Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nico saw red.

He had been running—running from Percy, from camp, from the Hunters—and he wasn’t quite sure where he was going. He was running from anything and everything, especially that little statue of Hades that Percy had placed in his hands, brushing their fingers together. Nico was running deeper into the woods, farther than he had ever gone before.

Soon, the trees became unfamiliar. He could no longer point out Zeus’s fist on the horizon, and the snow fell harder on his back. What was a small flurry at camp was quickly turning into a blizzard once he crossed the boundary line—a line he never knew about on this side of camp.

Nico pulled his jacket closer around himself, zipping it up to cover the bright orange of his camp tee. He frowned. His head panged, onset from crying and running. His eyes were red, matching his even brighter cheeks. It was too cold for this. Spotting a river, Nico took the time to crouch beside it, keeping his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Bianca was dead.

He knew this—he’d known it for a few days now. He’d been having dreams… he’d heard whispers from the ground below. He could see the way Chiron looked at him, the way Dionysus occasionally glanced his way. It smelled of death. Of pity. He scowled.

It wasn’t fair—how could they have made Bianca go on that quest anyways? The Hunters were stupid . Camp was stupid . Percy was stupid . Don’t make promises you can’t keep! Don’t send twelve year-olds with no training off on life-threatening quests! Don’t kill Bianca! — Nico didn’t understand. Why her? Bianca was all he had, and it was bad enough that she decided to join up, but did she have to die?

Questions and protests burned, and Nico almost forgot what had happened after the skeletons showed up. The ground split. He was terrified, but one thought sat in his stomach: Did I do that? He knew he’d have had to. The skeletons, the ground—Percy’s face—it meant something. Probably his godly parent… he shook the thought off. That could still mean many things. 

While Nico pondered, he stayed distracted. He failed to notice the crunching of snow getting closer and closer. He could barely hear anything over the sound of the blizzard. He didn’t notice the approach of someone coming from behind him, and he certainly didn’t notice anything—not until he had been hoisted into the air by some unknown force.

“Eeeeek!” Nico squealed screamed. “Who are you?”

He called out, begging for a response. The arms around him were strong. Warm, unnaturally warm. They felt like the lava from the rock wall at camp, but without the stinging pain of third-degree burns. Before he realized, his vision was going purple, then red, then black, until he could see nothing at all. He felt a drop, only to be submerged into an odd, sticky warmth. Nico clamped his eyes and mouth shut, feeling the strange liquid fill his ears, his nose. The smell of steely-like blood, not too unfamiliar to the smell that had clung to Percy when he returned from his quest.

Nico felt himself hoisted upwards, but this time by a different pair of arms. He gasped for air, feeling the liquid (which he was starting to think truly was blood) trickle onto his lips, into his mouth. He sputtered. 

“Hey, hey, hey—Nico!” A voice called. “Are you okay? Just breathe, I’ll clean you up—”

“Y-you can’t do that, Z-Zagreus!” A shaky voice chimed in. 

A third. “Let ‘Dusa take care of it, Zag.”

Nico kept his eyes clamped shut, his arms held in front of his face, his hands balled into fists. Who were these people? Why had they taken him… why did everything feel so warm? Questions ran through his mind like mad. Softly, a hand wiped his eyes, smearing the sticky liquid off. A few more wipes with a warm towel and Nico’s face was feeling fresh and un-stickied. He opened his eyes.

Surrounding him were three people and what appeared to be a… gorgon head? And the people—Nico gave them a once over—they hardly were mortals. He’d only met Artemis and Apollo, but the way the beings in front of him stood was familiar. Immortals.

“Who are y-you?” Nico asked, cringing at his stutter. “Where-“ He looked up. Around him was regalia and gold, from olympic columns to purple laurels wreathing down from who knows where. A sarcophagus lined the floor, flower petals falling on his feet. Torches blazed a proud blue. His heart dropped, uncertainty settling in. “Where am I?”

Something in Nico made him think he already knew the answer to that one.

The woman spoke first. Her lavender-blue hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and swept barely above the floor. She seemed familiar, vaguely, from her eyes and pointed face. “You’re in the—”

“—Underworld.” Nico finished, missing the glint in her eyes after he interrupted her. “Why?”

“For your own safety, Prince!” The Gorgon head chimed in, a rag hovering beside her. “M-master might disagree, but Lady Nyx put her foot down and…” She trailed off, looking at the other two immortals. 

The taller one spoke up. He had long silvery hair and golden eyes, not unlike Nico’s and Bianca’s. “And we went to fetch you.” He sent a glance at the other man, who was still holding Nico in his arms, staring at him as if he was contemplating something. “Seriously, Zag.” 

The voice that came from above was just as warm as the arms that carried him. 

“What?—Sorry.” ‘Zag’ spoke. He looked back at Nico, and frowned. “You’re—you’re so small?”

Nico felt attacked. “I’m ten!” Ten, and now not only motherless, but he’d lost Bianca, too. He grimaced.

Zag’s eyes widened, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape, not noticing Nico’s mood shift. “You're practically a baby then!” He bit his lip, before turning on the others. “Than, I don’t think I’m ready for this. It’s been ages since I last—”

Feeling more and more frustrated as the immortal’s spoke, Nico felt the urge to scream. He was so—so— tired . He didn't want to deal with being kidnapped right now. He didn’t want to be called ‘prince’, or think of the implications that it meant. He didn't want to question how they knew where he was, or his name. He definitely didn't want to stay being held in the arms of someone who’s heart was literally going a mile a minute. For some reason, however, he didn’t feel unsafe. If he was truly in the Underworld—which he was—wouldn’t alarm bells be going off like crazy? Isn’t that how demigods work? But instead, when he looked upon this place, these people, he didn’t feel unsafe at all. He felt closer to home than he’d had in days.

Nico tried to wrestle himself out of the man’s arms, only to find himself stuck.

“What’s up, Nico?” ‘Zag’ asked him. He looked down, momentarily distracted from his conversation.

“Can you put me down?”

Zag’s eyes widened. “Oh!” He set Nico down gently. “Yeah. Of course.”

The man with the silvery hair (Than?) focused his attention on Nico. “Nico,” He paused, looking over Nico’s condition. Stained jeans, large jacket, and ratty shoes. “You must have realized who your father is, yes?”

Nico knew. He knew as soon as he had gotten here. There was no other answer, really. 

“Hades. God of the Underworld.”

The hall around them swelled, as if the chamber was alive. And why wouldn’t it be? The braziers burned, ever-lasting. Petals continued to fall from who-knows-where. And something in Nico could feel shifting in the distance—the Underworld re-aligning itself—slotting into places where it could fit, tearing down room in another. It breathed, more like a slumbering giant than a well-oiled machine.

His voice was no more than a whisper, but the words were deafening to his ears. He knew from camp that the big three–they weren’t supposed to have kids. Yet he was here. Bianca was here. What did it mean?

Than nodded. “I can sense your unease, child. But do not worry. Everything—and I mean everything —will be explained in time. My mother,” Than stood taller. “My mother, the primordial Nyx, tasked us with bringing you here, in case that you would not stay at the demigod camp.” He locked eyes with the woman, who had been looking upon the conversation with disinterest. “You will stay here—in the House of Hades—as long as you wish.” Something in the distance boomed, followed by the rumbling of shifting stone. Something changed.

Nico nodded, trying to process the information. Everything was going over his head, and frankly, he was getting dizzier by the second. His body was still coated in blood from the pool they had pulled him from, and the smell of death was stronger, clinging to everything around him. Especially from Than, who Nico sort of had figured was short for ‘Thanatos’ at this point. He tried steadying himself on the towel rack beside him, only to crash onto the floor, the petals serving to soften his fall.

He could hear some shouts of surprise, but before he could respond, black spots began to fill his vision. His head hurt . He was likely dehydrated. The world around him slowly became black, and Nico drifted off into some much needed sleep.

Maybe he wouldn’t dream of Bianca’s death tonight.

Chapter Text

Nico dreamed of sheep. It’d been such a long time since he didn't dream of death—not since they left the hotel—so he was surprised when he was greeted by herds of sheep.

In the dream, Nico was a sheep. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he just did. He spent his time just lying in the sun or watching the clouds from where he sat beside the shepherd. The shepherd was a bit odd. Familiar, but only vaguely. His fluffy, coiled hair reminded him of a sheep, and he was simply… sleeping. Not super responsible. Sheep Nico didn't care though, and ended up tucking himself right beside the sleeping shepherd, getting himself comfortable. 

He couldn’t help but think of how nice a dream it was. When was the last time he’d gotten proper sleep? 

These quiet musings slowly filtered out as Nico became more aware of the world around him. Silk bed sheets beneath him, reminding himself of his room at the hotel. With… he frowned. With Bianca . Yesterday was too much. From waking up in camp and nearly getting beheaded by one of the Ares kids, to Percy confirming that Bianca was, in fact, dead, Nico hadn’t had much to process, much less understand what had been going on in the last few minutes of him being awake yesterday. He remembered the immortals— Gods —because Thanatos was certainly one. He remembered… talking. About his father. Who he was. He didn’t remember finding himself a room, though. Or changing clothes, for that matter.

Nico stared across the room to a sleek, black mirror. It was too dark to properly reflect the redness under his eyes, or the bruising at his knee. But it was able to show Nico that he was now wearing what must’ve been some sort of pajamas, incredibly soft and incredibly large . The shirt drooped past his knees, and the pants were bunching up at his ankles. These clothes dwarfed him completely, making him feel more like a five-year-old trying on his dad’s clothes for fun.

A knock came at the door. Nico was about to open his mouth, when instead, the perpetrator just passed on through the door. 

She was tall, transparent, and glowed an off-green color that reminded him of the Greek fire he had seen Connor and Travis Stoll messing with at camp. The woman—a ghost, he assumed—looked at him, as if to confirm something. And then promptly turned back the way she came.

“Wait—!” Nico called, reaching for her, but it was too late. She had already passed through the door, and Nico was once again alone.

He tried to make sense of things. There was no logical chain of events. All there was, really, was to cry. He was ten. No one could blame him if they found him bawling under the duvet—he’d just gotten the news that his sister had died.

So time passed like that. Nico figured it had been hours since the spirit had come, and he felt like he had gone through the stages of grief maybe six times over before someone else came to his door. 

“Coming in.” 

The voice belonged to the man who had been carrying him yesterday—the man who had taken him in the first place.

“I am Zagreus. God of blood, of life, and…” The man—no, the god —looked down, averting his mismatched eyes from Nico’s. “I’m your brother. Half at least.”

Nico nodded, still not talking. It felt as if he had lost all his energy. 

Zagreus shook his head, before coming to sit beside Nico. “Listen. Kid.” He patted Nico on the head. “I know that what you’re going through right now—it sucks. It’s terrible. You’re confused, overwhelmed, exhausted—and that’s okay.”

They sat, staring at each other. Neither of them budged before Zagreus spoke again. “All I have to say is that in light of recent events, you shouldn’t have to be at camp. Demigods don’t take too kindly to us,” he gestures between the two of them, “In general. Especially with the current climate of the gods, it's better to keep your here , safe, than let you explore on your own.”

“Recent events?”

Nico glared at Zagreus. Recent events? That’s what he would call his— their —sister’s death? Her murder? The blatant ignorance and disrespect to her , to her life ?

Seething, Nico turned away from Zagreus. “Sure feels like you guys just decided to bring me here when it was convenient.”

Zagreus looked down at him. There was something unrecognizable in his expression, not that it mattered much to Nico. He could care less right now. Bianca was gone —so what if he was the son of Hades? So what if he was safe here? Why couldn’t he have been safer with Bianca? Why couldn’t they have brought both of them? Zagreus was a god. Different, based off of the red blood that greeted Nico when he entered the room, but still a god. One with power—power that could’ve saved Bia.

The god simply stood up, walking himself in front of the black mirror, beckoning for Nico to stand beside him. He obliged, but only because he didn’t think it was a good idea to test the god even more.

“I wanted to save Bianca, Nico.”

Nico turned his head, surprised to see the anguish Zagreus’s face was clearly in. Why? How?

“The fates.” Zagreus spit at the floor. “They wouldn’t allow it—and I had timed everything just right , too—“

Nico shuffled his feet, pulling the linen pajamas away from Zagreus’s legs, which were getting more flammable by the second. “What do you mean, timed it ?”

It was a genuine question. One that Zagreus didn't seem to want to answer right then and there, considering he easily ignored Nico. “They didn’t let me. They don’t ever let me.”

Nico chose to stay quiet at that point. Zagreus was clearly worked up, if the fact that his entire leg was on fire was any indication. The god paced around the room, clearly thinking about something. Nico tried his best to shuffle back into bed quietly, not catching his attention. 

“Wait,” Zagreus said, stopping Nico in his tracks. “Give me a second.”

Okay. Nico could do that. He was essentially on the run and kidnapped. Definitely had all the time in the world. Still, he waited. Zagreus continued his pacing, until he seemed to come to a conclusion. The god whipped around, facing Nico, staring him directly in the eye. Zagreus’s eyes were special. One, a summer green. The other was bright red like the pool of blood he’d been hoisted from, black substituting the usual white in a human’s eyes. Nico figured that eye came from Hades. He’d played enough Mythomagic to know that anything red, dark and scary was a good indication of Hades’s realm. 

Zagreus continued to stare at him, unspeaking. For some reason Nico got the feeling that this was unusual for him. But it didn’t matter. Nico turned around, looking at the room some more. Something about. the god’s gaze was incredibly uncomfortable, as if he was baring his whole soul.

“You should know,” The god began, steadying himself. “The reason why father isn’t in the House, the reason why we could sneak you in—it’s because he is mourning right now.”

“Bianca?”

Maybe it was the new environment, but it didn’t register to Nico that a godly parent could even mourn their child. From the attitudes he’d seen at camp, he assumed most godly parents were as ignorant to their children’s lives as they were absent. Demigods were simply the product of the god’s love affairs— not people that were intentional in their creation.

But to hear—and maybe he was assuming here—that Hades, his father , was in mourning because of Bianca? It made something, barely noticeable, tremble within Nico. That small tremble festered, growing into something that clutched his whole chest, crawling up his throat. The tightening in his body spread, himself becoming stiff. 

Something warm rolled down his cheek, and it took Nico a few moments to realize that he was crying again. Zagreus looked panicked—he quickly made his way over to Nico— wrapping this arm around his head. Nico wanted to shove him off, push him away—this wasn’t the time nor place to be acting like this. He needed to do better. He… really shouldn’t be trusting these gods. Or the fates. To hell with being a son of Hades! He’ll just… do something. Anything. Something.

He couldn’t do anything.

His crying grew, and soon enough any semblance of a train of thought that he thought he had was simply just a babble of words in his head. There was nothing for him to focus on except how sad he was. It was tearing him apart. He was so confused these past months— the world seemed so different from anything he could imagine—and now he is completely alone. Devastated, by the loss of Bianca, by the loss of the only person who meant anything to him. So what if he now knows his father—who he had thought was dead this whole time. So what if things were going to change. Nico just wanted to run from it all and hide away from everything. He’ll go back to wherever he could, hole himself away, and never leave.

Zagreus, as if noticing his thoughts, pulled him closer, into something almost resembling a hug. Nico bawled into his chest. Everything was so unfair—so why did these rando gods get to come out and tell him what he should be doing. He wanted Bianca back. Nothing else. He wanted to see her smile, he wanted to feel her warmth. And he would never be able to again.

Crying more quietly now, Nico slowly grew more comfortable in the god’s arms. Sadly enough, there was something familiar about his embrace—which led Nico to even more confusion. He wasn’t sure what he was remembering, but it didn’t matter. The tightness in his chest, his throat. It was slowly loosening, and he felt like he could breathe properly again.

Zagreus pulled back, and presented him with a glass of water that Nico hadn’t noticed appearing. He took it gratefully. Slowly sipping the water, he began to calm down.

As Nico took his time, Zagreus took the opportunity to speak some more.

“Nico.” He patted the boy’s head again. “The first thing I should say is that father never broke the pact that the gods forced upon him.”

“You see—” He began, “The pact sort of came out of nowhere, in the middle of world war two. The eldest gods—children of Kronos—met and decided that the children of Father, Zeus and Poseidon were simply too powerful to exist and keep being born left and right.

Really, the problem manifested in the natural disasters that would result from their children fighting each other and working together. Storms, hurricanes, earthquakes. The children of their ‘Big Three’ were very well wiping out mortals in the thousands.”

Zagreus paused, to make sure Nico was keeping up with him. It was a lot of information, but in the grand scheme of things it was just the first few steps of the mountain. It wasn’t fair to Nico if he unloaded everything right now, so he tried to stick to the basics. 

“You and Bianca were only ten and twelve at the time, but the gods had decided to either dispose of the children in question, or ‘monitor’ them in case of issues. Especially with a new great prophecy on the horizon, they didn’t want to take any chances. But that meant ripping the two of you away from Father, who knew that as soon as you were away from his protection, you two would be disposed of sooner than later.”

Nico didn’t look shocked. He just kind of sat there, mulling over his glass of water. Zagreus waited for some indication that he should stop talking, but the ball was rolling and well… he hardly could stop it.

“Zeus targeted you guys. Come May, father had your memories wiped, and you were placed in the Lotus Hotel and Casino, as you are familiar with. To you and Bianca, the stay probably felt like a matter of weeks to a few months. In the real world…” Zagreus grimaced. “You were there for 70 years.”

Now he had to stop. He glanced at Nico, who’s demeanor completely shifted. Zagreus could not imagine what was going through his mortal brother’s head. With Bianca dying, to the introduction to all of this—this was a boy who had his memories wiped and could only remember the last six months of his life in clarity.

Nico stayed quiet, but something in the room began to tremble. The decorations that had been haphazardly placed on the walls soon clattered to the ground, glass shattering. The blue flames that brightened the room flickered dangerously, as if reaching out towards Zagreus. They wanted to grasp him, pull him in, and tear him apart from within. The walls shifted, just barely, but the groaning noise of those few centimeters was deafening to those in the room.

As this was happening, Zagreus tried his best to keep his eye on Nico. The boy’s face was like steel, absolutely livid. Something had become unraveled, something that had been tugging at him since he exited the casino.

Nico wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Zagreus,” the boy spoke, immediately halting the room’s movements. “What’s happened to Bianca?”

That question , Zagreus was expecting. Just not particularly right now. Nico was definitely upset, and the answer to that one… he would most likely not like very much. Something in Nico’s demeanor told him that even if he were to avoid the subject, the boy would still be upset. Guess there was nothing left to do except rip the bandage off while he had the time.

Sitting down beside Nico, Zagreus took a deep breath. “Well, children of Hades are privy to skipping the wait to be judged for the Underworld. They go straight to the judges, and receive their placement off of their life. Hades does not play favorites—his children will go where they deserve. Bianca was sent straight to Elysium in a unanimous vote.”

Nico stared at him, beckoning for him to continue.

“But, as is typical with Father’s favorites,” Zagreus ran a hand through his hair, “Bianca has been secluded in Elysium at his behest. No one is to have access to her in her forever paradise, much less you , Nico.”

If what happened to the room earlier was a mess, what followed was a true disaster. Within moments, the walls of the room contracted, spikes flying to where Zagreus and Nico sat on the bed. The screeching sounds of stygian iron and precious metals clashing might as well have alerted the entirety of the house, and shades began to spill out of nowhere. 

Crumbling from above, the spikes opened up to reveal the rivers of Asphodel, burning lava trickling into the rapidly changing space. Zagreus looked to Nico, to get him to stop, only to find that he was frozen in shock. His eyes seem to stare off into some unknown distance. Zagreus grabbed him, pulling him close as he tried to navigate out of the room.

“ Blood and darkness ,” Zagreus cursed, bits of the river making contact with his legs. He could feel his health dwindling faster than he could avoid it, especially since the space could barely contain the two of them.

As Zagreus held onto Nico carefully, he tried his best to reach out to Than or Meg, trying to bridge the gap. No response. Either they were too far away for his connection to reach them, or his health had dwindled too much for it to work. Wincing has blood gushed from his now-exposed foot, he assumed it was the latter.

In the midst of his troubles, a familiar presence swept through the room. Relief washed over Zagreus like a wave. Lady Nyx had arrived. 

As if nothing had happened in the first place, it was only moments before the room was restored to how it was before. While Lady Nyx was technically not royalty of the house directly, having passed her throne to Lord Hades, she was just as much the ruler of the Underworld than anyone else. It was by choice, not fear, that she allowed for Hades to govern this place, and she took her own liberties when deemed necessary. (Like now, for example.)

“My child,” Her voice was full and breathy, a familiar sound that he had been missing. “Do tell me why your brother was about to perish in our own house?”

Completely ignoring her subtle dig, Zagreus was essentially Cerberus greeting him after a run through the house. “Mother Nyx! So wonderful to be seeing you again!”

Nyx nodded. “I am grateful to see you too, child, but do answer my question.”

Zagreus paused, taking the time to look at Nico in his arms. The boy had fallen asleep, from the shock, confusion, or something else. His little snores were endearing, but Zagreus still had to wake him, no matter how much he would rather not.

“Nico,” He said gently, prodding the boy’s forehead, “you can’t just cause the house to have a tantrum and fall asleep, Lady Nyx is here.”

The primordial in question looked amused, and stretched out her arms to take the small boy. He was the size of a toddler in her arms, dwarfed by the primordial’s tall frame. Nyx gently placed her hand on his temple. Zagreus had seen this before—Hypnos had done it to Than countless times to force him to get some rest at the behest of Lady Nyx—but he had never seen Lady Nyx tap into her son’s domains so overtly.

Nico woke up, far more calm than before he had fallen asleep. He was clearly disoriented. He seemed to buffer for a few moments before turning on Zagreus.

“What do you mean , I can’t see Bianca!?” He seethed, his anger returning in full force. The walls groaned.

“Child,” Lady Nyx took charge, “look at me.”

As if registering her properly for the first time, Nico’s face paled. He recognized her—something Zagreus wasn’t sure how he kept doing—and scrambled out of her arms ungracefully. He pulled the large nightshirt closer over his chest before glancing back as Zagreus.

The god laughed. “Nico, Lady Nyx is the reason why you haven’t turned yourself into a kebab. You probably didn’t register it, but—” Zagreus gestured around, “—the house is in tune with your emotions, your anger, sadness, and shock caused the room to implode, and if it weren’t for Nyx, we’d both be run through with stygian metals and the like.”

Nico looked down, having the heart to be ashamed. He turned to Nyx, dipping his head in apology. “Thank you, Primordial Nyx.”

“Of course, child,” Lady Nyx reached out, cupping the side of Nico’s face gently. “You do not remember me.”

He shook his head. “I do not.”

Nyx nodded. “A shame. I told Hades he could’ve skipped out on the Lethe, but he would not have you and your sister go without it, in fear that the shock would be too much for you.”

Nico stayed quiet, his arms carefully wrapped around his torso.

“Well, child, things will come in due time. There are just certain things that should be discussed with your father foremost.” She turned her head to Zagreus. “And that includes matters related to your sister.”

Zagreus looked over at Nico, seeing if he was going to protest. He didn’t. Maybe the whole shish-kebab event was humbling, or Nico just respected Nyx more than him. Ouch. Well, he guessed he’d have to give him the benefit that Nyx didn’t exactly kidnap him either, but still. Hurts a bit.

Nyx continued. “Nico, child, I have brought you here to the house for a few reasons. The first being that I’d like for you to get comfortable here. When the future comes and you decide your path, I’d like for you to always have this house as a place to rely on.

The second is far more simple—those demigod camps simply do not have the facilities to train a child of the Underworld. It has been over 80 years since one had last graced their camps, and it would do you much better to train here , with the people most familiar to your element.

The third is that Nico, the great prophecy is coming. A child of the elder gods is fated to destroy or save the world, and you very well could be implicated in it. As a son of this house, it is to your own benefit that you keep yourself hidden from those who wish to take advantage of you. If you cannot stay with camp, you will stay here. I will not have a child of this house on the streets, especially not when war is brewing in these very halls.”

There was a tone of finality in her voice, and Nico could barely respond with a nod. He was extremely quiet—so jarringly different from the ten-year-old Zagreus had known back in 1942. His excitement, his joy—it was far gone. Something stung at that thought, but Zagreus had to reassure himself. Nico would be here with the house, and Zagreus would do everything in his power to rekindle that joy in Nico.

“So what should I do next?’ Nico asked, tugging on the sleeves of his shirt.

Lady Nyx smiled, a rare sight these days. “You, child, shall prepare for your father’s return.” 

Chapter Text

A few days passed, and Nico was finally ready to start his training. Lady Nyx explained that he would be cycling between multiple tutors, all members of the house and all extremely skilled. She mentioned that it would be very similar to his education when he lived in the embassy, but Nico wasn't quite sure what she was referring to.

It had become plenty clear to Nico that he had some gaps in his memory. Sure, he may have struggled to recall certain things, and there was this definite fog that hung over him when he tried to think of his childhood, but he never thought that those memories were gone . But they were. Washed away by the River Lethe, it would be some time before they came back—if ever. Zagreus had assured him that it would probably be sooner rather than later, since he had already spent a good seventy years in the Lotus Hotel.

That was another thing that Nico was slowly coming to terms with.

He was technically 80 years old. Sure, 70 of those years felt only like a few months in retrospect, but if Nico focused hard enough, he could definitely remember more than a few months of events. The magic of the casino—it stopped his body from aging—but time still passed as normal. There was just an additional layer that manipulated how people within the casino perceived time.

So he was 80. That meant a few things, including that he was far closer to regaining his memories that he normally would have been. It also meant that he had no living records. As far as the world is concerned, the great house of Di Angelo that was once a power within Italy had died 70 years ago.

Being given these few days to process meant a lot to him. The House—they were incredibly sensitive to his needs. Thanatos and Hypnos had helped Nico adjust the best he could, and even Megara the Fury stopped by to talk to Nico. Their attention meant a lot to him, but there was something that ate away inside, knowing that Bianca should've been here too.

Nico tried to avoid the topic of Bianca. For both his sake and the House's, he knew he'd get far too riled up if he tried to talk about her. After his confrontation with Zagreus… he was certain he didn't want to revisit that until he had better control over his powers. And that's what he would be starting. Nico could only hope that he picked up on the information easily.

The first place where Nico was sent to train was a room just off of Zagreus's. It appeared to have many different varieties of weapons, from swords, spears, and even a gun or two that he noticed. There was a skeleton in the center of the room, but what truly caught Nico's attention was the shade that greeted him by the entrance.

"Sir Achilles?"

Now, Nico hadn't had the chance to officially meet the shade, but over the past few days Zagreus had hyped up his former instructor as much as one possibly could. He heard of his bravery, his kindness, and was even shown a tapestry of him at his peak in Zagreus's room.

The shade turned, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "You must be young Nico. Lady Nyx informed me of your arrival." His voice carried the weight of centuries, yet retained a warmth that seemed to fill the cold space between them.

Nico nodded, feeling suddenly small in the presence of the legendary hero. The spectral glow that emanated from Achilles cast long shadows across the training room floor, making the weapons along the walls seem more imposing than they already were.

"I've been tasked with teaching you the art of the blade," Achilles said, gesturing toward a rack of swords. "A son of Hades should know how to defend himself, especially in these... uncertain times."

There was something in the way he said it that made Nico's skin prickle. As if Achilles knew more about what was coming than he let on.

"I don't think I'll be very good," Nico admitted, his voice smaller than he intended. "At camp, I couldn't even hold a sword properly."

Achilles' expression softened. "The camps above teach combat for children of many gods. Here, we will teach you to fight as befits your lineage." He approached a wall and selected a blade—shorter than a full sword, but longer than a dagger. The metal was unlike anything Nico had seen before, dark as night yet somehow absorbing what little light was in the room rather than reflecting it.

"Stygian iron," Achilles explained, noticing Nico's gaze. "It will respond to your touch like no other metal. Try."

When Nico's fingers wrapped around the hilt, a chill ran through him—not unpleasant, but intimate, as if the sword recognized him. The weight felt perfect in his hand, balanced in a way the clumsy celestial bronze swords at camp never had been.

"It feels... right," Nico whispered.

"Of course it does, lad. This is your birthright."

The first lesson was grueling. Achilles was patient but relentless, correcting Nico's stance, the angle of his wrist, the placement of his feet. Hours seemed to pass in a blur of motion and instruction. By the end, Nico's arms burned, and his legs trembled with exhaustion, but there was something satisfying about the ache.

"You learn quickly," Achilles noted as they finished. "Tomorrow, we continue."

The days with Achilles blurred together—parry, thrust, sidestep, recover. The movements became more fluid, more instinctual. Sometimes Nico found himself dreaming of sword forms, his sleeping mind continuing the lessons even as his body rested.

"Remember," Achilles told him one day, after Nico had successfully disarmed a skeletal opponent for the first time, "the blade is an extension of yourself. For a son of Hades, this is doubly true. The sword channels your power, focuses it."

Nico stared at the fallen bones of his opponent, scattered across the obsidian floor. "What do you mean?"

"Try calling to it," Achilles suggested. "Not with your voice. With your will."

Hesitantly, Nico extended his hand toward the scattered bones, picturing them reassembling, rising. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a finger bone twitched. A rib rattled. The skull rolled, empty eye sockets seeming to fix on him.

A surge of dizziness washed over him, but Nico maintained his focus. Piece by piece, the skeleton reformed, standing at attention before him.

"Very good," Achilles said, a note of pride in his voice. "Very good indeed."

After a week with Achilles, Nico was introduced to his next instructor. Where Achilles had been gentle in his firmness, Patroclus was stern in his kindness—a difference that Nico struggled to articulate but felt keenly.

They met in a different training room, one with padded floors and walls bare of weapons. Patroclus stood in the center, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"So you're the boy," he said without preamble. "Achilles speaks highly of your progress."

Nico shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm not here to teach you to fight with weapons," Patroclus continued. "I'm here to teach you to fight when you have nothing else. And, perhaps more importantly, to teach you how to endure."

The lessons with Patroclus were different—painful in new ways. Nico learned how to fall, how to take a hit, how to channel pain into focus rather than letting it overwhelm him. He learned the vulnerable points of the human body, and how even a child could incapacitate a grown warrior if they struck with precision and timing.

"Again," Patroclus would say, after throwing Nico to the mat for the dozenth time. And Nico would rise, muscles screaming, and try once more.

During one particularly brutal session, frustration got the better of him. "What's the point of this?" Nico demanded, wiping blood from his split lip. "I'll never be as strong as—as anyone!"

Patroclus regarded him with a calm that only inflamed Nico's anger. "Strength is not always about muscle. It is about will. About continuing when every part of you screams to stop." He approached and knelt before Nico, putting them at eye level. "The son of Hades I knew—your brother—he learned this lesson well. Even gods must endure."

"Is that what this is about?" Nico asked bitterly. "Making me worthy of the gods?"

"No," Patroclus replied, and there was a gentleness in his voice that caught Nico off guard. "It's about making you worthy of yourself. The path ahead is long and filled with pain, young prince. I would see you walk it with your head high."

Something in those words burrowed deep into Nico, nestling beside the grief that had taken root there. He nodded once, sharply, and rose to his feet.

"Again," he said, taking his stance.

Patroclus smiled—the first real smile Nico had seen from him—and complied.

By the end of his time with Patroclus, Nico's body felt different—not larger or stronger, precisely, but more his own. He moved with a new awareness, a confidence born of knowing his limitations and capabilities. The bruises faded, but the lessons remained, etched into muscle memory and mindset alike.

Thanatos arrived for Nico's third phase of training in a swirl of darkness that made the torches in the hallway flicker and die. One moment the corridor was empty; the next, Death Incarnate stood before him, golden eyes gleaming in the renewed gloom.

"It is time," Thanatos said simply.

Unlike his previous instructors, Thanatos led Nico away from the training rooms altogether, through winding passages that seemed to shift and change as they walked. Finally, they emerged onto a balcony overlooking a vast expanse of the Underworld—a perspective Nico hadn't seen before.

Below them stretched the Fields of Asphodel, a gray wasteland where countless shades wandered aimlessly. Beyond that, the fiery glow of the Phlegethon marked the boundaries of the Fields of Punishment. And far in the distance, barely visible, the soft golden light of Elysium.

Nico's breath caught. Somewhere in that golden realm was Bianca.

"Your sister rests there," Thanatos confirmed, as if reading his thoughts. "But that is not why we are here today."

Nico tore his gaze away from Elysium. "Why are we here?"

"To teach you the shadows," Thanatos replied. "The spaces between places. The paths only death can walk—and those of Hades' blood."

Death's lessons were the strangest yet. Thanatos spoke of darkness not as absence, but as substance—something that could be gathered, shaped, traversed. He taught Nico to feel the edges where shadow met light, to sense the deeper, older shadows that had existed since the birth of the cosmos.

"Close your eyes," Thanatos instructed. "Reach out with your other senses. Feel the shadow on your skin, like water, like silk. Let it envelop you."

Nico tried. At first, he felt nothing but the cool air of the Underworld against his face. But gradually, as he focused, he began to sense something else—a texture to the darkness, currents moving within it.

"The shadows are alive," he whispered, eyes still closed.

"Yes," Thanatos agreed. "They live and breathe as all things do in their fashion. They can carry you, if you ask them properly."

Day after day, they practiced. Nico learned to step into a shadow and emerge from another nearby. Then from shadows progressively more distant. The process was exhausting, leaving him drained and shaking after even short jumps.

"You are trying to force your way through," Thanatos observed after a particularly difficult attempt left Nico collapsed on the floor. "The shadows are not to be commanded, but persuaded. They are part of your father's realm, yes, but they have their own nature."

Nico frowned. "How do I persuade them, then?"

"By remembering that you belong to them as much as they belong to you." Thanatos extended a hand, helping Nico to his feet. "You are as much a creature of shadow as you are of flesh and blood. Find that part of yourself, and the path will open."

That night, alone in his room, Nico sat cross-legged on his bed, contemplating Thanatos's words. He was a son of Hades. The Underworld was in his blood. The shadows were his kin.

He closed his eyes and reached inward, past the anger and grief that had defined him since Bianca's death, past the confusion of his lost memories. Deep within, he found something cool and dark and immeasurably ancient—a core of shadow that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.

The next day, when Thanatos asked him to travel through the shadow of a column to emerge from the shadow of a distant statue, Nico didn't hesitate. He stepped into the darkness as if greeting an old friend, and the shadows welcomed him, carried him, delivered him safely to his destination.

Thanatos rarely showed emotion, but as Nico emerged, steady and unshaken, from the statue's shadow, the god's golden eyes widened slightly in what might have been surprise.

"Well done," he said quietly. "You have found your way."

After the intensity of his lessons with Thanatos, Nico was surprised when Lady Nyx informed him that his next instructor would be Eurydice, and that they would meet in her chamber in Asphodel.

"But what will she teach me?" Nico asked, confused. He knew the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, of course—it was one of the myths that had stuck with him even through the Lethe's influence—but he couldn't imagine what combat or power lessons she might offer.

Nyx's smile was enigmatic. "Not all learning is about battle, child. Go to her. Listen."

Finding Eurydice's chamber required another shadow-travel, this time to a location he'd never visited before. The journey left him dizzy but exhilarated—each time he used his newfound ability, it became easier, more natural.

Eurydice's home was a marvel amidst the gray monotony of Asphodel—a cozy chamber filled with warm light, vibrant plants, and the delicious aroma of cooking food. The nymph herself was stirring something in a pot when Nico arrived, humming a melody that made his heart ache with its beauty.

She turned at his arrival, greeting him with a smile that transformed her features. "There you are, little shadow prince! I've been expecting you."

Nico stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of the protocol. His previous instructors had been formal, disciplined. Eurydice seemed... relaxed.

"Come in, come in!" she urged, gesturing with her spoon. "Sit down. You look half-starved. Do they not feed you in that gloomy house?"

Before Nico could protest, he found himself seated at a small table, a bowl of fragrant stew placed before him. The first bite exploded with flavors he hadn't experienced since...since before the Lotus Hotel, perhaps. Memories flickered at the edges of his consciousness—a woman's hands, warm bread, sunlight through kitchen windows.

"Good, isn't it?" Eurydice said, seating herself across from him. "Food for the soul, that's what my mother used to say. And souls need nourishment as much as bodies do, especially down here."

For the first time since arriving in the Underworld, Nico felt something inside him begin to unclench. The constant vigilance, the effort of training, the grief that had been his companion since Bianca's death—all of it receded slightly in the warmth of Eurydice's chamber.

"What am I supposed to learn from you?" he asked between mouthfuls.

Eurydice's laugh was like wind chimes. "Oh, many things, I'm sure. But mostly, I think, how to be a person as well as a prince. How to find joy even in dark places." Her expression sobered slightly. "I know something about that."

Over the next several days, Nico returned to Eurydice's chamber. They cooked together, sang old songs that tugged at his memory, planted seeds in small pots that somehow thrived in the Underworld's gloom. She told him stories—not just the myths everyone knew, but personal tales, the small moments of her life before and after death.

On the third day, as they kneaded dough for bread, Nico found himself talking about Bianca. About how she had protected him, how she had been his whole world, how her decision to join the Hunters had felt like abandonment even before her death.

"I was so angry with her," he admitted, punching the dough with more force than necessary. "I still am. How could she leave me? Twice?"

Eurydice listened quietly, letting him speak until the words ran dry. Then she placed her flour-dusted hand over his. "Love and anger often live side by side, little prince. One doesn't negate the other."

"But I should've been better," Nico insisted. "If I had been better, maybe she wouldn't have wanted to leave."

"Oh, child." Eurydice's voice was gentle. "Sometimes people leave not because of what we lack, but because of what they need. It doesn't mean they love us any less."

Nico's vision blurred with unexpected tears. "But it hurts."

"Yes," Eurydice agreed, squeezing his hand. "It does. And it will. But that pain is part of loving someone. You carry it, and eventually, it becomes something else—a memory, a strength, a song."

As he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, leaving streaks of flour across his face, Nico felt something shift within him—not healing, exactly, but a first step toward it. A recognition that his grief could exist without consuming him entirely.

"I think I've been kind of dumb," he said finally.

Eurydice smiled. "We all are, about the things that matter most. That's part of being human—or half-human, in your case."

When it was time to leave Eurydice's chamber for the final time, she pressed a small potted plant into his hands—a sprig of rosemary, aromatic and vibrant. "For remembrance," she said. "And for healing."

Nico clutched it carefully as he stepped into the shadows, carrying it back to the House of Hades like a talisman.

Hypnos was waiting for Nico when he returned, floating lazily in the hallway outside his room, a scroll hovering before him.

"There you are!" the god of sleep exclaimed, his voice dreamy and distant. "I've been waiting—well, napping, really, but that's sort of the same thing for me—anyway, it's our turn now!"

Nico had encountered Hypnos briefly during his first days in the House, but the drowsy deity had seemed perpetually on the edge of consciousness, hardly noticing Nico's presence. Now, however, Hypnos seemed almost animated, his silver curls bobbing as he gestured excitedly.

"Lady Nyx says I'm to teach you about dreams and the unconscious powers of the mind," Hypnos explained, leading Nico not to a training room, but back to his own bedchamber. "Very important stuff for a child of the Underworld! The dead dream too, you know."

Nico wasn't sure what to expect from Hypnos's instruction, but it certainly wasn't being told to take a nap. Yet that was precisely what Hypnos insisted upon.

"Sleep is a gateway," the god explained, arranging pillows on Nico's bed with surprising care. "A threshold state where the boundaries between worlds grow thin. For most mortals, dreams are chaotic, meaningless. But for you? They can be tools. Windows. Pathways."

Skeptical but too tired to argue after his emotional session with Eurydice, Nico lay down on the carefully arranged pillows. Hypnos hovered over him, sprinkling something glittering and sweet-smelling from his fingers.

"Now," Hypnos murmured, "close your eyes and listen to my voice. Feel yourself sinking, drifting, floating..."

Despite his intention to simply humor the sleep god, Nico found himself irresistibly drawn into slumber. It felt different from ordinary sleep—more lucid, more controlled. He was aware of dreaming even as the dream formed around him.

He stood in a meadow he didn't recognize, beneath a sky that couldn't decide if it was night or day. Stars shone alongside the sun, casting double shadows across the grass. In the distance, a figure moved toward him—tall, female, familiar.

"Bianca?" he called, his heart leaping.

But as the figure drew closer, he saw it wasn't his sister but a woman he'd never met, yet somehow knew. Her features were similar to his own—the same olive skin, the same dark eyes. She wore old-fashioned clothing, a dress from another era.

"Nico," she said, her voice achingly familiar though he couldn't place it. "My son."

He woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed. Hypnos floated nearby, watching him with unusual alertness.

"Who was she?" Nico demanded. "In my dream—a woman called me her son."

Hypnos tilted his head. "Dreams often speak in riddles, especially prophetic ones. But sometimes..." He hesitated. "Sometimes they are windows to memory, or to truths our waking mind refuses to see."

Over the next several days, Hypnos taught Nico to navigate the landscape of his dreams, to maintain awareness even in sleep, to move between dream states at will. He learned to recognize the difference between ordinary dreams, memory fragments, and true visions.

The woman appeared in his dreams twice more—never speaking directly of who she was, but showing him glimpses of a life he couldn't remember. A grand house in Venice. A garden filled with Mediterranean blooms. A piano, its keys worn smooth with use.

"Your memories are returning," Hypnos observed. "Faster than expected. The Lethe's hold is weakening."

On their final day of training, Hypnos introduced a new element to their lessons.

"Some children of the Underworld can walk in their sleep—not just physically, but spiritually," he explained. "They can send their consciousness forth while their body rests, observing distant places, communicating with the dead."

Nico thought of the dreams he'd had of Bianca's death, the whispers he'd heard from the ground. "I think I've done that before," he said slowly. "But I didn't know how to control it."

Hypnos nodded eagerly. "Exactly! It happened by accident, or in moments of great emotion. But with training, you can direct it, use it deliberately."

The technique was difficult—more taxing than even shadow travel. Nico had to balance perfectly between waking and sleeping, maintaining enough consciousness to direct his wandering spirit, but surrendering enough control to let his essence separate from his physical form.

His first attempts failed completely. His second resulted in a brief glimpse of the Styx before he snapped back into his body with a headache that lasted hours. But by the end of their training, he managed to project his awareness as far as the judgment pavilion, observing the three judges at their eternal task without being detected.

"Impressive," Hypnos murmured when Nico described what he'd seen. "Very impressive indeed. Few manage such distance on their first successful attempt."

As they concluded their lessons, Hypnos gave Nico an unexpected gift—a small dream catcher made of silver wire and what looked suspiciously like Cerberus's fur.

"For the nightmares," Hypnos explained with uncharacteristic solemnity. "Even you will have them, princeling. This won't stop them entirely—some dreams must be faced—but it will turn away the worst, the ones that serve no purpose but to torment."

Nico accepted the gift with genuine gratitude. Since Bianca's death, his sleep had been plagued by images of her final moments, by scenarios of what might have happened if he'd been there. A respite, even a partial one, was more precious than Hypnos could know.

After weeks of intensive training, Lady Nyx summoned Nico to the great hall of the House. She stood waiting for him, tall and imposing, yet with a warmth in her gaze that had grown increasingly familiar.

"You have done well, child," she said as he approached. "Each of your instructors speaks highly of your progress. Achilles says you have the makings of a fine swordsman. Patroclus reports that your endurance exceeds expectations. Thanatos tells me your shadow-walking is remarkably advanced for one so young. Eurydice speaks of your understanding heart. And Hypnos..." She smiled slightly. "Hypnos says you are the most interesting dreamer he has encountered in centuries, which from him is high praise indeed."

Nico felt a flush of pride at her words, tempered by the knowledge of how much he still had to learn. "Thank you, Lady Nyx. And thank you for arranging my training."

"It was necessary," she replied. "Not only for your safety and development, but for what lies ahead." Her expression grew grave. "The world above is changing, Nico. Forces stir that have slumbered for eons. The prophecy of which Zagreus spoke—it approaches fulfillment more rapidly than many realize."

A chill ran through him at her words. "And my father? When will I meet him?"

Nyx smiled, an old, powerful thing that made Nico want to take a step back. He still wasn’t quite used to the underworld, in these weeks past. 

“Soon.”