Chapter Text
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving Camp Half-Blood bathed in twilight’s soft, purple hues. Night had a peculiar way of stretching time - slowly, deliberately. It was the kind of stillness that invited thoughts to crowd into every corner of one’s mind.
Nico di Angelo stood alone at the edge of the Long Island Sound, the salty breeze pulling at his dark hair. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was a dull murmur beneath the steady thrum of his thoughts. He could still hear his sister Bianca’s voice, though it had been years. Sometimes it felt like a curse - like the ocean that kept pulling at him, unrelenting, demanding something he could never fully grasp.
Bianca - I should have been able to save you.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
A voice broke through the silence, the same voice that had haunted him for years, rising from the depths of the night. Nico stiffened, his muscles locking, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He turned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
The shadows twisted and undulated before him, coalescing into a form - dark, powerful, unmistakable. The silhouette of a tall figure emerged from the darkness. Black robes, a crown of flame hovering above his brow, eyes glowing like embers.
Hades.
Nico's heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t flinch. Not anymore. He had learned long ago how to mask his emotions in the presence of the god of the Underworld. Even though the image of Bianca’s lifeless body had never fully left him, even though the weight of guilt still anchored him to the earth, he stood straight, unwilling to let Hades see any weakness.
“Nico,” Hades’ voice was like the crackling of fire, deep and rasping, “I need to speak with you.”
Nico’s throat tightened. He knew what was coming. It wasn’t the first time his father had called on him after years of silence. But the last time had been different. Last time, it had been an order - impersonal, cold. And now this.
“What do you want?” Nico’s voice was flat, though the tension in his chest betrayed him.
Hades didn’t answer immediately, as if weighing his words. Finally, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over Nico. His eyes glinted in the half-light, intense but unreadable.
“There has been an incident in the Underworld,” Hades began, his voice steady, controlled. “The Lethe River... has overflowed.”
Nico's brow furrowed in confusion. The Lethe? The river of forgetfulness? The river that caused souls to lose their memories?
“What does that have to do with me?” Nico's tone was sharp, as though the question itself might dissolve the knot in his stomach.
Hades’ eyes darkened, his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible frown. “It’s no simple flooding. The waters have spilled into Tartarus, into the very heart of the pit. The monsters, the souls - everything in Tartarus has been affected.”
A deep unease settled in Nico’s gut. The implications were enormous. The Lethe had never spilled beyond its banks, and now the very fabric of Tartarus was at risk. Chaos reigned there already - fierce, mindless, unrelenting.
“Then send someone else,” Nico muttered, though he knew that the words were hollow even as they left his mouth.
He couldn’t stop the flicker of bitterness, of resentment, that twisted his thoughts. Why was it always him? Why was it always Nico who had to clean up Hades’ mess? It felt too familiar, like the years he’d spent running errands in the Underworld, chasing after quests, while his father remained a distant, unreachable figure.
“Nico, I’m asking you because I cannot go. This matter requires a... more personal touch,” Hades said, his voice low and purposeful. “Tartarus itself is... unstable. And it will only worsen if it’s not dealt with. I’ve been... preoccupied.”
Preoccupied. Nico’s teeth clenched.
“I’m not your messenger anymore, Father,” he said, the words escaping before he could stop them. His voice came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care. “I’m not some tool you can use and discard.”
Hades’ gaze flickered with something akin to irritation, but the god didn’t move. Instead, he stared down at his son, the weight of centuries bearing down on him.
“You’re my son, Nico,” Hades’ voice softened, but there was no warmth to it, only a quiet finality. “This task is yours because you can handle it. The other gods won’t go near Tartarus, not with what’s happened. They... avoid it, as they always have.”
Nico bit back a bitter laugh, the words almost tasting like acid in his mouth.
He didn’t need to be reminded of that. He knew how they saw him - how they saw his father. But even in this, even in the darkest parts of his soul, Nico still yearned for something more.
He wanted Hades to be proud of him.
I should have died instead of Bianca. I should’ve been the one -
His chest tightened painfully, and he exhaled sharply, cutting off the thought before it could go any further.
“What do you want me to do?” Nico asked quietly, almost to himself.
Hades stepped forward, his presence almost suffocating now. “Go to Tartarus. Find the source of the flood and restore order. The monsters down there have been affected. They no longer remember who they were - what they were. It is my responsibility, but I cannot - ”
“ - go yourself,” Nico finished, the words hanging between them. There it was again, that ever-present feeling of being an afterthought. Of being the one who had to carry the weight, no matter how heavy.
Hades didn’t answer, but his silence was enough. He didn’t need to say anything more.
“Fine,” Nico muttered, unable to hold back the surge of frustration. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to fix everything.”
Hades nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and before Nico could protest further, his father’s voice boomed, low and final. “The monsters in Tartarus must be reined in. The flood must be stopped. And Nico…”
Nico didn’t look up, but he could feel the god’s piercing gaze settle on him once more.
“You will not be alone.”
That was the most unsettling part. Nico hadn’t been alone in Tartarus once, not really. Even when he was there, battling his own ghosts, there had always been something else watching. And the idea of being followed - watched by his father’s eyes, even from afar - made his skin crawl.
But that didn’t matter. Not now.
The echo of his father’s words lingered in the air as Nico turned, stepping away from the shore, away from everything he knew. He would leave the camp before dawn. He would go to Tartarus, to the abyss where all things began - and he would fix it.
Maybe this time, he would finally earn the acknowledgement he had been waiting for. Maybe this time, his father would see him. Not as the boy who had no place, but as someone worthy of recognition.
As he stepped into the darkness of the trees, a single thought nagged at the back of his mind:
Is this what Bianca would have wanted?
But there was no answer. Just the quiet hum of the world turning as Nico vanished into the night, alone.