Chapter Text
It was a cold, dark night—and the day had been worse. Percy was restlessly teething, and Sally was exhausted from a long shift at work. After Percy was finally lulled to sleep by two hours of strolling through the park in near–complete darkness (only a half-crescent moon and the odd lantern illuminating her path), she set off for home, desperate for rest before her next shift.
As she walked, a presence prickled at her skin. Instinctively, she reached for the celestial bronze dagger she’d found shortly after Percy’s birth. Her hands shook, her heart pounded, and her breath hitched as she scanned the shadows.
Then she saw it: blood-red eyes glowing in the gloom. A hellhound. Its snout curled back in a sneer, razor-sharp fangs gleaming in the dim moonlight.
She looked frantically around, praying it was alone. For Percy—her child—she could face one hellhound. Relief washed over her at not seeing another monster… until the beast crept forward, muscles coiled to strike.
Instinctively, she put herself between the creature and the stroller, widening her stance and pointing the shaking dagger before her, ready to defend them both.
She readied herself to fight—when, out of the corner of her eye, a swirling sphere of shadows appeared. A cold dread washed over her. She could survive a hellhound, but this… this was something else entirely.
The darkness took shape, forming into a man. His features blurred in shadow, his silhouette unmistakable. For a heartbeat, Sally forgot the hellhound—then watched it slink away, clearly as terrified of this figure as she was. Frozen, she could barely move as the shadow stepped closer.
“It is quite all right. They shall not return whilst I remain here. I bear you and your son no harm—I come solely to offer my protection to you both,”
the shadow intoned, gesturing toward the motionless stroller.
Sally felt a flicker of relief, but her heart still thundered in her ears.
“Who… who are you? What is it that you want from me?”
“I am the darkness that ever watches. For countless eons, I have observed my kin bring forth new life, yet I have seldom interfered. The effort to manifest myself here taxes me greatly, so I shall be succinct.
I ask only that you bear my child to term. In return, while your son remains vulnerable, this child’s presence shall help ward off those monsters drawn to him—until he is ready to defend himself. You are under no compulsion to accept. Should you decline, I shall take my leave and trouble you no more. This I vow upon the River Styx.”
Thunder rumbled far away.
Shock, fear, and a strange relief tightened Sally’s chest at having any choice at all. Gods weren’t always kind. What if this bargain fails the moment Percy needs me most? Her mind raced. Could I bear the guilt if something goes wrong? Could I ever love a child born of shadow?
Monsters had found her once; they would come again—perhaps when she was at her weakest. Protection matters more than my fear.
Swallowing hard, she steadied her voice:
“Yes. We have a deal.”
At her words, the figure paused as if exhaling across millennia. Then a tiny pulse of darkness—no larger than a marble—slid from its outstretched hand into her stomach, settling beneath her ribs like ice. Her breath caught, panic knotting in her gut even as a strange calm washed over her.
The figure stood motionless for a heartbeat, then its edges blurred. Shadow seeped outward—black mist unfurling—until it dissolved entirely into the surrounding darkness, leaving only the echo of ancient power.
She collapsed onto the gravel path, heart pounding, torn between relief and terror. Anything for her children.
After a moment, she pushed herself upright and crept to the stroller. Percy lay curled in sleep, oblivious. Sally pressed a hand to her belly—feeling the faint throb of that dark promise—and took a shuddering breath before making her way home.
The next morning
The first gray light of dawn filtered through the curtains as Sally’s eyes fluttered open. The memory of last night’s bargain pressed against her ribs—a dull ache where the marble–sized pulse of shadow still lingered. What have I done? she thought, heart knotting with doubt.
A sharp whimper from the crib jerked her fully awake. Percy, not yet six months old, lay on his back, fists clenched, face scrunching as he fussed in his sleep. She slid out of bed and padded across the room, every step weighted by uncertainty.
“Hey, little guy,” she murmured, scooping him into her arms. His cheeks were flushed, and he let out a short, urgent cry as she tucked him close. Instinct took over—she bounced gently, rubbing his back until his crying softened to hiccupped whimpers.
She settled into the rocking chair, Percy curled against her shoulder, and stroked his damp hair. Each tiny sigh he released felt like a plea: protect me, Mama. Sally’s chest tightened again. Was this really the only way?
Slowly, as she hummed a lullaby and the rhythm of his breath steadied, the sharp edges of her fear softened. He nuzzled against her collarbone, eyes fluttering shut once more. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the faint pulse of shadow beneath her hand.
I did this for you, she reminded herself, voice barely more than a whisper. I’ll protect you—no matter what.