Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The grounds of Camp Half-Blood lay silent as the moon rose higher and higher, stars twinkling softly like a million tiny jewels, trying to give a feeling of calm. The world around the camp seemed to have stopped, holding its breath as it awaited… something. For the gods to do something. Anything. Whether it be an outburst of some sort or the revelation that this was all some horrid nightmare, and that their claims had not been wiped and their dead children had not returned and that their living children were safe, asleep in their beds and not only-fuck-knows-where. A place none of their parents could travel to. A place they were without the protection of their claims or powers, with only Grover’s occasional dreams to let them know that they even lived.

The very grounds surrounding the camp seemed almost alive with just how much raw, untethered divine power was being released at such an intense rate. All manner of mythical beings who inhabited the forest and waters surrounding the camp could feel the unrest of their gods, and made the wise decision to stay as low profile and under the radar as possible to avoid drawing the ire of the mourning pantheon.

The anguish of a parent was a terrible, powerful thing. That power only grew with the number of parents, and that was before you got to the part where those parents were gods whose claims had been stripped from such precious items, unable to even tell if their children were alive.

Hestia had taken up a spot by the hearth within the Big House, pulling a chair over so that she could continue watching over her younger siblings and nephews who had chosen to not stay in their silent cabins that were now empty of children. It brought her small joys to know that her warmth was still something they sought, if the way Dionysus sat on the floor with his back against her legs and his head in her lap was of any indication. He still clutched those two precious stuffed horses to his chest like they held all the answers they were looking for, but he was staring thoughtlessly into the crackling flames. She ran her hands through his hair, crooning what she hoped was a comforting tune while she did. She knew she could not truly put him at ease, because she could not bring the children home where they belonged, but she could at least keep her youngest nephew from tearing himself apart with the grief and anguish amidst it all.

Dionysus, for his part, was in fact comforted by his aunt’s touch and song, if only a little bit. It was nice to have the feeling of her warmth seep through his veins into even the tips of his fingers and toes, her warm scent of sugar, firewood, and ash wrapping around him like a hug in a way that he hadn’t felt in many hundreds of years. He sat curled up at her feet, his head set in her lap and staring into the fire, only occasionally blinking slowly. In his hands rested those two well-loved stuffed horses, Horsey and Spirit, who should bare the scents of his precious boys, but now sat bare and empty. He held them closely to his heart, burying his face in their soft fabric as if he could somehow follow Apollo’s lead and restore his claim of grapes, alcohol, and sugar and somehow bring back his precious twins.

Hera sat silently beside her husband on one of the large couches near Hestia’s hearth. They sat side by side, unable to look at or say a word to one another. They both just sat there, stewing in their emotions, yet unable to simply look at each other and speak without it devolving into screaming matches. And while Hera had many issues with many things, she would not awaken the many sleeping children with their fight when it had taken so much to get them to sleep in the first place. The God Queen glanced down, her gaze catching the shine of the fleece on the golden, stuffed ram that rested lightly in her hands. The toy was so soft, so light in her hold, yet now it felt so heavy. Jason, her champion, had been snatched from under their noses, leaving the toy scentless and cold, much like the hole now resting in the centre of her heart that she refused to acknowledge out loud. Desperate to rest her tired eyes upon literally anything else, Hera allowed her eyes to wander around the room for a few moments before they landed on Zeus, her husband, who at the moment looked every bit the mourning father that he was as he looked down at the little wooden box resting in his own hands.

Zeus was well aware of his wife’s gaze boring holes into the side of his head, but he ignored her in favour of gently running the pads of his fingers over the edges and designs decorating the small music box dedicated to his daughter. Its presence was cold now, lacking the girl’s scent in a way that twisted his divine soul in ways he had forgotten were possible. Yet it had not lost its ability to play that sweet lullaby he knew so well. And oh how he wished it had. That little eagle figurine that rotated with the soft sound seemed to taunt the God King now, with its ever present and unchanging spinning in slow circles as that soft lullaby filled the Big House. He almost wished it had, but a much larger part of him knew that he would be unable to stand it if that precious little song was taken from him alongside both his son and daughter. Feeling his wife’s eyes still on him, Zeus sighed, reached out and took her hand gently in his own. He said nothing, nor did she. She seemed momentarily shocked by the move, but quickly turned her eyes back to the fire roaring in their sister’s hearth, as if it would provide the answers or explanations.

Hades, as the eldest of his brothers, sat on the other side of the hearth from Hestia, though his form was only marginally more mortal than a writhing mass of shadowy hounds. He had taken up residence on the floor, choosing to lean his back against the stone surrounding his elder sister’s warming flames, leaving him half warmed and aglow with orange light and half encased in shadows that seemed to reach out and cradle him in his grief. His hands gently held a small Mythomagic figurine to his chest while his mind filled with images of his children. His three precious, beloved children. His beautiful Bianca, his precious Hazel, and his adored son Nico. He had already lost Bianca, he could not imagine losing a second child, especially since he did not even have a soul to guide into the fields of Elysium. Fuck knows his son was deserving of paradise after all he had done. After everything all the demigods had done, he would personally strangle the primordials if any of them were denied eternal paradise alongside their friends and siblings. But for now, until he had his son back in his arms, he could only beg and plead that he was ok and safe and not suffering in any way.

Poseidon was the final Olympian who had remained in the Big House with the others, unable to face the emptiness of Cabin 3, knowing that his son, his baby, his precious Percy, was not there to brighten the room just by existing. There was a piece of him that could almost delude himself into believing that Percy was just out on another great quest with his friends instead of missing. But the weight of Anaklusmos, his son’s precious Riptide, reminded him that that was far from the case. This tiny ballpoint pen was no better than a neon sign with airhorns and fog machines that declared how he had failed. He had failed at his duty as a father, he had failed at his promise to Sally, he had failed his son. He had failed to protect his sick child, who had traversed the literal pits of Hell and survived. He had failed his boy, his baby, who had only ever wanted to be wanted and loved. And Poseidon only ever wanted to love and protect his son from the horrors of their world. And. He. Had. Failed. The god of the sea said nothing from where he sat beside a Chiron who looked as though he had finally aged his thousands of years. He felt bad for the centaur, truly, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Maybe eventually, but right now all the god wanted to do was hold his family close to his chest and never let them go.

Chiron did not speak. Could not bring himself to speak. He sat beside Poseidon, feeling as though his centuries of life were catching up to him all at once and that all of his regrets had taken physical form and landed on his shoulders like a bolder. Yes, he has spent many, many years as a mentor and lost a great many students to untimely deaths, but somehow this just felt so much worse. Yes, many demigods had died while attending Camp Half-Blood, for various reasons, but these were not demigods lost to the realm of Hades’ rule. These were children, stolen from their beds in the dead of night, and cut off from the world they came from in almost all tangible ways. And there was currently no way to even reach out and ensure that those children were alive and safe and not alone or afraid and actively being harmed. It was Chiron’s duty to be a caretaker, mentor, protector, safe place for the children within the bounds of camp Half-Blood for however long they remain there. And he had failed, so catastrophically.

Demeter did her best to keep from crying as she sat in her cabin, surrounded by the sleeping forms of her children and the overlapping scents of so much flora. She had been blessed to not lose any of her children to… whatever that thing was. But the thought lingered in the forefront of her mind all the same, bringing anxiety with it. The need to always know where each and every child was, how they were doing, what they were doing. Currently, they all slumbered under her watchful eye, hidden away from nightmares and terrors and hopefully whatever it was that had stolen away her nieces and nephews. Before her emotions got too out of hand and she did something that awoke her children, Demeter did several moments of deep breathing, closing her eyes. When they opened again, a small smile bloomed on her lips as she caught sight of the many little flowers and vines wrapping gently around the fingers and wrists and ankles of her slumbering children, allowing her to feel each and every heartbeat and breath and twitch that told her that each and every one of her precious babies was alive and well. As the goddess settled back into her seat once more to continue watching over her slumbering babes, the soft smell of grains, freshly cut grass, and newly tilled soil filled the cabin like a warm hug.

Athena didn’t even try to hide her more owlish features anymore as she stood in the centre of her cabin, keeping constant vigil over her sleeping children, all nestled into their bunks and blanketed in her scent and blessing like coats of armour that would keep away whatever had stolen her precious owlet Annabeth away from them. The goddess felt her heart skip several beats as the image of her daughter flashed through her mind while her claws ran gently over the pages of a book of Greek architecture, obviously well loved for many years. It took more effort than she was willing to admit to keep her emotions locked away, to keep from awakening her already frightened children from their hard-won slumber. Without blinking or moving her gaze from the bunks around the room, the goddess of wisdom brought that well worn book with its earmarked and annotated pages with her daughter’s distinct handwriting. And for just a moment, she allowed herself to believe she had all of her little owlets in the nest, tucked under her protective wings and wrapped in her scent of old paper, olive oil, ink where nothing, mortal or divine, could even think of harming them.

Ares stood with his back to the door of his cabin, like a century standing guard over precious cargo. And oh what precious cargo it was that he protected. His sons and daughters, all currently asleep in their bunks, lulled into sleep by their father’s will. The smell of iron, rust, and ginger filled every inch of the large room, keeping his brats as safe and asleep while he stood watch over them all, like a fearsome dragon with their hoard. The thought of dragons only made his mind flash with the image of Clarisse, his daughter, his warrior, his pride and joy, his little boar who he could not protect, could not save, could not-

His thoughts were broken by a sharp pain in his palm that made the war god’s breath hitch as he lifted his fist to see what caused it. Uncurling his fingers revealed a small wooden boar, spear stuck into its side, and distinctly lacking the scent of his precious daughter. It took all of the god’s control to not shatter the toy into splinters while screaming at the top of his lungs so that even the dead within the depths of Tartarus could hear him and fear him. But he did not. That would awaken and frighten his other children and it had taken more than he was willing to admit to get them all into his cabin and to allow Hypnos to pull them into his realm. He would not ruin that now. He had already ruined far too damn much. So instead he straightened up even more, eyes blazing as he took in the sleeping forms of his brats, decidedly ignoring the one empty bed among them.

Hephaestus was not a man inclined to touch or affections. Heavens knows that he did not have much of any of that in his own upbringing, and that translated into a life of sequestering himself away to work on his projects alone. And that lifestyle and tendencies of course bled down to his children. But for all he lacked in terms of parental affections and care, he did care for all of his children and would be appropriately devastated if any of them had been stolen away with not even a hint that they had ever existed left behind. Even the mere thought had his fists clenching tightly while his aura thickened, deepening the smell of smoke, clay, and rust swirling about the cabin full of his sleeping children.

Apollo was for once silent as he sat on Will’s currently empty bunk within Cabin 7, clutching that small doctor’s bag to his chest, still attempting in vain to reinstate his claim as if it would bring back his precious little healer. He let out a low, sad cooing swan song as he ran his fingers over the bedding belonging to his baby, smiling softly while trying to keep from breaking down in wailing sobs. He had already lost so much, so many children. His children had lost so many siblings in such a short amount of time. Had they not earned a period of peace? Had he not earned the right to not lose loved ones in horrific ways? But fate was a vicious mistress, even to gods, and Apollo could only allow his presence to permeate the entirety of his cabin, filling the space with the smell of cinnamon, hyacinths, and linseed oil, mixing with his sister’s own mint, alder, and oleander while they sat in silent vigil and mourning while the children slept in their bunks, finally lulled into Hypnos’s realm after much coaxing and hours of hymns sung by their father in an attempt to calm his own shattering heart.

Artemis stood by the door to her brother’s cabin, keeping guard over both him and his children so that the sun god might be allowed time to wallow in his pain and grief without worrying about the others. Though she knew he would, it was in his nature, she could at least allow him the ability to simply be a mourning father, surrounded by his babes in a place they were meant to be safe and protected. Her gaze swept the room, looking for threats and taking in the sleeping faces of her nieces and nephews. It seemed they were being spared nightmares this night, which she was thankful for. Chaos only knows that all of them have been through more than enough to warrant night terrors of all varieties. The goddess took a deep breath in, holding it for several seconds before exhaling and relaxing her muscles from their tensed state. She stood with her back to the door, where she could see everyone in the cabin, and allowed her eyes to close as she listened to her twin’s sad hymns, mourning yet another son but without even so much as a body to wrap in a shroud and to hold one last time.

Hermes hadn’t even let his children get into their bunks, instead using all of their pillows and blankets to form a large nest on the floor in the centre of the cabin where he could keep an eye on every single one of his children and he could maintain physical contact with as many of them as possible. He had Travis and Conner both tucked into his sides, pressed flushed to him so that he could feel their heartbeats and utterly smother them in his scent of soap, grass, and strawberries. He carded his hands through Conner and Travis’s hair in soothing motions while he continued his soft crooning song. He smiled softly as all of his baby birds, protected in his nest and under his care. He had spent so long apart from his children and look where it had gotten him, gotten them all. Missing children and erased claims. He curled tighter around his children, running his hands down their arms and backs while his flitted over each and every face over and over and over again, as if afraid another would be snatched from his arms. He felt a shifting around his neck, and he glanced down at the small crochet snake, with its pale yellow yarn and big, blue buttons and its bright red tongue. Perfect in every way except for its utter lack of his precious Luke’s presence.

The messenger god had mourned Luke for so long after his death, and it still left a hole in his chest, yet to have that claim entirely erased only worked to make him angry, furious even. But it also made him hold his remaining children even closer, more possessively. Anyone or anything who even glanced in his children's direction would face the full force of his wrath. But for now, he was focused on his remaining children, keeping them safe, keeping them with him. Anything that tried would face more than just his wrath.

Aphrodite was sat in her cabin, surrounded by her sleeping children. Her power seeped into every nook and cranny of the structure, reinforcing her claim on each and every child over and over and over, as if it would help keep any of them from being snatched away from her in the night. She knew it might not be enough, but it was enough to bring her just a little peace of mind, the feeling of all her beloved children in one room together, where she could see and sense each and every single one at all times. Gods rarely required sleep, and this was one of the times the goddess of love truly thanked the universe for that fact. It meant that she could keep constant vigil of her sleeping babes, going from bunk to bunk, gently pressing her fingertips to each of their temples and pressing her blessings into their very souls whilst the cabin was filled with the soft, sweet sounds of doves.

They all sat, among their children or in each other’s company, not saying a word yet understanding all too much.

Until suddenly they weren’t.

Suddenly they were back within the walls of their throne room upon Olympus. Without any of their children. Without their precious babies who had already been stolen from them and were now defenseless and asleep in their beds.

But before they could all descend into a wall of collective, divine parental fury, they were paused by the appearance of a blinding white light filling the room, forcing all of them to shut their eyes and cover their faces, lest they be blinded.

When the light finally dimmed and they regained use of their vision, the Olympians were shocked to find that they were now face to face with the three fate sisters, who stared back with unreadable looks on their faces.

Chapter Text

Suddenly they were back on Olympus, within the walls of their throne room. Without any of their children. Without their precious babies who had already been stolen from them and were now defenseless and asleep in their beds.

But before they could all descend into a collective squall of divine parental fury, they were paused by the appearance of a blinding white light filling the room, forcing all of them to shut their eyes and cover their faces, lest they be blinded.

When the light finally dimmed and they regained use of their vision, the Olympians were shocked to find that they were now face to face with the three fate sisters, who stared back, their expression unreadable.

But they weren’t the only ones in the room.

There were more people.

Across the room, laid out in four neat little pairs, were their children. All as last they saw them, dressed in their garishly bright orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirts and sleep pants. All seemingly slumbering peacefully.

Percy and Annabeth were snuggling, as had become habit after their escape from Tartarus, with their arms locked around one another. Annabeth’s face was tucked into Percy’s neck while his was buried in her hair.

Nico and Will were in much the same position; with arms wrapped gently around one another, legs a tangled knot, noses lightly pressed together in a ghost of a kiss. They looked like they had previously been snuggled up tighter, but has since relaxed with sleep. They also both looked like Hell only slightly warmed over, with dark bags under their eyes.

Pollux and Castor were also cuddled up together, like a pair of cubs in their den. Their foreheads were pressed gently together and their hands hooked together like claws that would protect one another but harm all others. They both had gentle smiles on their mirrored faces.

Jason and Thalia laid side-by-side, with one arm resting gently over their stomachs as if placed there by another’s hand, and their other hands intertwined with the other’s. Their fingers were not interlaced, but if Dionysus were to guess, not even a god could pry their hands from one another right now.

Luke and Clarisse were laid next to each other, but as single people instead of a pair like the others. Like they were set together only because they were the last two of the group and whoever had done this felt bad having an uneven set. They both had their hands placed on their stomachs, placed one atop the other in a way that looked eerily like those of young demigods placed under their funeral shrouds. Like Pollux. It made something in Dionysus's stomach twist.

It was Apollo who first got over his shock and spoke, eyebrows furrowed as he swept his gaze over the children over and over again. “That’s… odd…” he muttered, walking over to the sleeping demigods and kneeling down next to his son.

“What? What is wrong, son?” Zeus asked, his heart beginning to race. Was something wrong with his children? Were they sick or poisoned or-

Apollo’s voice cut through the God King’s racing thoughts like an arrow hitting bullseye.

“They’re all in complete sync.”

“What does that even mean, brother?” Artemis asked, eyebrows nearing her hairline as she wandered over to stand next to Apollo and look over his shoulder at the smaller blonde and his dark haired boyfriend.

“Exactly as I said it. Their breathing, heartbeats, hell even their eye movements in REM sleep are the exact same in all every single one of them.” Apollo replied, gently placing his hands on Will’s neck and head, running fingers through his golden curls and over his sun-warmed skin, with a somewhat perplexed expression blooming on his face.

Athena slowly made her way over as well, leaning down to gently tuck a strand of blonde and white hair behind Annabeth’s ear. Her voice is softer than most of the Olympians can ever remember hearing. “That is…”

“An almost certainly impossible occurrence? Yes. Yes it is.” The sun god’s voice was an odd mix of adoring and confused, while his eyes were locked on the seemingly sleeping form of his son, not shifting for even a moment.

“Yes… It really is.” Hades replied, coming to stand beside his nephew. His eyes raked over Nico’s sleeping form, before flitting over Will, Castor, Percy, Clarisse, truly watching each small chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, in perfect, unnatural sync.

No one speaks another word as the gods slowly come to stand or sit by their slumbering children.

Apollo is running his hands over Will’s body, emitting a gentle glow even though there isn’t anything he can heal. He did not attempt to separate the two boys, no matter how much he wished to simply pull his baby into his arms and lock both of them away at Delos until whatever the hell was going on was fixed. He had already lost so many people who had been held close to his heart, lovers and children alike. Getting even one of them back was more than he could ever ask for, and for it to be his precious baby boy Will, forced to grow up far too quickly due to tragedy, just made it that much more bittersweet.

Hades surprised many by sitting on the floor, his legs tucked under him as he ran the tips of his fingers over his son’s skin. Starting at where Nico’s hand was thrown over Will’s waist, up his arm to trace the features of his face, softened with sleep. His lips formed a gentle smile, one not often seen by his siblings or niblings, as he slipped his hand into his boy’s hair and began gently rubbing at his scalp. Nico’s hair was softer nowadays, with a healthy sheen rather than the oil coat it had for so long. For all his bad decisions and regrets, Hades did truly love his son and wanted him to lead a healthy, happy life. But ancient laws were ancient laws and Hades would be damned if he allowed his youngest brother any excuse to harm more of his children.

Dionysus was, unsurprisingly, with his two sons, collecting one in each arm and holding them to his chest, a hand in each head of blonde hair, vines wrapping almost reverently around both boys as the God of Wine wept tears of joy, not even attempting to cover his cries as he rocked back and forth with both his boys back in his arms for the first time in years. If this was a dream, he was honestly perfectly okay with never waking up again. If it meant he got to keep this moment.

Hermes was another god who had thrown his pride out the window at the sight of his child. He had not hesitated before speeding over and dropping down to his knees, cupping Luke’s face in both hands, checking him over for any injuries, all while emitting a low, sorrowful crooning. He wrapped his arms around his son and lifted him so the boy’s face was tucked into the crook between neck and shoulder, while the god visibly rocked the two of them in an attempt at a comforting gesture. Even the gods who had a distaste or hatred towards the boy couldn’t bring themselves to do anything in the moment as they took in Hermes’ grief.

Ares surprised many by stalking over with powerful steps, before dropping into a kneeling stance and using just the tips of his fingers to move the strands of his daughter’s hair from her face, even going so far as to tuck them behind her ears. His helmet was gone, putting his bare face and all its raw emotions on full display for everyone to see, but at the moment the God of War didn’t particularly give a damn. His stolen daughter had been returned to him and at this point he did not give a flying fuck about what others thought at the moment. Now, he wasn’t about to act like his brothers and sister and cradle his child in his arms in front of the entire pantheon, but he would tuck a hand under the back of her neck and head, gently scratching at her scalp. He could hear Aphrodite coming to sit next to him, not saying a word, just providing a calming presence that seemed to work on both him and Clarisse.

Athena did not look up at her uncle, despite him being so close to her. All of the goddess’ attention was firmly placed on her daughter. Her wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, wise daughter. The daughter who had survived Tartartus, on top of everything else she has been forced to endure. Athena would not cry, but she would admit that she had gained more respect for her daughter, along with the other demigods. They had all done so much for the gods with very little recognition, she knew that, but it still felt distant in her mind. But now, after having had her daughter stolen away from her and then returned, the Goddess of Wisdom would readily admit that she would not be letting go easily.

Poseidon was the third and final god setting his pride aside in favour of rushing to Percy’s side to ensure his son’s safety. He was not the almighty God of the Seas, he was not the Earth Shaker, not the Storm Bringer, he was not the King of Atlantis. No, right now, all he was was a father who’s precious, sick youngest child had been stolen from him and who he once had within his protection. He would not remove Percy from the hold he and Annabeth had on one another, as the action would cause more harm than good, but he would much rather be whisking his boy away to Atlantis to truly recover under his father’s watchful gaze. But seeing as he couldn’t do that without pissing Athena off and harming Percy, he would settle for sitting on the gleaming floor of Olympus and gently shifting Percy’s head to lay in his lap while he stroked his hair.

Zeus and Hera said nothing to each other as they crouched on either side of the two Grace children. Zeus knelt beside his daughter, while Hera was beside her champion, and if anyone saw the way both their faces softened at the way both siblings held each other tightly, then no they didn’t. They did not look at each other, but it was clear they were sitting there as parents rather than lofty deities and royals.

“Wait.” Artemis suddenly spoke, pulling everyone from their thoughts as they turned to look at her.

“What is it, sister?” Apollo replied, looking up from Will for the first time to raise his eyebrow questioningly at his twin sister where she now stood beside him.

“None of them have woken up.” She says simply, looking around at all the still sleeping demigods with her eyes narrowed. “Isn’t it odd that not one of these trauamtised, hyper-vigilant, survived multiple wars, children haven’t woken up despite having been taken and now being the floor of Olympus. Not to mention all of us surrounding them, talking and touching them. And NONE of them have awoken? Is that not suspicious to any of you?”

They all looked at one another in confusion as they seemingly realised the truth in Artemis’ words, but before any of them could speak they were cut off by the voices of the Fates, who they had completely forgotten were still in the throne room with them.

“Gods of Olympus.”

The gods flinched at the booming voices, but before anyone could speak, they continued.

“We have brought you here for a specific purpose.”

The sister on the right spoke, swiftly followed by the sister on the left.

“We wish to show you what befell your demigod children after they were taken in the night and your claims erased.”

At the reminder of the erased claims, several deities clutched their children closer, removing them from their pairs to hold them close in desperate, protective holds. Those without children stood in front of those who did.

“Why are you deciding to show us this now?” Zeus asked, standing at his full imposing height even if he knew it would not intimidate the Loom Weavers.

“We do not do this because we believe that you deserve it, but rather for the children before you.”

The centre sister spoke, before all three snapped their fingers at once, filling the space with a darkness far too reminiscent of the dreamscape they had seen in Percy’s mind. But it wasn’t true darkness. They could all still see each other and the children clearly. But also, when they glanced over to where the thrones would be, now replaced with two rows of… couches?

Fucking couches.

You know what? They’ve dealt with weirder things than this. They can deal with this.

No one spoke. They didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, before the silence got awkward, the Fates spoke up once more.

“You all will sit and watch the stringer of your children's lives and how they unfold while in this other world. Their trials, their battles, their victories, you will see it all.”

“Yes, but why? So long after having stolen them from us, you show us what happened to them now?” If it were not for the overall situation they found themselves in, the other Olympians would have found Hades mad for his words, but the Fates did not react in the slightest. They merely continued speaking as if the Lord of the Underworld had not spoken whatsoever.

“Rules for the viewing.”
“One, No use of violence or magic against other parties.”

Several of the gods scoffed, but did not speak out against the rule. Even those who were pissed off about the whole situation could understand the need for that rule at the moment.

“Two, Please refrain from actively antagonising other viewers.”

Again, scoffs went up around the group, swiftly followed by sounds of agitated agreement.

“Three, You shall be granted breaks at predetermined times, at which points you may converse between yourselves in more detail. Do try and keep your arguments to those times as well. You are permitted to speak as freely and often as you wish during the viewing, but do keep the arguments to a minimum.”

This rule actually got a few reactions from the gathered deities, with several of them letting out exclamations of disagreement, before being shut up by the sharp glares of their elders, namely that of Hestia, who for all her soft warmth and protective nature, was still the eldest of the Kronides. Those who were not cowed by her disapproving gaze were quickly shut down by the glares of either Hera or Hades. They worked remarkably well, all things considered.

“Four, While you may change where you sit throughout the viewing, you may not leave the throne room for any reason.”

“Well that’s all well and good,” Ares grumbled darkly, “But what about the brats? Like Artemis said, none of them have woken when they very damn well should have by this point.” The God of War gestured with his head around the room, not moving his arms or upper body, lest he dislodge his daughter or lover from their places.

“The children will not awaken, as their souls remain in the other world. We are able to give you their physical bodies as proof that they still live, and as a comfort during the process, but that is all we will be able to do for now.”

Everyone in the room sat in shocked silence as the Fates’ voices faded away and the space around them seemed to settle in some odd, unspoken way. There was a cocktail of emotions swirling in the air, ranging from rage to despair to a general resignation. Yes, they had gotten their children back, but not truly and as it appeared, not permanently. But even over all of that, there was a kind of calm that settled over all those in the room, almost like a trance. But that trance was swiftly broken by the return of the Fates’ voices.

“Now then. Please, take your seats. And please, do not worry about your remaining children. Time outside of this space has been frozen.” They once again spoke as one, with overlapping voices and tones, bouncing off unseen walls like a ball that hid where they truly were, if they even remained in the odd space at all.

No one moved for a solid minute.

Until Poseidon let out a huff, tightened his grip on Percy, even bringing up his hair to cradle the boy in its soft rolling waves, and stood to make his way towards the second of the two couches. He ignored the sounds of disagreement from his family, instead sitting down, gently rocking the boy in his arms as if he were the most precious thing in all of existence.

After another moment of odd silence, the others slowly made their ways over as well. The Kronides took up the back, while the younger generation took up the longer couch in front of it.

Zeus sat on the far end, with Thalia cradled in his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. Next to him sat Hades, who had Nico curled up in his lap, his face buried in the boy's dark hair. Hestia sat in the middle of her siblings, her warmth reaching out to settle over them all. In a surprise to several, Hephaestus sat beside his aunt, adding his own warmth to the mix. Poseidon was beside his nephew, Percy held flush to his chest and almost entirely hidden by the Sea God’s hair that was for once not emulating his emotions, remaining calm despite his clearly furious expression. On his other side sat Demeter and Hera, the latter holding Jason close to her chest. Demeter sat with her sister as both a comfort and an effort to keep both of them away from their other two brothers, lest a fight break out before the visions have begun.

The second couch was thankfully longer, as it was decidedly more crowded, holding both the second generation of gods and their children.

Dionysus sat on the far end in front of his father, curled around his twin sons while Chiron sat beside him, a hand gently placed on the god’s shoulder in comfort. There were vines still wrapped gently around the two boys, cradling them within their father’s arms. Beside him sat Hermes and Luke, the boy sat flush to his father’s side, his head on the god’s shoulder. Hermes had an arm wrapped tightly around the blond’s waist. Next were Apollo and Artemis, with Will tucked between them, head and torso in his father’s hold while his legs were tossed over his Aunt’s lap. Apollo could be heard humming under his breath while he had lips pressed to his son’s temple, rocking lightly while his sister smiled and rubbed the boy’s legs absentmindedly while she talked in low tone with Hestia and Hephaestus.

Then there was Athena, with Annabeth held in her lap by surprisingly gentle hands, fingers carding through waves of blonde hair streaked with grey. The goddess said nothing, but there was a look in her eyes, softer than any of her siblings had seen in… probably ever. And then, on the seat in front of his mother, sat Ares with Clarisse in his lap and Aphrodite on the cushioned arm of the couch. Clarisse was propped against her father’s chest and arms, while Aphrodite trailed gentle fingers through the girl’s hair and over her face, running over scars and massaging the furrow from her brows.

Once they were all seated, it was clear that the two seats were staggered so that the one in front was lower in the space, allowing clear vision of… whatever they would soon see.

Which, thankfully, didn't take too long to begin. Once they were all mostly settled in their seats, the endless darkness surrounding them began shifting and warping, not unlike that of a watercolor painting, before slowly gaining more clarity.

Once the scene had settled, it was impossible to tell that they had just been in their own throne room. Now, they sat in the sky, overlooking the whole of Camp Half-Blood. The sight caused those with children to tug them ever closer, followed by sharp intakes of breath as the world seemed to unpause, and the vision began.

Chapter Text

The night was cool and still as Artemis’ silvery moon shone down on to the lush, fruitful strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood, small dewdrops twinkling like fallen stars. Crickets sang their nighttime choir while owls darted gracefully in between the trees.

Dionysus let out a low growl from deep in his throat as they took in the sight of camp. His camp. Full of his campers. His kids. Sure it may have been a punishment, but this camp and all the children within its boundaries were marked by Dionysus and the thought of something getting through made the hairs all over his body stand at full attention.

“It’s peaceful.” Apollo said, taking in the scene like he wanted to commit it to memory so that he could paint it later.

“Too peaceful.” Artemis muttered, eyes narrowed. There was an unnatural calm over the whole scene, like the world had been lulled into a false sense of peace so that something could happen under their noses. Seeing that it had happened under her moon also ruffled a few of Artemis’ feathers, she would admit.

All of the campers were, for the first time in a long time, sleeping soundly. Even Percy Jackson, resident nightmare record holder, Saviour of Olympus twice over, and current most monitored patient in the infirmary, was finally granted a peaceful night, free from the ghosts and visions that usually plagued his mind. Perhaps it was because he was currently being held by his closest companion and soulmate, Annabeth, or perhaps it was a divine blessing, a small ‘thank you’ from the Gods, for everything he’d done.

“As he has more than earned. They have all more than earned a good night of sleep after everything they have done.” Poseidon grumbled. It was obvious he wanted to say more, but he would not risk disturbing the children, unwakeable or not, or breaking one of the rules.

“You have to admit, they are rather adorable.” Aphrodite cooed at the sight of the two demigods cuddling, not letting each other go, even in sleep.

Even the present immortals were within Hypnos’ domain this night. Chiron snored softly, both chests rising and falling slowly, legs tucked up on his rounded, down feather bed. Dionysus had one arm tucked beneath his pillow, curls splayed out on the impossibly silky fabric.

All of this was to say that no one was awake to see It.

Everyone watching tensed, as a chill settled over them all like a cold wave of… something. Not able to put a name to it, yet knowing that it was most definitely old and dangerous.

And if they were correct, it was going after their children.

It was imperceptible at first, even to those with inhuman eyes. A tiny, hair-thin split appeared in the sky, right in between two stars. It rippled and warped the sky around it, like a mirage form from heat. Light of an indescribable colour poured through, sliding into the sky like oil being poured into water. Slowly, the tear widened, stretching and shifting and flickering. Small, thin tendrils began to come through, writhing like snakes. Eyes, human and not human and everything in between, popped in and out of existence, scanning the surroundings.

“What… in the name of fuck…” Ares sputtered as he took in the features of the intruder, “Is that?”

“I do not know. But we may be about to find out.” Hestia said in that soft voice of hers. Normally it would have calmed down the others, even just a little. But right now, it lacks its usual effect. There’s not much that could calm them down right now.

The intruder slid past the fabric of reality, dripping down until the tendrils brushed the moist grass. Like a mass of living, glittering nerves, It twitched and glided across the grass, spreading out before retracting back, making not even the slightest sound as it moved. It seemed curious, almost fascinated by the world around it, reaching out to touch and feel every little thing.

It kept creeping along until It reached the first of the cabins, freezing in place suddenly. Tentatively, gently, It brushed against the outside wall, near revenant in its movements. Endless mouths gasped and grinned in silent joy, a thousand hearts racing as one. The mass shivered, rearing up and coiling around itself as It felt the small, twinkling souls within. It expended its reach, rippling and shivering with delight when it found even more. Spurred on by this discovery, it kept reaching and reaching and reaching, seeking out every little light until It came across one that practically shone, like a newborn star gracing the universe with its light.

A godling.

But oh, oh, he was hurt.

There was a blackness encroaching on his soul, like a poison that refused to leave the body. The gold that had just begun to shimmer in his blood was flecked with inky darkness, and the one curled protectively around him was not faring much better. Fire bubbled in their guts, burning away the ambrosia and nectar that should be healing them. Scars, old and new, marred their skin; some natural, and others disturbingly supernatural in nature.

Poseidon made a sound like an injured animal at the description of his son’s lasting injuries from the depths of Tartarus. Athena, too, made an injured noise, holding her daughter tightly. But her eyes were locked on the vision in front of them, taking in and catalouging every detail that she could, looking for clues or answers to whatever this thing was.

The intruder crooned in despair, reaching for the two injured demigods. They felt almost foreign as It grazed their sleeping figures, new and wondrous and achingly familiar. This. This is what It has been searching for, had been missing. The perfect combination of divinity and humanity, wrapped up in a powerful, yet still very mortal little bundle.

That caught their attention. This thing was looking for… demigods? None of them could think of a reason why this thing would be looking for demigods, but it was clear that it was.

And it had found some. Their demigods. Their children. And it had taken them.

It coiled around the two slowly, like a python wrapping itself around unsuspecting prey. Flickering capillaries sunk into their flesh, searching for more information on just who It had managed to find.

Oh. Now wasn’t that interesting?

Around the boy’s injured soul was a number of claims. There were the deep, gouged warnings of the Sea God, a clear warning to all who could see them to stay away, lest the offender incur the wrath of the boy’s sire.

“Of course I would have my claim on my son. Do they take me for a fool?” Poseidon growled as his claims came into view, showing his numerous claims and warnings that had been placed upon his youngest child.

There was the long faded mark of Styx, the great promise-keeper of the divine, as well as the etchings of her brother, Phlegethon.

That would explain the blazing hot fire-water that lingered in the demigod’s bellies.

There were smaller marks, too. Dionysus’ thorny vines were wrapped, faintly, around the souls of all who slumbered within the camp’s borders, likely the barely open eye of a lazy guardian; content to allow the bearers to wander from his view, but still acting as a silent reminder to any who may have ill intent that the God of Madness was around.

Several of the other gods’ eyes widened and they turned to look at Dionysus at that. He only raised an eyebrow before responding.

“Why is that surprising? You dump all your kids on me and expect me to not put a trace on all of them to make sure they stayed alive long enough to do your quests and your bidding?” His voice was like a slap that made several of his family members flinch.

“We just… never thought you’d put a claim on them all, brother. You seem to…” Apollo’s voice was smaller than usual as he looked at his youngest brother.

“Not enjoy being a glorified babysitter? Yeah, I don’t. But I’m not about to just let one of those idiot kids wander off and get killed by some monster that caught a whiff of demigod and thought ‘oooh, lunch’. I’m jaded, not a monster.” Dionysus replied, like it was the obvious answer. Which it was, but most of the Olympians had not thought of that very much.

“He has one on me as well.” Chiron said, voice low and deep from his place beside the Wine God. Dionysus smirked at the centaur, patting his shoulder before turning back to the scene.

The last of the marks came in the form of flecks, little, twinkling stars that radiated love and friendship. These were from the other campers, unknowingly leaving their mark on the son of Poseidon. It was a starmap of relationships, some burning brighter than others, with constellations made from the bonds forged over his lifetime. Clearly, this boy was loved.

“Because he is.” Aphrodite whispered to no one in particular. She had seen the ties between Percy and so, so many people. How strong so many of them were, and just how many of them were. Yes, Percy Jackson was most definitely someone who was loved. The claims put on display made that very clear to all those who were watching.

And yet…

The marks were, well, fainter that It had expected. The claims were laid, but not truly maintained. When It searched deeper, It found signs of divine anger, of malice, turned onto these demigods. Wounds from monsters sent to maim and kill, traces of stolen memories, and curses from those who should be above such things.

And there it was. Like a slap to the face and a punch to the gut. A reminder of just how much harm has been done to not only Percy, but almost every single demigod to set foot within the bounds of Camp Half-Blood.

The utter disdain filling the being’s inner voice made several gods flinch, remembering their own actions that would have led to those scars. But the thing just kept going.

How disappointing. It wondered how things had gotten to this point, how things had varied so differently from the world It came from. These demigods, these children, were not being appreciated like they deserved, were not being taken care of like they deserved. It could taste the lingering bitterness, desperation and anger in the air around It, the of not being enough nearly suffocating It.

This Pantheon didn’t know how good they had it, how lucky they were to have children who only wanted to be seen by them. To be loved by them.

Cue the sharp inhale by many of the gods as they listened to the creature’s thoughts.

Yes, many of them had known about the desires of their demigod children. Many had wished to act on them many times. But ancient laws were ancient laws and could not be so easily discarded.

But the utter, boundless rage in this thing’s voice was… odd. Why would something from another world entirely have such an investment in how they treated their children?

They wanted to squander this gift? Fine. It would take them instead.

Ichor turned to ice in their veins as the thought flashed through the being’s mind.

So this thing had taken their children, because of their perceived negligence?

A chorus of growls and cawing filled the space as the Olympians momentarily lost control of their more mortal-like appearances for a moment before reeling themselves back in. Even in the midst of their rage, they understood that watching this vision could be helpful in getting their children back, permanently.

It sunk into the curled up children’s memories, seeking out who It should take first. It wanted to ensure the transition would be as smooth as possible, and for that It wanted familiar faces.

Places and people flashed before It, entire lifetimes views in mere moments. When It was finished, It hummed in consideration. There were a few souls that It wanted that were no longer among the living, but that did not matter to It. The only concern was that if It took them, then there was a chance It’s presence would be noticed soon after, and It really didn’t want to risk this Pantheon coming into contact with It’s own. It was trying to fix It’s strings, not further tangle them.

It would simply have to take them last.

Hades growled at the mention of it taking souls from the underworld. That was domain and the souls within were under his jurisdiction and his protection. To have souls taken from his domain from under his nose was an insult of the highest order in the god’s mind.

“Wait.” Apollo spoke, making his family turn to look at him in questioning. “It just said ‘It’s pantheon’. Meaning this thing has it’s own gods. Gods who likely aided it in taking our kids.”

The Olympians froze as the words settled over them, sinking into their bones. After a few moments of silence, Artemis spoke up as well.

“It also mentions trying to fix It’s strings, not tangle them further. It took our children because It needs them for something. Something It cannot do in It’s own world.” Her voice held something far too close to hope to be comfortable, but it was something to latch on to in the moment.

“We can use that.” Zeus said, voice low and calculating, eyes staring unblinkingly at the vision.

Like a deep sigh, the otherworldly being expanded outwards once more, sinking into the ground and stretching across the land. It wrapped itself around the dulled stars of the Underworld first; a missing twin and a regretful hero, one waiting in Elysium, the other seeking rebirth. It had only planned to take one child of the 12 Olympians at first, but It could not leave the poor little leopard without his other half. Besides, Dionysus would drive all the mortals mad if he ever learned that one of his only babies had been left within Thanatos’s realm, and that wouldn’t help things.

The two youngest Olympians held their sons closer at the mention of their souls, while the vision shifted to show a split scene, one of Castor, facing away from them as he stood among the golden paradise that was Elysium. And the second was of Luke, also facing away from them , surrounded by shadows and the sounds of souls screaming and crying in a haunting chorus. Neither of the boy’s faces were visible, but it was very obvious that there was a drastic difference between them.

“Why… do I get the feeling that that bastard isn’t referring to me in that statement?” Dionysus muttered, voice muffled by Castor’s hair, where the god had buried his face to avoid letting his family see the tears blooming at the rims of his eyes.

“I don’t want you to be right, brother. But I unfortunately think you may be.” Hermes said, reaching his free hand over to rest it on his brother’s shoulder, shifting his body to be closer to the younger god as well. They didn’t say anything, just offering and accepting mutual, silent comfort.

The child of Hermes was an… interesting case. There were far easier choices available, and this one had caused so much harm, but within his torn soul It could still find immense love for those who he had allowed himself to be turned against. He’d made the ultimate sacrifice in the end, and perhaps that meant he deserved a chance to be better, free from the one who had poisoned his mind. A protector would be needed, for the world It came from was fraught with danger, and It could sense that he would kill to protect those he cared for.

Hermes hissed as It looked over his precious son, digging through his memories and feelings, picking him apart like he was some sort of project to be dug into and judged. Yes, Luke had made many, many mistakes, but hadn’t his baby also done more than enough to have won himself some peace in the afterlife? Sure It was speaking rather favourably about his boy, but the mentions of the world It came from being full of danger made his stomach twist.

Yes, his boy deserved a chance to be better, but that did not translate into his very being and soul being torn from the fabric of their reality.

Lastly, It turned It’s attention to the Hunt of the Moon Goddess. A daughter of Zeus slumbered peacefully under the protection of Artemis, her soul snapping and bristling with untamable energy. Her absence would be noticed almost as swiftly as those who resided below, for the Thunderbringer and the Hunt Queen both had etched many claims into her soul. It did not particularly care, however. It did not bend to the whims of the God King, and if It wanted this one, It would have her. It would have all of them eventually.

Both Zeus and Artemis jolted as the scene shifted to Thalia, asleep in her tent with the other Huntresses. Zeus tightened his hold as if he could keep the past version of her from being taken, even if he knew it was fruitless. Artemis’s leg began bouncing and she nibbled at the tip of her thumb. To think one of her blessed huntresses had not only been taken, but taken from under her nose and protection.

But that final line just made everything feel that little bit worse.

It would be coming for all of their children. It had already tried to take more of their children. And they knew it had no qualms stealing those who had already reached paradise in Elysium, a realm where they could not protect them, where they were supposed to have not needed protecting.

With It’s hold secure, the intruder began to work It’s magic.

And though they would not admit it, every single viewer leaned forward, eyes unblinking as they took in every single detail of what was to come.

It started with the little Sea Prince. It wrapped itself around him like a cocoon, plucking his strings as though he were a lyre. The strings resisted for a time, but It’s will was too great, and eventually they caved, allowing It to do as It pleased.

It started rewinding the years, easing scars from his skin and tucking memories deep, deep down. It could not chase out the sickness entirely, that would only go away with tender care and time, but It could make his approaching divinity easier. Soon, It was cradling not a teenager, but a young child. Honed muscle had been replaced by the clinging remnants of baby fat, calloused skin smoothed over and left looking quite new.

Demeter spoke, her voice shocked and almost cracking near the end. “It is de-aging the children to take them?”

Poseidon sucked in a somewhat shaky breath, taking in the view of his son, now a young boy. He had missed these years in Percy’s life, something he still regretted having to do. But now he was holding his boy again, and he knew it would take an act of true cosmic power to separate him from the god now.

“Removing not only our claims and scents, but their scars, their memories, making them younger… It’s removing almost everything that ties them to this reality. It’s… stripping them of their very personhood.” Apollo said, voice growing more and more horrified as he went on, as if the concept of what he was saying were dawning on him only as he said them.

No one replied, too horrified in their own right as they continued watching this thing strip away everything that made Percy… Percy.

Next, It came for the marks. It hurt, slightly, to wipe away the signs of a devoted father and the blessings of other Gods, but it was necessary. The bonds needed to be remade, and It was sure the ones that would replace them would be ironclad and numerous. There would be no scorn or hatred for this child born of a broken oath, only elation at his mere existence. It was sure that these children would have magnificent tributes made by the finest artists as soon as their parents deemed them old enough to venture from their arms.

Everyone watching was startled by the near deafening pitch of the howl that Poseidon emitted as he watched his claims be wiped away from Percy’s soul like they had been mere marker on a whiteboard.

Everyone could feel the taste and smell of salt water and rage invading their senses as the vision continued, even as the words sunk in even further.

It was taking their children, erasing their claims to… make room for more? And it referred to parents as if there were other beings, waiting on the other side of the rift, waiting to receive their children and mark them as their own.

And while a few of the Olympians would admit that the mention of their children being paid tribute by the finest artists did sound kind of nice, the feeling was vastly outweighed by the outrage that they were being stolen.

The words ‘There would be no scorn or hatred for this child born of a broken oath, only elation at his mere existence’ stuck in Poseidon's mind, repeating and ringing around like they’d been tossed into a bell meant to taunt him. It had haunted Percy that he was a child born of that broken oath his father had made, even if he had not let it define him. But it had defined him. That one fact had led, directly or indirectly, to most if not all of the suffering Percy and his loved ones had endured up to this point.

Once all was said and done, It beheld the little one that would be the first to come to It’s world. He was still asleep, something that It had willed, and one of his little fists was tightly gripping the shirt of his bedmate, who would soon be just as small as he was. His lightly tanned skin was soft and free of what abrasions could be cleared away. A few scars still remained; the one on his palm from the dreaded pit scorpion, the ones on his shoulders and across his back from when he’d held up the sky, and the ones on his very soul from his time in Taratus. Those scars would never fully heal, but they would eventually begin to fade.

It smiled with mouths unseen and drew the boy into itself, coating him with the indescribable light that had heralded It’s arrival. In mere moments, It had grappled the strings of all It’s chosen few away from the Fates, spinning them into It’s own loom. It could feel the confusion and rage bubbling up from the Beyond, a being that mirrored Itself starting to blink into awareness.

No matter, for by the time anything could be done.

Fate would be gone.

The scene faded away at that, returning to the darkness from before as the Olympians and Chiron were left, sitting in stunned silence as what they had just witnessed festered.

Something had come into their world from another. This other world was somehow in danger. And in order to fix said danger, this thing had taken several of their demigod children and (for lack of a better word) tampered with them in order to make abducting them easier to achieve.

Tampering with the claims of their parents and other gods, their scents, their memories, their very DNA and the scars that stood as banners and testaments to their trials and their victories. Erasing their very beings from them as it kidnapped them to take them to this other world.

Before anyone could speak, life had returned to the void around them. It was different now, but familiar. So achingly familiar. Demeter gasped as she looked around, recognising, at least vaguely, where they were. It was a scene she had not seen in many, many years. But before the goddess could speak a word to her family, the vision began its new scene.

When Luke woke up, dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon.

Now, immediately, something about that sentence was wrong. Beyond wrong, actually.

See, Luke was never meant to wake up. At least, not in this body, and certainly not with any of his memories. He was dead. He had been dead for some time now, trying to decide if he truly wanted to seek rebirth, or if he should just take the paradise he’d been offered, regardless of how out of place he felt.

The sound of a high pitch cry from Hermes startled his siblings, but the messenger god’s eyes were locked on the scene.

It was Luke. His precious baby fledgling. His most favoured son.

And he looked… young. Maybe around 14 years of age, definitely younger than when he had died. He looked so precious, and even though his sleeping form was right next to Hermes, the god still reached out to the screen with his other hand as a sound full of pure, utter grief left his lips.

Dionysus reached out his own hand, placing it atop his brother’s in a show of silent solidarity. When Hermes looked to his brother, the god of wine had to keep from crying at the utterly broken look in the other’s eyes, glazed with tears just waiting to be shed, paired with the trembling lip. It was enough to make the god’s heart break into a million tiny pieces.

Neither brother noticed the way their father looked down on the two of them in silence, his expression unreadable even as his brows furrowed and he bit his lip until it was red and raw.

Taking in a deep breath, Luke blinked, his eyes beginning to moisten when no burning ache followed, when no warm blood coated his throat. The air here was sweet and warm, carrying the scent of newly grown grass and the ocean. Slowly, he sat up, taking the time to run his hands through the dew-speckled grass. Little ground shrubs and flowers kissed his skin, tangling lightly in his fingers as he gently felt their leaves and petals, his mind almost refusing to allow him to believe that this was real.

“Where am I?” he whispered, glancing around in sheer wonder.

“That’s what I would like to know.” Hera said, voice tight as she took in the, admittedly, gorgeous scenery. She was mildly surprised to note that she could smell the flowers and the sea and the warmth that the child described. She could even feel the slight breeze that brushed his skin.

“I think I may know, sister. Though I cannot be certain yet.” Demeter replied, placing a hand over her younger sister’s, even as she looked around them with a discerning gaze.

“Where do you believe we are, Aunt Demeter?” Hephaestus asked in his low, rumbling voice. The goddess chewed her lip for a moment before responding. “I am not entirely certain, and would like to watch a little bit more before I say anything, nephew.”

The god of the forge nodded at his aunt’s words, turning to share a look with his other aunt. She returned the look, though neither spoke a word.

Wherever he was, it was beautiful. He was sitting atop a small cliff, and the greenery around him almost glowed pink in the pale, rosy light of the sunrise. Down below was a beach, clear waves crashing against white rocks. The air was a bit chilly, but Luke could tell it would warm up, especially with how clear the sky seemed. Little bugs buzzed and hopped around, oblivious to the newcomer in their midst.

“I hate to admit it, but it is truly a beautiful place.” Aphrodite said, voice almost in a pout as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she leaned her body onto Ares’ shoulder.

Loath as they were to admit it, the others could admit she was right. It was a truly beautiful place, wherever it is. Had it not been for the circumstances, several could even imagine taking a gentle stroll through this very scenery.

This… was not Manhattan. This wasn’t Camp Half-Blood. Hell, this wasn’t even Elysium. He didn’t have the faintest clue where he’d ended up, or how.

“Mnh- Luke?”

The son of Hermes froze, every muscle in his body tensing up.

It was not just Luke that froze. Athena did as well, looking akin to one of her statues with how every cell of her being seemed to freeze, arms locking around her daughter’s form as the voice reached her ears. It was most certainly Annabeth’s. But younger, higher in pitch and sweeter in tone than she remembered, but she knew the voice nonetheless. How could she not?

No. No. There was no way. He had to be dreaming.

But… the dead don’t dream.

Slowly, as if he were afraid of what he’d find, Luke turned around, looking back over his shoulder.

A little girl was beginning to stir, her blonde hair falling in her face. She rubbed her eyes, not looking quite awake yet, wearing a worn yet still fairly bright orange Camp Half-Blood shirt that looked too big for her small body. She yawned, and her eyes fell open, revealing two startlingly grey orbs.

“Annabeth.” he breathed, his heart constricting in his chest as the tears finally fell.

And Hermes cried with him, pulling the sleeping form of his son even closer. Apollo, unable to listen to his brother’s cries, gently leaned Will against Artemis before he reached over and pulled both his brother and nephew into a tight embrace. Letting warmth flood the younger’s veins, Apollo didn’t say a word as he just comforted his brother. He and Dionysus shared a look before working together to shift Luke so that he was in between the gods of Messengers and Wine, allowing Apollo to gather the younger god in his arms. Apollo pressed Hermes’ face into his neck so that he couldn’t see the scene playing out before them.

Athena looked equally as stunned, though not near tears like her brother. Her eyes were locked on the small blonde girl, taking every detail she could. And while the rest of her body was completely still, her hand still continued running through Annabeth’s hair, now removed from its ponytail so it fell down her back in gentle blonde waves.

She looked exactly like how he remembered her; big, owl-like eyes, hair that tangled horribly unless you ran a brush through it twice a day, and a grumpy pout that always appeared when she had to get up in the morning.

Now, however, that pout had been replaced by a look of concern.

“Are you okay? You’re crying!” she exclaimed, pushing herself off the ground. She wobbled for a moment, looking disoriented, before she found her footing and rushed over to where he was kneeling.

“So Luke seems to have retained his memories, yet Annabeth does not. Cause not even confusion would make her act like that.” Artemis says, watching with curiosity as the two children interact. She knew they had a long history together, but she had of course never actually seen that dynamic in play.

“So it would appear. Curious, I must say.” Aphrodite replied, also watching the two blondes. Their bond appeared very strong and familial in these forms, while before they had been frayed into almost non-existence.

Without thinking, Luke swept Annabeth up into his arms, his shoulders shaking slightly as he felt her little arms wrap around him as best they could. He pressed his face into her hair, smiling slightly when she patted his back, mimicking the way he and Thalia used to comfort her. She was warm in his hold, warmer than he thought she’d be, considering the temperature of this area, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on that. All he could think about was the fact that his little sister was here, that she was in his arms and letting him hug her. It was as if all his mistakes had never happened.

And yet, as she pulled back from the hug, he saw it; a streak of grey-ish white that disrupted the blonde. A physical reminder of the strain he’d forced her to endure.

“Good.” Athena growled, “He should be reminded of all that he did.”

Hermes did not say anything at that, which keyed the others into just how devastated he truly was. Apollo rubbed a hand up and down his back in a soothing manner, while giving Athena some side-eye as a non-verbal warning to not try and start an argument. At least not right now. Rules or not, the healer god would not let his family stress each other into injuries or sickness if he could help it.

Swallowing, Luke fought the urge to look away from her in shame. Now that his mind was truly his own again, the overwhelming sense of gut-churning horror and revulsion at what he’d done was beginning to sink in.

That godforsaken prophecy might have named him a hero, but Luke knew that he wasn’t. Heroes didn’t sic a pit scorpion on a frightened 12 year old. Heroes didn’t poison their first friend. Heroes didn’t raise an army of children to slaughter their siblings. He was no hero.

He was a monster.

“While I definitely have my fair share of gripes against the boy, he is not a complete monster.” Hera said, surprising many of her fellows. When she saw their looks of surprise, she bristled a little. “While he definitely did many, many things that could be considered monstrous, he had our father speaking sweet nothings into his ear and quite literally taking over his mind. I do not condone his actions whatsoever, but I can see what circumstances would lead the boy down the path he went down.”

No one said anything, stunned into silence.

A sudden pressure on his cheek brought him out of his spiraling thoughts. Annabeth had started patting his face, her little hands lightly slapping him.

“Hey, don’t do that.” she scolded, “You’re going to your away place again.”

Luke shook his head, giving her the best smile he could muster. He didn’t know what was going on, if this was some kind of dream, or a fucked up divine punishment that would tear this all away from him in a moment, but he was bound and determined to make the most of it.

“Sorry,” he apologised softly, pulling her hands back down, “I got in my own head again.”

Annabeth gave him one of her patented ‘no shit Sherlock’ looks, and he huffed out a laugh.

Gods, he’d missed this.

“Come on,” she said, getting up and pulling at his arm with less strength than he was used to, “we need to find Percy!”

“Yes, please!” Poseidon said, as he realised that his son was not, in fact, in frame with the other two. His mind began swirling as he looked around for the boy. Had he been dropped in a different spot from the others, far away from Annabeth and left to his devices, trapped in his younger body with no idea what was happening? The God of the Sea had seen how badly both Percy and Annabeth reacted to being separated after their exit from Tartarus, so not seeing the two of them together in this new world had him understandably nervous.

“Percy?” Luke frowned. If this was some sort of weird dream about his past with Annabeth, then why would Percy be here?

Annabeth looked at him like he was stupid, and it was in that moment that Luke realised something.

Annabeth’s eyes, which were usually unnervingly bright and attentive, now held a sort of glassy sheen, as if she was having trouble focusing. Her face was unusually red, and not just from the sunrise, and she was sweating.

“Shit,” Luke swore, jolting forward to press the back of his hand to her forehead, “Annie, you’re burning up!”

Oh, gods, this was a punishment, wasn’t it? Was he going to have to watch Annabeth die from some unknown illness?

“Does he truly think this is a punishment for him? That’s not how any parts of the underworld works. At all.” Hades said, sounding more confused than annoyed with the boy’s thoughts.

It was understandable, at least. Inter-dimensional travel was weird, even for the demigods, and would not likely be the first thing thought of in situations like this.

“Swear.” she mumbled, leaning into his cooler skin. “Percy’s sick, too. We need to find him!”

“Annabeth, why would Percy be here?” he asked, scooping the girl up into his arms once more. She was surprisingly light, even for her age… actually, how old was she?

“If I had to guess? About seven years old.” Apollo said, putting a hand to his chin as he took in Annabeth’s changed form. She was definitely smaller than any seven year old should be, especially a demigod one, but he had heard about how she had spent time on the streets, so it was understandable, if heartbreaking.

Dionysus nodded, while Chiron spoke, startling the gods who had almost forgotten the centaur was in the space with them. “That is around the age she arrived at camp, and she looked fairly similar to how she does there.”

His voice was soft and sympathetic as he stared at the two youngsters, looking almost exactly as he remembered them, stumbling over the borders to camp, sobbing and freshly truamatised.

Annabeth scrunched her face in disbelief, as if Luke had just started speaking in Japanese.

“Because we’re here?” she replied, speaking in a way that implied that this should be an obvious fact, “Luke, did you hit your head? You’re acting weird.”

“I-” Luke trailed off, unsure how to reply. After a moment, he decided to just go along with whatever insanity he’d found himself wrapped up in. “You know what? I think I must have. Would you mind filling me in on why Percy’s with us while we go look for him?”

“You saved him, remember?”

Luke froze mid-stand, his mouth dropping open in shock.

“I- I what?”

“You saved him from the mean man. The smelly one that kept yelling at him.”

The mean man?

Luke wracked his memories, trying to dig up any recollection of who the hell Annabeth could be talking about. It certainly wasn’t Poseidon; the Sea God was known for defending his children, after all, and while Mr. D was far from the most pleasant person to be around, Luke knew he hadn’t actually harmed any of the campers, most likely because it wasn’t worth the headache that came from dealing with their godly parents.

“The one that… you know…” Annabeth railed off, before softly adding, “hurt his mommy? And him?”

Poseidon’s growl once again filled the room like rolling thunder at the allusion to Gabriel Ugliano. If he had had his way, that man would have suffered far more than simply being turned into a statue via Medusa’s severed head. “At least the boy understands what kind of father I am.”

“Hey, I’m not THAT bad.” Dionysus says, sounded mildly annoyed but mostly just pouting. Yes, he was extremely jaded about being cut off from his main domain for so many years and seeing so many young children die or go their whole lives without being claimed. But who the hell wouldn’t be at this point? Although, it did make him think. Did the children think, truly think that he did not hurt them because he would be punished further for it? Did they truly not understand that he did not harm them because he did not want to? The thought made him squirm in his seat a bit, mind suddenly filling with memories of things said and actions taken, with this new mindset colouring it all in a new, not pretty light.

“But wait now, this means that their memories have not only been suppressed, but full on altered. Although it would appear that only Annabeth’s are. And I would guess Percy’s have too. Given the history that these two have.” Apollo said, sounding suspicious and vaguely worried for the two young demigods.

Luke sucked in a sharp breath. Shit. Holy shit. What kind of grief induced hallucination / dream / punishment was this? Did Percy have an abusive stepparent at home? Was that something he’d ever mentioned to Luke? The scarred young man flicked through every interaction they’d had before he’d left camp that he could remember, searching for signs that he’d overlooked.

Now that he was actively looking for them, he did remember occasionally seeing Percy go uncharacteristically quiet and still whenever someone raised their voice, as well as flinching when the older campers moved too quickly near him. He hadn’t focused on these behaviours before, chalking it up to him being a traumatised, ostracised kid. But when he considered what Annabeth was describing, Luke began to reach a disturbing conclusion.

Anger, familiar and white hot, began to surge through his veins. Surely, surely, Poseidon had to know, right? So much for being godly dad of the year! That egotistical Master of Moisture couldn’t even be bothered to get off his ass and save his so-called ‘lover’, or his fucking son, from an abusive household? No, no of course not. It didn’t benefit him, so why even bother, right? Who cared if a few mortals got hurt?

“If I had known, I would have absolutely come and taken both Percy and Sally away from that utterly disgusting man.” Poseidon said, while his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were going white.

It was true, even if Luke had no possible way of knowing that. He would have done anything to protect his son and Sally. Yes, he was married, and he adored his wife Amphitrite, more than he could put into words in any language. But he also held a deep affection for Sally Jackson, beyond the fact that she is the beloved mother of his favoured youngest son.

But the fact that Luke, this child who had so few interactions with him and who had done so much harm to Percy, was questioning if he would protect his son from an abusive stepfather had the god burning with rage. But again, the boy had a point. Poseidon had never really asked Percy what his life before camp had been like, or taken much notice of his son’s little habits. But now, looking back on their past interactions, there are several times he can remember seeing the exact behaviour Castellan mentioned. The flinching, the quietness, all of it.

Taking a deep breath, Luke forced his anger down for now. He readjusted Annabeth, schooling his expression into something calmer and friendlier. Annabeth needed a brother right now, not a venom-spitting preacher.

“I think I remember now. Bits and pieces anyway.” he lied smoothly, tucking some of Annabeth’s hair out of her face, “How are you feeling?”

“M’ stomach hurts.” she admitted, her poor state overriding her pride, “It feels like I swallowed fire.”

“Well, if you start to feel sick sick, let me know. I’d rather not get puked on today.” Luke replied jokingly, masking his worry. He didn’t know what was causing Annabeth to be sick, nor what he could do to fix it.

…Was there anything he could do? Was this real?

Suddenly, a flash of colour caught his eye, and Luke picked up the pace, a feeling of dread beginning to pool in his gut.

The bright orange of the camp shirts were a real eyesore, but they also made it very easy to spot tiny bodies.

“Why do you think we made them so bright and garish?” Dionysus asked, head resting in Castor’s blonde curls. “Easier to find bodies on a battlefield when they look like little traffic lights.”

No one said anything in response. Realistically, they had all known the meaning behind the bright, high lighter-esque colouring of the shirts, but hearing it spoken aloud left a bitter taste filling their mouths.

A young boy was curled up on the grass and scrub brush, unruly black hair obscuring his face. His breathing was slow and ragged; betraying the illness that had settled in his lungs. His eyes were closed, but even if they weren’t, Luke was certain the boy wouldn’t even have realised they were there.

“PERCY!” Annabeth cried, wiggling as she tried to get out of Luke’s hold. The blonde tightened his hold, just enough to ensure she didn’t drop onto the ground. Instead, he allowed himself to go down, his thigh and hip taking the brunt of the fall.

Several of the gods winced at the sound of Luke’s body hitting the ground, while his father clung once again to his sleeping body. Athena and Poseidon shared a silent look as they watched young Annabeth literally send a boy twice her age to the ground in her rush to get to Percy. It would seem that even with altered memories, their children would forever be attached at the hip.

But after that, Poseidon’s gaze did not leave his baby boy, who was clearly ill as an adverse effect of being away from both Annabeth and their healers for a prolonged period of time. It was having a worse effect on Percy at the moment, but the king of the seas could also see the clear grip the sickness had on young Annabeth as well. Especially with the previous mention of her feeling like she had fire in her stomach, it was quite obvious that neither child was in for an easy time in this world.

Settling Annabeth down, Luke hesitated for only a moment before reaching out towards Percy. Somehow, he was even lighter than Annabeth, feeling frail and delicate in his arms. His skin was pale to an unhealthy shade, and there were dark, heavy bags around his eyes. Despite him clearly being young, he looked as though he’d lived a lifetime of hardship.

Luke swallowed down the bitter bile that threatened to scorch his throat at the sheer wrongness of what he was seeing. Percy Jackson was not light. He was not weak. He’d survived everything Luke and Kronos (had they become the same being even before Luke had given the Titan his body? After everything, was he still himself?) had thrown at him. For the Saviour of Olympus… for his saviour, for in the end, that is what Percy had been, to be laid so low by something as horrendously mortal as an illness felt like a spit in the face.

While everyone was focusing on the sight of young Percy, obviously ill and suffering, Hermes locked on to another line of thought his son was having. ‘After everything, was he still himself’. It felt like a red hot blade had been plunged into the god’s chest. How, how could he have ever missed just how much suffering his children were facing. And sure, he knew the answer, loathed as he was to admit it, but there was still a large piece of his mind that screamed about how he should have noticed and should have fixed it and should have been able to save Luke before he was corrupted and died and took countless other young demigods with him because we were all shitty fucking parents.

His rapidly spiralling thoughts were abruptly cut off by both Apollo and Dionysus setting their hands on his shoulder or back, clearly alarmed by whatever facial expression he was making in that moment. But after he had been snapped out of his thoughts, Hermes noticed that he had been clenching his fist so tightly that ichor was spilling from between his fingers in alarming amounts. Apollo reached down, gently grabbed the curled fist and began slowly uncurling it, cooing at the crescents carved into the younger’s palm. He ran his fingertips over the cuts, bringing the hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to the bleeding skin before turning back to the scene, not letting go of the hand in his grasp. Hermes didn’t ask him to.

Annabeth’s lip wobbled as she clumsily brushed a few black locks away from his sweat-soaked forehead. She looked up at Luke, her big, grey eyes shiny with tears. She’d always been prone to getting emotional when she was sick.

“You can help him, right?” she asked, pleading with the older demigod to make things better. Adults were supposed to be able to fix things like this.

Luke looked at her, then back down at the demigod in his arms.

Could he?

His gaze wandered towards the ocean, watching as the waves rippled along the surface. Water would help, Luke was sure. Hell, maybe his dear old dad would even offer some aid for once. If anyone had the knowledge and resources to heal Percy, Poseidon would.

But what would he ask in return?

As the acid laced words left Luke’s mind, both Demeter and Hestia are quick to reach over and attempt to keep Poseidon from shooting out of his seat while he rages.

“DOES HE TRULY THINK I WOULD DEMAND SOMETHING IN EXCHANGE FOR HELPING MY OWN DAMN SON?!”

His booming voice filled the space around them, his hair lashing out like viscous sea waves during the worst of storms. This traitor was questioning HIS parenting? HIS PARENTING?! When he literally JUST spoke about how Poseidon is known for his protective nature over his children?

The utter audacity of this brat.

If he were not already dead and they didn't have much bigger problems to worry about, Poseidon would most definitely be turning that blond brat into fish food. Hermes' anger be damned.

Luke grit his teeth and fought the urge to snarl. No. The gods had never invited anything other than trouble and pain into his life, and he wasn’t about to risk drawing their attention by praying to them now. Instead, he turned to Annabeth, who was looking distinctly misty-eyed by now.

The mention of the gods never being anything but trouble to him made Hermes let out another wailing sound, feathers sprouting over his body in a sign of obvious distress. Several other gods also felt a twisting in their chests at the boy’s thoughts. As they listened to how, even without Kronos speaking in his mind, it was clear that the anger and animosity he held towards the gods was so genuinely strong and deeply rooted that he would not pray to them even if it would help save Percy.

“I’ll find someone who can.” He said, the whisper of a promise in his voice, “Can you climb on my back? I need to carry Percy, and it’d be kinda hard to carry both of you in my arms.”

Annabeth, always eager to please, nodded as enthusiastically as she could. In less than a minute, Luke got to his feet once more, one child clinging to his back, the other limp in his arms. He huffed softly at the extra weight, but they truly weren’t too much of an added burden. Honestly, he’d prefer it. At least then he’d know these two had been eating enough.

At the mention of Annabeth’s eagerness to please made Athena shift in her seat as she listened to the cooing sounds coming from several of her aunts, her sister, and even her brothers, about how cute young Annabeth was. Even while visibly sick, there was a softness to the girl that had the three Kronide sisters and Aphrodite wanting to reach out and pinch her little cheeks. Even Hera felt her lips twitch in an attempt at a smile.

Both Poseidon and Athena held their tongues, biting back comments about how the traitor who had knowingly caused so much harm to their children, was now holding their lives in his hands. They shared a look between them, both clutching their children closer.

And as she did, feeling her daughter’s steady heartbeat against her chest, the Goddess of Wisdom let her mind wander a little. Had she truly acted in such a way that her daughter had ended up like this? Sure, it wasn’t a big moment in the grand scheme of things, but it spoke to a lifetime of doing thighs for praise that never came. And earlier, the thing that had taken the children had made mention of them only wanting to be seen and praised for their efforts…

Athena chewed the inside of her cheek as her thoughts ran wild. She would have to think them through before she said anything to anyone about them.

As the sun finally rose above the horizon, Luke closed his eyes, drew in the deepest breath he possibly could, and held it. This was it. Either he’d wake from this dream and find himself once again in his undeserved paradise, or the lack of oxygen would cause his lungs to start burning, and he’d know that something had seen fit to give him another chance.

He waited, and waited, and waited...

An ache began to bloom, his body demanding fresh air, and Luke granted its request with a breathy laugh.

He was alive again.

Hermes’ reaction, while not surprising, did catch a few of his fellows off guard. He let out a sound that could only be described as a mix of a laugh, bird song, and wailing. His precious fledgling was alive, with working lungs and a beating heart.

But at what cost?

Luke had not been returned to him and his siblings in their nest. He had been stolen from his paradise and dropped into a completely different reality with a pair of deathly ill children. And he still held every ounce of hatred and disdain for all of the gods and their actions, both past and present.

“Alright, little owl,” he grinned over his shoulder at Annabeth, the sunlight turning their blonde hair a radiant gold, “where do you suppose we are?”

Annabeth blinked, as if she hadn’t noticed that they weren’t still on the grimy street somewhere, running for their lives. The little girl glanced around, intelligent eyes taking in every little detail, her mind no doubt working overtime to find an answer, despite the fever.

Suddenly, her eyes widened, her brow furrowing in confusion. She looked around again, as if she wasn’t sure she’d seen things right, before she looked back at Luke.

“Luke, why are we in Greece?”

Well, shit.

“Swear.”

“So I was right!” Demeter cried, jumping out of her seat, startling her siblings as she did so. “I just KNEW they were Greece! But I couldn’t put my finger on where or why.”

When she finally noticed the wide eyed stares from her family, the nature goddess flushed a little, sitting back down bashfully as she continued. “When the scene first started, I felt that I recognised where they were. But I couldn’t explain why. But I guess we just found out why.”

They all continued to look at her for a few moments before several nodded in agreement and they broke into their little groups to chat as the vision seemed to be queuing up the next section for them to view.

Hera and Demeter sat together, cooing over Jason, who had somewhat shifted himself in his sleep so he was leaning against Hera’s collarbone, his breath fanning lightly over her skin.

Poseidon talked with Athena about what they had seen and how little they trusted Luke but would refrain from saying anything, lest they send Hermes into a fit that would end in someone getting injured in some way.

Hestia and Hephaestus sat in a calm silence, sharing warmth as they both sat with their thoughts. Hestia mourned for her family who had lost children, though she would admit that there was a part of her that was glad she had not lost one of her own, having no children to take in the first place. Hephaestus’ thoughts drifted back to his children, who had almost all seemed to inherit his preference for avoiding physical forms of affection. Had that thing also looked into taking some of his children along with the others?

Hades and Zeus sat in a joint, sad sort of silence, not saying a word to one another, yet understanding all that could be said. They sat there, children cradled in their arms. A daughter born of a broken oath and a son hidden away to keep him from harm. Both children had been dealt shitty hands in life because of who their fathers were, and it would seem that the Fates weren’t done tormenting them yet.

Ares and Aphrodite were locked away in their own little world. Just the two of them and the sleeping Clarisse, both speaking in whispers. Aphrodite was cooing over the young girl, while Ares was stone faced as he watched both ladies in silence.

Artemis and Apollo were both comforting Hermes, who was still silently crying, holding Luke tightly. There were tear stains on the bright orange shirt, though neither of the twins said a word about them. Will was shifted back to his father’s hold as the twins swapped seating places. Artemis gathered Hermes into her arms, running her fingers through tangled curls and whispering to him even though she knew he wasn’t really hearing her. For his part, Apollo pulled Will close to him, sending his warmth throughout the smaller blond as he began humming gently. It had been so long since he had been allowed to just sit and enjoy the company of any of his children like this. Allowed to just cradle them like they were babes and not teenagers and young adults.

And finally, Dionysus and Chiron could be heard speaking in low tones to one another, seemingly discussing what they had witnessed in the first part of the vision. Something had gotten into camp without waking anyone, and stolen away several sleeping children, most from cabins full of other sleeping campers. And almost all of the campers were very, very light sleepers due to everything they had experienced. So for something to be so powerful as to do all of what it did without waking a single soul, without triggering a single alarm? It spoke to immense power.

All of their conversation quieted quickly as the vision began anew a few minutes later, this time with a muffled voice and blurry vision, as if they were watching someone’s point of view.

And it would seem that they were.

“-ia…”

“-alia…”

“THALIA!”

Thalia shot up, her sudden awakening leaving her disoriented for a moment. Her instincts, honed to near perfection from years on the streets, made her reach for her weapon, a snarl pulling at her lips. Before she could, however, the realisation of who had spoken struck her.

Hades sucked in a tight breath as he also recognised the voice that had spoken. It was one he had not heard in a long, long time, but one he knew nonetheless.

Zeus and Artemis also both perked up at the sight of Thalia. She was marked by both of them, as a daughter, a huntress, a sister. She had grown so much since being released from her tree, and seeing her be denied rest yet again was… mildly displeasing.

Artemis, though still holding both her younger brother and nephew, kept her eyes glued to Thalia’s young form. Even through her worry for the girl, the Huntress felt pride at her quick thinking and survival skills in the moment.

“Nico?” she breathed, moving her hands to instead rub the grit from her eyes, “What are you doing… here…”

She trailed off as the boy came into view. And he truly was a boy. Gone was the quiet, scruffy, eternally tired-looking emo teen that she’d come to know, replaced by a wide-eyed child that looked too small for his jacket. His black hair was a mess, sticking up in random places while being matted down by sweat in others.

“Nico…” Hades’ voice was little more than a growl in the vague shape of the word, caught by the breeze and taken away. His eyes were wide as he looked at the younger version of his son, looking so, so very childlike with his oversized jacket and mussed up hair. He was truly a vision of days long since passed, of simpler times. At least, to Hades they had been.

“Awwwww. Little Nico is so precious!” Aphrodite cooed, putting her hands to her cheeks as she looked starry eyed at the young boy. “Why, he’s so cute, I could just eat him up.”

Now, did the Goddess of Love know that her words would have the effect of making all six Kronides flinch and/or make a sharp squawking sound while clutching their children closer and out of her reach?

Yes, she most likely did.

But the choked noises from the second generation of gods made it better, as they tried to hold in their laughter, lest they have to sit through a lecture on respecting their elders and not making jokes about such a traumatic experience.

Even Chiron let out a chuckle, though it was hidden by a fist and disguised as a cough.

Aphrodite would take what she could get, and at least they aren’t all wallowing in their misery the whole time. Prolonged wallowing was bad for more than just the skin, after all.

“Oh my- Nico, what happened to you?!” Thalia gasped, pushing herself up off the mossy ground.

Wait, the ground? Hadn’t she just been sleeping in her tent?

“What happened to me?” Nico cried, his voice higher and squeakier than she could ever remember hearing it, “What happened to you?”

Before Thalia could ask Nico what the hell he was talking about, someone spoke up from their right.

“Neeks, I love you, I do, but please shut the fuck up.” A sleepy southern voice pleaded, and when Thalia looked, she saw another young boy. He sported blonde hair, sunkissed skin, and a great many freckles. Currently, he was curled up on a thick, plush bed of moss, a small beam of red sunlight shining on him, “I haven’t gotten any real sleep in, like, three days.”

Annnnnnnd good moment gone.

Though Aphrodite did note with some glee how Apollo perked up at the accent. And then she nearly gasped as she saw the exact moment his eyes landed on the small blonde before him, bathed in his sunlight and looking almost exactly like the boy held in his arms. How they softened to an almost impressive degree. Like fresh golden honey poured into the embodiment of Southern hospitality and a fresh, homecooked meal.

The goddess blinked a little at the reaction, before a beaming smile bloomed onto her face. ‘Oh, this would be good.’

“That’s…” Apollo trailed off.

Thankfully, his thought was completed by the young Nico.

“Will!” Nico yelled, almost looking like he was going to cry as he scrambled over to where the other was laying.

That seemed to get the blonde’s attention, as the boy, Will, apparently, pushed himself up just in time for Nico to slide into his arms, tucking himself into his neck.

“Oh they are just too cute!!” Aphrodite squealed, hands on her heart as she kicked her legs. Ares was thankful the children could not be awoken, as the pitch of her voice nearly made his ears hurt.

“Yes they are, Babe. But could you maybe tone it down? I happen to enjoy being able to hear out of both ears.” His words made his lover look at him, eyes narrowed and lips pouting.

“Well forgive me for getting excited about such passionate, strong love between two people. Not like it’s my literal domain or something.” She crossed her arms and turned back to the screen, leaving Ares to drop his head into the hand not holding his daughter, sighing so heavily that Athena silently reached over and patted his back, somewhat awkwardly.

“They are rather cute, aren’t they?” Apollo said, looking at the two young boys as they hugged tightly in the vision.

“Woah, easy there, death boy.” he soothed, “What happ- Nico, why are you small?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Thalia said, causing Will to look her way. He had bright blue eyes, just a few shades darker than her own. A child of Apollo, no doubt.

Apollo’s chest puffed out at Thalia’s observation. He almost resembled a peacock or other flamboyant bird as he beamed, because she was right. That was his son, and Apollo couldn’t be more proud of his little healer.

Artemis chuckled, as did Hermes, who was finally, seemingly, returning to a more normal state of being. His voice was scratchy and rough from crying and his eyes were puffy, but they would take what they could get at the moment.

Will blinked at her once, then again, before slowly replying, “Thalia, right? Daughter of Zeus? Recovering pine tree-ification victim?”

Several people winced at the reminder of the girl’s fate and how she had spent so many years of her life in that tree atop that hill, standing silent guard over Camp Half-Blood. Zeus drew the girl closer to him, curling her legs up a bit so she fit more into his lap and could be wrapped in his arms with more ease.

“Ya know… this reminds me of something one of the brats said a while ago.” Dionysus said, not looking away from the scene in front of them. When no one responded, he kept going, tone not changing as he did.

“Some of the brats were wondering why there wasn’t a barrier around camp until someone died to create one.”

It was a simple statement, but it made the rest of the Olympians freeze as it settled in their brains. It hung over them like a dark cloud, as a few of them realised that the statement was true. There really had not been a proper protective barrier around the camp, until Thalia died protecting Luke and Annabeth and was turned into a pine tree.

Thalia nodded.

Will swallowed, looking her up and down as he hugged Nico closer. “You, uh, you might want to take a look at yourself.”

A sick swooping feeling filled the young Huntress, but she did, indeed, look down.

Her hands were almost swallowed by the sleeves of her black leather jacket, and when she turned her palms upwards, she saw no trace of the callouses she’d developed over her lifetime. Her pant legs dropped over her shoes, and she was definitely closer to the ground than she had been in years. A spot on her left leg ached, and when she rolled up the fabric of her jeans, her hands shaking, she saw a newly formed scar, still pink and new.

It was her old leg injury, the one that had forced Luke to lead them back to his home to seek treatment. It had long since faded, becoming little more than a pale stripe upon her skin, and yet it now looked as thought it had just finished healing.

“What,” Thalia breathed deeply, a crackle of energy arching across her shoulder before leaping into the ground, “the fuck.”

“Correct response, I say.” Dionysus chuckled, because really, how else were they supposed to react? These kids may have survived some truly miraculous situations, but being de-aged and dropped only-fuck-knows-where? Yeah, that was new.

“I’m impressed just how thorough that thing managed to be with the de-aging them, too. It’s not perfect, but still very intense work.” Artemis said, leaning forward with her head in her hand as she took in the three children. She may not have seen them when they were these ages, but she could tell there were definitely some things that were likely different.

Silence washed over the trio, broken only by heaved breaths and birdsong.

Thalia slowly pried her fingers away from the denim, stretching the appendages to chase away the ache that threatened to take hold of her joints. She plopped back down on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and letting her chin rest upon them. Glancing up, she saw that Nico and Will were still entangled, fingers interlaced as their frightened eyes sought out all the changes in each other. They both looked so young, definitely younger than she’d ever known them to be.

How.. how old was she, then? Was she as small and baby faced as them? How was this even possible? Why couldn’t they just catch a break?

“That’s what I’d like to fuckin’ know!” Dionysus cried out, throwing his hands up in the air in utter exasperation. His voice was tight, edging into madness as he spoke, “I have spent so damn long watching these kids get tossed around like bags of rocks because you all have quests you need done.”

He buried his face in his hands before wrapping his arms around his sons again and rubbing their backs in a self-soothing gesture. “But also, sweet fuck do those two ever let go of each other?” He said, clearly referring to Nico and Will.

“I don’t see why they should have to. If they find comfort in each other, I say let them have that comfort.” Apollo said, sounding snippy at even the possibility of an insult against his son. And while Hades said nothing, it was clear he felt the same, judging by his facial expression.

Dionysus didn’t respond beyond a raising of his eyebrow in a ‘really bitch?’ motion at his brother.

The daughter of Zeus took a few minutes to feel sorry for herself, allowing tears to drip down her face and fall to the ground with a soft plip, before she collected her wits, dragging her sleeve across her face to dry her eyes. They weren’t going to get anywhere by just sitting around, and Thalia wanted answers.

“Come on,” she said, getting to her feet, scuffed boots kicking up tiny bits of moss, “Let’s look around. Maybe we’ll find whatever, or whoever, brought us here and did… this.”

She gestured to herself with a sneer, before a hand to the two boys.

They took it, and so they set off.

“For as much as I loathe the current situation, I will admit that I am impressed by how all of these children just… started doing things once they’re up and about.” Artemis says, a quiet sort of awe as she watched her huntress take her time for a crying session before pulling herself together.

“Is it really that surprising though? After everything they’ve been through?” Apollo said, smiling sadly. As a healer, he was very used to taking a few moments to have breakdown before pushing everything down so that nothing became a distraction.

“Not really, but it’s still impressive that so far, they’ve all woken up, had a bit of a breakdown, before getting their wits together and setting off.” The huntress replied, leaning back into the plush cushioning.

The place that they had awoken in was old.

In its prime, it might have been a temple, a place of worship and devotion for a god unknown to the trio. Murals and tapestries had faded and decayed into nothingness, leaving behind little to clue the half-bloods in on where they now found themselves.

Jagged stone edges had long since been smoothed by decades of wind and rain, and collapsed passageways were inundated with all manner of flora. The sun-bleached bones of a fountain rested peacefully in what had once been a courtyard, the now empty basin lined with larkspur. Green grass sprouted up from in between a pathway of stones, leading the three demigods to the temple’s exit.

And it is there that they find Clarisse.

Ares and Aphrodite both perked up at the mention of his warrior daughter. His grip on her sleeping form tightened as he waited to see how she would be found, if she had gotten the same treatment as the other demigod brats. He knew she likely had, but the not knowing sent a weird fluttering throughout his chest and gut.

What an odd thing it was to see; the fierce daughter of Ares, slayer of the mighty Drakon, usually all bared teeth and barked words, looking so young and defenseless as she slumbered in a patch of meadow grass. Her worry lines were gone, as were the deep scars that had marred her chin and arms. Undoubtedly she would retain her fiery anger, but she no longer had the size or well-earned muscle to back it up, nor her beloved spear.

Ares pulled Clarisse closer, almost without realising what he was doing, as if to protect her from something. Even if he knew it wouldn’t work, every fibre of his being was still screaming at him, demanding he protect his daughter from the world that sought to hurt her.

Dionysus’s words for several days prior still rang loud in his head, bouncing around like a taunting bell.

“Tell me, what happened to the god who would strip the flesh off the bones of those who wronged his descendants?

What happened to the father who became the centre of the very first trial in history after his daughter was defiled?

The father who took the Son of the Sea and drowned him in his own blood after desexing him?

When did that father decide that he wished to threaten his sons and daughters instead of protecting them?”

He knew his brother was right, but it still made him unreasonably pissed off to have one of his failures so blatantly tossed in his face. But it also made him think, even now. When had he stopped leveling civilisations in the name of his children? When had his children stopped believing he would protect them? Why had he’d allowed it to happen?

Before the War God could go spiraling into his thoughts and get lost within himself, a soft hand on his face brought him back to the present. He looked up, meeting the worried eyes of Aphrodite, who said nothing, but she didn’t need to because her eyes said it all. And although he couldn’t see them, he could feel the worried eyes of his family, but especially his mother and youngest brother.

“Oooh, she’s gonna be so pissed.” Will groaned, crouching down next to Clarisse and poking her cheek.

“Hey, La Rue.” he called softly, “Come one, you gotta get up.”

“Grrr- piss off, sun boy.” she snarked back, swatting away his hand without opening her eyes, “Go play mother hen with Jackson or something.”

“As much as I would love to be doing that,” Will deadpanned back, “I’m more worried about us right now.”

Clarisse gave an exacerbated huff, but finally cracked open an eye.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Knowing us?” Nico piped up, “Probably some divine meddling.”

Hermes huffed out a laugh at that. “At least they have good pattern recognition skills.”

Several of the older gods shifted in their seats. Was that really what the demigods saw their actions as? Divine meddling?! …Was that what they had devolved into? Is this really how far they had fallen?

“You must admit though, that is kind of sweet, seeing the kids be friendly with one another after so many years of cabin rivalries and infighting.” Chiron said, smiling as he took in the forms of the children. After all, he knew each and every single one of these children. He remembered seeing them in bodies this small and uncoordinated. He was there to watch them grow, watch them learn, watch them die. Chiron had attended a great many demigod funerals over the course of his long life, and far, far too many of them had been for children who had not had the chance to grow up.

Funeral shrouds should never be that small.

“Ah, so just another Tuesday, then.” Clarisse snorted, rolling over and closing her eyes again, “Wake up when there’s an actual problem.”

“Clarisse,” Thalia growled, “you’re fucking twelve again! Get UP!”

Clarisse jolted, her eyes widening when she saw that she was, in fact, not in her cabin. She looked down at herself, gasping when she saw her changed body.

“The FUCK?!” she shrieked, jumping up and shaking her hands out, as though she could force the youth to leave her.

“Again, proper reaction to the fuckery of the situation.” Dionysus said, chuckling dryly.

“Where did these children learn such foul language?” Demeter asked, eyebrows nearly to her hairline. Many of the Olympians looked to Dionysus, who stared back in utter deadpan before replying.

“Not like it’s surprising. They’re children in the modern day. If they didn’t learn to swear from their mortal families, they picked it from older campers. And if they didn’t do that, they would be making up their own swears.” He said, with Chiron nodding his agreement. The two of them had spent many years trying to dissuade the children from their… rather colourful vocabularies. But alas, they had ultimately failed, and had instead instituted a rule about making sure they didn’t swear too much around the younger demigods.

“Yeah, that was pretty much what we said.” Nico offered, watching as she glared at her arms, her burning gaze almost intense enough to leave scars on her skin once more.

“Never thought I would see someone wanting to put scars back onto their skin.” Aphrodite said. Yes, she knew the beauty of scars and the stories behind them, but it was still a fact that most people would rather not have them.

“They are proof that she survived battles that would have killed most people.” Ares’ voice was closer to a growl than actual words. “They are proof of who she is.”

The enraged girl growled low in her throat, slapping a hand to her forehead and letting her nails dig lightly into her skin as she dragged it down.

“Right, okay, yeah this is definitely some godly bullshit.” She sighed, sounding far older than she was, “Alright, where’s Percy?”

The other demigods looked at each other.

“Um, he’s not-” Nico began, but Clarisse held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Listen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past few years, it’s that Prissy is always at the centre of weird shit like this.” She stated firmly, “He’s like god catnip, or something. They just show up to talk to him all the time.”

“Well…” Thalia said, before shaking her head, “no, actually, you’re right. That boy attracts way too much trouble.”

Before anyone could say anything to that, Poseidon’s deep growl filled the room as he somehow pulled Percy even closer, the boy almost completely encased in his father’s hair by now. In any other situation, the sight would have been unbearably adorable. But given the current circumstances, it was rather like looking at a precious treasure being guarded by a raging hurricane.

“He really isn’t here, though.” Will added, “Unless we just haven’t run into him yet, of course.”

Clarisse humphed, looking around the room critically.

“I’d bet all my drachmas that he’ll pop up sooner or later. Little punk better be suffering like the rest of us, or I swear...” she clenched her fists.

Now, Dionysus, Hermes, and Chiron could not hear what it was that Poseidon said, but they got the general idea when Ares jumped out of his seat, little more than a mass of growling and gnashing teenth, his daughter having been deposited in the arms of his lover so that he could lunge at his uncle.

The only reason he didn’t was because of the sudden sharp voice of Hestia. “Stop! Both of you! Fighting now will not fix anything.”

“HE DOES NOT GET TO SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT MY DAUGHTER!” Ares roared, drawing his weapon and shoving it the God of the Sea, not caring that this would be a very lopsided fight, and the odds were not in his favour on the matter.

“AND YOUR DAUGHTER DOES NOT GET TO WISH HARM UPON MY SON!” Poseidon bellowed back, standing at his full height. Not even the sight of Percy, so small and helpless in his arms, did anything to dampen the power of his stance. If anything it made him more intimidating. This was not just an angry god, it was an angry father.

“Will both of you sit down and behave?” Hestia’s voice once again cut through their fighting, causing both gods to freeze where they stood. When neither moved to sit down, Hestia stood, much to the surprise of her siblings and other family. Her voice was firm, edging on harsh as she continued, something no one present had ever heard.

“Need I remind you all of the rules set down by the Fates? Would you two like to find out what happens when those rules are broke?” The Goddess of Hearth asked, looking around at everyone now, eyebrow raised as her words filled the room, as if to ask if anyone was willing to argue with her.

When no one spoke, Hestia heaved a deep sigh, before sitting back down next to her nephew and shooting the two gods a heated glare that had both of them sitting back down with a quickness that was almost impressive.

Once they were seated, the vision, which had apparently paused, continued playing.

Will paled slightly, remembering the state the teen had been in. “For his sake, I really hope you’re wrong. I don’t think Percy’s gonna be able to help get us out of this mess, even if he is here.”

Clarisse’s furious look softened slightly at the reminder. For all they postured and played up being rivals at camp, the daughter of the War God actually held a lot of respect for Percy Jackson. She knew he was suffering, and though she wouldn’t openly admit it, she didn’t actually want him to be dragged into this new mess. She wasn’t sure if his body or his mind could handle another adventure so soon.

“She’s got that right, at least.” Dionysus muttered, though in the silence of the room it may as well have been a shout. Chiron nodded in agreement.

“Yes. I am proud of how all the children have grown. Though, I will admit that I have a great distaste for how circumstances forced them to grow up much faster than they ought to.”

No one replied, though the air took on a distinct air of unspoken shame.

“Fine, so we’re on our own.” she shrugged, stamping down the ember of nervousness that ignited in her gut, “We’re heroes, we can handle… whatever this is.”

Clarisse cracked her knuckles, giving her fellow campers a cocky grin. The others grinned in turn at her bravado, eyes flashing with delight at the thought of glory. It was a trait that almost all half-bloods harboured; the need to be praised, to be seen. It made them incredibly determined, kept them from succumbing to the fear that came from simply being alive in their world, but it could easily slip into being a fatal flaw if left unchecked.

If the room had felt tense before, now it froze.

That statement had no business getting under the skin of gods, and yet it did.

Right. It was only natural for demigods to desire glory and praise from their divine parents, but for it to be such a widely held belief among the campers that they could confidently call it a traitthat all demigods had?

Those holding children brought them even closer, letting out soft crooning noises and running hands over any exposed skin, as if trying to press their love into their very souls. Deeper than even their claims were usually placed. Not just into skin and heart and soul, but into the very beings of each demigod child. As if they could somehow press it into their very foundational building blocks.

“Now, ” she said, looking around at her feet, “where’s my spear?”

Thalia, Nico, and Will all cringed.

Who was going to tell her?

Apollo would have chuckled over the sheer absurdity of the last line if he didn’t feel like the atmosphere around them would crush him under its weight. No one spoke, still trying to take in what they had heard.

Thankfully, the silence did not last long as the scene changed once again. The God of the Sun sighed, pressing a kiss to Will’s bright curls, wondering when this hell would just be over. He had so much to make up for with his children, and while time was frozen outside of this web the Fates had them in, the Sun God still felt like he was losing precious time.

Elysium looked different today.

Dionysus’ head snapped up so fast Zeus worried his youngest would hurt himself. His eyes were wide, his grip on Castor and Pollux somehow tightening even further, the scent of grapes filling the room as he took in every detail he could. It had been so long since he had been able to see his baby’s face, and he wasn’t going to miss a nanosecond of it if he could help it.

That was the first thought that passed through Castor’s mind. The second was that he was not where he had been a moment ago.

Gone was the clear, cool pool of water he’d been laying next to, as was the pile of shiny stones he’d been collecting. Instead, he now found himself surrounded by enormous reeds, feathery plumes swaying in a gentle breeze. The plants were so tall, he couldn’t see over them, leaving him somewhat blind in this bizarre mockery of a corn maze.

Hades, much like his nephew, was also taking in as much detail as possible. The boy seemed to be fine, for the most part. He let out a sigh of relief at that. Good. His most sacred of domains may have been violated but at least the two boys taken had not had any lasting damage done during their taking.

Confused, but not yet frightened, Castor got up, dusting himself off on reflex, though his clothes never dirtied anymore. To his shock, however, he felt bits of plant fibre and dirt slide off his shirt, landing at his feet silently.

Castor stared at the ground for a long moment, before grabbing his shirt, his mind racing.

This… this was not what he had been wearing. He had been enjoying eternity in comfy pyjamas, not his obnoxiously bright camp shirt. Yet, clear as day, there it was, replacing his silky lavender purple nightshirt.

Was this some sort of prank? Had someone undressed him without him noticing somehow? He shivered, disgust prickling across his skin.

Despite knowing exactly what had happened, the God of Wine still let out a low hissing sound at even the mere idea of someone laying hands on his son for any reason. Though, there was a part of him that also took comfort in knowing his boy had been enjoying an afterlife of comfort after such a tragic death.

Everything about this was wrong. Had he done something to deserve his eternal rest being disturbed? He couldn’t remember doing anything that would warrant this reaction, but the alternative was that something less than benign had managed to get into Elysium, and that thought was far more terrifying.

He needed to look around. Maybe he could find someone who would know what was happening.

Pushing his way through the reeds, Castor’s mouth settled into an annoyed frown as more and more of the plants greeted him, showing no sign of thinning out. He huffed, nose wrinkling as some of the feathery seed pods brushed against his face, causing him to sneeze.

“Bless you.”

Dionysus practically buried his face in two heads of blonde hair at that, not trying to stop the tears now falling down his face. His boys were together again, but at what cost. They were somewhere he could not sense or protect them. And while other demigods had been sent to the other world, his boys were alone together. Would they be safe? Would they even survive to be rescued? What if they were too late-

His thoughts were cut off by two hands settling on his shoulders. Looking up, he found both Chiron and Hermes attempting to give him comforting smiles. Both failed, of course, with Hermes still not fully recovered and Chiron looking his age for once, but they did make him crack a sad, pathetic little smile. At least they were all suffering together, he thought.

Castor stiffened, stopping in place as he whipped his head around. That voice… could it be?

“...Pollux?”

Silence.

Then, slowly, the reeds in front of him began to rustle. A hand reached through the grass, pushing aside the stems, and as they bent Castor saw his own face appear before him.

Pollux had regained his youth in death, looking to be around the age Castor was when he’d died. Perhaps a few years younger than even that, because his twin seemed to be missing a few scars, and his hair still curled around his jaw, the way it did before the war. His eyes were wide and shining, unshed tears glistening over his mulberry and wine-coloured irises.

“Castor?” the teen breathed, his voice shaking.

Castor smiled, feeling his own warm tears beginning to pool, and opened his arms.

Pollux sobbed, crashing through the reeds to tackle his brother. The two hit the ground with a dull thud, and Castor’s joy snuffed out the pain that blossomed in his back at the impact.

“CASTOR!” Pollux cried, shoving his face into Castor’s neck. Castor locked his arms around Pollux, pulling him into a crushing hug as he cried into his twin’s hair, “Gods, I was so afraid I’d never get to see you again!”

“Planning on stealing a golden apple?” Castor teased through his sniffles.

Pollux laughed wetly, the sound quickly devolving back into heavy sobs. Castor said nothing, for he was fairing just as poorly. His shirt was going to look like he’d just walked through a downpour once he was done, but the son of Dionysus couldn’t bring himself to mind. For all Castor cared, the world could burn down around them; he had his brother back.

Dionysus felt his tears returning in full force as he watched his sons reunite. They had always been a set, a pair, with an unbreakable bond that had been cruelly torn apart with Castor’s death. And they were together again. They looked to be around 13 years old, so definitely before the war, before the death, before all the pain… before everything went so very wrong.

Aphrodite looked over at the trio from her seat on the couch arm, smiling softly at the small little family all bundled together. Even if the boys were asleep and unresponsive, they were still visibly cuddling into their father’s hold, subconsciously reacting and returning the love he was practically drowning in. The Goddess of Love had always adored seeing just how strong their familial love lines were. A rarity at camp that brought her a great deal of sorrow.

She was happy that, even if it was too late, they had at least begun trying to be better parents.

“How- how did you…?” Castor managed out, not lifting his head.

“Oh, shit, I didn’t even-” Pollux gasped, before groaning softly, “Oh man, I died in my sleep? That’s so lame.”

Dionysus pressed kisses into both boys’ hair at the thought of losing both. He loathed the thought of losing both his boys, but it would have been leagues better than this shit. At least he’d know both of his boys were spending eternity together in Elysium, under the protection of his uncle and finally free from pain and heartache and the fear of a violent death.

“At least it would have been a peaceful death.” Hades said, mostly to himself. Several of the other Olympians silently agreed, as of the many, many ways a young demigod could die, passing in your sleep sounded the most preferable.

“It’s not a bad way to go.” Castor murmured, silently thanking the gods that Pollux hadn’t suffered.

“No, I guess not.” Pollux acquiesced, shifting so that he wasn’t lying directly on Castor, instead choosing to rest his head on his twin’s chest while the rest of him lay at Castor’s side, “It’s just- I feel bad. Everyone’s still trying to recover, especially with Percy and Annabeth being how they are, and now they’re going to have to deal with… that on top of everything else.”

Castor tilted his head, curiosity and concern rippling through him. He’d heard of the war with Gaea through the whispers of the recently departed, but nothing about his old friends specifically, “What’s wrong with Percy and Annabeth?”

Castor felt his twin sigh.

“They’re sick. Really sick. They had to go on some crazy quest and they ended up,” Pollux paused, taking a moment to swallow his gorge, “falling into Tartarus.”

The gods flinched at yet another reminder. Tartarus was a place even the strongest of them avoided, and these two demigods had gone through and survived, but were now stuck with the horrific consequences.

Hades thought back to how his Nico had also gone through, not just once, but twice. And how the second time he had brought Will, a child of Apollo, the god the sun, with him. It still sent chills down his spine to think about, if he was honest. Far too many children had been down there in too short a time for him to be comfortable. Not that he ever would be. Tartarus was supposed to be a prison for the worst of the worst, such as his father. Children were not supposed to end up there. Especially not living ones.

While Hades had a look of general disgust on his face, both Athena and Poseidon were busy cooing over their sleeping children. Athena had her forehead pressed to Annabeth’s, as if she could take the memories and pain away from her and tuck it deep within herself. Plus, she would admit that she found some comfort in the action herself. Her children were all born of her thoughts, just as she had been, so there was an unspoken intimacy of pressing her forehead to another’s.

Poseidon, having calmed down from his earlier argument with Ares, was busy pressing gentle kisses all over Percy’s face and hair, trying to drown him in the scent of the sea and home and safety.

Castor gasped, his eyes widening as he sat up slightly.

“No they fucking didn’t.” he whispered, “You’re lying.”

Pollux shook his head.

“I wish I was. We got a note from them while they were down there, and when they eventually got back, you could tell they’d been somewhere bad. After everything with Gaea ended, I guess the exhaustion took its toll, because after they went to bed that night, they didn’t get up.” Pollux took Castor’s hand, squeezing it gently, reminding himself that this was real, “Last I saw, they were in the infirmary. Lord Poseidon wanted to take Percy to Atlantis, but dad stopped him. He said that they got worse when they were separated, and since Annabeth can’t breathe underwater, they have to stay at camp.”

Castor made an upset face, imagining the brave little kids he’d grown up alongside laying on those terribly firm cots that the infirmary used, wasting away from something beyond their control.

“That’s horrible.” he said, “Do you think…?”

“That we’ll see them soon?” Pollux finished, “I don’t know. I hope not. I hope we don’t see them for a long, long time.”

Several people sucked in sharp breaths at the boy’s words. There was something in them that just felt like, now that they had been spoken, they would soon be proved very, very wrong.

“Yeah, me too.” Castor said, “I… I wish you’d had more time, too. I’m so happy to see you, Pol, but you deserved to live your life.”

Castor felt Pollux shrug, but the other teen said nothing, and Castor didn’t push. What’s done is done. There was no undoing death.

Dionysus smiled sadly. His boys both deserved to live long, happy, fulfilling lives. Sadly, that chance had been ripped from them. But, he would admit that he was proud of them both for being able to comfort one another

Hermes grimaced, looking down at Luke, but thinking about all the souls he had helped shepherd down to his uncle’s domain. How many of those souls had been demigods, claimed and unclaimed, who had died so young and afraid.

Hades let out a little huff at the boy’s words. At least someone understood the finality of death and that it was a bad idea to try and fuck with it. Far too many boneheaded people didn’t understand that fact and had to suffer the consequences.

The two demigods lay there for a while, simply watching the clouds roll by above the reeds as the sky faded from orange, to pink, to its final colour of a bright, vibrant blue. Strangely enough, Castor found it hard to get comfortable after a time, something he wasn’t used to. Elysium was always comfortable, even if you were laying on a rock, or face down in the sand.

“Can I ask you something silly?” Pollux asked, startling Castor out of his thoughts.

“What?” he asked, before his brain caught up to what his twin had said, “oh, yeah, go ahead. I won’t promise not to laugh, though.”

“Dick.” Pollux muttered, before propping himself up on one arm to look at Castor, “Okay, here it goes. We’re dead, right?”

Castor blinked, then arched a brow, “Uh, yeah?”

“Okay, so, then-” he pointed to Castor’s chest, “why does your heart still beat?”

Castor stared at Pollux, his mouth working as he tried to form words.

“Why does my- it doesn’t?” the demigod replied, absolutely bewildered, “Pol, my heart doesn’t beat. What are you talking about?”

Pollux’s expression shifted into multiple different emotions, as though he couldn’t decide how he felt about Castor’s response. Eventually, he landed on a mix of realisation and shock, before he lifted up the hand that was still entwined with Castor’s own and, before Castor could argue or ask what he was doing, placed it right where his heart would be.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Holy shit.

Castor sat straight up, pressing his hand harder against Pollux’s chest. Sure enough, he could feel his twin’s heart as it beat, the organ pulsing under his touch. With his free hand, the son of Dionysus felt for his own. The same sensation met his palm, the beats perfectly synchronised with Pollux’s.

Castor looked up, meeting startled eyes that mirrored his own. A silent understanding passed in between them. Pollux hadn’t died.

Castor had come back to life.

And even though he had known it to be true, and had been picking up on all the signs (the change of clothes, the discomfort he experienced, the lack of his claim on his stuffed horse) but getting undeniable evidence, that his sons were alive and together made something shift in Dionysus’ chest that had him letting out a sigh he didn’t realise he was holding. He slumps back into the plush cushions of the couch, pulling his boys with him, wrapping his tail and vines around them like a shield from the world.

After a few moments passed where the vision did not move at all, before it became muddled once more, leaving them in the dark void once again. Once the transition was done, they all sat in an odd kind of silence, just taking in everything they had seen so far.

“Ok so. What do we have so far?” Artemis asked, setting her shoulders back as she set her mind to begin collecting their thoughts and forming a plan. Thankfully, Athena was quick on the uptake.

“Nine demigods have been taken so far. Luke Castellan, Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Will Solace, Nico Di Angelo, Thalia Grace, Clarisse La Rue, Castor, and Pollux.” The Goddess of Wisdom replied, counting off each name on her fingers while also looking at each one as she said their names. And if their parents tightened their holds on their children, she said nothing. She was doing the same, after all.

“But we know now that Jason was also taken.” Demeter said, gesturing to the sleeping boy in her sister’s arms.

“But that happens later on, during the attack on camp after the original batch of children were taken.” Zeus said quietly, looking off into the distance as if lost in a memory.

They all fell silent again. In conclusion, they had next to nothing in terms of information, but it was more than what they’d had.

And for now that would have to be enough.

And of course, at that moment, they were all startled out of their thoughts by the return of the Fates, standing before the couches.

“Gods of Olympus.”