Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Annabeth.

His mind was empty save one thought.

Annabeth.

He wasn't allowed to stop, he was sure.

Annabeth.

He held a tight grip on it. He had decided that, hadn't he? He wasn't allowed to forget.

Annabeth.

He reached back, trying to formulate the reason. Something had tried to take her from him.

Who was this Annabeth?

He couldn’t remember why. The name was associated with love, with an imperative to protect. She was important. The barest hints of memory danced at the edge of his consciousness. For a moment he could see the briefest hint of gold. He reached towards the memory.

Instantly, a searing pain racked his head, as if a thousand needles were being driven into his skull. It spread everywhere in an instant. Every nerve flared up in anguish.

It was like a wall had been erected. Whatever flash of memory there had been vanished in the blinding pain.

His breath hitched in his throat as he tried to push past the pain, to force his mind to remember. But it was like trying to grasp at smoke, to catch the wind in his hands. Nothing stuck, no matter how desperately he tried to hold on. Each attempt was met with a fresh wave of pain.

Annabeth.

Somehow, even in the midst of this anguish, the name remained clear, a lone anchor in a sea of suffering. He clung to it desperately, as if letting go would mean his complete unraveling. The thought of her was a refuge, a sanctuary.

His muscles ached.

Like pinpricks, feeling returned.

Gradually, he became aware of other sensations. He was laying flat on his back on a cold stone floor. A pen was clutched in his hand. Drool ran down his cheek.

You drool in your sleep. A voice in his head, as clear as day.

His head hurt. So much. Why did it hurt? He couldn’t remember.

His mind cleared, slowly.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and earth, and the ground beneath him was rough and cold. Birds were whistling.

Where was he? His heart pounded in his chest. His muscles twitched. They didn't feel entirely there. It was as if they did not belong to him. With a Herculean effort, he willed his eyes to open.

He snapped them shut again. It was bright. Too bright.

He could hear birds. He had seen trees.

He was outside. Undefended. Unprotected. Half-asleep and unaware.

He had to get up. Find shelter. Become alert.

He forced his eyes open and sat up, his muscles protesting with a stiffness that meant he'd been lying there for a while. In a fluid motion he was on his feet, still clutching his pen. His gaze swept across the landscape, taking in the towering trees and the rustic building that loomed nearby.

He was wearing a bright-orange shirt. It had writing on it, but he didn't bother to try to make it out. Safety was first. He chided himself for wearing something so visible and bright.

Slowly, but surely, his heart rate decreased. He seemed mostly safe.

How did he get there?

He tried to think back.

Where had he been?

A sharp, searing pain sliced through his skull, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. His brain was rebelling, protesting against his attempts to access a memory that simply wasn’t there.

Who was he?

What had the gods done?

A sickening sense of dread filled him.

His instincts kicked in, the ingrained discipline of years on the battlefield. A soldier's first duty was to stay alive, to remain functional. He felt a jolt of realization, followed by a cold wash of pragmatic dread.

Can't risk it.

The pain from before was too debilitating, too risky. It could incapacitate him at the worst possible moment, and if he was compromised, he couldn't protect her. Whoever she was, wherever she was—Annabeth was clearly important.

His past, his identity, his very essence was locked away behind a door his mind refused to open. The pain was a cruel guard, a sentinel that ensured he stayed away, that the door remained firmly shut.

Annabeth.

He could not help her if he was dead.

Stay alive. Find her. Protect her.

Simple task. That was his quest.

There was the softest pad of footsteps. A rustling.

Something was moving towards him.

Immediately, instinctively, with the honed reflexes of time, his gaze snapped towards the source of the noise, he was already in a defensive position, pen uncapped, before he could properly register what had occurred. The pen transformed in his grip, morphing into a gleaming bronze sword.

He heard the soft crunch of paws against the forest floor as the large, imposing figure of a wolf emerging from the shadows of the trees.

The wolf growled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed through the silent forest. But the man stood his ground, his grip on the sword unwavering.

The sword felt too familiar, too comforting. No fear rippled through him. Almost instinctively, he knew the wolf was too mortal to ever harm him.

Mortal... Where had that thought come from?

The wolf's fur was golden, shining in the sunlight. There was something otherworldly about it, and he nearly regretted his choice of words. This was no ordinary wolf.

The wolf eyed his blade, then the wolf’s eyes flicked back at the man.

Then the wolf spoke.

"Where did you get a sword like that?"

The man blinked. He hadn't expected the wolf to speak. It had looked firmly mortal.

"What was that accent?" He couldn't quite stop the question from escaping his mouth. And then he was more surprised, his own voice carried the same accent.

The wolf didn’t say anything in response, and he began to wonder if he had imagined it.

Then something clicked.

It wasn’t an accent.

Then the wolf spoke again, its voice resonating with authority. "I am Aurelius, the lieutenant of the Wolf House, servant of Lupa. She has demanded to see you."

It wasn’t an accent at all.

It was Latin.

The wolf had spoken in Latin, and he had responded in Latin. That surprised him. He didn’t know why. He supposed he had studied Latin before, or something. Why was he so surprised? He figured if he had studied Latin before, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Something else was surprising him, maybe. Like it shouldn't have been Latin.

His head swam. He almost made the fatal mistake of trying to remember.

"Who is Annabeth?" He asked the most important question to him first. His voice was hoarse.

Aurelius growled, a low, threatening sound that echoed through the clearing. "How should I know?" he snapped, taking a step towards the man.

The man didn’t flinch. He glared back at the wolf.

Aurelius stepped back.

"We are not enemies, demigod."

Think, seaweed brain! He thought. Only it wasn’t his voice. It was Annabeth’s. Seaweed brain. Was that what she called him?

His mind seized on something. Demigod. Something in his mind clicked into place. He was a demigod, a child of a god and a mortal. It felt right. Natural. Internally, his mind raced. He was an offspring of the gods. Who were his parents?

He didn’t let a flicker of his uncertainty reach his face. "Demigod?" The young man repeated, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that a fancy way of saying I've got daddy issues?"

Annabeth would have laughed at that. He didn’t know how he knew that. But he suddenly wished that this mysterious Annabeth were here, with him.

Aurelius snorted, a sound that was more gruff than amused. "It’s not an insult, though it's not a term of endearment. It means you are a child of a god."

He had known that already.

"Like Poseidon?" The name slipped out before he could stop it, the name popped into his head a little too fast. "Or Athena? Or Zeus? Or Hades?" He added a moment later, trying to cover for his mistake.

What was so special about Poseidon?

Annabeth could have answered that. He needed to find Annabeth.

Aurelius’s snout twitched. A ripple of surprise passed over the wolf’s features. "Like Neptune." Aurelius seemed rather taken aback, "Or Minerva, or Jupiter, or Pluto."

The man frowned.

Aurelius’s eyes fell on his shirt, he stared at it for a moment. He seemed distinctively uncomfortable. The man did not look away from the wolf.

The man and wolf stared at each other. Then the wolf sniffed at him, taking in a deep breath.

"Indeed, demigod," he growled, "I can smell the sea in your blood. Is Neptune your father?"

Neptune. That was the Roman name of Poseidon, he knew. Neptune. He had a vision of a cap with the words Neptune’s fishing hat. That was it. It did not sound right, Son of Neptune. But it didn’t sound wrong either.

He shrugged. "Maybe." He had to stay focused on the task. He took a deep breath, filing away the information. "I need to find Annabeth."

The wolf did not answer, he was still looking at the shirt.

He looked down. The text was in Greek. "Camp Half-Blood," he murmured, reading the text. And his voice felt natural at last.

Except that the wolf backed off three more steps.

Aurelius narrowed his eyes, studying the young man before him. "You are not like the others who come here."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Aurelius ignored him. "I have been told to bring you directly to Lupa." The wolf sniffed the air again. "You have yet to tell me your name, son of Neptune." The wolf's voice seemed harder, distant, untrusting.

"I’m—"

The man stopped. Who was he? He had no idea.

His head began to hurt in warning. Dangerous question, do not go there.

"I don’t know," he said slowly, "I don’t remember anything." The man tightened his grip on the sword, his stance defensive, "all I remember is the name Annabeth."

Aurelius studied the newcomer warily. Then the wolf’s face softened with slight concern.

"I am sorry. I do not need your name. I am here only to take you to Lupa."

The man hesitated. He wasn’t about to follow a talking wolf into some trap. But then he didn't know what else to do. Something was better than nothing.

Aurelius seemed to take offense at this hesitation.

"Lupa knows more than I do," Aurelius snarled, "She is immortal, and as such, much older and wiser than I will ever be. If anyone here can help you it is she. She is more powerful than you or I, and more dangerous than you know. You ought to be honoured she wishes to speak to you!"

The man shrugged, keeping his eye on the wolf. He had already made up his mind. He would go, just for the chance to find Annabeth, but he didn’t want to seem too eager.

If he wanted to find Annabeth, he would have to start asking around. He might as well see what this ‘Lupa’ had to say. The man did not trust Aurelius much. But his words sounded true enough. He might as well follow the wolf.

The answering growl was filled with what was almost contempt. "You would be wise to accept her summons. It is the only hope you have anyways."

Slowly, the man capped his sword, keeping his pen in his hand. He figured, if it came down to it, he would still be able to take the wolf.

They began to walk towards the wolf house. He twirled the pen around in his hand.

He needed to know more. He was curious. His brain was racing. Noticing all the little details along the way. The towering trees, the rustic building, the very air they breathed - everything was a mystery waiting to be unravelled.

He was not afraid to ask.

At first, Aurelius gave only gruff answers in response to his questions. But as he asked more questions, the wolf’s demeanour became marginally more friendly.

"What is this place?" he asked, gesturing towards the looming structure of the Wolf House.

Aurelius grunted, his gaze fixed ahead. "Home."

"And Lupa?" the young man pressed, not deterred by the wolf's gruff demeanour.

"Leader," Aurelius replied curtly.

The young man continued his barrage of questions. He asked about the trees, the building, the strange pen-sword he held. With each question, Aurelius's answers grew a little longer, a little more detailed.

As they conversed, the man felt himself slip more and more easily into the Latin. It began to feel natural. Perhaps this was what he had always spoken. Maybe it had just been an accent. Maybe he had been imagining things. What other language could he possibly speak?

His eyes fell on his shirt and he understood.

Greek. Greek was his first language.

"Lupa," Aurelius was saying, his voice a low rumble, "has been training demigods and heroes since the dawn of time. She raised Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome."

"This place is a camp where demigods can train, become ready to face the real world."

And a flash of memory passed through him. The real world is where the monsters are.

"Where the monsters are," he said. The wolf looked at him for a second, nodding.

It was Annabeth’s voice again. Against his own orders he tried to grasp at the elusive memory. The effort resulted in a splitting headache that made him stumble. He nearly dropped the pen.

Aurelius paused. But the man waved him on, determined to learn as much as he could.

"Just a headache," he managed, shrugging it off, "So, you're saying that this place is like a boarding school for demigods?"

Aurelius let out a low growl that might have been a laugh. "Something like that, demigod. Something like that."

A laugh, he thought, progress.

"So, this Wolf House... it was built by a demigod?"

"The current Wolf House," Aurelius continued, "was built by Jack London, a son of Mercury."

A smirk played on his lips as he took in the grandeur of the ruins of the Wolf House. "Well, Jack certainly had a flair for architecture." he said, then, without thinking, more words tumbled out. "It’s the American Craftsman style, right?"

I mean, the design elements, the emphasis on hand craftsmanship…

The information bubbled into his mind. The words tumbled out instinctively, a stream of architectural jargon that he didn't even realise he knew. He paused, frowning as he tried to figure out where he'd learned such terms. His head began to swim.

But it was her voice. He was sure of that much. He reached for it.

Memories. Dangerous territory.

He backed off.

The wolf looked surprised. "You know a bit about architecture."

He already knew the answer. "Yeah… Annabeth. She talked about it a lot."

Aurelius watched him, his golden eyes thoughtful.

Aurelius hesitated for a moment before continuing, "the structure was destroyed in 1913, now only the wolves live here. The Chimera attacked it. The mortals called it arson, but we know the truth."

Another bubble of information popped into his head. The young man's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of memory, dancing at the very edge of pain. "Chimera... that sounds familiar. And dangerous."

Aurelius seemed surprised.

"Not many have faced the Chimera and lived to tell the tale."

He didn’t have an answer to that. He didn’t know what else to say. The man looked around, seeking another topic of conversation.

"What about my shirt? Do you know why it says Camp Half-blood?"

Aurelius’s head snapped towards him. He stared at the man for a few moments, then, slowly, as if it was taking all of his effort to keep his voice neutral, "Is that what it says." He didn’t say it like a question, he said it like it was a statement. "I don’t know. I don’t know Greek." He said Greek like it was some sort of curse.

"No, you speak Latin, like I do."

The man had noticed the wolf's response. His own words had slipped out naturally. He was trying to stay one step ahead. He sensed Aurelius would be more amenable to Latin than to Greek. He would prefer it if Aurelius had his guard down, in case it came to fighting. He still did not know if he could actually trust Aurelius.

And sure enough, Aurelius relaxed a little, stepping back into his stride, but he refused to answer any more questions.

The man gave up, focusing on twirling his pen around his hand. He was tossing it and catching it.

They walked deeper into the ruins of the Wolf House.

Aurelius's demeanour shifted again. Perseus felt tense as well, though he gave no outward sign. But as they stepped through the ruins, he saw why.

The pen stopped flipping around his hand.

Aurelius stepped forward, his voice echoing through the silence. "Great Lupa, Mother of Rome, Trainer of Heroes, I present to you what you asked of me."

At the centre of the ruins stood a wolf. A giant wolf. She was larger than any wolf he had ever seen, her very presence radiating an otherworldly power. Her fur was a pristine silver, shimmering under the sunlight. Her eyes, a piercing gold, held an ageless wisdom and an authority that was impossible to deny.

And as the man approached, those eyes fixed on him, assessing and evaluating. There was no malice in her gaze, but neither was there warmth. It was an indifferent gaze. He had not proved himself to her, but he had also not disappointed her, yet.

But he, in token, was not impressed.

Aurelius bowed deeply.

"Bow." Aurelius hissed, but the man ignored him.

"Thank you, Aurelius. You may leave." And Aurelius obeyed with the promptitude of a trained soldier.

Perseus watched him leave. He could respect a good soldier. His eyes slid back to Lupa.

Her eyes had not left the man.

"Perseus Jackson, Son of Neptune, welcome to the wolf house. Next time I will expect you to bow, Perseus."

Perseus, it sounded about right. It was Greek. To destroy.

That was his name. Perseus.

That was his name.

The slightest bit of calm suffused through him, reaching out. A small crystal of order in the chaotic flow of his fragmented memories. Small things began to crystalise.

Annabeth.

Perseus and Annabeth.

Perseus Jackson, Son of Neptune.

It wasn't quite right, but it would do. It was almost right. He could feel it. It wasn't right. But he couldn't reach to figure out what was. Memories were dangerous. And he would not be incapacitated before Lupa.

"Perseus," he said it out loud, trying to get a feel for it.

He looked at her. She was eyeing him, assessing his reaction. He cracked a smile. "Perseus? Sounds a bit formal, doesn't it?"

Lupa's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't reprimand him. "That is your name, as it was given to me by Juno. That is what I will call you."

Perseus shrugged. "If you say so. So, what's this all about? Why am I here?"

Who is Juno?

"You are here because you have been chosen. Chosen by the Gods, and more specifically, by Juno herself. Your destiny is far-reaching, Perseus Jackson. Are you not known as the Champion of the Gods?"

Fractured images danced outside of his perception. He did not reach for them. His composure did not waver in the slightest.

Perseus had not let go of his question.

"Who is Juno? What did she tell you about me?"

Lupa blinked. And he was pleased he had surprised her. But he wanted to break her composure completely.

At last, she said, "Juno is the Queen of the Gods. She reigns over matrimony, family, and statecraft among other things," Lupa explained evenly. She was furrowing her brows at him. She seemed to be deciding whether or not he had been serious.

Juno. Queen of the Gods... was that not Hera? But Roman. Except everyone insists on invoking the Roman form. Using Latin.

Her voice lowered, "As for you, we spoke little. I know nothing about you. But that is a strange question to ask, demigod."

And he understood how she had seen it. She had thought he meant to know what she knew so he could judge what to say.

"Do not presume to hide things from me! I cannot easily be lied to."

"I have nothing to lie about. What did Juno say about me? What am I supposed to do?" Percy prodded, trying to grasp at the growing sense that Juno was pivotal to his current condition.

Lupa's eyes narrowed, probing his face as if looking for something. "Juno did not share the details of her plans... She said only you had been chosen. That she would make sure you knew what you needed to know before coming here. She said you had already been with her for months. That she had prepared you."

The rest of her words were drowned out. His ears were buzzing. Another sliver of memory crystallized in his mind. An image of a woman, regal and intense, her eyes filled with expectation. And more than that, he felt a wave of déjà vu, as though she'd meddled in his life before.

It all clicked.

Great, a goddess-sponsored identity crisis. Just what I needed.

"Prepare me." His voice was low, it came out colder than he expected, surprising him, "I am here without any memories. She took them. I do not even know who I am!"

There was a pause.

"She did not mention any memory loss."

"She didn't tell you, I suppose. Tell me now, what you know of me. I did not even know my own name when I walked into these ruins."

"She told me very little. It was not my place to ask for any more information from the Queen of the Gods. It is my duty only to serve her above all others, save Jupiter, not to ask for reasons."

"You should have asked."

And then her composure broke. She snarled, "Do not presume to tell me, a goddess, what I should have done. Juno did not warn me of your condition, I have made no mistake. Besides, your past is not my concern, Perseus Jackson. Here, you will learn to survive, to fight. That is what matters."

Well, that's a warm welcome.

He had gotten a rise out of her. Somehow, that calmed him a little. Slowly, his heartbeat slowed down. Her reasoning was sound.

"Do all your guests get the "forget your past, prepare to fight" speech, or am I just special?"

Lupa growled, a low, threatening sound. "You would do well to watch your tongue, demigod. The gods are not to be trifled with."

He wasn’t afraid. Something told him he had faced down things more terrible than Lupa. Far more terrible.

But his anger was already cooling. Lupa was not at fault. Juno was.

Lupa too, seemed to compose herself again.

Perseus stopped, his grip on the pen loosening. "I’m sorry. Look, I appreciate the whole 'training to survive' spiel, but I have someone I need to find. Someone important."

"Your duty is here, Perseus. Your duty is to the gods."

"My 'duty' is to Annabeth. I remember that, and only that. It is there my loyalty lies. And, only through her, to the gods."

Lupa's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing him. Lupa's gaze remained unyielding. "Your loyalty is commendable. But you cannot help her if you are not prepared."

Perseus's jaw clenched. "I've faced monsters before. I can handle myself."

The wolf-goddess tilted her head, her golden eyes studying him intently. "You may have faced monsters, yes. But you do not remember them. You do not remember the strategies, the weaknesses. You are a blank slate, Perseus. And in your current state, you are vulnerable."

She paused, and when he didn’t answer with any retort, she added, "Your loyalty is a virtue, Perseus, and if it extends to your fellow demigods and the soldiers who fight alongside you, then truly, you are a Roman. But virtues in disproportion stop being virtues. Your loyalty must be matched with the rest. Now you need patience. You cannot help her if you are dead. Your instincts may serve you well, but they can also lead you astray. Here, I can offer you the training you need."

Perseus raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "And what's the price for this training?"

Lupa's tail twitched in annoyance. "There is no price. Only dedication and hard work. Prove yourself, and when the time is right, I might aid you in your quest."

The only price was dedication and hard work. Well, he was going to do that anyways, trying to search for her.

He wanted to refuse that. He wanted to march off, and search for Annabeth. Ignore everything Lupa had said.

But now that he had to stop and think about it, he didn’t even know where to begin, where to find her. He didn’t know what dangers lay in the path.

He had to get his memories back, he decided. Lupa was right, without them he was crippled.

He wanted to leave. He had to stay.

Had he done what he wanted to do, and chosen his loyalty over everything else, then his own loyalty would have impeded his ability to exercise it. Ironically, the best thing to do, for the sake of his loyalty, was to bide his time, to be patient, and do nothing.

He hated it.

Perseus took a deep breath, thinking, steeling himself for the decision he was going to make. Slowly, the words came out. "Then help me understand, Lupa. Train me. But once I'm ready, I'm going to find her. With or without your blessing."

Chapter Text

An ordinary mortal would see only the grand ruins and the expanse of trees.

A keen eyed observer among them might have claimed to maybe have seen a wolf or two out of the corner of their eyes. Surely that was not unusual. This was a forest. And the area was called the wolf house after all.

But those gifted with clear sight can see much more. Those who can see through the veil that Hecate weaves between the world of the mortals and the world of the gods will tell you that the ruins are not only grand, but effective. They will tell you, on some days, of a great wolf among these ruins, large enough to fill up whole rooms. Some in the past may have seen the soldiers of the age training there alongside the wolves.

But for those who are clear sighted, who can see behind the veils that Hecate puts up between the mortals and the gods.

Wolves were milling around

In the center of it all stood Lupa.

Lupa was the protector of Rome. She had trained almost every demigod, she thought, since the foundation of Rome. She was indifferent to the whims of an individual soldier. She was not here to train the individual, merely to strengthen Rome. She did not believe in the great acts of a warrior, but in the discipline of a soldier.

Percy Jackson was unique.

She could see that, as the training began.

Lupa had seen many demigods enter her Wolf House over the years. They came and went. She remembered each one of them, all the way back to Romulus and Remus. She could see that, as the training began.

Lupa did not usually keep herself informed of what occurred outside of her pack. It was none of her concern, ordinarily. She knew there had been a war. She had anticipated some people would have been pushed into conscription in New Rome without training under her first.

It was not Perseus’s experience that made him unique.

She could admire his discipline. She could admire that he could, and did, push himself harder than anyone she had ever met. He could pour every ounce of himself into every exercise. She knew, perhaps, that it was about the girl, Annabeth, that he pushed himself that far, but she pretended, to herself, at least, to be ignorant. She chose to believe it was for Rome. His intensity surprised her. He had come in with more experience than many left the house with, but he still could push himself forward.

But it was not his intensity that made him difficult to understand. It made him different from many, but it made him more predictable, and more understandable. It gave him that uniformity which he lacked in all other aspects.

She could see he was a commander, from his demeanour. But though he was clearly a leader he wasn’t controlled enough. He wasn’t methodical. He was impulsive and reckless.

Perseus was not a soldier. She could see that already. He was too individualistic, too powerful, and could do far more than anyone else could. She couldn’t have that, it would break the uniformity. She had trained every soldier in the army of Rome. They acted as one unit. And Perseus didn’t fit.

Because he was no soldier. He was a hero.

Now he walked alongside Lupa as she led the way to his next exercise. Her silver fur shimmering with every step, her demeanour exuding authority.

Lupa’s voice carried out, cold and clear, as they walked. She spoke of the values of Rome, and of the duty that every demigod carried to Rome.

“Your duty is to the gods, to the state, to Rome first, above all.” She was saying, “To Rome first, and only then to you and your allies around you.”

Perseus’s steps faltered slightly. He caught himself adroitly, biting back a retort. He disagreed, and he would have fought her then and there. He could see what she was implying. Rome before his allies. Rome before Annabeth. Because Annabeth was the only person he remembered. His only remaining ally. But Annabeth came first. Before anything else, before himself.

He knew Lupa had noticed his reaction. Studied it, carefully. Just as he had been studying her during the entire walk, so too had she been studying him, testing him.

He did not want to provoke her, he needed to find out as much as he could as quickly as he could.

But he had reached a decision faster than he could begin voicing his disagreement. If he was going to find Annabeth, he needed all the help he could get. Had he known Annabeth was safe, he would have fought her then and there. But he didn’t, and Annabeth came before any differences he might have with Lupa.

He couldn’t risk her anger, yet. Her aid was better than none at all.

He kept his voice level, as casual as he could make it,“Isn’t Rome held together by the allegiance of its members?”

Lupa sounded triumphant, “No wisecracks? Perseus, son of Neptune, you surprise me.”

He reacted quickly.

“ ‘Perseus’ is too formal of a name. You’re too formal of a wolf. You should lighten up a bit, if you want me to keep up the jokes.”

She blinked, then sniffed as she turned away.

“A country is its people. A loyalty to Rome is a loyalty to all Romans. You cannot serve two masters equally. Loyalty to a friend over Rome is disloyalty to all other Romans. You cannot destroy the world to save a friend.”

And the phrasing was so familiar, that he couldn’t disagree. Annabeth had said something like that, once, or someone very like Annabeth.

He nodded. Lupa continued, seemingly satisfied.

“Discipline is the foundation on which everything must be built. Without discipline there is nothing.”

Persues nodded.

The water was cold. Perseus just knew it. It was something of the way it sounded, perhaps. Or the way it looked. He couldn't tell exactly what was tipping him off.

The river was strong, as well. Anyone could see that. He could see it churning. He could almost feel it tearing up the sand and rushing past him at incredible speeds.

"You're sure this isn't some kind of ancient ice bucket challenge?"

"Swimming is a vital skill."

Perseus shook his head. Lupa was something else.

If he was honest, cold water sounded just the thing to wash off the sweat. He had been working hard since he had gotten there, and the wolf house had no showers.

He would have argued that no one started swimming at this level, but he felt she knew it. And as strong as the river was, he felt stronger.

Tentatively, he stepped his foot in.

It was like an electric shock. The cold snapped him awake like nothing else. It was an invigorating feeling.

He loved it.

He dived in all the way. The current was strong, trying to pull him, to drag him away towards the sea. Towards, perhaps, his father. It beckoned to him, but that was not his task.

He swam against them, daring the waves to fight back.

And it seemed like they did. Fighting harder and harder, raising itself to his challenge. And he pushed back. He could feel the water swirling around him. He could feel it's terrible power. Every stroke and breath of the battle felt right. In a way nothing up until then had.

And he reached the other side, and climbed out. And he realised he had gained against the current. And he felt refreshed. He was grinning wildly.

He dived in again without hesitation when Lupa asked him to swim laps. Again and again. Each time he dared the water to go faster, to challenge him further. And each time he won.

He knew what he was doing. He was controlling the water. He was influencing his domain. This was his gift. This was his home. He could feel something rushing inside of him.

He stood before Lupa when he finished.

"Did you realise you were making this harder for yourself?"

And Perseus instinctively extended his mind to the water and brought it to a halt. Droplets of water hung in the air.

He marveled at his strength. At his own power. He knew what he could do with this. Around water he would be safe. He would be unstoppable.

"I wanted a workout."

"Well done." And it was the closest to praise Lupa had ever given him.

It is my father's domain. It is right that it feels like home. And he knew with certainty now that Neptune was his father.

He waved his hand and the river continued its normal course, as if nothing had happened.

And another day she took him to a clearing, with tall stumps of wood. Opposite him stood Orion, one of Lupa's most trusted wolves. His fur was a deep shade of black, with streaks of silver that shimmered in the dying light. His eyes, a piercing blue, watched Perseus with a mix of curiosity and distrust.

Orion was to assess him on weapons. From the shadows, Lupa and Aurelius watched.

"I would offer you one of our own weapons, but from what I hear you came prepared to fight," But Orion's eyes did not leave the bright orange shirt, "Greek."

Perseus decided he did not like him.

Perseus remained impassive, he unpocketed his pen and a moment later he was holding his sword.

It was perfect. He could feel it in his hand. It felt like a part of him. And he knew, without question, that he had used it thousands of times, that he had honed his mastery of it for years. The sword had saved his life hundreds of times.

A shiver ran through him. What had his life been, before?

Anaklusmos. He read the word on the sword. The Greek felt right.

He saw Orion falter, and his eyes flicked to the sword and then to Perseus's eyes.

"Celestial bronze. This is not a standard weapon, given to the ranks of soldiers. This one is unique."

"Aestus," Perseus said, Riptide, in Latin, "That's it's name. And it's my sword."

"You may call it Aestus," Orion said, his voice laced with a barely concealed sneer. "But a Greek weapon in Roman lands speaks more of defiance than readiness. And a Greek weapon it is."

Perseus's grip on his sword tightened, but his expression remained impassive, his eyes cold. "I would be more ill-prepared if I carried a weapon I did not know."

"Let's see if the Greek brat can back up his claims," Orion growled.

"He is one of us, Orion." Aurelius could be heard from across the clearing.

"Yes, you mentioned it." Orion said with acridity.

Perseus was unfazed. He is here to asses, and instead he berates, he thought to himself, He is not following his Roman principle of duty very well. But he said nothing. Orion was not worth the effort.

The wolf jerked his head at the stump, "show me what you can do."

Perseus nodded. Faster than a mortal eye could catch, his sword moved economically towards his target. There was no time to follow the sword, for in a blink the strike had landed, and by the next it had landed again. The celestial bronze, propelled by the demigod's strength and speed, left deep gashes in the wood.

The motions were precise, fast, and strong. His style was quick, fluid, and unpredictable.

Orion waited a moment. There was no doubt waiting to tire him out, Perseus thought, but he had chosen a speed and strength he could maintain. Especially with the added motivation of sheer spite.

The wolf stopped Perseus. "Flashy, and unstructured," he said, "your methods are not particularly effective."

"How was it flashy or unstructured?" Perseus asked. His voice was a mask of innocence. He could defend structure easily. He knew every pattern by heart. And any claim of 'flashiness' was stupid. Not a single movement had been wasted.

Orion did not answer. Instead the wolf lumbered over to a rack of weapons and dragged out a golden gladius, which he brought before Perseus.

"Let's see what you can do with an actual weapon."

Perseus recapped Anaklusmos and shoved the pen in his pocket. Hesitantly, he reached out and grasped the gladius. The sensation was foreign, the balance different. The sword felt heavier, its center of gravity shifted more towards the blade, demanding a different style of handling than he was accustomed to. Perseus turned the gladius in his hand, feeling the smoothness of the grip, the rigid structure of the blade. It was a weapon designed for thrusting, for disciplined and calculated strikes. It was a stark contrast to the fluid agility of Anaklusmos, yet there was an undeniable elegance to it, a testament to the art of war.

He gave it a few tentative swings, adjusting to the weight and feel of the gladius.

Orion began to call out moves, and Perseus obeyed. Orion coached him in some subtleties of the new style.

It felt a little unnatural, but he felt sure that he could defend himself with it if needed.

Then Orion had him train with a shield. And then with a spear. And Perseus realised he had trained with a variety of weapons in the past.

All the same, Orion did not like him.

"Archery," Orion was saying, "is about precision, patience, and focus."

"Well, I've got precision down. I can precisely tell you that I've never been good with a bow."

Orion growled, “Nip it, demigod. Your lack of focus is clearly apparent, as is your lack of precision and patience.” “I disagree. It took remarkable focus to come up with that.” “A sarcastic remark has nothing to do with focus.” Perseus grinned, “lighten up, furball. Why don’t you like me?” As he said that, he began nocking his arrow to the bow.

Orion's eyes narrowed, focusing on the Greek writing on Perseus's shirt. "You come here, already trained, unlike the others. You wear the symbols of the Greeks. Why should we trust you? What do you truly seek?"

Perseus rolled his eyes, pulling the bowstring back. "I was being rhetorical. I’ve already told Lupa, and Aurelius before her. I’m looking for Annabeth, yeah?”

Orion’s voice was accusatory, laced with distrust, “Why aren’t you looking for Annabeth, then? If that was all you wanted-”

"Look, Orion, I'm here to learn, not to play twenty questions. Can we get on with it?"

He was annoyed, now. Orion was not helping his concentration. It’s not like he didn’t want to look for Annabeth.

He brought the bow up, pulling apart his shoulders, drawing the bowstring back. Aiming for the target. He wasn’t really sure he could hit it. The bow wasn't completely unfamiliar, but he hadn't been lying when he said he knew he had never been good at it.

“Why haven’t you released?”

Perseus shrugged, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Maybe because I'm standing here, trying to learn from a wolf who clearly doesn't want to teach me?"

“You’ve had no trouble with any of the other weapons.” Orion’s voice was laced with annoyance, “Why should this one be any different?”

“I don’t know. It’s different.” The arrow wavered a little, and Perseus remembered to put his finger on it to steady it. He lowered the bow again, then began to raise it, unsure, “I’m not-”

“Just release.”

He shot, and the arrow went wide.

Orion scoffed.

Perseus rolled his eyes and nocked the bow again.

Lupa fixed her wolf-stare on him. And Perseus did not flinch.

They stood at the edge of a small steep hill. A rocky cliffside not much taller than thirty feet.

“Climb.”

He didn’t hesitate. He would try.

Even as his fingers closed on the rockface, he could already feel the familiarity.

This, he was certain, he had done before.

As he climbed, his mind raced. Every move he made, every skill he displayed, was a piece of the puzzle. He was building a picture of who he was, or who he had been.

So far, she had tested his strength and his agility. Generally. Conditioning exercises. But he was fit, he had no trouble with them. He did not lack muscle. He had trained with handstands and flips and obstacle courses.

He had leapt through a maze, memorising the way as he went along.

Weapons, water, those had clearly been a big part of him before.

Perseus's fingers gripped the rough texture of the rock, finding purchase in the smallest of crevices. As he ascended, his gaze wandered, taking in the forest around him.. The ruins of the Wolf House were visible from this vantage point.

But something caught his attention. A lone figure stood in the treeline, barely visible against the backdrop of the forest. It was a wolf, but not like the ones he had seen around Lupa. This one was larger, its posture more menacing. Its eyes, even from this distance, seemed to gleam with an unnatural light. It stood still, its gaze fixed on him and Lupa below.

Perseus's heart rate quickened. He stopped his climb for a moment, making sure his sword was still in his pocket.

There was something off about this wolf.

But as quickly as he had noticed it, the wolf vanished, melting into the shadows of the trees.

Perseus blinked. He considered calling out to Lupa, but something held him back. He didn't trust Lupa. Besides the wolf was gone, and for all he knew, it could have been a figment of his imagination.

All the same, he kept his guard up for the rest of the day.

The sun was beginning to set. Perseus stepped through the woods, making his way back to the wolf house. His muscles ached, it had been a long day.

Keep your guard up, seaweed brain.

It was her. Her voice never quite left him. And he held on to it tightly. He wouldn't let it leave if it tried.

She definitely called him seaweed brain. And he loved it.

He still couldn’t think of a plan to begin to find Annabeth. He didn’t know where to begin. Lupa had been tight-lipped about information. She knew he was staying for that and that only.

But he was still alert.

He had a stalker.

Whoever it was, they were very good. He felt it, more than anything. Glimpses of shadows, and edges of movement that didn’t fit in with the rest of the forest.

It wasn’t the wolf he had seen earlier. He could tell that. This stalker would have not allowed themselves to be seen.

A swift movement to his left caught his attention. Faster than the thought had processed, he spun around, drawing Anaklusmos from his pocket and uncapping it. The bronze blade gleamed in the dim light, pointing directly at a young wolf who had frozen mid-step, her eyes wide in surprise.

The wolf was smaller than the others he had seen, with sleek silver fur and a moon-shaped white marking on her forehead. She looked up at him, unafraid, her eyes filled with amusement.

"Nice reflexes, soldier," she said, playfully.

"Who are you?"

The wolf grinned, revealing sharp teeth. "Selene, scout of Lupa's pack. You're Perseus Jackson.”

He lowered his sword slightly. “You seem to know me.”

“You’ve caused quite a stir. News travels fast. Besides, Lupa sent me to test your alertness.”

He nodded. "You're pretty good at sneaking around. Almost didn't catch you."

Selene chuckled, her tail wagging slightly. "Almost is the key word. But I'll admit, you're sharper than most. Don’t get cocky, though, I’ll catch you eventually.”

Perseus nodded. “Yeah, like I said, you are good. Really good.”

He lowered his sword, capping Anaklusmos and stuffing it back into his pocket.

Selene's eyes twinkled with mischief as she circled Perseus, her movements graceful and fluid. “You know, most demigods don't catch me on the first try. You must be special."

Perseus smirked, his eyes following her. “Special? Nah, just observant. But I'll take the compliment."

Selene stopped, tilting her head, studying him. “Observant, huh? That's a rare quality. Most are too caught up in their own heads to notice what's around them."

“Or too caught up in their training," Perseus added, his thoughts drifting back to the day's exercises. “But I've got other things on my mind."

“Like Annabeth?" Selene's voice was probing.

Perseus's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't deny it. “Yeah. Annabeth."

“Just Annabeth? Or anyone else?”

His green eyes flicked up to meet the wolf’s. “She’s the only person I remember. There might be others… but I don’t know who they are, just… whisps. My priority is Annabeth, and then, my memory.”

Perseus must have let some emotion cross his face.

"You're not just here for yourself," Selene said, "You're here for someone else. Most people come here because they need to learn to survive.”

“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” He asked. It was a weak defence.

She shook her head. “You’re here because you wanted to protect your pack.”

“Yeah, I’m big on the whole loyalty thing.”

“You just caught Lupa’s best scout trying to sneak up on you. If it was just about survival, you’d have it covered."

“Best scout. I knew you were good.” he said, seizing on a detail, “A scout, huh? Isn’t this a training camp?” He phrased the question casually, but it was genuine, he was desperate for information, he just didn’t trust her enough to let her know.

Selene grinned, her tail wagging slightly. "We are the first line of defence of Rome, we are the warning signal. No enemy approaches Rome without our knowledge."

Perseus nodded, storing the information away, in case he ever had to attack this New Rome. "Sounds like a big responsibility."

"It is," Selene admitted, her voice serious. "But it's a responsibility we take on willingly. We're the eyes and ears of Rome, always watching, always ready."

Perseus's eyes flicked to the treeline, remembering the strange wolf he had seen earlier. "Always watching, huh? I’ve seen some of you guys about."

Selene's ears twitched, and she followed his gaze. "What do you mean?"

Perseus shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Nothing. Just something I saw earlier. One of you wolves, scouting around.“

Selene’s eyes narrowed, then, at last, she said, “You are very observant.”

“Hardly, this one was much less subtle than you were.”

As Selene and Perseus approached the main campsite, they were joined by other wolves.

Suddenly, Aurelius was next to him, the large wolf with a regal bearing and a coat that shimmered like the night sky. His gaze was fixed on Perseus, but there was a brief moment when his eyes met Selene's. There was a slight softening in his expression, almost imperceptible, but Selene caught it. Her tail gave a slight wag, and her ears perked up just a bit more.

The edge of a knowing smile playing at the corners of Aurelius’s mouth. "I see you've met our best scout, I hope she didn't give you too much trouble," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Perseus's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind working quickly.

Selene, who had circled around Perseus and come up next to Aurelius, grimaced, “He caught me, actually.”

Aurelius’s eyes flicked towards Perseus, “Really? You’ll have to try harder next time, Moon wolf.”

“Next time you can distract him, Gold coat,” Selene said, and the two wolves exchanged a glance.

Perseus caught it.

He observed the way Selene and Aurelius interacted. The way Aurelius had phrased his question. The subtle hint of pride in Selene's voice.

"It is good that you are here, son of Neptune, I’ve needed a good challenge for a while. "

Perseus chuckled. "Well, anytime you want a rematch, just sneak up on me again."

"Ah, but next time I won't let you catch me so easily!"

"Of course not."

Perseus’s laughter died in his throat as Orion stepped in front of him.

Aurelius's demeanour changed instantly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Orion, I trust you've calmed down since this morning?"

Orion growled, his gaze fixed on Perseus.

Selene growled, “I doubt he did! Aurelius, you know how he is. He's always been—”

Aurelius stepped between them, his voice firm. "Enough! We are all on the same side here. Perseus is here to learn, and we must trust Lupa's judgement."

Orion's gaze shifted to Aurelius, his voice accusing. "You're taking his side."

Aurelius's voice was calm but authoritative. "I am taking no sides. I am following Lupa's lead, and you should do the same."

Selene's eyes narrowed as she looked at Orion, her voice laced with disdain. "He's right, Orion. We must trust Lupa's judgement."

Orion's gaze lingered on Perseus for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and stalked away, his tail twitching with irritation.

“Nice guy,” scoffed Perseus, “thanks Aurelius,“ then, a little more charitably, “though to be fair I should have worked more on archery at...” he had been saying it casually, he had noticed that it was easier to get glimpses of memory casually, without thinking, but even as he turned his attention to his own words, his head began to pound. Whatever had been there began to slip.

“At?”

Perseus shrugged, “before, I guess. I don’t know. My point is Orion has his reasons to not like me, I guess.”

Aurelius studied him carefully. “Orion doesn’t like you much. But his loyalty to Lupa and the Wolf House runs deep. Give it time,” and then, a moment later, “though we should probably get you a new shirt.”

Chapter Text

He liked the campfire.

It was warm and nice and comforting. He liked the conversation and eating and the light. He liked the way the heat seeped into his bones and the cold air of the night vanished. He liked the crackling sounds.

Perseus liked how familiar it was.

He felt Aurelius shift next to him.

There was something entirely natural about ending a day of intense training right under the stars by the warm glow of the fire. He stretched his legs, sore from training, and let himself bask in the radiant heat.

He glanced at Aurelius, still thinking about the stars. He wasn't looking at the stars.

He could almost hear her. Annabeth. Teaching him the constellations.

"Selune?"

There was a moment of hesitation.

"Yes?"

"How well do you know the constellations?"

"How did you know I was behind you?"

"Aurelius noticed you first. Then he turned to stare at you. Blame him."

She laughed, sidling up to Aurelius. "It's a good thing we're not undercover, you'd betray me with those eyes of yours, goldcoat."

Aurelius shook his head. "That's why I leave the undercover missions to you, moon wolf."

"Because you'd be killed in an instant, got it."

Aurelius snorted.

Perseus was agitated by this. It was not a laughing matter. Someone could be killed. "You never know, Aurelius. You might have to be undercover some day. Learn to curb that instinct."

"You sound like a general or something."

"How do you know I wasn't one?"

"Were you?"

He didn't press to hard for the memory. He had to get out of the habit. If it didn't come, then it wouldn't come. He wasn't going to get in the habit of incapacitating himself over small question. "Maybe."

He didn't know the answer. He wasn't going to dwell on it.

They fell into an easy silence.

Finally, Perseus spoke, "I asked about constellations, though."

Selune shrugged as she laid down next to Aurelius, "like... Ursa Mayor and Minor? Or Orion?"

"Or Cetus and Delphinus and whatnot. Yeah."

Aurelius laughed. "The whole son of the sea part is showing."

There's one called Perseus. That was her voice, in his head, The Hero. He could hear her smile. It's right there, seaweed brain.

He sought it out with his eyes.

"Or Perseus."

Selune looked at him curiously for a moment, but then turned back to the stars.

He looked across. Recognizing a few.

Something caught in his throat when he looked at a particular cluster.

He caught a glimpse of a girl, silvery and not quite mortal. With dark hair and a circlet and a bow.

Aurelius saw where he was looking. "One of those stars is newer. It appeared only some years ago."

Whatever bubble of memory Perseus had been holding burst. He nearly tried to go after it, but instead stopped.

Something seemed to claw at his chest, a heat rising in his throat. Something sad.

"Fair enough," he managed.

He stared at the cluster a bit longer. Something about it seemed bittersweet. Beautiful and sad. But he couldn't quite remember what. He was careful not to try too hard, too directly.

Sometimes he thought he had almost grasped the fleeting memory, but always it escaped him.

Chapter Text

He excelled at strategy, and he loved it.

There was nothing quite like Lupa's puzzles. A clear dilemma to solve. Maybe one week he had to infiltrate a clearing guarded by a fifty of Lupa's best hunters. Or lead ten of these same wolves in a defense against thirty.

Lupa thought he had the makings of a fine Roman. And that he was incredibly intelligent. And he supposed that was true to some extent. He did think about the problems a lot.

But he also listened to her.

What would you do, wise girl? He'd ask, in his mind. He knew he called her that. And she'd always answer. Calling him a seaweed brain and pointing out flaws in his tactics.

She wasn't with him physically, but he had kept a copy of her in his heart. He knew her. He knew the way she thought. It would have been better to have her. The real Annabeth would have pointed out better strategies, she would have seen different ideas that Perseus couldn't have conceived. She would have caught every error that Lupa pointed out with ease. He knew this.

And he liked it, because it gave him the most memories. He remembered running. He remembered climbing trees and diving into rivers and crawling through caves. He remembered little glimpses of adventures and travel. He caught a glimpse of golden princess curls and an orange shirt, like his own, running beside him.

This time it was a hostage situation. One of the wolves had been chosen to be the "captive", and a group of the others were the captors. They were somewhere in the forest. He had to lead a mock rescue mission.

He already knew what Annabeth would have wanted first. Intelligence, information. He wasn't going to move blindly. (She wouldn't have ever made it that easy.)

Orion walked in, leading a group of wolves. Among them he recognised Selune.

"Here your team," Orion snarled, and, in an undertone, "Greek."

He chose to ignore it.

He sized them up. He had an even mix of scouts like Selune, and the more brawny fighters like Orion. Fair enough.

The scouts were good, he knew that already. They could move nearly unseen and observe everything.

Ideally, he could get the captive out quickly and quietly, and no one would know what happened.

Ideally. He could practically hear Annabeth rolling her eyes.

I know, wise girl. But a plan should still work if nothing goes wrong.

You're a seaweed brain, you know that?

He grinned.

He was going crazy, he decided.

He wasn't utilizing half of his force in the plan. Could they have any use? If things went wrong they could provide a distraction. Or strike loudly, but too fast for anyone to react.

If the stealth went wrong, brute force could still work. If brute force went wrong, it was too late to be stealthy.

"Alright, team, listen up," Perseus began, locking eyes with each wolf in turn. "Our mission is to rescue the 'captive' from the other team. Obviously we're not just going to run in there, fangs bared."

Orion snorted, a low rumble that echoed through the trees. "A plan from a Greek, no less."

Perseus met Orion's gaze without flinching. "Do you have anything to say, soldier?"

Orion growled at him but Perseus did not take the bait.

Perseus continued. "We will split into two teams. Selune will lead the scouts in team A. Augustus will lead the rest in team B." He knew they were high-ranking. The other wolves would listen to them, and that they would listen to him.

"I'm higher ranking than both of them."

And clearly not capable of listening. But he didn't say it. He wouldn't rise to the bait.

Perseus ignored him.

"The first step is to find out where they are and how they are arranged. We need as much information as possible. Selune, I trust your group can take care of that."

She bowed her head.

"Reconvene with us here at midday. Then we will decide whether a stealthy extraction is possible or not."

"What will we do?" It was Augustus, an older wolf with a gravelly voice.

"We will wait. We can't act blindly."

"You are sidelining us."

"No. I'm leveraging your strengths."

Orion made as if to speak but Perseus glared at him and he backed away.

Selune returned.

They had found the captive. She was near the river, on a hill on a clearing. There wasn't much cover. They had scouts around the area. The opponents knew that they knew where the captive was held, one of the scouts was seen.

It was the correct captive. There was no deception there. They had recognised her as Lyra.

He would still try stealth.

They were near the river. They couldn't perceive his approach from there, even if they could expect it. The position was bad. If you give yourself a weakness you know, you still haven't covered for the weaknesses you don't know, and you are still wasting resources to prepare, and you are exposed (however prepared) from this weakness.

His plan began to form. He talked it through with Annabeth in his mind.

"I'm going to go through the river, get as close as I can. I'll use the water to form a mist. The reduced visibility will help."

"Group A, you will divide into 3 groups, chosen by Selune. Group A1 will be allow themselves to be detected slightly from the north. They might suspect this is a diversion. Try to distract them as long as possible. Don't properly get caught. They are going to expect Selune to be leading the wolves, so she will go with Group A2. You will allow yourself to be detected from the west, but only slightly, so they think the first group is a diversion, and your group is the real one. The Group A3 will free the captive undetected."

"Should anything go wrong, I am hiding nearby in the water. Group B, given the signal, a large wave from the river, you will stage a strike directly towards the captive from the west. I will try free the captive through the water from the East."

The wolves nodded, even Orion, who seemed less skeptical than before.

Good.

As the wolves dispersed, Perseus felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if he'd done this before in another life. But there was no time to ponder; the mission was about to begin, and he had a captive to rescue.

He almost didn't have to do anything.

He could feel things moving through the mist. He could see them in his mind. In all three dimensions. Through the forest. All at once.

This would have made it easy.

He watched as the enemy began devoting itself to the north and the west, trying to make sure that it wasn't a double bluff.

The opponents were not incompetent. All the sides were guarded, but they were uncertain. They didn't know where to devote their attention. And his scouts were good. Even though he knew she was coming, he almost didn't notice Selune and another wolf get close to the captive from the west, and then as the opponents bounded after them, and they turned and fled, more wolves materialized from the South.

But they were just perceptive enough. They managed to recover quickly and drive the third group off.

He felt a tug in his body as he conjured the wave. They turned their attention towards the water, away from the west.

Augustus and his companions burst through the clearing at lightning speed. Howling and growling in a cacophony of distraction. They knocked aside the first few guards before the enemy force, again, had to turn around to beat them off.

"Go big or go home, huh?" Perseus muttered to himself, impressed despite the tension.

Since Perseus had fragmented his force, Augustus's wolves were outnumbered, but now the enemy force was distracted for real. And with the limited visibility, Perseus reached the captive undisturbed. He swung his sword at the guard, stopping it at the last moment near the guard's throat. The guard knew the rules. He lay down as if dead.

He tapped the captive wolf, who took it as a signal to get up.

"This way," he whispered.

Lyra followed him.

Orion's group suddenly broke off their assault, retreating into the forest. It was a fake retreat, and they took the bait, and he could hear orders for the opponent's wolves to chase them down.

They were almost free.

He heard a small pawing on the ground. A small pattern of stamps.

Perseus said nothing. He and Lyra stood absolutely still.

"There was no all clear signal. The guard is down!"

There was a howl.

More howls in answer.

Shapes moved around them as they headed towards the river.

Two wolves lunged at them from the mist.

"I'll lead them away, go north." he whispered. She would meet up with group A1.

His blade was fast, and the first one was tapped in the chest before he could react. He was out. But the second one stood just out of range and then bounded towards the captive, barking.

Perseus lunged at him, grabbing him and pulling him down.

They wrestled on the ground. The wolf pinned down his sword arm, and his sword clattered away. The man dodged a swipe for his throat.

Drawn by the noise, more wolves leapt at Perseus.

He squirmed out of the way, leaving his sword behind.

They chased him, and he sprinted in a random direction, drawing the ambushers away from Lyra.

A moment too late he realised he was heading towards his main strike force. His chasers abandoned him and started looking for Lyra.

Hopefully she was safe.

He heard more scuffling. He could see Selene being dragged to the ground by another wolf. The second scouts and the strike force were both to the west. They must have joined.

A wolf knocked him over, and he pushed it off, rolling back to his feet. He saw Augustus and Orion leaping and pushing and swiping.

His sword was back in his pocket.

The wolf regained it's footing and lunged back at him. He ducked and unsheathed his sword.

The third group, of it's own initiative, struck from behind.

Chaos erupted. He couldn't quite make sense of what was going on.

For a moment, he was somewhere else—a battlefield, screams filling the air, a sense of overwhelming dread.

He was back in the forest, disoriented, gasping for air.

A wolf slammed into him. Again his sword clattered into the ground.

He was on a bridge in New York. The Minotaur was charging towards him. He couldn't move at all. His feet were rooted to the spot.

He slammed into a tree,. He swiped the wolf aside with his arm and the wolf went sprawling,

He saw as a giant fought a shifting creature. One moment it was a cheetah, the next, a wolf. It sent the creature flying with a swipe of it's arm and then turned to him.

He picked up his sword and swung it, a little too fast. He couldn't stop it as it swung to the next wolf.

At the last second he twisted it so the flat of the blade would hit first.

He was surrounded by armored soldiers. He punched a helmet with the pommel of his sword. He struck again, with lighting speed, striking with the flat of the blade each time. He saw the faces of enemy half bloods. He wouldn't kill them, not if he could help it. But he would hurt them if he had to.

The wolf slammed into the ground, and whimpered.

Blood splattered his body. Blood soaked the ground. His eyes were colder, his stance more rigid. He gave the order, and arrows rained down upon the enemy. A hundred enemies fell beneath the deadly rain.

He sliced his sword forwards and a pair of wolves leapt out of the way.

Another one leapt towards him and the water in the air spun him away.

He could see the face of a man, with blonde hair, an ugly scar, and golden eyes. A dead body lay on the ground before him. Perseus didn't recognize him, but he knew it was a friend. The man laughed, and his voice was more present than anything else, his laughter was cruel and unfeeling, and it did not belong to the man at all. "See? You're no hero. Just a boy forced to make impossible choices. How many have died for your victories, Perseus?"

His heart pounded in his chest.

"The bridge!"

Perseus backed up against the tree again.

He was standing on a suspension bridge. Perseus turned to see a short demigod holding a bow perched atop the cables. His quiver was empty. It was just the two of them against a hundred enemies.

It started raining.

He opened his eyes to see the wolves flying away from him. He could feel the storm pushing them away.

"The bridge. It's weak! Use your powers, destroy it!

Orion leapt at him, claws extended. They tore through his orange shirt and glanced harmlessly against his skin.

He felt the bridge shudder as he dived off of it. He saw his companions face as he was swept away.

Orion was blown away again by the wind.

Something told him. He hadn't seen it with his eyes. But his mind followed the archer as he was dragged beneath the water, thrown around violently, and crushed under rubble.

Fear gripped him—a fear not of monsters or Titans but of himself and the destruction he was capable of. His breathing grew erratic, and he felt a surge of power welling up inside him, a torrent of energy he couldn't contain.

Another shift. Then another. He was underwater, and streaks of green fire flew past him. He was holding an unbearable weight, like a hundred thousand trucks.

In the forest, the wind picked up. The water swirled around Perseus. Trees cracked, lightning crackled.

He couldn't make sense of the world around him. The wolves were fleeing.

He only saw the visions of war.

And then it happened. With a guttural cry that was half anguish and half fury, he lost control. His powers erupted outward in an uncontrolled burst, manifesting as a swirling vortex of water. Trees were uprooted, their trunks splintering like toothpicks. The ground quaked as if Gaia herself was recoiling from him.

He could sense the fleeing wolves. The wave nearly reached them. He redirected it as best he could, guiding the destruction away from them.

It was close. Too close.

As quickly as it had formed, the storm dissipated, leaving behind a landscape of devastation.

He was alone with the destruction.

He could hear Orion's voice yelling out. "Let us strike him now. I was right, the boy is a Greek spy and a traitor!"

He heard arguing among the wolves.

He could see stones split. Tree trunks shattered.

What had he done?

He could still see the echoes of war in his mind.

A figure bounded towards him out of the destruction. He didn't react.

Perseus felt a stabbing pain pass through his back as he slammed into the ground. Orion was on top of him.

The wolf wasted no time on words. The wolf bit at his throat. Perseus still didn't react, but his skin turned aside the teeth, as the wolf leapt back, shaking his head. Perseus felt no pain, Orion clearly was in pain.

Orion went again, this time for his shoulder, ripping away more of the orange fabric, but Perseus was not harmed.

Perseus pushed Orion out of the way. He didn't want the shirt to get damaged any more.

Perseus was tired. He had to sleep.

Who had he been? How could he ever sleep again? How much of those visions was real?

Orion growled and Perseus flung him aside and stood up.

He felt little sparks run through his back as he got up.

He was invulnerable. He only had to guard his back, which wouldn't be a problem, he faced his enemies face-front anyway. Like a Sontarran, from Dr Who. But you should still guard it, the enemies you know you can face, but what of the enemies you don't? It's backstabbers you have to worry about." Annabeth's voice echoed in his mind. He knew what he answered, "You've got my back. I don't have to worry about it. I'll always have you."

Except he didn't have her.

But he didn't want to fight anymore. He wanted to go far away. Far away. Far away from anyone who could get hurt because of him.

The other wolves had returned. They were eyeing him warily. Keeping their distance.

The forest around him was a testament to his own volatility—a landscape torn asunder, trees uprooted, and earth scarred.

He was a son of Neptune.

He could here a voice in his head. A teacher of sorts.Your father is the King of the sea. God of the seas, storms, earthquakes, and horses.

His mind raced, fragments of the flashback still haunting him. Faces of fallen comrades, the weight of a sword in his hand, the cruel laughter of the man with golden eyes.

He wasn't sure how much of it was real and how much of it had been his own mind.

Again and again he saw the face of his fellow warrior being swept away by his power. That had been him. He had killed his own friend. And it hadn't been a loss of control, like it was here, where, luckily, no one had gotten hurt. It was only luck. Shear luck. Had he been a moment to slow he wouldn't have been able to redirect it. The bridge had been deliberate. He had meant to destroy, and he had allowed his friend to be caught in the action.

Would Annabeth really be safer around him?

His throat caught. He couldn't think clearly.

Maybe he shouldn't look for her. Maybe she didn't want him near.

Who would? He didn't want himself, he had killed his own friend. Surely Annabeth, good Annabeth, would want nothing to do with him.

He had composed himself by the time he and the wolves had returned to camp.

He saw Aurelius bound to Selune's side and start fussing over her.

He looked at Lupa. Lupa's eyes settled on him with an expression he couldn't read.

"What happened, Perseus?"

"I lost control.," he said, "I shouldn't be here, I could harm someone."

Lupa snarled, "You are right, for once. You would be better off dead, but I gave Juno my word you would not come to harm under my tutelage, and you are a greater danger to Rome somewhere else than here."

Perseus nodded.

"I have no other option but to teach you control," she said evenly. "I can't have you having an episode like this in New Rome. But if you learn to control it it will be a very useful asset, to you and to Rome."

There was a note of disapproval in her voice. Or disappointment. Or disdain. It was difficult to tell.

"Orion tells me he could not harm you."

"Yeah. I... don't know what that was."

"It is tradition for these things to have a weak point. Do you know where it is?"

He couldn't tell her. He didn't trust her. "Annabeth knows where mine is." It was only half a lie. He had told Annabeth, but the implication that he didn't know was untrue.

Sparks ran up his back.

He saw her expression twitch. She hadn't liked his answer.

That was fine. He didn't care if she liked it.

She stared at him. He glared right back.

She gave a huff and left.

Perseus let his head fall. It had been exhausting. He turned to the cave where he and the wolves slept.

It was still light outside, but it would soon be dark, and he didn't know what was next.

He needed some time to think.

He glanced through the trees. He caught a glimpse of a wolf he didn't recognise prowling around.

Some time later, he lay down on the stone floor of the cave. He felt horrible. He hated himself.

But that was not enough to stop him from falling asleep the moment he closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

It was late than night when Lupa awoke him, and he followed her through the forest. She told him to pack for a small excursion. To pack like a soldier.

It was snowing. He didn't think it snowed in California, but maybe he was wrong.

Wasn't it summer?

Someone was doing something. Maybe Lupa. Maybe someone else. He tightened his grip around his pen.

Lupa brought him to the edge of a frozen lake. Her silver fur shimmered in the soft light, and her amber eyes held a glint of something unreadable. "Perseus Jackson," she began, her voice tinged with a gravity that immediately caught his attention, "your next challenge awaits."

Perseus straightened, his eyes meeting hers. "What is it?" he asked, a mixture of anticipation and curiosity filling him.

Lupa's gaze seemed to pierce through him, as if assessing the very core of his being. "Years ago a demigod fell to a water spirit of the lake in service of Rome. This soldier's shield lies at the bottom of the lake. You are to retrieve this shield," she said simply.

Perseus nodded.

He walked up to the lake.

He searched for the shield in his mind. Letting himself join the water of the lake. The connection, for the first time, made him uncomfortable. He saw that boy's face again.

This very power led to that.

"Is something troubling you?" Lupa's voice broke through his reverie.

Perseus shook his head, dispelling the lingering doubts. "No," he said, forcing a smile, "I'm ready for this."

Lupa nodded. "Very well. I will await you at camp." And she leapt away. Disappearing into the forest. He looked at her go.

He could feel the call of the lake. Not as strong as a river, which led to the sea. Not as strong as the sea. But a pull. Less of an invitation to join and more begging him to stay.

The lake is a lesser province than the sea. But it was not his own thoughts. It was an understanding of how the lake felt. It recognized him as its prince. Could he not spare it some attention and make it great?

He didn't know how to help it. He only knew how to destroy.

A resolution formed in his mind. He would retrieve the shield from the frozen lake, but he would do it without invoking his divine powers. It would be a test, not just of his physical capabilities but of his control. And it would protect the lake.

You are being an idiot, Seaweed brain.

He cut himself off from his powers.

All at once the begging of the lake stopped. The cold picked up, seeming to bite him. He could no longer see as easily through the storm. The vast powerful ocean was no longer echoing in his sub-conscious. He felt the sting of the snowflakes.

Good. Though he didn't admit to himself he had done it out of fear.

He swung his pack down. He had some basic supplies. Some ambrosia. A dagger. Some coins.

He dug around.

Rope.

He tied one end to himself and another end to a tree, making sure it was steady.

The knots were a sailor's knots. They would not come undone.

He approached the edge of the lake cautiously, his eyes scanning the icy surface for any signs of weakness, any cracks that might betray an underlying fragility. Satisfied, he took the first step, his boot making a soft crunching sound as it met the ice. Another step, then another, each one taken with deliberate care as he made his way toward the center of the lake.

His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythmic drumbeat that seemed to echo his mounting anticipation.

He stabbed Anaklusmos carefully into the ice, and reached his hand in. Feeling the current. Guessing where the lake would have taken the shield. The cold shocked him. The water rejected him. His hand numbed quickly. He couldn't tell. He couldn't feel it.

He felt discomfort as the water clung to him. He was not used to it. Usually he was dry.

He took his best guess and headed that way. After some travel he repeated the process.

Finally he reached a decision. He was getting nowhere. And he was getting cold. He was shivering. He would have to enter the lake.

Perhaps it wasn't the most rational of conclusions. But he wanted it to be over. He wanted to be warm.

He cracked the ice with his sword.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he unfastened his cloak and tied it to the rope. Leaving him in his simple tunic and trousers. Then, with a final glance back at the shore, he took a running start and leapt into the air, his body arcing gracefully before breaking the surface of the ice with a resounding crash.

The chill was immediate, a visceral shock that seemed to freeze him to his very core. For a moment, he felt disoriented, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden transition from air to water, from warmth to cold. But he pushed through it, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he kicked his legs, propelling himself deeper into the lake.

His lungs began to burn, each breath a shallow gasp as he fought to conserve his dwindling supply of air. He could feel the pressure building, could sense the weight of the water pressing in on him from all sides. It was a claustrophobic feeling. But he quashed it, focusing instead on the task at hand.

He swum as low as he could, but the pressure was making his head hurt. He swam back up to get a breath. Following the rope.

It was cold. So cold. Too cold.

This isn't going to work.

Shut up, Wise Girl.

Surely there is a better way. One that doesn't involve you getting hypothermia.

His teeth were chattering as he came up.

Again he dived down, he couldn't really see. And opted to keep his eyes closed, using his hands to search the surface of the ocean.

His hands tangled on algae and he panicked, yanking them away. He swam upwards again for a breath. But he hit the ground. He was disoriented. His lungs burned for breath.

He was going to drown.

He swum widely.

A moment later he swum too far and, luckily, he remembered the rope as it pulled on him.

Use the rope, dummy. And then he could see a vision of her, standing above the water. You're such an idiot, sometimes. Come on, Take my hand.

He followed her. He resurfaced in a rush. The vision dissipated. He lay there. Gasping for breath.

It was cold. Too cold to think. He needed to find a way to stay warm. He needed to get warm to think, first. He was shivering. Chattering. Fading. Warmth. He needed-

Something even colder than the water touched his ankle. He felt a burning cold spread through his whole body. He felt his body slow. He lost all feeling in his leg. It hurt like flame.

Something yanked it down. He kept his head just enough to slash with his sword. His leg was too numb. He couldn't tell if it had let go.

The same something grabbed him by his arms pulled him. He couldn't feel his hands. He felt the rope pull at him. Tightening around his midsection. He breathed in water and coughed.

He kicked. It was all he could do. A darkness seemed to recede and he reached for his rope. Reached for air.

He couldn't find it. His hands were too numb. He slashed wildly.

"So, the son of Neptune thinks he can plunder the depths without consequence?" The monster's voice was a guttural hiss that seemed to reverberate through the water itself. It was Latin. "Know this, demigod: Gaia has opened the doors of death. Your kind will not be spared."

The water seemed to crowd on him. The water did not want to let him die. It urged him to accept again. To let it save him.

He hesitated. He refused.

Don't you dare die on me.

I'm not going to. I have a plan.

You said that last time. You blew up a volcano.

He'd blown up a volcano? Wow. That was news.

He swum upward and luckily slammed his head into the ice. He managed to swing his arm up and crack through the ice with his sword.

Out he was again, gasping for air. The storm had not abated. It had intensified. He couldn't see.

He pulled himself just in time. Rolling onto the ice above the lake.

Whatever-it-was leapt out of the ice. He caught a glimpse of dark green. Of algae.

He didn't even think before his sword was inside of it. He felt it yank his sword away and heard it slam into the ice in front of him.

He turned to watch the monster crumble into dust and picked up his sword.

The cold did not subside. It was going to kill him. He took some folded squares of ambrosia out of his pocket. Slowly warmth returned to him. His mind cleared. He relaxed. The cold was bearable.

He could see the shore. His backpack. It was time to make a new plan.

Even as he was starting, the dust swirled up and reformed. He was yanked back and slammed with his back into the ice.

“Did you really think you could get away that easily?” A humanoid form leaned above him. She was a Naiad. But usually they were peaceful. This one was an evil spirit of the water.

He swiped at it with blinding speed and it exploded into golden dust.

Perseus rolled his eyes as the she reformed in front of him. "You again? I thought we had a moment back there. You know, the whole turning-into-golden-dust thing?"

The naiad snarled, her eyes glowing brighter. "You think you can kill me? I have sided with Gaia. The doors of death are open! I will not stay dead!"

"Great, a respawn point. Just what I needed,"

With a swift motion, he lunged at the naiad, driving his sword at her form. Now that she had not caught him at unawares he would not let her touch him.

She leapt out of the way.

"You're like a video game boss that just won't go down," he said, twirling his sword. "Any cheat codes I should know about?"

The ice gave a loud, thunderous crack.

The naiad lunged at him, claws extended. Perseus sidestepped, slashing her across the back. She let out a scream and turned into golden dust, but reformed almost instantly.

"Okay, seriously, what's your respawn time? Zero seconds?" Perseus said, exasperated.

The naiad hissed, "You cannot stop what is coming, Son of Neptune. Gaia will rise!"

Perseus racked his brain.

“Which one is Gaia again?”

He blocked a strike from her. She danced past him.

The ice cracked some more.

“She wants to kill you.”

He lopped off her head. She reformed.

"Gaia? Look, I've got memory issues, so you're going to have to be more specific,"

Ignoring his confusion, the naiad lunged at him. With a swift motion, he drove his sword through her, turning her into golden dust. She reformed almost instantly.

"Okay, this is getting old," Perseus sighed. "Any chance you'd consider, I don't know, staying dead?"

The naiad laughed, a sound like cracking ice. "You cannot kill me. I will return, again and again, until you are dead."

“I guess we're at an impasse,” he shrugged, “do you want to stop and chat for a bit in the middle, though? Like I said, this is getting old.”

She growled, but Perseus flicked his sword up lazily, and she backed away.

Perseus waited.

"Okay, seriously, what's the deal with this Gaia and doors of death thing? Should I be worried?”

The naiad laughed, a sound like ice cracking. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Not a fan of spoilers, huh?" Perseus retorted.

She said nothing, only watched him warily.

"Do you know who I am?"

She shook her head. "Gaia wants you dead. You serve the gods of Rome. That is enough for me."

He nodded.

"You don't like the gods?"

She shook her head.

"What is your name."

"Fern."

"Well. Nice to meet you Fern."

She said nothing.

"Nice to meet you too..." He intoned. He waited. "Are you going to say anything else, Fern?"

"Not until I kill you."

"You seem a nice gal, I hate to kill you."

She did not get the Princess Bride reference.

"And you hate to die. Fair enough."

She stared at him. Shaking her head as if from a trance. She was eyeing his sword. Waiting for it to dip even a milimeter.

"Look. Can we at least... shake hands or something before I kill you?" His nonchalance caught her off guard. She furrowed her brows.

"If you agree to it, I swear on the river styx I will not try to kill you until after we shake hands, and you swear the same."

She seemed confused.

"And you won't try to run away?"

"I swear.."

"Then I swear." She said at last.

He extended his hand. "Hi. I'm Perseus Jackson."

Her eyes went wide. She took a step back.

"I thought we were going to shake hands?"

"But then you can kill me." Her voice had changed. She was speaking in Greek. She seemed afraid. Her form shifted. She seemed more watery and smaller and transparent.

He slipped into Greek easily. Coldly. "Didn't you have to try and kill me?"

"Gaia didn't tell me I had to fight Perseus Jackson."

He was surprised. But he wasn't going to let her know. "You've heard of me?"

"Who hasn't? Every monster down in Tartarus fears your name. Is it true you singlehandedly defeated Saturn?"

He had no idea what she was talking about. The name Saturn did not ring a bell at all. But he could see she was afraid. He smiled as nonchalantly as he could.

"Yes, I do believe I recall that." He said it conversationally. As if it had been nothing. Who is Saturn?

She stepped back again as he stepped towards her.

His voice became cold. "If you are going to try to kill me, you need to shake my hand, first."

She seemed to steel herself to accept. Prepare herself to shake his hand.

"If I killed you I would be hailed as the greatest of Gaia's armies." She raised her hand towards him.

"If you kill me."

Fern nodded slowly and seemed to hesitate.

"Why didn't you just overpower me and take the shield. Why bother fighting me at all? You are much more powerful. I can feel it, emanating off of you. You are the Son of Poseidon."

Son of Poseidon. That felt right.

He took a breath, and answered. "I could feel you thought of yourself as a lesser domain of my father. I did not want to wrest power from you."

Her face changed.

"How noble of you." She seemed insulted.

"Would you prefer me take power from you?" he asked, raising his hand.

She stepped back. "No! No! Sorry."

"I don't like taking power by force."

She studied his face. "You are not your father, then, Perseus."

"I wouldn't know."

"I owe you." She seemed troubled. "This belonged to your domain as well, and you spared me."

She stood very still for a minute.

"Wait a moment." She dived down into the lake.

He didn't leave. He had promised he wouldn't try to run away.

She resurfaced minutes later, carrying the shield.

"This is for you."

"What about Gaia?"

Fern's expression seemed to change.

"I do not know."

"Will you be alright?"

She hesitated a moment. Then she nodded.

He couldn't tell if she was lying.

"Fair enough. If you need help, be sure to call on me."

"If it comes to the worst, I will flee. I have sisters near here who will protect me."

She didn't seem to believe herself. But she offered him the shield.

Perseus took it solemnly.

There was a loud cracking on the ice.

They walked along the lake to the shore. He collected the rope and his cloak. He stepped onto the shore.

"Thank you."

He raised his arm to shake her hand.

"I have to leave."

She stepped out of the lake and shook his hand.

"Thank you, Perseus. If we meet again I will have to kill you."

Perseus raised his eyebrows. "You'll have to try. If you even get the chance."

"She won't." A sleepy voice sounded from the ground. Echoing everywhere. Fern's feet sunk down to her ankles. She rucked her skirt of water up, and tried to wade though the earth back to the water.

"Gaia, please. I owed him."

"You owed him nothing. He serves the gods. You betrayed me!"

Perseus reached towards her, but he sunk into the ground as well. He freed himself, stabbing downwards. Carrying the shield with him. He climbed onto a tree.

The backpack sunk into the ground.

Fern had sunk to her neck. She was speaking quickly. "Forgive me Gaia. I saw his power, and that he was not like the gods. And I thought he could be persuaded. That he could be a good ally."

"A chosen one of Hera?"

"Why not? The best sort of ally. Someone close to the enemy."

The sinking stopped.

Gaia's voice rumbled from the earth, "will you fight against the gods, Perseus?"

He shook his head. His eyes wide in horror.

"Very well. This death is on your head, Jackson."

Fern disappeared under the earth with a bloodcurdling scream.

The bitter winter wind tore through his body. The shield felt heavy in his arms.

He stepped back down gingerly. The earth didn't swallow him.

He made his way back to the wolf house. He saw those same large wolves observing him from a distance.

They didn't approach him.

Finally, the familiar sight of the Wolf House came into view. The weight of the shield seemed to grow heavier.

Lupa was waiting for him, her amber eyes piercing through him. "You have the shield," she observed, her voice neutral.

"I do," he replied, setting it down before her. His voice lacked the enthusiasm that had once colored his achievements, replaced now by a somber.

Lupa studied him for a moment, her gaze inscrutable. "You succeeded in your task. Well done, soldier."

He dropped the shield at her feet.

He turned away. He did not confide in Lupa.

He couldn't have done anything. He decided in the end.

His power would have only made it worse.

Fern's screaming did not leave him the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Fern's screams kept Perseus awake far longer than he would have liked.

Again and again he thought of what he could have done. How he could have tried to save her. How he hadn't reacted. He told himself there was nothing he could’ve done. Then told himself that was a lie.

And each time he did this he slipped a sliver closer to sleep.

He had expected his dreams to be dark.

But though dreams were underground, he did not dream of being swallowed by the earth.

Instead, he was in a cave lit by gentle crystal light. Greenery wound its way along the walls, sprouting flowers and vines as if growing in real time. Moss coated the ground in soft waves, and glowing fungi pulsed in gentle hues of gold and blue.

He could hear a bird as it hummed a song he almost recognised.

"Quiet, Dede," an old and kindly voice spoke. Older than stones, and just as worn, but not frail. The voice was steady and assured.

Perseus turned through the cave, for some reason he expected to see a woolly mammoth and a handful of other extinct animals around the corner. Flickers of memory danced at his vision again, and vanished.

But the room was nearly empty.

In the center sat an old satyr, hunched over a bowl of fruit, feeding it shakily to a cooing dodo bird. The room seemed dark, and bare. The figure and his bird were all that remained.

Goat legs flecked with gray, curved horns dark as cedar bark, beard pointed like a stylus. His eyes were sky-blue and bright with knowing.

And when the satyr looked up, he smiled.

"Percy," he said. "It’s good to see you."

The name struck him like lightning.

Percy.

It fit. It anchored him. He didn’t know how he had forgotten it. But now that it was said aloud, it filled him like the sea rushing back to shore.

Fragments of memories came to him. Not his own memories. Little bits of the nature god who stood before him.

Percy gave a respectful nod to the god. "Hello Pan."

The god seemed to flicker for a moment. Another shape. Ever so slightly different. More familiar. More right.

He flickered back.

The Satyr's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "Not Pan, no. That's my Greek name. I'm Faunus right now. We... came to an agreement. I needed to ask something of you."

The Dodo bird began humming again and Faunus rolled his eyes, "Honestly, Dede, this isn't the time."

He sounded more fond than annoyed.

Something nagged at Percy.

"Aren't you... gone?"

There was a flicker. For a moment Percy wasn't seeing Faunus or Pan, but some in-between.

"My spirit survived. I split it among those who were there that day."

Percy could see his memories of the event. Pan, surrounded by animals, watching a satyr stumble into the room. Then a cyclops and a strange redhead mortal.

They nagged at his memory. Eluding him. He knew them. He was sure.

Then Percy himself. Younger, but wearing the same kind of orange shirt he had arrived at the wolf house with, the same necklace, though with two fewer beads.

Someone else was with Percy, who emanated death, a force so antithetical to Pan that the boy seemed blurred, almost impossible to perceive.

Then her.

She was wearing the same kind of orange shirt. A similar necklace, with additional beads he didn't recognise, and a ring hung on the necklace too. She was more beautiful than any princess. Golden curls. Pale. Filled with awe and curiosity and piercing intelligence. All visible through her eyes. The greyest grey. Filled with life. The life of a storm. Of the dark clouds.

Percy stared into those grey eyes. He forgot everything. The mind behind those eyes could solve every problem in the world. He didn't have to worry.

And then the moment slipped away.

And there was just Faunus again.

Percy glared at Faunus and tried, desperately, to remember.

Grey eyes stayed locked in his mind. All the same, the memory started eluding him.

"I thought I'd say hello," Faunus said, "not just because I need your help."

Percy frowned. Trying to ignore him, still trying to remember.

Faunus cleared his throat, "I need your help."

Percy said nothing.

"She has part of my soul too, you know?"

His eyes flicked towards Faunus, unfocused.

Faunus sighed, "I would have given you more if I had more. I am sorry."

Percy shook his head, swallowing deeply, suddenly feeling ungrateful, trying to shake off the sob clawing at his throat. "Thank you."

"I'll give you a moment, Percy. I'd give you longer, but I do not have much time. Maintaining a form is—" Faunus flickered, blurring into a mist before reforming, "difficult."

"I miss her."

"I know."

Percy nodded. Against his will tears began flowing down his cheeks. "I miss them all."

"I know."

His head hurt. Trying to put together information. Trying to put together who he was and who he had been. He had been feeling so disconnected from himself and he hadn't realised it until this moment. He felt lonely. Selune and Aurelius might be his friends but they weren't his people. Pan, or Faunus, was a step closer. But the people in that memory, that was his family.

He forced the lump in his throat away and spoke.

"Thank you. What—"

He stopped for a moment, composing himself, "thank you. What— what do you— why?"

"It was a gift, Percy, not a bribe. You don't have to pay me back. And I'm not going to give you orders. Just asking for a favour. I'll see what I can do to help you, in return."

"Go ahead."

"I have a daughter. She... had been doing fine on her own. But lately, things are changing. Olympus is closed, the doors of death are open. Monsters won't stay dead. I tried to get her here, to the wolf house, with the remnants of my spirit. But, she can't quite find it. She can't get past the monsters. And I cannot help, cannot guide her as I am."

Percy looked at Faunus.

"It is a small favour. There's a bakery nearby, Les Pascals Patisserie et Boulangerie. It's run by a monster, hoping to catch demigods on their way to the camp. She's trapped there. I cannot help her as I am."

Percy did not hesitate. "I'll help her."

"Thank you, Percy."

Percy shook his head, "I'm not doing it for you, Faunus. That's not a favour. I'm doing it for the girl. She deserves safety. Everyone does. I can't condemn an innocent."

"All the same, thank you."

There was a pause, then Percy cleared his throat, "the... bakery."

"Yes, just take the road. It's some ways away. A few turns, maybe."

Those, Percy thought, were some unhelpful directions. But they were more than he had expected the Lord of the Wild to be able to convey.

"What do you know? What kind of monster?"

Faunus shifted uncomfortably, "I'm afraid I'm rather limited, Percy. I'm fading away. I know next to nothing."

“Right. So we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.” Percy sighed. “Go in blind. Try not to get eaten.”

“You’re not easy to kill,” Faunus said softly.

Percy didn’t respond.

“You should go,” the god said, starting to dissolve. “She doesn’t have long.”

Percy glanced around. “How do I—?”

"Oh, yes! My apologies."

Faunus waved his hand and the scene dissolved into mist.

"Goddess!"

Percy ran forward, pushing aside the wolves blocking his path, and knelt before Lupa.

Lupa looked up from a bloody deer, tearing out a chunk of meat and swallowing it. The blood on her glistening silver coat looked black in the moonlight.

"You should be asleep at this hour," Lupa growled, "What cause have you to disturb me?"

She does not govern when I should sleep, he thought.

"It is not your—" he said, but he swallowed the rest of words. He would not allow his tongue to get in the way of this. He paused, "I bear a message with urgency, from Faunus, Lord of the Wild."

Lupa's eyes steeled, "A message?"

"His daughter, she's trapped by monsters at the..." Percy tried to remember the name, "bourgeoisie or something."

"Bourgeoisie?"

"The bakery."

Lupa frowned, "the... bakery," she closed her eyes, thinking.

"He said I just had to take the road. He didn't say—"

There was a moment. Lupa's eyes snapped open, "Boulangerie?"

Percy nodded, "Yes! Where is that?"

"I can take you there, but I cannot help. I know the way, follow!"

And with that she bounded off.

Percy dashed after her. Jumping through brush and tree.

Soon they arrived upon a road, still they ran. Some streets opened up to the right, but Lupa cut left, into foothills and loose, dry, dirt and trees.

They crossed another street. Some more houses sporadically showed up. Then trees again.

They stopped.

The building was a short and squat cafe. The wording, visible under the streetlights, was in cursive, and thus unreadable to Percy. The ceiling was barely sloped. Power lines connected along one side. Some plants, in aluminium pots, some tables and chairs, all shaded with umbrellas, populated the front of the cafe.

It seemed vaguely French. He could hear Annabeth's voice rattling in his head. "The structure exemplifies a vernacular commercial typology, characterised by its compact single-storey massing, rectilinear plan, and low-pitched gable roof. Employing a regularly spaced fenestration pattern that integrates fixed—"

Across the street he could see a bank, and right next to the bakery, an old hotel, made of brick, towered over the little bakery.

"Doesn't seem so intimidating," Percy said, unpocketing Anaklusmos and making his way towards the bakery, trying to avoid being seen from the windows.

"Careful now, Perseus," Lupa said, hanging back, "you don't know what is in there."

"You aren't helping?"

"I am a goddess, bound by ancient rules," Lupa said, "you are not a goddess."

"Very observant of you."

Lupa gnashed her teeth at the sarcasm, but said nothing.

Percy hesitated for a moment, then shoved his pen back in his pocket. "Guess I'm on my own, then."

He nodded and strode towards the bakery.

The door was unlocked.

A single flickering light, further into the bakery, illuminated white spindly chairs, put away at the end of the day atop of the red and blue tablecloths on circular tables. Drawings of fruits and grains peppered the tablecloths.

Percy picked his way through the tables, making his way towards the light. He could see display cases and the menu. A counter. A kitchen. Seasoning. Towels.

The light switched off.

Percy frowned, taking a step forward, then another. His heart was pounding.

A shuffling step. A creaking noise.

Then, without warning, by his ear, a deep voice, "need anything?"

Percy shouted, jerking away, drawing Anaklusmos in one swift motion.

Percy stood face to face with a man, pointing his dagger at his throat. He had curly hair and a uniform with an apron. A name tag on the apron read something that began with a P.

The man smiled, putting his hands up. "Please, I don't intend to harm you, Perseus Jackson. I know better than that." He had a slight french accent.

"How do you know who I am?"

"Every last monster in Tartarus knows who you are since you defeated Kronos last August."

"I defeated Kronos?" Percy let that slip.

The man, who Percy guessed was Pascal, raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps the rumours were exaggerated. It seemed far-fetched to me. They also said you destroyed St Helen's, and defeated Typhon in single combat."

At the word Typhon, images bubbled to Percy's mind, a monster so powerful and vast and evil that Percy could not comprehend it.

He would have remembered fighting that.

"I didn't beat Typhon. I did meet him, though."

The man's expression changed, he seemed to relax, "fair enough. Do you want a sandwich?"

Percy lowered his sword. Scanning the walls. Looking for any sign of Faunus's daughter.

"From Pascal's Party and Bourgeoisie?"

The man winced. "Please don't call it that. I hate parties. And the bourgeoisie. So much waste!"

He didn't want to start a fight without finding the girl, "alright, fine, what do you call it?"

"Patisserie et Boulangerie."

"I'll have a sandwich, mr..."

"Pascal Penates."

"Mr Penates."

Penates snapped up. Percy looked around, noticing food, all on the counter, ready to go.

"Won't it go bad, just leaving it out all the time?"

"No, no. It's not out all the time. Only when I need it. Otherwise it's in my pantry."

"Can I see your pantry?" Is the girl there?

"Oh you will, don't worry."

That's not ominous at all, Percy thought sarcastically.

Penates arrived back a moment later.

"So, Penates, are you a demigod?"

"No, no. I'm a Penates, a household spirit of the pantry and kitchen. Belong to the family who founded the place."

"Makes sense."

Pascal handed Percy a sandwich. It smelled... incredible. Warm bread, soft and golden with a crisp crust. A hint of thyme. Melted cheese and something sharp beneath it—maybe olives? A flavour he couldn’t place lingered in the air, like nostalgia dipped in rosemary.

Annabeth liked olives. For a moment he thought about taking her here someday, and then he remembered the monster running the shop.

He knew one thing. He was starting to feel safe, and that meant something was wrong.

"How do I know it is safe to eat?"

"I swear on the River Styx, the food is safe. That is sacred. I would not violate hospitality and poison a guest."

"What is the cost?"

"I'll accept you eating food for food's sake."

He couldn't bail. He had to keep the monster talking. Percy swallowed his fear and took a bite. It was delicious. He took another and then set the sandwich down on his plate.

"So, you just run the shop when the mortals are gone?"

"Something like that. Sometimes a demigod comes through, I make sure to preserve their lives."

"Swear it," that sounded awfully convenient to him.

"I swear on the River Styx, I preserve their lives," Penates smiled.

You're missing something, idiot. Annabeth's voice seemed to say in his mind, but she wasn't actually there, and he didn't know what.

Percy set down his sandwich again. "Good sandwich."

"Thank you."

"May I see your pantry?" So far that was the only thing that sounded ominous.

"Finish your sandwich first," there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

Percy hesitated. Then decided to continue to play whatever game Penates was playing a little longer. He took a few large bites and finished the rest of the sandwich quickly.

"So eager," Penates smiled, his voice almost sounding teasing, "what are you hoping you'll find?"

Percy froze, "what did you say?"

"I thought perhaps he might send someone, was it you?" there was a hint of amusement to Penates's voice.

Percy reached for his pocket, searching for his pen.

"No. None of that, Jackson."

Percy hesitated.

Penates smiled back, uncertain,"You want to see her? Fine. But if you break the pact of hospitality, you're in my domain, Perseus Jackson. The old laws will no longer be in your favour."

"So you know who I'm looking for."

"I assure you she is safe. You need look no farther."

Percy tried to force his heart rate down. He wasn't scared for himself, but he had been, against his will, imagining breaking in and finding the girl dead, or being unable to save her. In his mind, she had Fern's face.

Not the faintest trace of it showed on his face as Percy stood up. "The Lord of the Wild thanks you for keeping his daughter safe, then. Now let her out of the pantry, and we can be on our way, she will be safe where we are going."

Penates frowned. The temperature of the room dropped a few degrees.

"No, no. I cannot do that. Food does not leave the pantry until it is ready to be eaten."

Percy met the eyes of Penates.

"What?" No. This cannot be happening. Percy felt his pulse quicken, his adrenaline spiking. His brain shutting down.

I can't fail again.

He didn't understand why he was suddenly feeling so scared. He'd expected a monster. He had confirmation the girl was safe. It was the best scenario he had expected going in.

I can't fail again.

But all he heard in his mind was Fern's screams.

Hadn't he seen death before? Why was it affecting him now? Perhaps that was why he had no memories, not Juno's thievery but things so terrible he'd relinquish them.

Would he relinquish Fern?

The Penates was still speaking as if nothing had happened. "—has to be fresh, and the pantry preserves her in the meantime."

"Eaten?" Percy managed.

Penates chuckled softly. "I'd forgotten how much you mortals object to being eaten. That's your human half speaking. Part of you belongs to the divine world, like me."

Percy gripped the table, his knuckles going white, falling back into his seat. Trying to think of a plan as fast as he could.

From the seat, chains sprouted, wrapping around his waist. The legs of the chair banded around his ankles.

Percy jerked his arms away from the armrests.

Think, Seaweed brain! You can't save her if you can't think! Annabeth's voice echoed in his mind. For a moment, he could see those grey eyes with clarity. You are such an idiot sometimes.

Percy breathed, trying to calm himself down. Around him, glasses of water began to tremble.

"You swore you meant no harm!"

"I didn't mean any harm. This is just a trade, food for food's sake. It does not violate hospitality to follow an agreement. I'm sure many a monster would pay greatly to feast on the flesh of the fallen Perseus Jackson."

Percy reached towards his pocket, digging for his sword. He needed to act, and fast.

No. That wasn't it.

"Oh yes, Perseus, draw your sword." There was an eager anticipation to his voice.

That wasn't it at all. Gods-be-damned laws of hospitality. He thought.

He was thinking quickly.

He got his hand into his pocket, drawing it out.

Penates smiled a predatory smile.

A clatter of coins hit the table as Percy emptied his wallet.

Penates froze, confused.

"Well, your cooking is delicious, Penates. I'd like to reimburse you for your trouble cooking the first time round, with a tip, of course (as you pointed out, I'm not a monster). And, you know what? I'd like to order something else."

Penates furrowed his brow. "But then I can't kill you."

"Sorry," Percy said, an idea struck him, "perhaps you and I can agree that I will break the laws of hospitality upon receiving my second meal? Your cooking is just so good."

Penates scrunched his nose up and twitched. "My cooking is good, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Acceptable. You swear it?"

"I swear on the River Styx, if and when you bring me my second meal, I will do something against the spirit of hospitality."

The chains receded, and Penates took the money. "Some mortal money... and some drachmas. Greek." he narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure I can accept them."

Percy hadn't examined his wallet before. "They're made of gold, surely the material is worth something."

Penates grimaced, but nodded. With a wave of his hands the chains disappeared. "Fair enough. That will pay for the first meal, and for the second? What will you order?"

Percy hesitated.

"Your skill in cooking is great. What is the most ordered dish?"

He knew the answer before he had even asked the question.

"Demigod, but you'll be all squeamish about it, maybe—"

"Your food is very good, I will consider your offer. What demigods do you have?"

Penates's mouth swung open. "Only the daughter of Faunus, favoured customer."

"Is anything beyond your skill, Penates? Could you make such an unpalatable meal enjoyable by virtue of your cooking?"

"No! Nothing is beyond my skill!"

"I would make this a test of your skill, Penates." Percy said, "I can think of no way to make meat more unpalatable than for it to be alive, uninjured, and of my own kind. A meal made more difficult to eat because it can fight back. If you could make me enjoy that, I would be dearly impressed."

Penates looked somewhat worried.

"Are you unsure of your skill, Penates? You said nothing was beyond it."

"No! I can do it."

Percy paused dramatically.

"Then, I would like to eat the daughter of Faunus, live."

"What payment do you have?"

"Payment, and insurance I will not fight you or flee, I give you Anaklusmos, my blade." Perseus reached into his pocket and placed Anaklusmos on the table.

"A celestial bronze weapon. How rare! None of that commonplace imperial gold! That will do!"

Penates disappeared down a hallway.

Percy stood up and checked his pocket. Anaklusmos wasn't back yet. He stumbled back against a wall and breathed.

He'd frozen. He'd thought of Fern's shriek and frozen. He couldn't afford to freeze.

He wasn't as ready as he thought he was.

His heart was beating really fast.

He considered grabbing a glass of water, but he thought perhaps it would be a violation of hospitality to do that without asking.

He fell to his knees, blood rushing to his head.

Had the sandwich been poisoned?

He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

No. It was just him.

Breathe.

All him.

Breathe. It'll be okay.

He could hear Annabeth's voice talking to him.

He breathed.

It better be okay, wise girl, he thought back.

You want to find me, don't you, seaweed brain? I'm praying to all the gods over here that we find each other. So get here.

I'm trying, he thought.

Focus on staying in one piece, first.

"Your food is ready."

Penates had placed a girl on the table.

She looked about twelve. Freckled skin, wild black curls, sharp nose. There was a faint shimmer around her body, like she was wrapped in dreamlight.

Percy’s heart pounded in his ears. But his voice came out calm.

"When you served your second meal, Penates, I swore I would take an action that could violate hospitality. You have done your part, and I," Percy stepped up to the girl, scooping her up, "have done mine."

And with that he dashed out the door. The first rays of sunlight stabbed out of the horizon, glaring Percy's eyes. He tripped over the plants. He rolled, keeping the girl from hitting the ground, and then gently laid her down and uncapped his sword as it returned.

His heart was racing too fast.

He stumbled forwards, dropping his blade.

He could see Lupa and some wolves staring at him disappointingly.

Please work please work please work please work. He wasn't functioning. His plan had to work.

Penates dashed after him, snatching a sword.

And slammed straight into the doorway, as if hitting an invisible wall.

"What!"

Percy gathered his breath to make a retort.

"You're bound by ancient laws aren't you? It..." Percy panted, trying to calm himself down, "It doesn't..."

He stopped, taking a few more deep breaths and proceeding, "it does not violate hospitality to follow an agreement."

He stepped toward the girl.

The air rippled. Magic pushed back. It wasn’t malevolent—it felt like Fern. Soft. Wild. Protective.

Percy hesitated.

The girl stirred.

She blinked up at him. "Are you… the one from the dreams?"

"I hope not," Percy said. "My dreams have been weird lately."

She smiled faintly. "You’re funny."

"That’s what my friends say. Usually before something explodes." He had no idea if that was true, but he wanted to put the girl at ease.

He helped her sit up. "I’m Percy. Your dad sent me."

"Dad?" She rubbed her eyes. "He was singing to me. With a dodo bird."

"Yeah. That tracks. What's your name?"

"Vita. What's yours."

"Percy. Nice to meet you."

Percy fell asleep immediately after returning to the Wolf House. He had intended to stay with Vita, introducing her. But Aurelius and Selene had taken over, and he trusted them.

He dreamt of a cave. Of an old Satyr and a dodo bird. And of blonde hair and grey eyes.