… it’s been a while,” Percy murmured, barely audible.
Piper turned and leaned over the ship's edge, matching Percy’s stance. “You visit your mom much?”
“I try, but it’s hard to pretend that nothing’s changed, for both of us,” Percy said, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. Clearly, he hadn’t meant for the conversation to go this far.
Her next words caught in her throat as the quiet anguish coming off of him in waves washed over her, and she had to fight to keep her eyes from betraying how well she understood him. So this was the story of Percy Jackson? Famed hero turned god. He’d been ‘gifted’ immortality, only to leave everything he loved behind. Quite the prize. After all, why stick around to watch your mother, friends, and everyone who’d ever meant anything to you, wither and die? It would be slow torture. Annabeth and Thalia were the only ones who’d stay young, but they’d sworn off his company. What was it like? Piper wondered. To have the only two friends you could spend eternity with take an oath to avoid you to earn their immortality. To have the girl you love swear an oath to a goddess to never fall in love herself. And Piper was completely sure Percy loved Annabeth, even having only known him a day or two. She didn’t have to be a daughter of Aphrodite to read the emotions so plain on his face. As for Annabeth, Piper couldn’t tell. There were clearly strong emotions invoked by Percy, but as to their nature… it wasn’t clear to her yet. Piper wondered whether it was even possible for her to be in love with Percy. Surely she wouldn’t have been allowed to continue with the Hunters if she was. It wasn’t just physical acts of love that were forbidden for the Hunters, it was the act of falling in love itself, as intangible a thing as that may be. Whilst being intimate with someone would undoubtedly get you turned into a squirrel, you couldn’t be a Hunter if you only fell for someone. You would be cast out. It all seemed incredibly unfair to Piper, not that she would dare speak her opinion aloud, especially to Annabeth.
“Hey, your godliness, can you help me with these sails?” Leo cried from the bow, holding the end of a rope with one hand as he strained to reach his Wii controller.
Percy sighed, and nodded a goodbye to her. “See you, Piper.”
“Yeah,” she replied thoughtfully as he turned to leave. Even being aware that he was an actual god who, in years at least, was older than her, all she saw as he walked away was a lonely little boy. “Wait, Percy!”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Visit your mom more, even if it’s hard. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Discussing Percy’s family, all those years in her early twenties when Piper had blown off her dad because he hadn’t been there enough when she was a teenager had come into startling focus. She’d wasted so much time punishing him when she should have just asked for an apology and gotten over herself. In a moment of fearlessness, she added hurriedly, “If you love someone, there’s never really a good enough reason to stay away.”
For a moment, a fire raged behind Percy’s eyes at her outburst, and she was worried she’d incurred his godly wrath, but then it died just as fast, and he only nodded lightly and forced a grateful smile before turning his back once again.
Piper couldn’t help but keep an eye on him after that. At meals, she watched as he began to relax, joking with Jason and making fun of Leo, all the while keeping his distance from Annabeth and any mention of the past.
Annabeth kept to herself, for the most part, only really spending time with Piper alone, the same way she had in the months leading up to their departure. Keeping to her oath, Piper supposed. Perhaps not wanting to invest in friendships with the boys she couldn’t continue. She poured over schematics and books, chewing her cheek in furious concentration as she worked at the communal table at dinnertimes, not taking a break even as she ate. Piper watched as Percy’s gaze fell upon Annabeth time after time, a subtle wistful expression on his face and an adoring, amused smile forming as she maneuvered food into her mouth without tearing her eyes from a page.
In those moments, Drew’s words came to Piper, ‘It’s not like he’s still going to be pining after her a thousand years from now.’ Every day Piper felt like she knew Percy better, and every day she grew more uncertain that Drew was right.