Chapter Text
Miracles were a thing that Apollo never truly believed in.
He supposed he was a god, so technically he could cast a ‘miracle’ upon whomever he wanted, but that was just a mere upside of divinity. Even with the divinity he had he still hadn’t managed to accomplish the one thing mortals did everyday. Have a child of his own, one to cherish, love, gift, and play with. But that happiness was stripped away before his birth had even been foretold by the Lady Fates.
The sole purpose of every being, that right, had been taken, snatched away from Apollo’s feet like a carpet. The Crooked One, an artless, earth-vexing, bastard who upon seeing his defeat so clearly laid out in front of him, cursed the Kronides and their children to never conceive a child.
But, the one thing the Crooked One could never account for, despite being the titan of time, was fate. Because for some ill-conceived reason, one that even Apollo couldn’t have foreseen, four little demi-mortal children of gods had come into the world. Possibly more if the ‘Per-ce and Anna-beth’ that the Prince of Lies had mentioned were truly alive. Luke, what the Prince of Lies had named himself, had scampered away like a terrified cat after Ares, like an utter buffoon, hadn’t kept him scruffed well.
However, that was an argument for later as Apollo would simply spend his morning with his mortal brother, that's right, mortal brother. The infant, Jason, was a cute bundle of flesh and appendages. Everyone adored him and Apollo would tease Dionysus over the way he played with Jason who was strung up in a sling clinging to the himation of Zeus, Jason and Apollo’s ever-loving father.
Ares– cooing in a way that was only reserved for Aphrodite and the younglings– was clutching his auburn-headed daughter, Clarisse. Now that had been one interesting and not mildly disturbing encounter after the girl had screamed about Apollo eating her. What a ghastly thought!
The last of the three miracles that were currently on Olympus was the fair-skinned star of Hades. He was almost entirely covered by Hades and his shadows with only the faintest bit of his forehead and black hair sticking out.
Despite such a splendorous occasion occurring Apollo was worried. Worried for the Prince of Lies, the ‘Per-ce’ and ‘Anna-beth’ that were currently out in the wild world of Hellas. But most importantly Apollo was worried for Hermes, he hadn’t been seen in a year, Hermes was a trickster, yes, but a whole year missing was a ghastly thought that Apollo wouldn’t ordain if he wasn’t concerned. Apparently Dionysus and Pan had found the Luke child again, he had yelled at them about Hermes being captured, even holding his Caduceus!
But a god getting captured was a thought that would be whole-heartedly laughed at. Apollo was tempted to laugh at it but the way Dionysus eyebrows had scrunched up and Pan’s fake heartbeat quickened it made Apollo consider the thought.
Hermes being attacked did explain how he hadn’t scoured every nook and cranny until he found his son, of twelve summers, and brought him back to the confines of Olympus. But, Ares, Hades, and Father, hadn’t known about their respective miracles until they were found or brought to them.
Apollo had performed check-ups on all the little stars after the request of their parents. What he found was damning to say the least. Hades' child was too small for his age, as if he had never had a sustainable food source to call his own. His soul was bare of claims from a mother, a father, and siblings, the only claims that touched Apollo’s fingers as he reached into his soul was that of a deeply cherished man, who based on the claim that wrapped around Apollo’s finger, was someone of brightness and someone who cared for the little shadow child deeply.
The next had come from Clarisse surprisingly, her soul was rough around the edges but when you looked deeper, if you could look deeper, her soul shone with kindness and sympathy. The next had come from someone reckless, as if they would run straight into a storm if dared to. While Apollo admired the bravery he still questioned if this was a good influence on his nephew.
The last one had come from two different souls yet they mirrored each other perfectly, while the both held sadness one had deep-buried sadness but it was covered in some semblance of a mask, trying to keep others out of its grief, while the other held the grief of knowing they left too early.
The souls were familiar; it almost felt like he was looking into Dionysus, or Fathers soul but that was a silly thought, the only souls that could have those were the children of said two. And while Father had a few children Dionysus had none.
Lastly was little Jason, he smiled wide when Apollo held his two fingers to Jason’s heart. Claims from all the gods Jason had encountered from Olympus were forming. But there was one, it had been buried deep down like it had been suppressed by some unseen force but it was there, strangely enough it was the same reckless and dare-devil soul from Nico’s claims. Carrying a very similar formation as Jason’s own soul… strange.
Apollo’s pondering was stopped short when the strings of fate tightened around the throne room. It almost suffocated the presence of the gods like a noose of yarn. Before the feeling could drown out the essence of the gods the strings released it was a very similar feeling to when a bow was drawn then fired. A multicolored light silenced the voices of the gods. When the light had disappeared almost as if Helios had descended right then and there, the three little starlit miracles had disappeared from the hands of their parents. Now empty hands sat frozen in the air as the smell of blood, dirt, petrichor, and ozone filled the room.
“WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN?” Father thundered, distantly Apollo could hear the prayers of hundreds if not thousands of mortals begging for relief, for escape.
Uncle Hades shadows started writhing before he began a little more than a being of shadows. Ares wasn’t doing much better, vulture wings flapped violently on his back while mouth had tusks growing out of it. Before anyone could chase after the thieves who dared to take three stars of the gods and not expect punishment, the three Lady Fates appeared before them.
In their hands were nine glowing threads. Apollo stared right at them expecting a vision or whisper of prophecy to invade his mind and sense, but none came. Vague prophecy was all fair game to him but prophecy being inaccessible was something that had never happened. In all his decades and centuries of living prophecy was always an open book for him, giving him answers, clues, or more questions, but never nothing. It was strange, even a little horrifying.
“Gods of Olympus,” Clotho, the spinner, began, “the threads have become too frayed. Now we shall take action and lift your curse.”
Aphrodite gasped, while Hestia let out a tear of joy. Apollo’s eyes were blown wide. The three fates taking action against the Crooked One was a dream come true, and gods had no dreams.
“However,” Lachesis continued, her voice smooth as silk, “you must listen to the stories of great heroes, who faced enemies larger than Ares has, fought battles bigger than Athena has planned.”
Exaggeration was not a thing Apollo thought the Fates would do. Apparently neither had the rest of the present gods, Ares and Athena were looking at the three like they had become crazy, perhaps they had, that might explain the block on prophecy that Apollo was experiencing..
“Now,” Atropos stated, her voice made Aphrodite, the oldest of all of the gods, cringe back, “They shall be summoned here, in their original form. A forcefield had been erected to prevent the mental and physical harm you might cause them.”
While the gods waited for the ‘heroes’ to be summoned Hestia clutched Ares and Uncle Hades who had begun to weep at the disappearance of his son. Father brandished his bolt. Despite Apollo having reminded his father that they couldn’t harm them because of the forefield he still did it anyway in case they needed to be ready for anything.
The multicolored light came back, but now when Apollo looked closer it almost resembled a clot of threads. When it disappeared ten adolescents had fallen onto the marble of the throne room, along with someone who looked awfully familiar to Apollo. Hermes’ sandy blonde hair, cerulean eyes, feathered ears, stared at Apollo in all its decrepit glory.
“Whu– where are weee?” A girl spoke. Her eyes were the exact same shade as Jason’s along with her face and hair texture. A silver circlet rested on her forehead glinting under the sunlight. Artemis had never mentioned a new hunter to Apollo. When he turned to look at his older twin she eyed the circlet with distrust and curiosity. Did she not know who this is? But her soul… her soul was the same thunder-sparking soul that was intertwined with Jason’s and Hades’ little star.
That was strange. Apollo felt like he was using that word for almost every experience he had on the current Brightest Star Day. His twin knew every hunter's name, alive or deceased, by heart. So why was she looking at someone who bore her circlet as if she didn’t know the girl. The circlets were impossible to acquire if you weren’t a hunter so she had to be one, but for Artemis not to know her would be impossible.
“Thalia!” A fair-haired boy said. If Jason had lost most of his baby fat this would be the picture-perfect image of what he would be like when he was older. The fates mentioned something about original form but what did that entail? Were these heroes in disguises or something else? The boy's soul had sparked to life upon seeing ‘Thalia.’
The wide smile replicated the one that Jason had given Apollo when he had poked his forehead, but the boy couldn’t have gone from two summers to sixteen summers in the blink of an eye. Jason wasn’t a god and he didn’t have any shape-shifting abilities that Apollo knew of.
There were however a few faces that Apollo could recognize. The face of a now adult Luke was staring at the gods from across the throne room, a long scar stretched from the corner of his eye to the bottom of his jaw, like it had been gouged out by a huntsman. There were also the older versions of Clarisse and Hades’ child, Hades child hadn’t lost his malnutrition, it seemed to cling to his frames more than it had when he was younger. Clarisse still had the spark in her eye from when she had almost slapped Apollo across the face when she scrambled away from him.
“Jason! How are ou ‘ere? And why are you ‘o much ol’er ‘ompar’d to us?” ‘Thalia’s’ slurred words were difficult to understand but the boy seemed to get the message.
The boy, no, Jason, ran to Thalia’s side. Jason, he had come back, older and scarred. Apollo’s ichor threatened to boil over. His barely concealed rage threatened to drown the room in maladies, the only thing stopping him from lighting the room ablaze was the face of Jason who seemed to melt under the infernum that was the room.
He scrutinized the Thalia girl, she was reaching for, no, touching Jason with her grimy mortal hands. How could Jason allow this? How could the Fates allow this? Apollo knew they were strange, but to allow for a filthy mortal to touch a child of the gods? What sort of misbegotten reason would warrant such a heinous crime?
“Christ,” Dionysus and Pan swiveled around to face Luke, fluttering above the ground staring at the gods, “Why now?”
“YOU!” The adolescents yelled.
They had a stockpile of weapons ranging from a bow, which Apollo approved of, to daggers, which Athena would gladly endorse. Despite the sight of the weapons being intriguing to Apollo he couldn’t help but let out a strangled gasp at mere children wielding them with such ease. No child should ever be accustomed to weapons in such a way that they were completely ready to war with them.
The adult version of Clarisse stormed towards Luke, spear completely forgotten on the floor as she wound up and a loud slap rang about the room. She tackled Luke to the floor and punched his gut causing Luke to double over. Luke’s eyes– much like Hermes, Apollo noted, constricted violently at the attack.
“You mother-fucking, rat bastard! How could you run off like that you dickwad!”
“Clarisse be careful we don’t know if–” Whatever the tanned teen had wanted to say was cut off by a crack of lightning.
Father had stood up, glaring at Thalia with the intent to eradicate, “You girl!”
Jason for some foolish reason had decided to step between the two, Fathers eyes softened slightly but his brow was contorted in confusion.
“Lord Zeus please don’t!” Jason shouted over the torrent of rain pelting the mountainside.
Apollo had forgotten how silly and forgetful most mortals could be, after all why would the little spark need to call Father, Lord Zeus? Apollo promised to teach his brother that he would never need to use such a formal title if he spoke to family.
“Brother, she has just committed a heinous crime and yet you defend her like she has done nothing wrong?”
The heroes began to murmur amongst themself mouthing words like ‘brother’ and ‘crime’ as if it were a foreign concept.
“She’s my sister!” Jason now stood fully in front of Thalia, intent on taking the brunt of Fathers blow.
Sister? Apollo questioned. No answer came through the mind link. Father and Mother looked dumbfounded by young Jason’s words. Apollo couldn’t say he wasn’t feeling the same. That would explain the tight connection the two had but for two miracles to exist? It was simply a fantasy made up by the most imaginative minds.
The gods of Olympus began to look closer at the girl. Noting the way her eyes shone an electric blue, almost glowing from the gloom of the downcast clouds. The way the girl's soul sparked abruptly. The all too similar face she shared with Jason made itself known. How her scent was that of fog, iron, and the gale at the top of a particularly high mountain.
The disheveled face of Hermes, it couldn’t be anything but him, but he was too scummy to have voluntarily changed form to look like that.
One of the adolescents began to speak, Apollo sucked in a sharp breath, for the child had his hair, his eyes, his scent, “Why are we here?”
Apollo cringed from the accent. The 𝜌 too forceful and the τη almost turning into a δ. He noted that the child was very straightforward in his statement, or that he didn’t know the language of Hellas that well.
The three Lady Fates watched with rapt attention and even detached amusement, if Apollo could read their expressions well, before they stepped in.
“Yes Prince of Knowledge and Health, to answer your question, you are here to tell your stories, and break these gods' curse. It should be very obvious that they are not who you know,” They spoke in eerie synchrony with each other.
Prince of Knowledge and Health. The words rang around Apollo’s head. Looking at the child, it all made sense to him, the similar scent, looks, and gleam in the child's eye were all traits the child, the miracle, had gotten from Apollo.
Where is his parent? How did I not know? How is he alive? When Apollo faced his child, they shrunk back in fear, slipping behind the son of Hades despite being half a head taller than him.
Why would he not come running to him? Does he not feel safe? Why? Does he think I will hurt him? Apollo had no clue what could possibly warrant this behavior. Apollo’s mind was reeling, he had a child, his child was scared of him, his child was alive, they were grown, they put more trust in the Son of Hades than his own father.
“Child? Come here please. It’s safer… you are safer with your family, not with the likes of them…” Apollo pleaded with his child.
His child’s eyes were blown wide in surprise before quickly recovering and closing his mouth so that they could understand the trumpets of a swan and the chitter of a dolphin.
With a voice that sounded like it was made with the utmost care and kindness Apollo’s child spoke, the sound of their voice lighting a blazing fire within Apollo’s chest, “I’ll stay here… sir,”
The elation that his child spoke to him was quickly swallowed by disappointment. To his dismay the child had used such formalities with his own father when he could’ve just called Apollo father and been swept right into his arms. The child continued to slink back, coming all the way to the older version of Clarisse who whispered in their ear. Whatever Clarisse had whispered into his child's ear had caused the child's shoulders to drop and sag, no longer tense from stress but quiet from anxiety.
If the child knew Clarisse then that meant that they were probably there to see the picture that Apollo had painted in that small town. While it may not have been the best first impression Apollo could give his child certainly understood his reasonings for such an action, after all, like father like son.
“Children please introduce yourself, name and godly parent only,” The Fates addressed the children, “Luke we ask that you give the Caduceus to Hermes, his snakes must miss him.”
Luke, who before the Fates addressed him, Apollo had entirely forgotten he was there, froze. He threw a short glance towards the disheveled Hermes who was currently choking on something. The skin around his neck, wrists, and ankles were red and rashed like they had been rubbed against rusty metal for months. Turquoise eyes belonging to a man on the cusp of adulthood turned to look at Hermes, for some absurd reason recognition flashed within his eyes.
“Well Castellan, or should I call you a different name?” The man asked, bitterness flowed into his voice like the tide, “Are you going on a second attempt of stealing objects of power?”
“Funny. But no,” Luke said, “I denounced that life when I regained my humanity back on [-----------].”
“You really think we're going to believe that shit [--------]?” The girl standing next to the other man's voice cut off abruptly leaving a perplexed face on most everyone in the room.
“Believe it or not,” Luke’s voice got slightly softer, “but I'm going to figure out how to atone for my [-------] if that means reading our adventures, to letting you gut me, either one will do.”
Apollo was now sure that this group of children were not right in the head. Offering to sacrifice themselves is noble but no sacrifice was even required. Was this man really just offering to kill himself to ‘atone?’ Atone for what? Was left unsaid.
“You’re really back?” Thalia asked in surprise.
“Thalia, how can you–” The girl began.
“Annabeth, I know you won’t believe it but I recognize that tone of voice, he’s not lying.”
The girl, Annabeth, huffed but the tears glistening in her eyes was a clear indicator something had happened between the three of them. Something that made Aphrodite’s eyes glisten.
“Also for your information Percy, I didn’t steal this,” Luke began waving the Caduceus around lazily, “I found it in a cave after I ran away from someone.”
A not so subtle glance was sent Ares' way.
Logically, Hermes would never leave his snakes alone and depressed on his volition. So if what he heard from Dionysus was correct then Luke must have found the Caduceus within Hermes cave. If the snakes had led him to Lepus then that was probably where he encountered Dionysus and Pan.
Father and Pan were seething in rage trying to reach out and clutch Hermes in their arms but the damned forcefield was in their way. The Fates were being quite counter-productive if they had transported Hermes into the throne room so he could be healed by Apollo.
Before Apollo could let unadulterated rage flood through his being his child spoke about him and Apollo would be lying if it didn’t bring a giddyness into his being. He was committing an act that the mortals dubbed ‘eaves-dropping’ but did it count if Apollo wasn’t human in the slightest?
“Why can’t my… this version of my father heal Hermes?” This version?
The green-eyed man, Percy, said, “I don’t know, the Fates mentioned something about a forcefield right?”
Apollo deflated slightly, his child still hadn't looked him in the eye.
“Can you hand me some ambrosia?” Percy asked.
Apollo never remembered his child nor this Percy-man stealing Ambrosia from the banquet hall. The mortals had no way of ever making ambrosia so Apollo was attempting to think of any logical solution to the question but none came.
“Sure, do you think they're listening?” Apollo’s child nudged their head towards Apollo.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
With that the whispered conversation stopped and his child took out a translucent satchel –Apollo wondered if Hephaestus could make something like that– and took all of the contents of ambrosia out. Percy carefully walked towards Hermes, either unaware or simply uncaring of the glares he received with each step.
Hermes didn’t– couldn’t retaliate as he was handed the ambrosia by Percy. Apollo raised a brow in surprise, this Percy-man just walked straight up to a god and handed him something. Apollo couldn't tell whether to be shocked, offended, or both.
After Percy was halfway back to the group of adolescents Luke silently handed Hermes his Caduceus, his steps barely leaving the trace of a vibration. He must have inherited that from Hermes, Apollo smirked.
Apollo wanted so badly to scoop Hermes up and imbue him with every ounce of power he had but he couldn’t bypass a forcefield created by the Lady Fates themselves. Threads were thickly wrapped around each one of the ‘heroes’ along with the Fates themselves being present no one could do anything. And the thought of healthy whole children stopped any conviction Apollo had to try and break through the barrier.
Oh how his next children would love their older brother! Despite his child's apprehension of getting close to him, Apollo would simply have to play the long game to get him to his side.
Apollo’s thoughts of his wondrous children were stopped by the sound of gushing liquid. His head shot up and found Hermes with his mouth pouring out heaps of ichor. The sickly smell of paper, wind, and wool that always accompanied Hermes ichor infected Apollo’s senses.
Hermes tilted his head up at an uncomfortable angle trying to keep the waterfalls of ichor from reaching the smooth floors again. With a closer look Apollo could determine that his injuries were far worse than should have been possible. His tongue was simply a stump of itself, a thick fleshy stump. Hermes must have swallowed it, the thought cut through Apollo’s mind like an arrow of cruelty.
With gold crusted teeth Hermes chewed the ambrosia with difficulty. His dry lips cracked from opening his mouth, square like patterns appeared on the skin. The significance of the injuries were far graver than Apollo thought, Hermes' skin was clammy, blotchy, and pale. Purple eyebags were indented so far into his skin Apollo was worried they wouldn't come out.
When he was finally finished chewing everything, he got up on shaky legs striding all the way to the hearth to sit by Pan and Dionysus. Apollo moved to behind Hermes and gently coaxed some health back into his body.
When everyone settled, Apollo back on his throne, Dionysus and Pan clutching Hermes as if he would disappear, Apollo’s child stepped up, “Since the Fates asked us to introduce ourselves I’ll go first,” Apollo straightened in his seat, eyes gleaming to know his child's wonderful name, “My name is Will Solace and as you know I’m a demigod child of Apollo.”
Will.
Apollo tasted the name in his mind. It was short and sweet, but it felt so right. Apollo approved whoever had named him such. He frowned at the wording, his one and only child would never need to specify he was a demigod, after all what did that matter, he would become immortal anyways.
Apollo noted the way Will’s hand never left that of the older Nico’s. The look in their eyes was one of love and determination and Apollo didn’t need to have a domain of love to figure that out.
Moments later they separated hands and Will stepped back.
“I think you all have seen me just not heard my name, I’m Nico di Aneglo, demigod son of Hades,” Hades lifted his head soaking in the form of Nico.
Again with unnecessary specification.
The older version of Clarisse stepped up confidently, turning to stare directly at the gods. “You’ve also seen me, I’m Clarisse La Rue, demigod daughter of Ares.”
Clarisse was holding her ribs where she had gotten injured. She winced in discomfort but showed no other visible signs of pain. Her cropped brown hair swished as she spun around and headed to stand next to Will. Apollo was elated that his brother's child was friends with him.
Ares smiled at her but eyed her scars with concern. It didn’t take a god to figure out that those scars were not ones born of mistake but rather hard-fought battles of will and turmoil. Why were such young children subject to battle like that?
“My name’s Jason Grace, demigod son of Ju– Zeus” Jason pointed to himself then Thalia, “and this is my older sister.”
Their souls were deeply interwoven into the very fabric of their beings, it reminded Apollo of him and Artemis despite the mortals not being twins.
“I’m Thalia Grace, Hunter of Artemis, and daughter of Zeus,” Thalia said the last part sadly, which caused confusion to ripple amongst the gods.
“I’ve never seen you in my hunt?” Artemis said, she tilted her head curiously at the circlet on Thalia’s head.
“Strange,” was all Thalia said.
“I’m Pollux Discouri. Demigod son of Dionysus,” The older one said.
“And I’m Castor Discouri. Demigod son of Dionysus,” Castor pointed between them, “we’re twins.”
Now Apollo knew that Artemis and him could appear at whatever age they desired but that's not how it worked for mortal twins. They couldn’t change their age, nor their appearance by much. So the claim that they were twins was very… confusing to put it lightly.
“Twins?” Dionysus said slowly, “Why does one of you look older?”
Castor winced, “Complications.”
The adolescents were being very tight-lipped on their answers.
Luke stepped up, “Luke Castellan, demigod son of Hermes,”
He said it with the most reluctance Apollo ever heard anyone say anything.
There was something off about Luke and Castor's souls, one part looked healthy and anew while the other looked fragmented and dead. It all depended on how deep one looked.
“Why are you both dead?” Hades asked, looking towards Castor and Luke, his eyes filled with sadness at another demigod child having been lost.
Apollo’s suspicions were proven correct, though he didn’t know if he should feel happy about that or begin to mourn. Hermes' eyes filled with heaps of pain and a sharp cry was heard from Dionysus.
Castor held the bottom right side of his torso, while Luke rubbed his left armpit. Apollo noticed how nervous the two dead-but-alive souls seemed, they were biting their lips or fiddling with their thumbs. He couldn’t help but question if it was because they didn’t remember how they died or because telling someone how you died was awkward.
After continuous silence Luke sighed and dipped his head, “I’m not sure how much I can say, but we died in a war but different things caused our deaths.”
Dionysus was on the verge of tears and Hermes let out a strangled gasp. The gods turned to Ares and Athena but they both had inquisitive expressions on their faces, most likely trying to remember when a demigod child had died in a war, and which one.
“How could we have not known you were there?” Ares asked.
The children all looked at each other with grim expressions. Before they could give another half-hearted answer the Fates, whom everyone forgot about, spoke, “These children are from a very far and distant land, one where your powers don’t stretch.”
What.
“Lady Fates…what are you saying? A land our powers don’t stretch?” Apollo asked.
He sensed no lie in their words but no logic could ever explain a reason why the gods' powers couldn’t stretch far and wide. Their powers stemmed from the very cores of chaos. Apollo couldn’t believe his powers didn’t stretch that far, were the lands his child were from so rustic and crude that no civilization had ever sprung from them?
But how come he had a child, Apollo was a god with taste he would never go for some uncivilized barbarian, despite how desperate he was for a living child. He would never stoop so low, after all Artemis would never stop teasing him if he did that.
“Despite what you all may think, some lands are too far for you to reach,” The Fates said.
Athena and Apollo shared a look coming to the conclusion that the fates would just continue to give them many questions and not enough answers.
“Now let the children continue their introductions,” Lady Clotho said.
The last two children hadn’t introduced themselves, despite the gods knowing their names, Annabeth and Percy, and the very obvious relation they shared to Athena and Poseidon, the gods let them introduce themselves anyways.
Annabeth stepped forward, “Annabeth Chase, demigod daughter of Athena.”
“Did I break my vow?” Athena asked.
“No,” Was all Annabeth said, never meeting her mothers eye, her hands were clenched at her side. Athena had a proud smile on her face which faded quickly when she noticed the body language of her only daughter.
Percy clutched her hand and maneuvered in front of her to introduce himself, “Percy Jackson, demigod son of Poseidon.”
Apollo couldn’t take his eyes off his child. The deep eye bags under his powder blue eyes, how frazzled his hair was, the numerous scars popped on his skin. He was clutching the Son of Hades hand as if it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Taking in the state of his body it made sense, fatigue was seeping through his bones like frost, and he looked to be under-eating.
Before Apollo could voice his concern the Fates took a bundle of strings and pulled before they disappeared. Ten tomes fell to the ground in front of Athena.
Warily she picked the top one up looking over the front and back before reading the inscription carved on the cover, “Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.”