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Nine
It’s cold.
That’s the first thing Annabeth really registers as she and Percy plummet into darkness, once she’s gotten over the shock of it all. It’s a biting, chill–to–the–bone sort of freezing, and she shivers, missing the warmth of the sun far, far above them. The air roaring past them as they fall doesn’t help matters. The only source of warmth in this hell–hole is Percy. She still holds his hand tightly in hers, refusing to let go, and vice versa. It's like an iron grip, the way they hold each other, and his presence is steady, grounding, despite the fact that they’re flailing about into an endless abyss. She’s grateful he’s here, grateful that she isn’t alone in this.
It doesn’t stop the guilt from rising like bile in her throat though. She’s not stupid. She knows what’s likely awaiting them at the end of this journey, and she almost can’t stand the idea that she’s brought Percy into this. It’s her fault. They’re going to die and it’s her fault. If only she’d cut the spider silk as soon as Arachne had gone. If only she had realized what was happening at the edge of the pit sooner. If only, if only, if only.
Annabeth squeezes Percy's hand tighter, clinging to him, reassuring herself that he’s still here, with her. He’s her lifeline now, the only reason she hasn’t lost her mind completely during this death plunge.
We’re staying together, he’d said, holding onto that ledge. There’d been a fire in his eyes, determination and love etched into every line on his face. She wonders now, if he knew it would be the last time he'd be able to look at her. She feels he must have. There was a goodbye there, in his eyes. A realization that this was a choice that they couldn't come back from. She’s seen that intense look only a handful of times before, all during moments in which they’ve nearly died, or else in particularly dangerous and desperate situations.
Well. Dangerous and desperate seems a pretty accurate word to describe their circumstances.
Her thoughts race as they continue to fall, the air rushing past them like an unending scream. Time seems to stretch and warp, making it impossible to tell how long they’ve been descending. It must be hours by now. Annabeth’s mind flickers between frantic plans and desperate ideas for a way out, but nothing seems to stick. Nothing is going to work. The cold is relentless, and despite Percy’s warmth, she can feel it seeping into her bones, numbing her fingers and toes.
The abyss around them feels like it’s closing in, the darkness pressing against her, suffocating her. She clings tighter to Percy, her lifeline, her anchor in this endless fall. His grip is firm, reassuring.
She still can’t quite believe that this is how it’s going to end. That after everything. monsters, and titans and giants, this is what their last moments are going to be like. Falling in suffocating darkness, cold pressing in on her from all sides, unable to speak. Unable to hear anything but the rushing wind.
In the pitch darkness of the chasm, she whispers a silent prayer to the gods she knows won't listen, hoping that somehow, against all odds, they'll find a way to survive.
She can’t bring herself to really believe it though.
Eight
Her hand is growing numb. It’s stiff, sore from the amount of time she’s been holding on to Percy. She wonders if he feels the same. She squeezes his hand, partly to reassure him, but also to reassure herself. He’s here. With her. S he’s afraid she’ll lose her grip. Worried that he’ll slip away as they tumble through the air. She feels a weight on her shoulders, a desperation and hopelessness that’s only increased as they’ve fallen. Icy tendrils of fear snake their way around her, and she squeezes her eyes shut. There’s no escape. They’re just falling and falling and falling and–
She notices it then. The systemic tapping of Percy’s finger on her hand.
She’d taught him morse code once, during the titan war, and apparently he’s remembered a little bit of it, because he’s tapping out words on her hand.
“Are you okay?”
She lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry, and taps back.
“I’m scared.”
More tapping.
“I’m here.”
She wants to sob at the reassurance, but she doesn’t have the strength to. Instead, she gives his hand another squeeze. She tries to focus on his words, on the warmth of his touch, willing herself to find a sliver of hope amidst the overwhelming despair. But the darkness presses in on her, suffocating and relentless, threatening to consume her sanity along with her body.
Annabeth fights to keep her composure, focusing on Percy’s presence, on the way his fingers tap a steady rhythm on her hand. The cold is even worse now, making it hard to think, hard to hold on to any semblance of anything other than the feel of Percy’s hand in hers. But Percy’s soft tapping on the back of her wrist anchors her. Acts as a lifeline.
“I’m here,” he repeats, each tap a reminder that she’s not alone.
“I know,” she taps back, her fingers stiff and numb.
She doesn’t know what else to say, how to convey the depth of her gratitude and love in such a simple code. But Percy seems to understand. His grip tightens, and he shifts, and somehow manages to move enough that they’re holding each other in an embrace as they fall, and it takes some of the cold away. But the darkness around them is absolute, a void that seems to swallow everything. It’s easy to lose track of time, to feel like they’ve been falling forever, and though Annabeth is beginning to lose track of the time, she knows it can’t have been more than two days.
The floor of Tartarus continues its steady rise towards them.
Seven
Annabeth doesn’t realize just how much hearing Percy talk means to her. She’s taken it for granted, she thinks, the soothing lilt to his tone, the way her name sounds on his lips, the way his laugh makes her want to live. It’s been barely a few weeks since they’ve been reunited, and now they’re going to die, and she’ll never hear it again.
She remembers the first time she heard that laugh. How it had filled her with something like light. It was rare at that time, on their first ever quest together, when he was worried about his mother. But when he did, Annabeth couldn’t help but laugh along. The laughter became less pronounced over the years, once the war really got going, and Annabeth treasured them.
Here, in this void of nothingness, in total darkness, she’d give anything to be able to hear him. It would be of some sort of assurance. It would mean something. She remembers his voice, the way it has always been her anchor, her safe place in the midst of turmoil. And gods, the thought of never hearing it again, of never hearing him say her name, never hearing his laugh, is too much to bear. Desperation claws at her insides, rising like some kind of monster, and she feels tears sting her eyes. Keep it together, she tells herself, clinging to the internal request in the flurry of thoughts that swirl in her mind. Keep it together .
She wants to hear his voice so badly, needs to hear it, if only to calm her racing thoughts, and a sense of d esperation wells up inside Annabeth as she realizes the futility of trying to communicate over the deafening roar of the wind. Gods, she can’t even see him. The only confirmation that he exists right now is the arms wrapped around her, and it should be enough.
The wind continues to rush in her ears, and though she knows Percy is with her, she can’t push away the feeling of crippling insignificance, the idea that she’s all alone in this oppressive darkness. Panic threatens to overwhelm her, and she forces herself to breathe. She keeps her eyes shut against the wind, focusing on the feel of Percy’s arms wrapped around her. It's a fragile tether to reality, but it’s all she has. The roar of the wind is relentless, a constant scream that drowns out everything else. She clings to Percy, pressing herself closer to him, as if merging their bodies could silence the chaos around them.
Percy’s arms tighten around her, and she feels his breath against her ear. She’s startled by the sensation, momentarily distracted from her spiraling thoughts. He’s trying to speak to her, she realizes, his lips moving close to her ear to combat the deafening wind. She still can’t hear him though, despite the fact that she’s straining to, wondering what it is he’s saying. She leans closer to him, as if physical proximity could bridge the gap between them, could somehow allow her to hear his words despite the deafening roar around them. Percy's grip on her tightens even more, his arms holding her as if he could shield her from everything, even the darkness itself. She feels his lips press against her ear, this time in a soft kiss, not an attempt to speak.
The simple gesture makes her want to scream, to rage at the world for what’s happening, at the unfairness of it all, how they’ll never hear each other again, likely never see each other again. But the wind is so loud, and they’re falling so fast and so hard that she knows it won't matter anyway.
No one will hear.
Six
She’s surprised they haven’t died from dehydration yet.
It’s pretty common knowledge that one can only survive roughly three days without water, and she and Percy have been falling for four at this point. She thinks. She’s not entirely sure anymore how long it’s been. Days, certainly. She knows the fact that they’re demigods is the sole reason they haven’t died yet.
She almost wishes they were already.
Anything, anything, is better than this. Better than this sure knowledge of what’s happening. The anticipation, the dread, the terror threatens to overwhelm her. Annabeth's thoughts churn in a chaotic whirlpool as she struggles to maintain her composure. The darkness feels tangible, pressing in on them from all sides, and the unrelenting cold gnaws at her resolve. Her grip on Percy is the only thing keeping her grounded, preventing her from being swallowed entirely by the abyss.
Her mind is a storm of fear and regret, thoughts swirling and colliding in a maelstrom of dread. The relentless fall has stripped away all sense of time and space, leaving her trapped in an eternal moment of terror. The cold bites deeper, gnawing at her resolve, and every second feels like an eternity. She clings to Percy, drawing what strength she can from his presence, but even that feels tenuous, like a thread stretched too thin.
Her fear is a living thing, a beast with icy claws that wraps around her heart and squeezes, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. She can't help but replay every decision, every mistake that led them here. She tries to push these thoughts away, to focus on the present, but the darkness presses in, suffocating her. Every breath feels like a struggle, the air thin and cold, and she wonders idly if this is what drowning feels like. The silence is deafening, broken only by the rush of wind and the occasional shriek of creatures in the darkness. She wants to scream, to shout, to make any noise that would break the oppressive quiet, but she knows it would be futile. The void would swallow her screams just as it has swallowed everything else.
She tries to focus on Percy’s breathing, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling against hers, a steady beat in the chaos. He’s her anchor, the one constant in this nightmare they’re falling into. She can’t let go of that, can’t let go of him. The thought of losing Percy in this darkness is too much to bear. She’s held on to him through countless battles, through impossible odds, and she won’t stop now.
Percy's fingers are tapping again, slow and deliberate. She focuses on the familiar pattern.
“ I’m here. I’m here.”
She and Percy have faced impossible odds before. That much is true. They’ve fought Kronos together, worked side by side to kill all kinds of monsters, won battles they should never have won. But this is a challenge all on its own, and Annabeth doesn’t think they’ll make it out this time.
Five
Time is beginning to lose its meaning as they fall. Every moment feels like an eternity as they hurtle towards the unknown depths. The darkness is suffocating, and Annnabeth is starting to see patterns in the darkness as her eyes have adjusted.
She sees monsters, phantoms, and more than once she’s cried out at something that isn’t there. Her heart races with each imagined threat, her grip around Percy tightening involuntarily as they continue their descent into the abyss.
Sometimes she hears voices in her head, too.
You’re going to die, they seem to say. You won’t make it out of this alive. The whispers carve their way into her mind, burrow there, take root. She can’t get them out, no matter how much she tries to. She can't escape the feeling of being watched, of unseen eyes boring into her soul from the depths of Tartarus. She tries to hang on to her grip on reality, tries to focus on Percy’s hand in hers, the morse code he taps again and again, the warmth of his hand in hers. But the shadows and voices are still there.
She can hear Luke's voice, dripping with disappointment and sorrow.
"You failed, Annabeth. You failed all of us. You were supposed to make things better."
Silena’s voice, soft and lovely and mournful, joins the chorus. " You couldn’t save us. You’ll never save anyone."
Beckendorf’s deep, resigned tone echoes next. " It’s over, Annabeth. There’s no way out. "
And even Daedalus joins the tumultuous noises in her head. The ancient inventor, one of her architectural idols, speaks with a cold finality. "All your cleverness, all your plans, and this is where it ends. In the dark."
She tries to shake off their words, to remind herself that they’re not real, that they aren’t there, that the doubts are nothing but figments of her imagination. A bad dream of sorts. But the line between reality and nightmare is blurring, and the weight of their accusations presses down on her, suffocating and relentless.
She wonders if Percy is experiencing the same thing, if he can hear and see the nightmarish creatures and voices. She’s certain he must be. She can’t be the only one of them experiencing the hellish effects of this place.
But maybe she is.
She wonders if she’s losing her mind.
She wonders if they’ll even make it to the ground.
Four
In addition to everything else, Annabeth has had quite a bit of time to think. About a lot of things, really. For a while, it was just plans for how they could maybe escape this ending. But that hope was dashed rather quickly. There’s only one way this will end.
She spends most of the time while they fall thinking about her regrets. She can't help but replay every decision, every mistake that led them here. The "if onlys" pile up, a mountain of guilt and self-recrimination. She should have been faster, smarter, more prepared.
As Annabeth and Percy plummet through the void, her mind becomes a battleground of regret and despair. Each memory, each decision, echoes with the weight of what could have been. She sees herself standing at crossroads, moments where a different choice might have altered their fate. But no amount of hindsight can rewrite the past. No amount of regret can alter the trajectory of their fall. And as Annabeth spirals deeper into the abyss, she finally accepts, finally realizes, with a sinking heart, that this couldn’t have ended any other way. Every path led to this moment of freefall. Because there’s a prophecy for crying out loud. This was going to happen, whether she liked it or not.
She doesn’t bother to stamp down the bitterness that rises inside of her, the anger at the gods for choosing her and Percy for this, after everything that’s already happened to them. How much more could she take? How much more could they take? Annabeth doesn’t know anymore.
And it doesn’t even matter, Annabeth thinks grimly, because they won’t live to see.
Three
T hey're getting closer to the bottom– or at least, Annabeth thinks they are. It's hard to tell in the darkness, but she can sense a change in the air, a shift in the pressure around them. It's subtle, but it's there, like the calm before the storm. Annabeth's heightened senses, honed by years of training and battle, pick up on the faintest details. The air grows heavier, and though the temperature is rising, a chill races through her bones. Each breath feels more labored, the oppressive weight of the void pressing down on her chest.
With every passing second, the reality of their situation becomes more tangible. Annabeth’s mind races, grasping for any last-minute solutions, any overlooked possibilities for survival. But there are none. Her well of ideas and plans have run dry. They are at the mercy of forces far beyond their control, and no amount of ingenuity or bravery can change that now.
Memories of their journey together, their lives flood her mind. The first time she met Percy, the countless battles they fought side by side, the friendship, the loyalty forged in the middle of a war. Each memory is a thread in the tapestry of their lives, a story woven with love, pain, and sacrifice. And now, that tapestry, that fragile state they’ve built, created, is going to be torn to pieces. The realization hits her like a physical blow, and she lets out a choked sob. It’s the first time she’s cried since they fell, and she just can’t believe it. Just can’t believe that this is how it’s going to end.
She can feel Percy’s heart beat, and with it–
He taps out the words, this time on her back, over and over and over.
I love you. I love you. I love you
Two
She closes her eyes. Keeps them closed, holds onto Percy. Tries to forget. Tries to pretend it’s all a bad dream, and she’ll be back in her cabin on the Argo II at any moment, Percy at her side.
No such luck.
One
When she opens her eyes, she sees light.