Archive of Our Own ^beta

She dreamt about a storm when the boy washed up on the shore.

He was a scrawny boy. His dark hair was a rat's nest, his limbs twig-like and scarred with more burns than any mortal body could stand. His breathing was laboured, even in his state of unconsciousness.

A boy sent by the gods. How long had it been since the last hero? Since Francis Drake? A century? A millenia?

Alas, it wouldn't be long before her heart was shattered again. This time because of the nameless boy who lay in front of her.

He needed nectar. Now.

A bottle of the liquid floated into her hands. Calypso uncorked it with a gentle pop. Carefully, she tipped the bottle at a slight angle, the golden nectar dribbling out and onto the boy's mouth.

His pink lips parted slightly, just enough to let the nectar travel down his throat. His hands twitched against the coarse sand before he let out a violent cough.

Calypso felt her free hand make its way to his soft hair, gently untangling the knots with the expertise of a sailor. She hummed an old ballad, the magic of the island bringing the notes to life. A desperate attempt to heal both the hero and the violent waves, threatening to snatch him back.

The boy's eyes opened a fraction, revealing the green of his irises, like the sea surrounding Ogygia. Beautiful in the way only demigods could be. The best of the gods and mortals.

Heartbreakingly so.

She felt him shift slightly, as though he was trying to sit up.

"Stay still," she murmured, pouring more nectar into his mouth. "You're too weak to rise."

The boy's lips moved but no sound came out. His eyes widened, an anxious hint of blue clashing with the green.

The dark-haired hero swallowed thickly, his hand desperately reaching for her arm. But before his fingers could make contact, it dropped onto the floor.

"Who?" he rasped out.

His vocal cords had been damaged in whatever fight he'd been in, that much was clear. What on earth had happened to him?

Alas, now wasn't the time for questioning. The boy needed to rest.

"Shhh, brave one," she said. "Rest and heal. No harm will come to you here." She paused for a moment, running her hand through his soft hair once more. "I am Calypso."

The hero's eyes fluttered close, the aching green disappearing beneath his eyelids. His breathing was steady, rhythmic like the now gentle lapping waves.

It would take weeks, maybe months to heal him properly. A part of her hoped he would heal quickly before she was forced to surrender her already broken heart to him.

The wind spirits had moved the hero to her cave. Closer to her healing supplies. Closer to her harp. Closer to her loom.

He was her responsibility. Her punishment from the gods. Oh how easy it would be if she could just ignore him, let him run out of his limited mortal breaths.

Her heart wouldn't even let her think about it. Her legs moved of their own accord, her arms collecting the yarrow and peony poultice subconsciously.

He lay on the soft feather bed, his dark inky hair stark against the cool white sheets.

Calypso applied the paste to the boy's charred arms, her fingers gliding over the skin, careful not to irritate it. Once his arms were covered, she lifted the hero's shirt to inspect the damage on his torso.

A deep cut ran across his ribs, the skin singed at the edges. Bits of debris had been lodged in beneath the skin. Shards of rock, glass and metal embedded.

The boy looked to have been burnt by Hephaestus himself. Only the god of fire could have inflicted so much damage on the poor demigod.

She wasn't a surgeon. She wasn't like Asclepius, who had the power to heal any injury bar death. She was just a nymph. A daughter of Atlas, hated by the Olympians.

There was only one way she could heal all of his wounds. The gods had forbidden her from using it. They couldn't take the risk, not after Odysseus had spent years with her.

Now, it just seemed like the blink of an eye. A momentary bliss in her otherwise cursed life on Ogygia.

Yet Athena's warnings – delivered via Hermes - still rang in her mind, threatening to blast her to pieces along with her island, her flowers, her spirit servants.

So Calypso tended to the burns on the hero's arms for the next few days. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was selfish to ignore his other injuries.

After all, the slower he healed, the longer he would stay. The gods couldn't take him away from her if he was still hurt.

Every day after she woke up, she would replace the bandages on his arms, humming a hopeless ballad or other as she held his hand.

Then she would tend to her garden, and pick some yarrows and peonies for the boy's poultice if her supply was running low. Before long she would return to the cave and feed the boy with some nectar.

He was becoming a part of her life.

Calypso ran across her garden, yellow hyacinths and the dull orange begonias getting crushed beneath her bare feet, the petals soft against her skin. It didn't even register that she was causing the destruction of her own garden.

No. She just kept running, her hands clutching the yarrows and peonies tightly.

She was late. She had spent far too much time tending to her plants and now she was late. She was supposed to have fed the demigod some nectar an hour ago.

Calypso tried not to slow down as she stepped on a sharp stone, pain shooting through her foot. She might've been immortal, but she certainly wasn't immune to pain. The gods made sure of it.

She skidded to a stop as she reached the cave, a trail of golden ichor beneath her feet. She'd deal with that later. Or rather, the spirits would.

The boy's breathing had become shallow, his breaths erratic.

Calypso ran over to the shelf and grabbed the closest bottle of nectar, spilling a jar of orange preserve. The glass shattered, and the thick jam flowed out on to the grey concrete floor.

"Annabeth," gasped the boy. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, as he clawed at the sheets. "Not her. Please."

Of course he had his very own Penelope. They all did.

He would leave, just like the others. Just like Odysseus. But it didn't matter, because she didn't know him, didn't love him. Not like Odysseus, not like Francis.

The polished wood of her loom gleamed under the sunlight. The demigod released a shaky breath.

"Tell Grover and Tyson..." he muttered quietly, his words trailing off as he turned over to one side.

Calypso approached the boy tentatively, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead. She tipped the contents of the bottle into his mouth, and slowly his breaths became measured.

It wouldn't be long before he returned back to his home. Before she was left alone on this cursed island. Before the boy in front of her went back to his Annabeth, to his Grover, to his Tyson.

Memories were far more powerful than any of her poultices or salves. Even the nectar of the gods couldn't compete.

She wouldn't fall in love with the boy who lay in front of her. She wouldn't.

The empty glass bottle shattered in her enclosed fist.

"Lord Hermes," she said stiffly, as a man with a caduceus appeared on the beach. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" She spat the word out, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

They were going to take him away. It hadn't even been a week. Gods, even Francis Drake had stayed with her for five months.

Yet this nameless hero was being snatched away from her after a few meagre days.

"Calypso," he said, tapping his Caduceus against his thigh. "We need the hero back."

"He needs time," she said. "He's been hurt badly. And since I can't use the harp or the-"

"That's what I wanted to talk about." The god took on a mortal form, shrinking in size until he was about a foot taller than her. "Zeus and Athena have decided to temporarily let you use the harp to help heal Percy Jackson."

So that's what he was called. Percy Jackson. Her hero, no longer a stranger without a name.

Heal the boy so he could go back to his home. To his Annabeth.

Percy and Annabeth. Francis and Mary. Odysseus and Penelope.

"The loom would be faster," said a snide voice. George, the snake on the left of the caduceus.

"Shush," hissed Martha. "Let them talk."

George, in Calypso's opinion, had made a fantastic point. It would take a matter of minutes to heal the boy. It had worked for Odysseus. In fact, it worked too well.

Calypso eyed the god warily, her arms crossed.

Hermes shook his head, "Absolutely not. Athena forbade you for a reason. We need Perseus back now, not seven years down the line."

"Why send him here then?" she asked angrily. "If this Perseus is so important to you, why didn't you intervene?"

Of course, the gods could pick and choose who to send. That was part of the punishment. The heroes they sent always had someone waiting for them at home.

They never sent anyone important. They sent love-struck demigods to taunt her.

"I'm just the messenger," Hermes said, his eyes flashing. "I had no part in sending the boy. Your job is to fix him so he can return."

"You're a god, why can't you do it?" she asked, curling her hand in a tight fist, nails biting into the skin.

"She makes a good point," said George, with a nod.

The snake was far more intelligent than he seemed to get credit for. It was a shame really that it was Hermes who was the one in charge, and not George.

"Because it is your punishment," he said coolly. "Not mine."

The tide was coming in. The sea was almost touching her toes, and then the waves withdrew, before flowing back again.

Martha whispered something in the god's ear, the words muffled by the sound of the rushing water.

"He's the hero of a Great Prophecy," Hermes said quietly. "The Titans are rising again."

No doubt thanks to the arrogance of the gods. They'd always thought of them as invincible. It would be rather poetic if they were the reason for their own downfall.

And it wasn't that Calypso was sympathetic towards the Titans. Though they were her kin, though Atlas was her father, she knew they would be just as bad as the gods.

Perhaps they'd be kind enough to free her from her prison, but she knew they'd destroy the world. Crush every mortal that dared to look them in the eye. Lock the gods up in the depths of Tartarus.

Goodness knew they deserved to rot there right alongside the Titans.

"So he's going to destroy my family?" she asked, with a dark chuckle.

"Or help them," said Hermes with a scoff.

"So why should I help you?"

"Because Zeus won't hesitate to smite you and this whole island, pretty gardens, beaches and all."

"As if the Titans won't do the same," she said, her eyes narrowed. "They'll accuse me of working with the gods."

"Only if they win," shrugged Hermes. "Which they won't," he smiled, his eyes glinting coldly. "Because you're going to fix Percy up, fall in love with him, and then send him on his merry way."

And that wasn't going to happen. Obviously, she'd be nice to the boy. But she wouldn't fall in love with him. She'd send him back, smiles all around, without offering him the chance to stay.

"Why the hurry?" Calypso said slowly. "If he stays here then it'll delay the Prophecy."

"But it won't save my son," he seethed.

"Percy's one of yours?" she asked tentatively.

Calypso would've been willing to bet her life that Percy was a child of the big three. Great Prophecies always involved either children of Zeus, Poseidon or Hades.

"No," said Hermes, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "He's Poseidon's."

Now that made a lot more sense.

"So then who were talking abou-"

"That's none of your business, Titaness," he said sharply. "All you need to worry is about sending him back to us."

"You're worried I'm going to turn him against you?"

"All these millennia on this cursed island and you're still none the wiser," Hermes said dryly. "It's a Great Prophecy, Calypso. They all end in the same way. The fates have already cut the string."

Percy Jackson was going to die. Either for the gods, or the Titans. She felt bile rise to her throat. Her vision grew fuzzy, the sea and the sky blurring into one blue mess.

"Crying for the boy already?" scoffed Hermes. "No wonder we gave you such a soft punishment."

She wasn't heartless. Not like the gods. She'd been looking after the boy, taking care of him, of course, she didn't want him to die.

His gaze flickered to a point behind her, and he began to grow until he was at least ten feet tall.

"Don't you dare try weaving," he said, as he began to glow, embracing his godly form. "And don't even think about telling the boy about this little meeting."

"Good luck," said Martha kindly.

"Thank you." Calypso wiped away a tear.

The god of messengers and travellers disappeared on the spot.

The Olympians were just as bad as the Titans. Using their children as pawns in their sick games. Just as the Titans hadn't cared for the gods, the gods refused to care for their own offspring.

The gods had promised change after the Titans. Just as the Titans had promised change after the Giants.

They were all the same. Perhaps a few more centuries would pass before the gods were displaced by their own immortal children.

The sound of footsteps in the sand behind her forced her to whirl around. It was the green-eyed hero. Perseus Jackson.

Her cheeks were still wet, and she brushed wildly at her face to remove any evidence of tears.

"Well," she said, her voice quivering slightly, as she tried for a smile. "The sleeper finally awakes."

Percy's brows furrowed. "Who were you talking to?" he croaked.

One of your gods.

Instead, she went with, "Just a messenger," she said gently. "How do you feel?"

Percy shrugged, his shoulders barely rising.

"How long have I been out?" he asked slowly.

A few days. Maybe a couple of weeks in the mortal world.

"Time," she said with a chuckle, "time is always difficult here. I honestly don't know, Percy."

It was a half-truth, but the boy in front of her didn't pick up on it.

"You know my name?"

She shrugged. "You talk in your sleep."

The boy's cheeks turned a violent shade of scarlet. "Yeah, erm... I've been... uh, told that before." He refused to meet her eyes.

Percy Jackson truly was merely a boy. Far too young and innocent to be involved in a war between the gods and the Titans.

Far too young to die.

"Yes," she said. And then because she couldn't help herself, "who's Annabeth?"

"Oh... erm, a friend," he said quickly. "We were together when- wait, how did I get here? Where am I?"

His eyes widened considerably. Under the blinding sun, his eyes were a bright sea green. A pretty colour.

The boy looked frightened, his hands curled into fists, his shoulders slumped, the loose white shirt hanging off of his slight figure.

Francis's shirt.

She reached up and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She expected him to relax like he usually did during his sleep.

Except he didn't. He stepped back cautiously, away from her. Right. He didn't even know her.

"I'm sorry," she said, biting her lip. "I've just grown used to caring for you. As to how you got here, you fell from the sky. You landed in the water, just there."

She pointed towards the sea for his benefit. "The water seemed to cushion your fall. As to where you are, you are in Ogygia."

"Is that near Mount St Helens?" he asked nervously.

Calypso couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her. She barely managed to smother it with a smile.

"It isn't near anything, brave one," she said. "Ogygia is a phantom island. It exists by itself anywhere and nowhere. You can heal here in safety. Never fear."

"But my friends –"

"Annabeth," she interrupted the boy, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "And Grover and Tyson?"

The naive boy didn't pick up on it though. "Yes," he said hurriedly. "I have to get back to them. They're in danger."

Maybe it was the anxious note in his voice or the way the breeze ruffled his hair, she found herself stepping forward and cupping his face with one hand.

Percy leant into her touch.

"Rest first. You aren't any good to your friends until you heal," Calypso whispered. She let her fingers trail down his cheek, slowly. Carefully.

"You're not… you're not an evil sorceress, are you?" he asked nervously.

The loom was her very own Pandora's box. Her personal pithos.

Her gift from Prometheus.

The gods had all but encouraged her to weave in the presence of Odysseus. How was she to know her magic would be amplified? How was she to know he would be bewitched to return her feelings?

But she didn't mean it. Of course, she'd been happy. For a while, at least. Seven blissful years before Hermes had ordered her to release Odysseus.

She wasn't even sure whether he could leave. He'd been the first hero to break her heart. And yet, she had helped build the raft. The raft that now carried all the unfortunate heroes off her island.

Despite that, she threw the boy a coy smile. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, I met Circe once, and she had a pretty nice island, too. Except she liked to turn men into guinea pigs," he said, his brows furrowed.

"I promise I won't turn you into a guinea pig."

"Or anything else?" he asked tentatively, his eyes drooping.

"I am no evil sorceress," she reassured him. She was almost flattered that he thought so. "And I am not your enemy, brave one. Now rest. Your eyes are already closing."

Percy stumbled backwards, his knees buckling. Calypso rushed forward and caught him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she did so. His face was buried in her hair, his fingers gripping onto her arms.

They walked back to the cave like that, and she gently eased him onto the bed. Her bare arms felt cold, the absence of Percy's warm hands painfully noticeable.

"Rest," she murmured, lacing her words with magic.

She remained by Percy's side that whole afternoon, playing the harp, her fingers strumming the strings harshly. Her fingers would be sore by the time he woke up. She didn't care though.

While the harp wasn't as efficient as the loom, it would only take a matter of days before Percy was fully healed. She vowed to let him go quietly, without giving him the option to stay with her. It would hurt less that way.

It had to.

Percy's outline was faintly lit by the dim glow of the moonlace bulbs that lay by her feet. He stared intently at the sky, his eyes flitting between the constellations.

"Percy, what do you see?"

It was said that mortals saw the sky differently from those with ichor running through their veins. They merely saw stars and not the whole galaxies stretching out beyond them. A part of her felt sorry for them, to miss out on the planets that surrounded them, the nebulas in neighbouring galaxies.

Where those like her saw a sky filled with pretty hues of purples, blues and greens, mortals simply saw a dark blanket, occasionally adorned with blinking stars.

Percy looked down at her, his eyes trailing across her face slowly. He swallowed thickly, glancing down at the moonlace in her hands.

"I was just looking at..." he trailed off before shaking his head. Dark hair fell in front of his eyes. His eyes flitted to hers. "Uh... I forgot."

He looked at her in the way she dreamt Odysseus would look at her. The way she hoped Francis would look at her.

No. She wasn't going to fall in love with him. She couldn't let herself be weak because of him. He would leave eventually. He would be the first person to leave without breaking her heart.

She would prove Hermes wrong. She wasn't soft.

Calypso plastered a smile on. "Well, as long as you're up, you can help me plant these."

She stuck her hand out awkwardly, offering a moonlace bulb to him. He took it from her gently, his fingers brushing hers.

He gave her a small smile as he withdrew his hand, flower in hand. He looked down at the plant, his eyes a perfect blend of jade and azure under the glowing flower.

Calypso forced herself to look away. She grabbed her spade and walked over to the edge of the garden, before she began to dig. Clumps of soil flew onto her white dress, staining it an earthy brown.

"That's moonlace," she said. "It can only be planted at night."

"What does it do?"

"Do?" she shrugged, but smiled nonetheless. "It doesn't really do anything, I suppose. It lives, it gives light, it provides beauty. Does it have to do anything else?"

"I suppose not," he said, twirling the flower around his fingers.

Calypso reached out and plucked the plant of his hand deftly. She knelt down to plant the moonlace, and gently covered the roots with some soil. She took a step back and leant against her spade.

"I love gardening," she said, eyes glued to the moonlace. It was the one thing that helped shift her focus away from the heroes. From the inevitable heartbreak.

"You have an awesome garden," Percy said kindly. "Back home," she felt his gaze shift onto her, "My mom always wanted a garden."

"Why did she not plant one?" she asked.

Percy chuckled, "Well, we live in Manhattan. In an apartment."

"Manhattan? Apartment?" She met his gaze curiously.

Was a 'Manhattan' like a desert? Too hostile to grow anything but a few cacti and some tumbleweed?

Percy's eyes narrowed slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

"I fear not," she smiled tightly. "I haven't left Ogygia in… a long time."

She hadn't left Ogygia. Ever. Even her dreams had been confined to her island. Calypso could barely remember what the world was like before the gods had sent her here.

"Well, Manhattan's a big city, with not much gardening space," explained Percy.

Calypso frowned, "That's sad. Hermes visits from time to time. He tells me the world outside has changed greatly. I did not realize it had changed so much you cannot have gardens."

He barely told her anything this time, just ordered her to heal Percy and then release him.

"Why haven't you left your island?" he said slowly.

She looked down. "It is my punishment."

"Why?" he asked, his brows furrowed. "What did you do?"

"I? Nothing," she chuckled darkly. "But I'm afraid my father did a great deal. His name is Atlas."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Percy stiffen at the mention of her father's name. This boy, had faced her father and lived to tell the tale?

The fates truly were cruel.

"Still," he said hesitantly, "it's not fair to punish you for what your father's done. I knew another daughter of Atlas. Her name was Zoe. She was one of the bravest people I've ever met."

His words were gentle, agonisingly so. Like he truly believed she was innocent. That even now, after all these centuries, she wasn't a liar. It came to her naturally, like breathing.

Zoe. One of the Hesperides, forever loyal to Atlas. Even she had switched allegiances at some point. And yet Calypso stayed loyal to her father. Fear of her father's relentless fury had forced her to take a stand for the Titans.

And yet, a Hesperide had been brave enough to join the gods. To fight for them until her last breath. Calypso had been a coward.

"What is it?" asked Percy, his eyes filled with worry.

"Are – are you healed yet, my brave one? Do you think you'll be ready to leave soon?"

She had never been the one to suggest a hero leave her island. It was always, always the hero himself who was desperate to leave. Until now.

Even now, she found herself dreading his answer. Of course, he would want to leave. Changing the order of things wouldn't change the end product.

Curses didn't have loopholes. They weren't particular either. They would always win.

"What?" he asked. "I don't know."

She couldn't hope. She refused to hope. Especially after Hermes had warned her. It didn't matter what she or Percy wanted. At the end of the day, it would always be about the gods.

"You want me to go?" The words themselves almost shattered her heart.

Percy sounded so helpless, so broken that she almost caved in. She almost offered to let him stay on the island there and then, forever immortal with not a care in the world. Let the gods try and smite her.

There'd be no trickery, no magic, no promises of love. Because she didn't love him. Not now. Not ever.

It would just be a mutual companionship.

Percy stumbled, and Calypso rushed forward to steady him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, the robes soft underneath her fingertips.

"I…" Her voice broke. She couldn't do it. She had to try. For his sake more than anything. Her hands dropped down to her sides. "I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well."

She ran towards the beach, towards the sea, and threw herself onto the floor where the sand met the water. She wouldn't do it.

She wouldn't. Couldn't. Shouldn't.

"You should be resting," she said quietly, as a rainbow lorikeet flew onto her arm.

Percy was sat on the floor, a glass of nectar in one hand, the other ruffling the blades of grass aimlessly. He took a sip from the glass, some residue remaining on his pink lips as he withdrew his mouth.

Calypso tried not to stare at him. In fact, why was she even looking at him in the first place? She focused on the parrot instead.

It chirped happily, its claws resting on her forearm. Its wings folded in, a bright green cape. Beady amber eyes looked out in front, out towards Percy.

"I'm tired of resting," he complained, taking another long sip of his nectar. "And your servants are scary. I think I screamed when my pants floated across the room."

She giggled slightly, as she stroked the bird on her arm. And then she felt Percy's gaze flit from the nectar to her.

"I can get them to stop if you like?" she said, smiling lightly.

Percy shook his head, his tongue running over his lips, over the nectar. A part of her wondered what the godly drink tasted like to him. Perhaps it was the taste of flowing rivers of honey, or like the sweetest of baklavas.

"Everything on this island looks so happy," he said, placing his glass down on the grass. "It's like a never-ending dream."

"A good dream, right?" she asked, chancing a glance at the son of Poseidon.

His mouth was set in a soft smile. His eyes, the colour of the glittering sea, lit up as they met hers.

"I never want to wake up from it," he said softly. "Sometimes, I wish I could..." his words trailed off into the breeze.

Calypso ran her index finger down the back of the parrot's blue head. It puffed its orange-feathered abdomen out proudly.

His eyes became wistful, his gaze boring through her as if he had just found the answer to all the questions in the universe. His cotton shirt was adorned with grass stains, perfect criss-crosses of faded green.

This particular shirt had belonged to Odysseus. Calypso had weaved it for the hero after he crash-landed on the island. Of course, in doing so, she had bewitched the demigod into falling in love with her. Sorceress, the gods had said.

If she had weaved in his presence for only a few moments longer, he would've forgotten his Penelope. He would've stayed with her eternally.

If only.

"What do you wish for, hero?" she asked quietly. The bird flew off, its caws echoing in the distance.

"To run away," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. "To escape."

She could give him that. A chance to leave everything behind and become immortal on a phantom island. A few simple words, an offer.

An offer she swore she wouldn't give.

How long would it be before Hermes returned to collect the hero? A week? A month?

She wrenched her eyes from his gaze.

"I'm sorry the fates have been cruel to you," she whispered. She couldn't bear to look at the boy she vowed to never fall in love with.

Destined to die.

"I'm not getting a haircut from one of the invisible servants," Percy said, his arms crossed.

The boy glared at the scissors floating across the cave, the sharp blades snapping in mid-air. They dropped onto the bed, bouncing away. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Up to you," she said with a smile. "They're expert barbers."

They'd cut the hair of both Odysseus and Drake and would likely continue to cut the hair of poor heroes until the day she faded out of existence. Or perhaps the gods would send her to Tartarus one day, to wither beside the giants that came before her.

At least she'd have company there. Unlike Ogygia, a soulless island, with a few fleeting moments of life appearing every few centuries.

"I don't trust them," he said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "They keep stealing my socks."

She laughed, brushing her hair out of her face. "It's a game. They've hidden them around the island for you to find."

Percy wrinkled his nose. "Like hide and seek?"

"Yeah," she smiled, "Exactly like that."

"Why though?"

"Don't know. They used to play the same game with-" she broke off abruptly, and glanced at the loom hidden away beneath the cloth.

With Odysseus. Her first hero. Her first love. The spirits had loved to tease him, the young man who hated her and then became utterly besotted with her because of the enchantment. Her spell.

And then eventually it faded. The hero had fought back against the loom's magic, his memories of dear Penelope leading the way. Seven years had been an eternity compared to the meagre five months of Francis. And yet they passed by in the blink of an eye.

She had helped Odysseus leave the island. It had taken the spirits decades to forgive her. Odysseus probably hated her to this day, cursing her from the lands of Elysium.

"With who?" asked Percy quietly, tentatively. His eyes flicked towards her, the green of his irises flickering with curiosity.

He wasn't like Odysseus. He was just a boy, barely even her age. He didn't have the anger of Odysseus, the agitation of Francis. He was just an innocent boy thrown into the world of the gods, forced to fight their war.

Just as she had helped the Titans. Helped her father. She had been a fifteen-year-old desperate for her father's approval when the gods banished her to Ogygia.

Calypso just shook her head stiffly. "It doesn't matter."

"You've been hurt by someone, haven't you?"

The question was merely a formality. The firm set of his jaw and his piercing gaze was evidence enough.

"It was a long time ago," she said. "I barely remember."

His eyes narrowed at her in disbelief, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he asked, "Do you get many visitors?"

She shrugged, "Apart from Hermes? Not really."

"Oh," said Percy. "I would totally visit again." He gave her a nervous smile. "Only if you want, that is."

Of course, she did. She had no idea how she was going to survive once the boy left, knowing he'd be marching to his death. Knowing that she did nothing to prevent it.

But such was the curse of the gods, that no man would ever find Ogygia twice. They were willing to break the hearts of their precious heroes just to punish her.

"Tell me something," she blurted, glancing at Percy.

"I know you can do magic?" he said, his voice unsure.

"Oh really?" She had to bite back a grin as she arched a brow. "What makes you think that?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "I've seen flowers grow on your command. I've heard you sing me to sleep. It's like listening to a siren. I can't help but do whatever you say."

"You've heard the sirens?" asked Calypso, taking a seat on the soft bed. Beside Percy.

"I've seen them," he said. "Annabeth's heard them."

Annabeth. No doubt she'd be the reason for Percy's decision to leave her island. In the end, it was always love that took the heroes back.

Love for someone else.

"Really?" she asked, her fingers playing with the soft, cool bedsheets.

"Yeah, she made me wear earplugs," he shrugged. "The sirens aren't as nice as you though." He glanced at her nervously, "They're not as pretty either."

It's not like he meant it. If Calypso were to hazard a guess, she would think that Percy said things like that to his Annabeth every day.

She gave him a tight smile, her eyes fixed on the sheets. His hand was close to hers. His fingers tentatively moved towards hers.

She needed to go before she did something stupid. So she snatched her hand away, got up from the bed and brushed her dress down.

"Where are you going?" asked Percy.

I don't know.

"You need to rest, hero," she said quietly.

"You always say that," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Have I done something wrong?"

She shook her head. "A few of the spirits will re-dress your bandages in the morning."

Calypso began walking towards the entrance of the cave when a hand wrapped around her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Please stay," he murmured, his eyes dark, almost an unnatural forest green in the harsh light of the cave. "The nightmares go away when you're here."

He couldn't do that. Pretend that he cared about her, when all he wanted to do was return back to his home. The gods couldn't trick her into falling in love with him.

And yet, her feet were still glued to the floor. She couldn't move.

"Sleep, my brave one," she whispered, magic dripping from her words.

Percy's head fell onto the feather-stuffed pillow, his eyes drooping shut.

Calypso's eyes caught on a ripped orange t-shirt hanging from the edge of her wooden shelf. Percy's shirt.

She could fix it in a matter of minutes. The gods wouldn't even need to know. She eyed the cream-coloured cloth that was draped over the wooden loom.

She glanced back at the sleeping boy, the beautiful son of Poseidon. His slow, steady breaths consistent as though in time to a metronome. Would he wake up, desperately in love with her, as Odysseus had, after she had weaved him a shirt?

Or was his Annabeth enough to keep away the very notion of falling in love with someone else? Surely a daughter of Athena couldn't have such a tight hold on a son of Poseidon's heart.

The sound of the howling wind was enough to pull her gaze away from the loom. Of course, the spirits would make it windy inside. Percy's hair fluttered in the breeze, his hands closing around the sheets.

Calypso walked over to him, her bare feet silent against the cold, stone, floor and pulled the duvet over the demigod. She ran her hand through his hair, her lips grazing his forehead.

Sleep well, hero.

Calypso played the harp throughout the night, over the howling wind. For Percy. For herself.

"Tell me. I want to help," said Percy, his hair gleaming in the firelight from the brazier.

"Don't say that. Please don't say that." She fought back tears as she spoke. The boy couldn't care about her. She wouldn't be able to let him go otherwise.

Besides, it wasn't like he could do anything. Not even a boy favoured by the gods would be able to help her. Nothing would.

"Tell me what the punishment is." He sounded so sincere, so caring. Like he actually meant the words.

And so she found herself replying to the hero, because how could she not? Even after three millennia on this cursed island, she was still just a girl banished by the gods.

A girl condemned to fall in love with the boy in front of her.

"Percy, this island, Ogygia, is my home, my birthplace. But it is also my prison. I am under… house arrest, I guess you would call it. I will never visit this Manhattan of yours. Or anywhere else. I am alone here."

"Because your father was Atlas."

She felt herself nod. "The gods do not trust their enemies. And rightly so. I should not complain. Some of the prisons are not nearly as nice as mine."

"But that's not fair," he said, the harsh orange flames reflected in his eyes. "Just because you're related doesn't mean you support him. This other daughter I knew, Zoe Nightshade – she fought against him. She wasn't imprisoned."

Maybe he'd be more willing to leave if she told him the truth. It was far too late to protect her heart. The next best thing would be to protect him from the wrath of the gods.

"But, Percy," she said gently, "I did support him in the first war. He is my father."

"What? But the Titans are evil!"

Of course, he thought the whole world was black or white. Right or wrong. The irony was laughable. Did he not know of the fate that awaited him?

"Are they? All of them? All the time?" She pursed her lips. "Tell me, Percy. I have no wish to argue with you. But do you support the gods because they are good, or because they are your family?"

Percy's brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing in confusion. His gaze flicked towards her, the green smothered by the orange of the fire.

"Perhaps I was wrong in the war," Calypso said. "And, in fairness, the gods have treated me well. They visit me from time to time. They bring me word of the outside world. But they can leave. And I cannot."

She would be alone. Heroes would come and go and she'd still be stuck on the island. Forever fifteen.

"You don't have any friends?" he asked, tentatively. "I mean… wouldn't anyone else live here with you? It's a nice place."

Calypso was weak and the gods knew it. They had sent the son of Poseidon to twist her heart, to offer her false hope. And she had fallen for their ploy again.

A tear trickled down her cheek.

"I… I promised myself I wouldn't speak of this. But –"

She was interrupted by a rumbling sound somewhere out on the lake. A glow appeared on the horizon. It got brighter and brighter, and a column of fire hurtled towards them across the surface of the water.

They were here to collect him already. He wasn't even fully healed yet, the cuts on his abdomen were still angry and raw. They couldn't take him away now.

But the column of fire showed no sign of stopping and only increased in speed.

Percy shoved a hand in his pocket, "What is that?"

She sighed. "A visitor."

As the column of fire reached the beach, she got up from her chair and bowed to it formally. The flames dissipated, and standing before them was a tall man in grey overalls and a metal leg brace, his beard and hair smouldering with fire.

"Lord Hephaestus," she said. "This is a rare honour."

The fire god grunted. "Calypso. Beautiful as always. Would you excuse us, please, my dear? I need to have a word with our young Percy Jackson."

Percy glanced at her worriedly, but she just smiled reassuringly. Encouragingly. Perhaps Hephaestus would take Percy back to his home. Perhaps she wouldn't have to see him off to the raft.

Perhaps the boy would never find out how he'd broken her heart. It would be best that way.

She wouldn't be heartbroken in the same way she had been after Odysseus. After Francis. She wouldn't pine for him. No.

She would mourn for him. For the boy who sacrificed himself for the gods. For his Annabeth.

It would be the worst one out of the three heroes who had washed up on Ogygia.

The gods had a sick, twisted sense of humour.

And yet against all odds Percy trudged into the meadow, hands in pockets.

Calypso dropped the moonlace bulb onto the floor, as she whirled around to look at the hero. Her hero.

"You're still here?" She failed miserably to keep the surprise out of her voice.

The green-eyed boy wore a tired smile as he shrugged. He knelt down and picked up the moonlace.

And then it dawned on her. "He has ordered you to return."

"Well, not ordered. He gave me a choice."

A choice. Where Odysseus had been snatched from her, where Francis had been adamant to return to his Mary, Perseus Jackson had been given a choice.

He truly was favoured by the gods. And for the first time in three millennia, she dared to hope.

She raised her chin to meet his eyes. "I promised I would not offer," she said, hesitantly. And yet there she was about to do just that.

"Offer what?" asked Percy, his eyes a dark green, almost black.

"For you to stay." She picked at a loose thread on her dress.

"Stay," he said. "Like… forever?"

"You would be immortal on this island," she said quietly. "You would never age or die. You could leave the fight to others, Percy Jackson. You could escape your prophecy."

Hermes wouldn't be able to do anything. There'd be no smiting of any islands if Hephaestus had truly given Percy a choice.

He stared at her, stunned. "Just like that?"

She nodded. "Just like that."

"But… my friends."

Of course, he would be worried about his friends. His Annabeth, Grover and Tyson.

Calypso stepped forward and took hold of Percy's hand. She interlaced her fingers with his. Her breath hitched.

She had everything to lose. But she had everything to gain.

So she told him the truth. "You asked about my curse, Percy. I did not want to tell you. The truth is, the gods send me companionship from time to time. Every thousand years or so, they allow a hero to wash up on my shores, someone who needs my help."

His eyes never left hers, the green and the blue warring with each other.

"I tend to him and befriend him, but it is never random. The Fates make sure that the sort of hero they send…" she broke off abruptly.

She wasn't strong enough to do this. She wanted to drown herself in the deepest of waves, to run off a mountain. Her heart wouldn't survive this.

Percy squeezed her hand tightly. Reassuringly. He was still here. Maybe he would be here after she finished.

"What? What have I done to make you sad?" The green in his eyes seemed to be winning, the blue all but hidden away.

"They send a person who can never stay," she whispered. "Who can never accept my offer of companionship for more than a little while. They send me a hero I can't help… just the sort of person I can't help falling in love with."

She resisted the urge to look away, to run away from the boy who held her hand so lovingly.

"Me?"

Everything about him was so perfect. Innocent. Unblemished.

"If you could see your face," She fought back a smile painfully, tears still rolling down her cheeks. "Of course, you."

"That's why you've been pulling away all this time?" he asked, brushing the tears away with his free hand.

"I tried very hard. But I can't help it. The Fates are cruel. They sent you to me, my brave one, knowing that you would break my heart."

"But… I'm just… I mean, I'm just me!" he spluttered.

And with those words, she knew the boy would leave her before the sun could even rise. The gods had offered him a choice because they knew what he was going to return.

"That's enough," she promised. "I told myself I would not even speak of this. I would let you go without even offering. But I can't. I suppose the Fates knew that, too. You could stay with me, Percy." She threw him a stiff smile. "I'm afraid that is the only way you could help me."

"I can't."

It was inevitable. There was nothing she could do against a curse from the gods.

There was no angry storm, the moonlaces didn't stop glowing, and the sun didn't stop rising as her heart shattered into small, tiny fragments.

Even the loom wasn't powerful enough to fix it.

She let go of his hand, and looked down at the glowing moonlaces. A part of her wanted to stomp on them, destroy the light they emitted.

"I would never do anything to hurt you," he said, running a hand through his dark hair. "But my friends need me. I know how to help them now. I have to get back."

She picked a sprig of moonlace from her garden and tucked it into his shirt pocket. A souvenir.

"Then come to the beach, my hero. And we will send you on your way."

The raft waited for them on the exact spot where Percy landed. The raft she had helped build, the raft she didn't have the heart to destroy after Odysseus had scorned her.

She should've torn it apart with her bare hands.

"This will take you wherever you desire," Calypso said before noticing the wary look in Percy's eyes. "It is quite safe."

He went to grab her hand, but she stepped away quickly. There was no need to make this any harder than it already was. He would eventually go back to his friends, whilst she was left alone on this cursed island.

"Maybe I can visit you," he said quietly.

She shook her head. "No man ever finds Ogygia twice, Percy. When you leave, I will never see you again."

"I'll find you," he said desperately. "I swear it on the River St-"

No.

She wouldn't let him. Refused to let him die because of a promise he couldn't keep.

She swore she only did it to save his life. To keep him alive.

Maybe there were better ways to stop him, but she wasn't thinking. Couldn't think as the boy was about to throw his life back to the fates.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him down, and pressed her lips to his. His lips were soft, his words dying.

The scent of cedarwood and spearmint overpowered her, as Percy's hands moved to her shoulders. And then she caught sight of a small wooden raft floating up to the shore.

She wrenched herself away from him, taking two large strides backwards. Her arms fell to her sides.

The son of Poseidon stared at her, wide-eyed, as she kicked at a broken shell.

"Go, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking.

A flash of hurt passed through Percy's eyes. It was gone as soon as it appeared. And then he grabbed her arm. "I will find you. I promise."

A promise he wouldn't be able to keep. The curse wouldn't allow it. Neither would the boy's own fate. If Hermes had been right, then he'd be dead before long.

Even Odysseus had promised to look for her. Francis had been adamant that he'd find Ogygia again.

And Perseus Jackson had almost sent himself to a marginally early grave just moments earlier. Instead, he settled for a false promise, even if he didn't know it yet.

"The Fates are cruel, Percy. Just remember me." She forced a smile. "Plant a garden in Manhattan for me, will you?"

"I promise."

And with one final promise the son of Poseidon stepped onto the raft. It began moving instantly, taking him away from her.

As soon as Percy disappeared into the horizon, Calypso collapsed onto the sand. She sobbed into her dress, for the boy sailing towards death.

Whether she got up a few hours later, or whether she had spent days on the beach, she didn't know. But what she did know was that she'd forgive neither the gods nor the fates, for sentencing a poor innocent boy to his death.

The daughter of Atlas hadn't even tried to prevent his fate.

She wouldn't forgive herself either.

Calypso refused to let the spirits wash the sheets. The scent of cedarwood still lingered, mixed in with fresh spearmint. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him there, sat beside her on the bed.

And then she'd make the mistake of trying to brush his hair back, only to be met with emptiness. Then her eyes would fly open, and she'd remember.

Not that she could ever forget. Not that she wanted to forget.

She didn't deserve to forget. She deserved to rot on the island eternally for her sins. For sending Percy to his death.

She felt a tug on her dress and looked up. She liked to imagine she was looking at the spirits right in the eye, though a part of her wasn't even sure they had eyes.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

They never responded. Today was no different.

But an orange shirt floated into her lap. Percy's shirt. It had been charred in several places, and torn in even more.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

The breeze stopped immediately, as the spirit left the cave. She was truly alone now.

That evening, she threw the cover away from the loom, the wooden structure exposed to the outside world for the first time since Odysseus had left. Maybe Athena had been serious all those years ago about striking her down if she dared to use it again.

Calypso didn't care anymore. Zeus himself could smite Ogygia and she wouldn't bat an eyelid. Anything was better than this.

And so the helpless girl wove, and wove, and wove.

Shades of cobalt, azure and sage adorned the loom once she was done.

Just as the gods didn't dream of the dangers they faced, neither did the Titans. Sure, they had the occasional dream, but it was usually filled with nonsense.

Just the other day she had dreamt of an Ogygia without any spirits, at all. Instead, they had been replaced by little wheat gremlins. Admittedly they had been sort of cute, in a weird 'they'll bite your fingers off if you get too close' sort of way.

Except tonight, for the first time in three millennia, Calypso dreamt of a land far, far away from Ogygia. The place was eerily similar to Mount Othrys.

She watched as a group of teenagers, crept up the mountain, huddled together. There were two girls, both about fourteen or fifteen years of age and a younger boy whose mouth seemed to be moulded into a scowl.

"Rachel," hissed the tall blonde girl. "What are you doing?"

The red-haired girl, presumably Rachel, ignored her and continued rummaging through her bag. She pulled a hair brush.

"What's that for?" asked the younger boy, his nose wrinkled at the blue brush.

"Percy's in danger," was all she said, and then looked Calypso in the eye. The red-haired girl shook her head absentmindedly and then marched ahead.

Calypso forgot how to breathe. Percy was still alive. She tried to move, to race ahead of the red-head, but she struck an invisible wall.

The blonde pulled a dagger out whilst muttering under her breath and glared at Rachel. The dark-haired boy dragged himself up the mountain agonisingly slowly, using his sword like a crutch.

They walked into a palace made of shadows and ashes. To the side lay a golden sarcophagus, gleaming under the setting sun. It was open, the lid stood against the wall to one side.

A young man with golden eyes smirked, his eyes lighting up with mirth as he sauntered forward, his scythe raised. Ready to strike down a boy ambling away from him, slowly.

Percy. Her Percy.

She rushed forward, her hair billowing behind her. The blond man was going to kill the hero.

Neither of them noticed her. Perhaps she could save him with her magic. She began to hum the words of an old sea shanty, one that Francis Drake often muttered angrily as he desperately scavenged the island for the remains of his ship.

Nothing happened. It was like her magic had stopped working altogether.

And then out of the corner of her eye, a blue plastic hairbrush – Rachel's brush – hurtled towards the blond man, hitting him square in the eye. His golden eyes flickered to a pale, anguished blue as he stumbled backwards.

Percy scrambled up and ran towards the entrance hall, where Rachel stood with the blonde and the younger boy. Just as he was about to leave, about to escape, the room began to shake violently.

The hero was thrown forwards, head first into a pillar as the whole palace began to collapse in on itself. A grand column, fell onto the ground, shattering into small pieces of rubble.

"NO," she yelled as everything faded into darkness. "No. No. No."

She cried into the boy's orange shirt that night, clutching it tightly to her chest.

"He still lives."

She had to be talking about Percy.

Calypso allowed herself to breathe, to hope for the boy. Maybe Hermes had been wrong. Maybe he wasn't destined to die.

The goddess spoke indifferently, almost monotonously.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Calypso, rubbing her eyes.

Dark angry clouds had been looming over Ogygia for the past few days, threatening to burst, to flood the island. The air had grown humid. It was only a matter of time before the rain came.

Athena rolled her grey eyes. "Think of it as my way of giving thanks."

"For what?"

"You're little stunt with the loom," said the goddess, glancing at Calypso, "Saved my daughter's life."

"Annabeth's?"

She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, truly. It wouldn't do well to anger the short-tempered goddess. A part of her hoped Athena was talking about one of her other children and not the girl who held Percy's heart.

Athena nodded. "The loom's magic created a bubble of protection around your demigod, inadvertently saving the mortal, and my daughter as the Titan's palace fell."

"I saw it in a dream," said Calypso, "There was a man with blond hair, a demigod, I think-"

"No," said the goddess, shaking her head. "He was a demigod. The son of Hermes hosts the spirit of Kronos now."

"Why did you show me the dream?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

It had been bothering her for days. On the rare occasion she did sleep, her dreams were always set on the Ogygia. Always.

"You once swore that you would never love another hero," said Athena wryly. "That you would curse any demigod who dared to set foot on Ogygia."

It had been just after Hermes had commanded her to send Odysseus home. She'd been wracked with anger, fury and hatred towards the gods and their children. Odysseus's departure had all but destroyed her.

He'd taken everything from her. Her heart, her mind, her soul.

Odysseus had broken her not once, but twice. Once in life and once in death. Calypso had threatened Hermes with certain death when he came to deliver the news.

After a while everything became numb. Eventually, even the invisible spirits of Ogygia had forgiven her for letting go of Odysseus. But it didn't matter. For she was alone. Far, far away from the rest of the universe.

And then centuries later the pirate Francis Drake had arrived. Hermes arrived yet again, commanding her to set him free on behalf of Poseidon.

"Funny how things change, isn't it?" mused the goddess, as she raised an eyebrow. "Nothing lasts forever."

And then she snapped her fingers. There was a loud crash in the cave.

"What was that for?" Calypso asked, her hand curling up into a fist.

Athena smirked before disappearing on the spot.

And yet people refused to believe the goddess of wisdom was the daughter of Zeus. Both of them were overly dramatic if you asked her. What with their theatrical exits, and all.

Calypso sprinted to the cave just to make sure the goddess didn't actually cause any real damage. Where the wooden shelves sat, there was now a heap of debris, jars of jam, preserve, and medicine smashed on the floor.

Thank the gods for the spirits of Ogygia.

The rain fell, a light drizzle spattering the stone floor. Darkness engulfed the island, like the iron-cold grip of death. The winds were silent, and the moonlaces dim.

Ogygia had last looked like this when Hermes came to deliver the news of Francis Drake's death. His ship was lost at sea, in a storm, he'd said. And the girl who swore never to fall in love again, shed tears for the pirate.

Gods were creatures of habit, just like the titans before them, and the giants before them.

So when Hermes walked across the beach, speaking to his snakes in hushed whispers, she knew something had happened. Something bad.

Calypso didn't run, no. It was best to delay the bad news as much as possible. Heartbroken peace for a few precious moments before her heart was inevitably shattered by Perseus Jackson.

"Calypso," the god said evenly, his mouth set in a firm line.

"Is Percy alive?" The words rushed out of her, as she struggled to blink back tears.

The god raised a brow and gave a singular nod.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

She could breathe again. He was okay.

So then what was Hermes doing here?

"The gods have sent me to strike a deal with you."

Oh.

"I'm listening," she said, curiosity getting the better of her.

The gods didn't offer deals. They punished and forgot. She knew she was one of the lucky ones, to suffer on a beautiful island, rather than in Tartarus.

"First tell me," he said quietly, "do you believe in second chances?"

The gods certainly had never given her a second chance, hell, they hadn't even her the chance to explain, to apologise, to seek forgiveness. They hadn't batted an eyelid when Zeus banished her to Ogygia, forever hidden away from the world.

And yet she found herself nodding. She glanced at Hermes, his tired eyes following the ebb and flow of the navy waves. Violent and merciless.

"I think," she began slowly, her fingers playing with a loose thread on her dress. "No crime is unforgivable if someone truly repents."

"If you could ask the fates of anything, what would you ask for?"

Percy Jackson.

Even if it was just once more, to look into his eyes - the colour of the sea on a hot summer's day - to run a hand through his raven locks once more.

"You wouldn't ask to see Odysseus? Or the pirate?" asked the god of messengers.

"How do you know-"

"I'm an Olympian," he said wryly. "I know what helpless love looks like."

"You've spent far too much time with Aphrodite," she said. "It's messing with your mind."

Hermes shrugged absentmindedly, planting his caduceus firmly in the wet sand.

"Oi," howled George, "that hurt."

Hermes silenced him with a sharp glare, and the snake retreated.

"Perhaps," he said, then he turned to look at her. "Would you fight for the gods?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," she said, her eyes flashing.

"Tell me then, would you fight for the son of Poseidon?"

"And this is all hypothetical?" she asked.

"Of course." He leant against his staff. "So then, would you?"

"I don't think I'd have much of a choice in the matter," she said quietly.

She had no choice. All it would take was a single breath from the boy, a hint of danger and she'd run to the loom.

She'd risk destroying the island for him, she'd risk death.

"And the Titans?"

"You said you wanted to make a deal," she snapped, "not that it was an interrogation."

The rain began to fall more heavily. The sand stuck to her sandals, to her feet, between her toes. It was everywhere.

"But say, Prometheus approached you, asked you to help the titans, to help your father, would you do it?"

"Well, they didn't sentence me to prison for the rest of eternity," she said, crossing her arms tightly.

"Fascinating," mused the god. "You would fight for the Titans but yet your heart remains loyal to the children of the gods."

"What do you want, Lord Hermes?"

"A second chance," he said.

And did he have bags under his eyes? How badly was the war going? Were the gods losing?

"Zeus wants your word that you won't fight for the Titans," said Hermes.

"And why would I agree to that?"

"He's agreed to set you free if," he broke off to narrow his eyes, "and only if you swear on the Styx not to join the war."

She'd get to see Percy. She'd never get to see her family again. They would label her as a traitor, and if they won, she would be sent to Tartarus.

But she'd get to see her hero again. And that was enough.

"Okay," she said firmly. "I'll do it."

If only Calypso had known. If only she knew the gods were going to use this opportunity to taunt her. To mock her.

In a twisted way, Hermes had spoken the truth. Because she did get freedom. Every night, in the land of Morpheus.

In her dreams.

In her nightmares.

Every night she got to see the son of Poseidon. And yet the son of the sea never saw her.

This time he was drowning. The son of the sea drowning in an ocean. And just like always, it didn't matter how much she screamed, how much she pleaded, he never turned around. He never heard.

He was sinking fast, his eyes drifting shut. Ten minutes before it was too late to save him.

Calypso swam towards him and foolishly attempted to slow the boy's fall, to catch him. Her arms were met with nothing. They passed straight through the boy, like a ghost.

She wasn't sure who the ghost was. Herself, or Percy.

So she did the only thing she could think of.

She prayed to the gods – to Poseidon. Prayed for the boy she swore not to love. Prayed for the boy she vowed to curse all those millennia ago.

And it didn't matter that the gods had tricked her, duped her. He was injured and if she had to pray to Poseidon, then so be it. As long it saved the boy hurtling towards the ocean's bed.

She'd been naive back then. Stubborn. Like the Titans. Like the gods. Yet, while neither gods nor titans were able to change in all these millennia, the girl banished to a phantom island was able to mellow her pride, to tone down her arrogance.

Please don't let him die.

Calypso repeated those five words over and over again. They looped around in her mind, and she refused to think of anything else. Percy needed his father.

And so the girl with titan blood prayed for the son of a god. And it didn't matter that the gods had fooled her, deceived her into believing she'd get to see her demigod again. She still prayed desperately, with her heart and soul.

A part of her wondered whether this was her second chance, her chance at redemption. Perhaps Percy wouldn't spend the rest of his life hating her if she did this.

If this even worked.

His skin had turned a pale yellow. Lifeless and skeletal. Like a child of the underworld.

And then a deep voice called out, "Percy?"

It hadn't worked. They had done the opposite, in fact. Because just then, she caught sight of a large one-eyed creature swimming towards them. A cyclops.

And there was nothing she could do.

But then the cyclops stopped by Percy, shaking him urgently. Desperately.

"Percy?" the cyclops said, his brown eye full of concern.

The demigod son of Poseidon didn't respond.

The cyclops looked around, his eye scanning the surroundings. His gaze wandered past her, as though she wasn't there.

She was a phantom, just like her home. In this realm, no one could see her, no one could hear her. It wasn't just limited to just Percy Jackson. She wasn't real to anyone.

The punishment of the gods. To exist and never be seen.

"Percy you need to wake up."

Whether Percy awoke, or not, Calypso didn't find out. For at that moment, she awoke with a gasp. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, sticky and matted. Like a mortal's.

The curtains separating the cave from the outside world flew open. Calypso coughed violently, seawater spluttering onto the soft sheets of the bed. The salt left a bitter taste in her mouth.

How in the gods' name did that...?

Though Calypso had never been good at spotting the lies of the gods, she was more than apt at recognising the lies of one of her own. Like, Prometheus, for example.

She had only met the Titan twice; he'd been on the opposite side of the first Titan war. Working with the gods, and conspiring against the Titans, even then he had been nothing but a liar. Feeding false lies to Kronos, whilst delivering vital information to the gods.

He'd promised her freedom if she surrendered. Promised the gods would be lenient, promised that Zeus wouldn't torture her like he would torture her family. His own family.

The father of Prometheus – Iapetus – had once been burdened with the weight of the sky, a position now held by her own father. He promised that she would be saved from such a fate.

And he hadn't been wrong. Prometheus had helped her, in a way. His negotiation with Zeus was the only reason she hadn't been sent to Tartarus.

The titan stood by a Hyperborean giant who held a banner of truce, offering the same to Percy Jackson.

"I have a gift for you," Prometheus said, with a kind smile.

The pithos sat on the table, its ceramic lid loosely shut with a leather strap. The strap was worn, only half-fastened. Tempting.

Like the loom gifted to her by the titan in front of her. The loom she was forbidden to use. The loom she was forbidden to destroy. The loom that offered promises of love, happiness and life. If only she dared to weave.

Calypso just hoped that Percy wouldn't give in like her. That he wouldn't give up the spirit of hope. That he wouldn't let go of Elpis.

That he wouldn't weave the end of humanity. Not like she weaved the anger of the gods by enchanting Odysseus.

"I don't want the thing," growled the son of Poseidon, eyeing the jar warily.

"Too late," said Prometheus, "The gift is given. It cannot be taken back."

The Titan's eyes swivelled towards her. His mouth curled up into a knowing smirk and inclined his head.

And then he winked.

It took all of her willpower not to destroy the loom that sat in her cave once she woke up. To destroy the gift given to her by Prometheus.

It wasn't long before the dreams became sporadic.

Eventually, they disappeared completely. She wasn't forced to sleep night after night. She could go back to her old routine of using the hours of the night to plant moonlaces, to play her harp.

Apparently the gods had deemed that their end of the bargain had been complete.

Calypso hated it. She couldn't catch a glimpse of Percy, confirm that he was still alive.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. Perhaps even years. She'd lost track of time a long time ago. Time was meaningless on Ogygia. There was only a before and after.

A before Odysseus. A before Francis. A before Percy.

An after Odysseus. An after Francis. An after Percy.

Perhaps the Titans had won, perhaps the gods were rotting in Tartarus. Perhaps Percy had been sent alongside. Perhaps he'd joined them. Perhaps Prometheus had convinced him, just as he'd convinced her.

Or maybe the gods had won. Maybe Percy was sat in a quaint little home with his Annabeth. Maybe he'd forgotten about her. Maybe he spent his days cursing her.

The gods didn't have the common courtesy to keep her updated on her hero. After both Odysseus and Francis, Hermes would often come to Ogygia to let her know about the heroes. He would tell her about the mortal world, and about Olympus.

That had all changed with Percy. His sole visit whilst Percy was on the island had been cold. Almost forced.

And then his other visit, well, that had been the reason for all those restless nights.

Calypso felt one of the spirits tug on her white dress, pulling her up from the bed. The curtains flew open, and the shelves trembled.

It seemed that another hero had arrived. Already.

Of course, the gods just wanted to punish her even more. Of course they did, they were the children of the Titans, after all.

And so, Calypso grabbed a poultice and a bottle of nectar and trudged out of the room. The gentle push of the spirit led her out of the cave and into the storm.

Thick droplets of rain lashed down onto the mosaic floor. The gargoyle fountains overflowed, and the distant strikes of thunder shook the hills.

Her beautiful garden was drowning, the roots of freshly planted hyacinths uprooted. The soil stuck to her feet as the spirit led her straight through the garden.

She was guided onto the beach where in the distance a body lay washed up on the shore. Soon after a small raft followed.

"Ow," groaned the hero, his voice lost in the merciless waves.

As far as she could tell, it had been perhaps a few hundred years since Percy. The gods usually waited about millennia before sending her a demigod.

A part of her didn't even want to see this demigod. Not when her heart still ached for Percy. She couldn't forget him so soon. She refused to.

Reluctantly, she made her way forward. Towards the demigod.

The spirit urged her on, yanking on her soaked dress impatiently. Calypso just rolled her eyes.

A wet clump of sand hit her white dress. She whirled around but wasn't met with anything but waves and lightning. Stupid spirits.

Did they not know that she didn't want to look after another demigod? That she didn't want to fall in love?

Did they not know that she should've been free? That they could've been free? That the gods were nothing but ignorant beings with superiority complexes? Beings who refused to honour their promises because of their pride?

From a distance, she could tell that the hero was tall. Taller than Percy at least. His hair was tangled, and his orange shirt stuck to his torso.

The hero coughed violently and then murmured something under his breath. A name likely.

So even this hero had a Penelope. Had a Mary. Had an Annabeth.

Maybe she could heal this hero and ignore him like the gods had ignored her of recent. Yes, that's what she'd do. Why should she fall in love with a hero needed by the gods? When had the gods ever done as they agreed?

In fact, Calypso would heal the hero, give hope to the gods and then destroy the loom. It would trigger the collapse of Ogygia, and the death of their precious hero. She would be more than willing to be collateral damage. To fall in a final act of sweet revenge.

It was nothing less than the gods deserved.

She felt the spirit push her forward, causing her to stumble. The poultice slipped from her hand, but she still held the nectar. It would do well enough, she supposed.

Calypso knelt down, behind the hero and shifted him so he rolled over. So she could see the extent of his injuries.

The sight stopped her breath altogether. The flask of nectar slipped from her hand and rolled onto the sand. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened.

Sand whirled around her, around the boy. The frantic movement caused by the spirits of Ogygia.

Rivulets of rainwater dripped from the demigod's hair onto the sand. His right hand clutched something tightly, a small golden chain peaking through his fist. Grains of coarse sand clung onto his soaked shirt.

Lightning flashed, and the demigod's face lit up for a split second, pale under the harsh light. And yet still more beautiful than Adonis.

Her hand shook as she brought it down slowly. To his hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, terrified that it would go straight through. Like it did in her dreams. Like her nightmares.

And then she stopped abruptly. She couldn't do it. What if it truly was a dream? What if it wasn't real?

After all, no man ever found Ogygia twice.

Her eyes flew open, and she brushed her hair angrily out of her face, terrified that it would end soon. It always did.

Her voice, ever the traitor couldn't help itself.

"Percy."

She said his name like a prayer, like a girl in a desert who had seen a spring of water. Her heart raced in her chest. Threatening to break out at any second.

Soft fingers wrapped around her hand. And it broke the shackles. The deadlock.

Calypso didn't even try to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Gods, she didn't even care. Because he was here.

Where she felt like centuries had passed, the demigod in front of her was maybe just a couple of years of older than last time. When he bid her farewell, so he could return to the gods.

So he could return to his Annabeth.

The thought made her recoil. She scrambled away from the hero, her feet kicking sand onto her dress.

"Calypso," he muttered, his fist opening and a flat, round object fell out.

His eyes fluttered open, revealing the sea green of his irises. He blinked twice and then squinted, his brows furrowed.

"It worked," he breathed. He sat up with a groan.

Calypso rushed forward to steady him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He leant back into her, resting his head on her chest. Tendrils of soft hair feathered her neck, like soft promises.

He was here. He was real.

"You're back," she said quietly, her lips brushing his hair.

Percy took hold of her hand in his calloused ones. He held it against his abdomen, the water from his shirt cold against her skin.

"I made a promise," he said, his words soft.

"But the curse-"

"I'm too stubborn for a curse."

His hands were so warm. As though he was immune to the pouring rain, and the howling winds.

And he was probably injured as well. She hadn't even checked, no. Here she was letting herself be comforted by a demigod who had been through so much more than she could ever imagine. So much more than her nightmares could ever tell her.

And they were still outside on the cold, wet beach.

"We should go inside," she said. "I can check for any injuries in the cave and then-"

Percy let go of her hand, rolled off her and stood up.

"How about we leave instead?" His green eyes shone in the moonlight as he spoke, and he offered her a hand.

"Leave?" she whispered. For the first time in her life, she dared to hope. Dared to believe. No man could find her island twice, and yet there he stood.

Maybe, just maybe...

"The island," he smiled tentatively, before looking down. "If you want, that is."

Gods, there was nothing she wanted more. To leave the cursed island, her home. Her prison.

Calypso took his outstretched hand, and he hauled her up from the sand, his hand tightening around hers.

"And how are we going to leave?" she asked, arching a brow.

"The raft," he grinned, and then held up a thin golden chain proudly, "And this."

"A small necklace?"

Yeah, perhaps they weren't going to leave the island after all. Well, Percy could but Calypso couldn't.

"It's an astrolabe," he said, his eyes shining.

"Er, I don't think that's what an astrolabe looks like," she said, biting her lip. "That's just a chain."

"No, it's no- crap." His eyes widened, and he began to pat down his pockets with his free hand. "I swear it was here just a moment ago."

Something flew through the air, gleaming in the moonlight, and then hit Percy square on his jaw. It fell onto the sand.

"Stupid spirits," he muttered, "always stealing my stuff."

"So that's the astrolabe," she said, nodding at the gleaming piece of gold.

"Made by Hephaestus himself," said Percy with a grin.

"And how exactly is that supposed to help us?"

"I don't actually know? I think it works with the raft, and they just telepathically communicate with each other."

"Fascinating," she said. "But that'll just guide you. It won't work when I'm on the raft as well-"

"It will," he said firmly, his grip on her hand tightening. "Trust me."

She did trust him. She just didn't trust the gods. A part of her wasn't sure why Percy had so much faith in them.

"But the curse-"

"Is broken," he said cutting her off.

"How?"

Percy smiled at her. "That doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," she spluttered, "it's my curse."

"It was your curse," he said pointedly. "It doesn't exist anymore." He crossed his arms. "The gods were feeling generous."

A lock of hair fell in front of his eyes, soaking wet. She surged forward and brushed it away gently, the hair soft against her skin. And because she couldn't help herself, she ran her hand through his hair.

She missed this so much. It was like a piece of her had been torn away from her. An organ she didn't know she needed until it was gone.

"The gods are never generous," she said quietly, her fingers dancing through his dark locks.

Percy took hold of her hand, pulling it away from his hair. He held it close to his chest, pulling her towards him.

"They are when they've sworn on the Styx."

His eyes shone, the green vibrant, and absent of the blue they always held. Apart from now, it seemed.

"They did what?" She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice, she really did.

The gods didn't swear on the Styx for a demigod. Hell, they didn't even swear on the cursed river for themselves. But the boy in front of her seemed so sure, so confident in his words.

"I'll tell you on the way back," he said, his mouth set into a soft smile. "Shall we go then?" he whispered.

Two suitcases stood patiently to one side, taking a valiant stand against the barrage of rain- and when had they even got there?

A chance to leave the cursed island. A chance to go back to the land of the living, to the land of the land of the mortals. A chance with Percy.

An offer Odysseus refused to make, an offer Francis would never even have thought about.

Then there was Percy. The son of Poseidon who had been destined to die, but yet stood in front of her, claiming her curse was broken, that she was free, that she could go.

And maybe because it was him, she dared to trust the gods. The gods who had punished her for over three thousand years.

The gods who had forgiven her. Because of Percy.

Her lips twitched, a smile breaking out on her face. She took a step away from him, still gripping his hand, pulling him alongside her.

"Gladly," she whispered.

"Thank the gods," he breathed. "For a moment I thought you were going to say n-"

"Why don't we discuss this on the raft?" She laced her fingers through his.

The grin that lit up his face was worth the wait. The three millennia. The soft dimples, the gleam in his eyes, partially covered by his dark hair.

Naturally, she rectified that immediately, her other hand finding its way to the stray locks, her fingers brushing his forehead as she combed it back.

"I swear you like my hair more than you like me." And despite that, he leant into her, the grin never leaving his face.

And there was just something about this demigod, or maybe it was just the heady scent of cedarwood getting to her. Her lips curled into coy smile, her voice taking on a silvery undertone, as she spoke.

"You'll just have to get used to it," she said, running her hand through his hair once more.

"Maybe I'll just get rid of it," he said cheerfully.

"You wouldn't dare."