Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Percy had learnt the hard way that if things appeared to be going well, then the worst possible outcome was just about to happen. He also knew that if something could go wrong, it would definitely go wrong, as wrong as possible (also known as Murphy’s Law for demigods). Though he really should’ve remembered a third fundamental law: prophecies never mean what you think they mean.

For a moment, everything seemed to be fine. The giants had been toppled, the gods had come to their aid, Hades banishing them back into the Pit, and now Gaea was suspended aloft, away from her source of power, being charmed to sleep by a certain daughter of Aphrodite. Then they figured that the next step was getting Leo to destroy her physical form with fire, scattering it far and wide like her spouse and son, never again to reform a consciousness. “Seven half-bloods shall answer the call, To storm or fire the world must fall.”

Or, that had been the plan, until accursed Tartarus himself arrived.

Apparently the Father of the Giants had taken offense to the defeat of his children and had decided to take matters into his own hands. If Percy weren’t so frightened by the whole situation, he would’ve laughed at the mental image of the Giants running home to Daddy, crying about getting beat up by the mean nasty gods. But all thought of humor evaporated from his mind (faster than spilt water in the desert) as a vast chasm yawned open in the centre of Camp Half-Blood (and oh, the horrible sound it made!) and the Protogenos of the Abyss climbed out in a blaze of darkness.

The sun dimmed, the temperature plummeted, and the green grass turned to ash wherever Tartarus’ withering gaze fell. His form was as terrible as the last time Percy saw him, (in fact, even more grotesque in the light of day), rippling muscles under glistening purple skin, wearing armor woven of the souls of wretched monsters (making Hades’ soul-robes look positively joyful in comparison). But worst of all, his face—or the place where his face should’ve been—a swirling whirlpool, a tunnel to the abyss, a black hole to Chaos.

Who dares slaughter my offspring – kill my creations – and attack my Beloved?

The voice-that-wasn’t-a-voice thundered, for the sound seemed to be sucked towards him instead of radiating outwards. Raising one massive, clawed fist (a blur of purple and obsidian-sharp talons blacker than night) he swatted Leo, Jason and Festus out of the sky, and the beloved earth goddess tumbled to the ground.

She jerked awake upon contact with her domain, (a distant part of Percy’s mind that wasn’t too busy screaming with terror surmised that of course the Earth Mother would be immune to fall damage), and after a moment as long as eternity, both her eyes cracked open (verdant as all the earth’s forests distilled into a single drop), and she smiled.

(The earth groaned in response, sending out land-waves in all directions, toppling buildings like card houses—except his own cabin, Percy absently noted. The cabin of the Earth-Shaker.)

Smiled up at her consort – partner – monstrous spouse (what even do you call their relationship?) and now rescuer. Percy had just enough time to think gee, help me to survive this deadly love (like the Berlin Wall he’d once seen on TV) and also OH GODS GAEA’S AWAKE OH NO THIS IS THE END— before the embodiment of the Pit turned on him and Annabeth beside him saying YOU – you little demigods – you think yourselves so clever having escaped the Pit, but none ever escape Tartarus. (Voice scraping like a million nails on chalkboards and roaring like the deepest undersea volcanoes.) You shall never see the light of day again – nor your little band of allies.

And that was the beginning of the end.

The Gods had joined the fight at some point, appearing in the air without Percy noticing when (in his defense, he had bigger things to worry about), but it was a losing battle. Not even the might of all Olympus could hope to stand against the combined wrath of two Primordials. “You cannot kill me! I am the pit itself,” mocking words resurfaced from Percy’s memory, “You might as well try to kill the Earth. Gaea and I - we are eternal,” Tartarus had boasted to Damasen a lifetime ago.

Still frozen in place with horror, he could only watch as one by one the Gods were swallowed by the Pit, engulfed by the Earth, overrun by endless hordes of monsters still crawling out of the abyss. A Doors of Death on the doorstep of Camp. His own vision swam, stars appearing, feeling faint, floating, swirling flecks multiplying, a galaxy of sand before his eyes until he was pulled backwards into a spinning vortex of gold,

                 losing     his

    conscious-

ness.

Percy awoke feeling as if he’d been slam-dunked onto the ground. Upon further reflection, he supposed he had indeed been dumped here (wherever here was) by a sand vortex (a sand-nado?), and was now sitting on a pile of sand. Blinking groggily and getting to his feet, he noticed he was in a dimly-lit golden cavern, grainy as the sand of the sea (like the sandcastles he imagined living in as a kid). Blinking again, he realised he was not alone. There were also three very ancient women and an extremely complicated tapestry in the cavern.

The Fates.

“Perseus Jackson,” intoned the middle lady, picking up a loose end of shimmering sea-green thread from the unfinished edge of the tapestry with her bony, calloused fingers. Clotho the spinner.

Percy gulped, suddenly hyper aware that his life was literally hanging by a thread. (On second thought, perhaps his life had always been hanging by a thread).

“You know why we have brought you here,” said the one to her left with a knowing look. Lachesis measured the length of his thread with a tape measure (a cheap flimsy plastic one, perhaps the gods ran out of budget during the war) and frowned, furrowed eyebrows further creasing her already very creased face.

“The world has fallen at last!” cackled the third. “The time has come!” She—it must be Atropos—rocked in her chair, waving a skeletal hand in the air, and plucked out a gossamer-thin golden strand. With her other hand, she then picked up a pair of fine scissors and cut through the warp threads holding the tapestry together.

Percy opened his mouth to protest, to say something, anything at all, but found that no sound would come out, so he awkwardly shut it again like a goldfish.

“Indeed, the World’s rising has caused the world’s falling. Events unforeseen have occurred, for the actions of the Protogenoi are beyond even Fate’s jurisdiction,” Lachesis elaborated. Percy scoffed. Fancy way to say they messed up and Tartarus ruined their meddling.

She ignored him and continued, “Now, Perseus, we offer you a choice: you shall become our Champion and relive and rewrite history,” she pulled out the cut strands, and the end of the tapestry rapidly unravelled.

“With the help of Time,” Clotho added, picking up the golden thread and spinning it with a skein of the same sea-green, forming a new thread, green and gold, strong and unfrayed, “clarity and knowledge, you shall unite ancient foes, bring concord and justice, and subdue the Earth.”

Atropos picked up a large pair of shears, the same pair that Percy had seen her use to cut the blue thread by the highway so many years ago, turned her gaunt head and looked him straight in the eye, saying, “Or you shall refuse and be returned to your own time.”

A shiver ran down Percy’s spine. Despite the cryptic language, he got the impression that they wanted him to go back in time and prevent Gaea’s rising (“subdue the earth”), or if he refused, they’d put him back on the battlefield with Tartarus. Was that even a choice? Of course he’d choose to fix everything instead of returning to the end of the world. But unite what foes? And bring justice to whom? (He privately mused that it wouldn’t matter, as long as he got a chance to undo Gaea’s waking, and Kronos, and all the deaths, and all his mistakes.)

So he found his voice and whispered, “I accept.”

“Then you shall be our Champion,” the three sisters replied in unison, and Atropos cut his sea-green thread with a Snip. The last thing he saw was the new gold-green thread being woven into its place, before the whirling sands of Time swept him away.

Seven half-bloods shall answer the call,

To storm or fire the world must fall.

An oath to keep with a final breath,

And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.

Chapter Text

Percy cracked open his eyes to a ceiling he hadn’t seen in years, his pulse racing.

Not daring to move a muscle (lest it be an illusion which might scatter), he swivelled his eyes around and took stock of the room. Cobwebby lopsided ceiling fan, check. Dusty faded curtains with designs from last century, check.

Daring to turn his head slightly, he caught sight of his homework-covered desk and one sleeping satyr in the bed across the room, check.

He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Four years, he had been sent back four years to his dorm room in Yancy Academy, and judging by the calendar, today was the day of the fateful field trip. Y’know, the one where his math teacher turned out to be a monstrous bat and tried to kill him? And if facing a Fury wasn’t bad enough, Chiron had made everybody, even Grover, pretend that Mrs Dodds had never existed. Perhaps by some Mist trickery.

His heart clenched at the thought of his first friend, (so young in hindsight), and the lies Chiron made him tell (gaslighting Percy into thinking he was insane). After all, Grover had been just a kid, doing what the responsible adult told him to do. (He ignored the little voice in his mind scoffing Chiron? Responsible adult?) Perhaps the cryptic centaur had his reasons, or perhaps not, but Percy supposed he shouldn’t judge present-Chiron and present-Grover for things they haven’t done yet. Not in this life.

Shelving those thoughts, Percy slid out of bed and stumbled as his legs were shorter than he was used to (was he really that short at twelve?) and made his way to the bathrooms to check out his new (old) appearance.

It was very early, even Grover who rose with the sun was still asleep so the bathrooms were deserted. Sea-green eyes blinked back at him in the mirror, framed by unruly black hair, and his own face, unscarred and four years younger. He hesitantly raised one hand to his face and grinned when it felt real, not an illusion.

“I am soooo back,” he whispered.

A moment passed, then,

We are so back, his reflection replied, its eyes burning pure gold for half a second before fading.

Percy jumped back in shock as the sudden voice manifested in his head. The son of Poseidon slipped on the wet floor, scrabbled for a grip on the sink, tower rail, anything, and fell backwards, breathing heavily.

That voice, it can’t be, no!

“Kronos!” Percy whispered, part exclamation, part curse.

He skittered back as far as possible from the mirror until his back bumped into the wall and he sat there trying to rein in his panic.

…Yes, I am he, came the reply. The voice was unspeakably old, sounding like creaking boughs of ancient trees and the whisper of innumerable grains of seashore sand.

Blood pounding in his ears, Percy’s mind struggled to process this information.

“Why are you here? Why are you in my head? Get out of my head!” Percy began to shout but quickly caught himself, in case one of his classmates (or worse, Grover), happened to walk past the bathrooms and witness his argument with thin air.

The Crooked One paused for a moment as if deciding what to say, or how much to tell.

You are aware that you were sent back in time by the Fates, yes?

Despite himself, Percy managed a small nod.

Then why is my presence a surprise to you?

Frowning, he mentally replayed his little chat with the Fates, still fresh in his mind. We offer you a choice … you shall become our Champion … with the help of Time, clarity and knowledge—well, knowledge obviously meant his knowledge of the future, and clarity would be the strange way he’s not afraid of the horrible battle he just witnessed, perhaps, and Time! That was it! Clotho (or was it Lachesis?) had pronounced it as if the T were capitalised. Time, as in the Titan of Time.

Gods, how could he have been so stupid? He should’ve realised, given that he’d watched Atropos pluck a golden strand from the air (a part of Kronos’ scattered essence!) and woven into his sea-green thread.

It dawned on him like the world’s worst case of staircase wit that the Fates had telegraphed exactly what they were doing, and it was entirely his fault that he hadn’t caught on. Should’ve paid more attention, seaweed brain, Annabeth would say.

He grit his teeth. Living with Kronos was still miles better than dying to Tartarus (or would it be an eternity of torture in his breastplate of souls?). Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time the Gods have screwed him over.

He can deal with Kronos, he’s defeated him before. And apparently this Kronos is much weaker than Luke’s, unable to control him or even maintain a golden gaze. Plus he hasn’t burnt up yet, so there’s that.

(Did that mean he had a parasite? A formless Titan living rent free in his head?? Right… he really didn’t want to think about it right now. Save that problem for later.)

“I seeee. But why’d the Fates send you back in time with me?”

The ritual that sent you back in time required a piece of my essence to ‘power’ your journey through space-time. If I had been whole, this piece would have returned to me, but because I am …scattered, the fragment fused itself to your soul instead.

In other words, Perseus Jackson, I have no choice but to ‘live rent free in your head’ until you reassemble my true form.

Oh great, so he was like a horcrux.

Wait a minute, until you reassemble my true form. “So you don’t want me dead just yet?”

No, little godling. Believe me when I say that I hold little affection for my …dearest Mother, and if she and her new …consort were to awaken once more, they would remake the world. No mortals, no Gods, no Titans, only the Giants. We would suffer a fate worse than death, you witnessed it yourself when the Lord of the Abyss appeared before you at the Doors of Death and consumed two of my brothers.

Ah, so little bits of Kronos were indeed floating around and laughing at his misfortune while he was in Tartarus. How else would he know what happened there?

You see, we both have a vested interest in staying alive and having a world to live on. For that, we will need to forge an alliance between Titans, Gods and Demigods.

Percy scoffed in disbelief. King Cannibal suddenly wants to make friends!

Do not mock, it is the most logical course of action. Apart from the Titans, who have bested a Primordial in combat? And the Giants cannot be killed except by the combined effort of a God and a Demigod.

That… was a good point, Percy had to admit. He didn’t like it, but Kronos was making sense. (Was this how Luke felt when he was being manipulated?) But perhaps because Kronos was literally in his mind, he could sense the Titan was speaking the truth.

So with a groan and a sigh, he peeled himself off the ground, reluctantly saying, “Let’s talk about this later. I gotta go now,” and dried his soggy clothes with a thought.

If things appeared to be going well, the worst possible outcome would be waiting just around the corner.

Chapter Text

Percy sullenly made his way onboard the school bus and plonked himself down next to his best friend.

“Hey Percy, how’s it going? Didn’t catch you this morning, you were up earlier than me,” the satyr-in-disguise greeted.

“Ah, I couldn’t sleep, bad dream. Also I just don’t really like field trips.”

Bad would be an understatement. Oh, y’know, he fell into Tartarus, got out of Tartarus, fought giants, the Earth woke up, and Tartarus got them in the end, then he woke up back in time with good old Kronos in his head.

Grover looked at him warily. “D’you want to talk about it?”

Right, probably looking out for demigod-y stuff on Chiron’s orders. Or maybe he genuinely cares?

“Just a weird dream. I was on a cruise ship and it blew up, then I fell into the middle of the earth. Also you grew a beard.” Percy hoped he sounded nonchalant.

“Wow, yeah, that’s weird.” Grover replied, and dropped the matter. “What do you wanna see in the museum?”

“Pottery would be nice. The red and black Greek vases are cool.”

“Yeah, and statues of the gods.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Percy peered out of the fogged-up window, idly watching the buildings scroll by as the bus drove into town.

Or at least, it was a comfortable silence for Grover.

Perseus Jackson.

Percy sighed.

Knock knock, who’s there? He thought in reply.

We need to talk. Lay down some ground rules about how we operate, like how much of the timeline we preserve and—

No, wait, no. The first ground rule is you don’t mess up my life. No golden eyes, no smiting people, and by the Gods, no possession!

Fine.

…My intention was to keep a low profile anyway. But I can assure you that I can only take full control over a willing host.

Like Luke, Percy thought with a shudder.

Yes, like Luke.

So that was how Luke had resurfaced long enough to sacrifice himself to destroy Kronos. Speaking of Luke, he was going to make sure Luke didn’t fall prey to Kronos this time. At least there was no way Luke could become Kronos’ host…

Now, I have been thinking about the timeline. It would be best if we let it play out as before, in order to minimise the butterfly effect. The timeline will still diverge eventually, despite our best efforts to keep it the same, so we must maintain our advantage of foreknowledge for as long as possible.

Okay, so today I’ll pull Nancy into the fountain, kill Mrs Dodds, then play along with not knowing who she was?

Yes.

So Hades will think I’m the Lightning Thief?

For now. Same as last time.

But what about Luke? And your planned civil war??

My reclaiming of the throne will have to be postponed until after the Earth Mother is defeated.

No you won’t, I won’t let you.

We shall see, little godling, we shall see.

And as for Luke, he was well aware of the consequences of his actions when he pledged himself to my cause and stole the Bolt and the Helm. He will take the blame. Willingly.

That left a sour taste in Percy’s mouth. Well, sure, Luke had gotten himself into this mess, but without Kronos’ interference, he never would’ve gone as far as provoking a war to take revenge against the Gods.

Thunk.

Something soft hit the back of his head.

Percy whirled around, ready to defend against whatever the threat was, only to be met with a smirking ginger girl holding a stack of peanut butter sandwiches. Nancy Bobofit.

“I’m going to make her pay!” He hissed, remembering he’d said something similar in the past.

“Just leave it, Percy. Don’t let her rile you up.” Grover muttered as he too was nailed by a slice. “At least it’s food and I’m hungry.”

Percy huffed a laugh. Grover was always hungry; it came with being a growing satyr.

The mortal girl is throwing food at our head.

My head, you mean.

Our head.

Whatever.

She’ll get her payback later when I dump her in the fountain. That’s how Mrs Dodds realised I was the son of the Poseidon, y’know. She’s one of the Kindly Ones in disguise. Saw me using my water powers and reported me to her master.

Then she took me to a quiet corner of the museum and tried to interrogate me, but when I didn’t know what was going on, she revealed her true form and tried to kill me. Then Mr Brunner—Chiron in disguise—threw me a pen which turned into a sword and I killed her. But then Chiron tricked everybody into thinking Mrs Dodds never existed, so I might forget it ever happened.

I see my son has not lost his penchant for meddling.

That’s big talk for the Crooked One.

The bus pulled into the museum car park before Kronos could reply, and Percy smirked at his small victory.

The classics exhibit was not very interesting. Sure, he had once marvelled at the ancient artifacts, but four years of dealing with the Gods had sapped any novelty out of it.

He’s been to Rome, Athens, even the Underworld, and seen his fair share of mythical creatures. Polyphemus? Been there, done that. Cerberus? Played fetch with him. Medusa? She makes nice food at least.

It was certainly weird to see a youthful statue of Mr D, a far cry from the pudgy middle-aged drunk running the camp, and it was surreal seeing painted vases of dancing satyrs while wandering around with Grover. (He really could’ve done without seeing naked statues of Zeus and his father though…bleurgh.)

Quickly averting his gaze, he caught sight of a vase depicting a warrior clubbing a dragon. It must be Heracles fighting Ladon in the Garden of the Hesperides, for a golden apple. The same quest Luke had been sent on, the same monster that had scarred him for life.

Was it the failed quest that drove him to Kronos? The figurative straw that broke the camel’s back, after a lifetime of abandonment and misfortune from the Gods? Back when he was twelve, Percy hadn’t really understood Luke’s motives for betraying Camp, or his anger towards the Gods. But at almost seventeen (the same age Luke was on his quest), with droves of horrible experiences under his belt, he had to admit Luke made a very good point.

“Mr Jackson. Mr Jackson!” Chiron’s stern voice—no, Mr Brunner’s—floated into his consciousness. “Are you listening?”

Percy blinked. “Uh, yes sir.”

“Then perhaps you could tell us what this picture represents?”

If the whole class wasn’t staring at him, Percy would’ve buried his face in his hands. That picture.

He shifted his feet nervously.

“It’s Kronos eating his kids, sir,” he told the centaur son of Kronos.

The Kronos in his head perked up at the mention of his name, and a chill began to creep into the air.

Hey, you promised not to smite me! Percy reminded him, but Kronos’ overbearing presence did not dissipate. Hopefully the centaur would think Mrs Dodds was causing it or something.

“Correct! And he did it because…”

Feeling the Titan’s scrutiny, Percy closed his eyes and braced himself. Maybe if he painted Kronos in a better light…

“He was the King of the Titans who had killed his tyrannical father Ouranos, but before he died he cursed Kronos with a prophecy that he would be overthrown by his own kids. So Kronos, driven mad by the curse, didn’t trust the Gods who were his kids and ate them, apart from Zeus, because his wife hid him and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. When Zeus grew up, he slipped Kronos a potion and he threw up the others and—"

“Eww!” One of the other girls yelled.

“and there was a war between the Gods and the Titans.”

“Like it’s going to say on our job applications, please explain why Kronos ate his kids,” Nancy Bobofit muttered to her friend. “Like we need to know this.”

Not quietly enough, as Mr Brunner picked on him again.

“And why, Mr Jackson, to answer Nancy’s question, does this matter in real life?”

Because Kronos is now out for revenge and wants to reclaim his throne at the cost of western civilization. But he couldn’t say that, of course, so settled with, “The moral of the story is that revenge often leads to more revenge in a never-ending cycle.”

Mr Brunner gave him a searching look, like he was trying to figure out how on earth a seaweed brain like Percy could come up with an answer like that. Even Kronos drew back, the air becoming a fraction lighter.

“An interesting conclusion. Well said, Mr Jackson,” was the eventual reply. “Zeus did feed him mustard and wine to disgorge the other five children. After which, they defeated their father, sliced him into small pieces, and sent him to the depths of Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it’s time for lunch!”

Mr Brunner didn’t make Percy stay back this time.

The rest of the day went according to the script:

Nancy dumped her lunch in Grover’s lap.

Percy dunked her in the fountain.

(Kronos laughed.)

Mrs Dodds summoned Percy to an empty gallery and sprouted wings and fangs.

Percy pretended he had no idea what was going on.

Mr Brunner appeared with a “What ho!” and tossed Percy a pen-sword.

Percy caught the sword-pen in mid-air and swung it with years of experience (and arms shorter than his expectation).

The Fury exploded in a shower of gold dust like a piñata from hell.

(Mr Brunner was suddenly nowhere to be seen.)

In the original timeline, he’d been so shell-shocked that he automatically made his way back to the class without question. But this time, Percy couldn’t help but realise some things didn’t add up.

Had Chiron known Mrs Dodds was actually a monster? He must have, since he followed Percy to throw him a weapon.

But why didn’t he stay? Did he really think a boy with no training could defeat one of Hades’ chief servants?

Was he relying on Percy being a powerful demigod?

What would’ve happened if Percy had died instead?

Why didn’t Chiron do something about Mrs Dodds earlier? She’d been at the school for months. And now the centaur was undoubtedly bewitching the whole school into thinking Mrs Dodds never existed.

(That screamed all sorts of unethical.)

(Perhaps Luke was right.)

Would Mr Brunner come and fetch him if he didn’t make his way back to class? Could Percy steal the sword and run away?

But that would drastically alter the future, so he resisted the temptation and reluctantly trudged back to the fountain.

“I hope Mrs Kerr kicked your butt!” Cheeto Face was still drenched in water when he returned, fuming.

“I hope your socks stay soggy!” Percy retorted. And they did; he made sure her shoes would squelch every step of the way home.

(Kronos laughed again.)

Thunder boomed in the distance and it started to rain. Zeus throwing a temper tantrum about his lost toy.

“Hey Grover! Where’s Mrs Dodds gone?”

“W-Who?”

“Not funny, man, this is serious!”

“Sorry, Perce, but uh, I’ve never heard of a Mrs Dodds.”

The weather worsened.

Now it was time to try out his ‘clueless twelve-year-old’ act on his Latin teacher.

Percy spotted his teacher sitting in the museum café, reading a book, as if he’d never left the table. Mr Brunner looked up as he walked over and took notice of the pen still in Percy’s hand.

“Ah, that would be my pen,” he noted, taking it back. “Please remember your own writing utensils in the future, Perseus.”

Ugh, as if he hadn’t thrown it to Percy in the first place. Alright, here goes.

“Sir, what happened to Mrs Dodds?”

“Who?” Mr Brunner stared at Percy blankly.

“The other chaperone, our algebra teacher. Mrs Dodds.”

“Percy, there is no Mrs Dodds on this trip,” he insisted with an expression of confusion and concern. “As far as I know, there’s never been a Mrs Dodds at Yancy Academy. Perhaps you’re confusing her with an old teacher of yours—are you sure you’re okay?”

Percy’s face burned with shame and anger. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, and turned away, blinking away tears threatening to spill. The denial hurt more this time because he knew full well that the old centaur had lied to his face.

Thunder boomed again in the distance.

Mrs Kerr, the new teacher (where did she even come from?), shuffled everybody back onto the bus as the storm really started to kick in. Percy took the window seat this time, pressing his flushed face into the cool glass, pointedly ignoring Grover.

Instead, he thought, Kronos?

Yes, Perseus?

Chiron used the Mist, didn’t he? To trick everybody.

That is correct.

Of course he did. He certainly got it from you—like father, like son. Deceit, dishonesty and, and his whole ‘for the greater good’ spiel where us demigods are his pawns. We don’t matter as people, only the end result. We’re expendable. I’m sick and tired of it all.

There was no reply from Kronos.

But why am I complaining to you? You’re worse. You don’t even care for the greater good, you just do whatever you want, to hell with everyone else. You’re the Crooked One indeed!

A small, self-aware part of Percy’s mind realised he was like a rabbit yelling at a lion about its table manners, but the rest of him didn’t care.

What is wrong with all of you gods? Can’t you sort out your little family squabbles without involving demigods? Getting mortals to fix your immortal mishaps? Sending children to war? To fight monsters? That is so messed up. Luke was certainly right about Olympus, but he should’ve known that you, King Cannibal, are oh-so-much worse.

Mental arguments were supremely unsatisfying, Percy noted. Merely thinking angry words did not give the same catharsis that shouting at somebody did. His rage fizzled away into bone-deep weariness, and he closed his eyes pretending to fall asleep.

It was not until the bus turned into the driveway of Yancy Academy that Kronos spoke up once more.

You have given me much to think about today, Percy.

Chapter Text

—but you, King Cannibal, are oh-so-much worse.

Kronos honestly had no qualms about sending mortals to die. They required upkeep and maintenance and there was no point in keeping them around once they outlived their usefulness. And if youth pledged themselves to his cause, he wouldn’t turn down potential assets. What did it matter if a flickering candle was snuffed out early? It would inevitably burn itself out anyway, life fading into shade, even without his interference.

Kronos had lived through countless generations. His mother was the Earth itself, his father the Sky, he was born before the dawn of man. In the olden days before the moon was born, he walked the earth and ruled over all; then came the fated day when he fell to his own weapon, dealt the same hand of fate as his father before him.

But an immortal cannot truly die. Though his essence was scattered thin, his consciousness caught in the liminal space between waking and sleeping, he could still stalk the dreams of mortals to subtly exert his designs on the world.

But now, the Fates appeared to have smiled upon him. The summons had come as a tug on his consciousness, jolting him fully awake for the first time since Luke’s demise. It was ironic, really, to be sent back in time with the same Son of the Sea who had orchestrated his defeat. But Kronos would take what he could get.

Despite being the Titan of Time, he had never actually travelled through time before. Yes, he had the power to speed it up or slow it down, but not to traverse it on a whim or reverse it. If he could, he would’ve returned to a time before the Gods, or perhaps gagged Ouranos to prevent him from uttering the cursed prophecy, or gone back to turn the tide of the First Titan War. (But Kronos would take what he could get.)

Despite having similar resentment towards the Gods, this boy was vastly different from Luke. Where he could utilise Luke’s anger to turn him against Olympus, Perseus was fiercely loyal to those he loved. And if the trek through hell and back did not cause him to lose faith in the Gods, Kronos doubted he could either.

So, he would bide his time.

Kronos would help him reform Olympus and Camp Half-Blood. The little godling would acquire a loyal following, his own cultus. And through their soul-bond, both of them would gain power until Kronos could reassemble his true form at last.

The Fates had truly smiled upon him today. Kronos’ triumph would be orchestrated by none other than the Son of the Sea himself.

You have given me much to think about today, Percy.

Percy was surprised that Kronos actually replied to his little rant, and even more so because Kronos seemed to consider it.

Really?

I am starting to understand your point of view. Perhaps we should have a meeting tonight about our plans to change the world.

Kronos’ words rung true, though Percy was very uninclined to trust him.

Tonight? But I have an exam next week to study for.

Tonight, we will discuss it in our dreams.

Y’know, for a disembodied voice, you can be really ominous. He recalled the nightmares of the Pit he used to have and really hoped it wouldn’t be like that.

The school bus came to a halt, and the hubbub of twenty kids scrambling to disembark put an end to that conversation.

Percy and Grover hurried back to their dorms, shielding their heads from the rain. They had the rest of the afternoon off after the field trip. “Hey Perce, you alright?” Grover asked, not for the first time today.

“I’ll be fine, G-Man, it’s just been a long day and I’m dying for a nap. Did you notice how fast the storm rolled in? There wasn’t a cloud in sight this morning.”

“Yeah, that was really random. Maybe cuz it’s spring, the weather’s more unpredictable.”

Spring, my ass, Percy thought, and kicked off his now-damp shoes. He couldn’t dry them, not while Grover was around. “Wake me up for dinner, alright?” he said, dumping his bag in the corner before diving into his bed.

“Sure I will. It’s Wednesday which means it’s enchiladas to look forward to!”

Percy wasn’t actually intending to fall asleep. He just wanted some alone-time and a chance to think. Overwhelmed by the day’s events but re-energised by the rain, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway, he thought. He slid his arms under the pillow and faced the wall, his thoughts whirling like the gusting wind.

Did he lie there for three or thirty minutes? Percy didn’t know, but he must’ve drifted off at some point as he found himself on a beach, storm still raging around him, wind whipping his hair and stinging his eyes. The sea reared up into waves several feet high and crashed down again, sending a flood of seafoam and water towards his bare feet in the sand; he relished in the thrum of the power of the sea. Then he became aware of an insistent tapping on his shoulder, so he turned around to see a man that looked like his father wearing a purple chiton, with wind-tossed black hair and beard and golden eyes glowing even through the rain, opening his mouth to say, “—it’s time for dinner, Percy, wake up, c’mon—"

Percy awoke with a start, turning over and oh, it was Grover waking him up as planned.

The sight of Grover trotting at top speed to join the cafeteria line would never ceased to make Percy smile.

He missed those moments when it was just him and Grover. Before, well, everything happened, when the biggest threat they faced was Nancy Bobofit and he didn’t need to worry about monsters or dying or prophecies. He was going to make sure they got to Camp safely so Grover could get his searcher’s license—oh wait, Polyphemus. Golden fleece. Grover dressed as a bride. Okay, maybe not yet.

Percy spent the rest of the evening studying for his upcoming math exam. Or, he tried to study. The numbers on the page swam around, and the words of the word problems had a disco party on the page.

He sighed and slid down in his seat, running both hands through his hair.

Gods, I forgot how much I hated school.

A necessary evil, I’m afraid. What ails you?

Uh, well, …I’m dyslexic. I suck at math. I never really score better than a C. It sucks that I have to do this all again. Then he realised Kronos probably didn’t have a clue about grades, and added, That’s slightly above passing, by the way.

Let me take a look.

Percy forced himself into an upright position and held up the paper, and Kronos read it out.

Question 1. 3/4 ÷ 2/5 =

When you divide fractions, you can take the reciprocal of the second one, which is to say, you flip it over, then treat it as multiplication. This makes it 3/4 x 5/2.

Which equals 15/8, or 2.875.

Gee, I didn’t know you were a math whiz.

I am the Titan of Time. Naturally, math falls under my domain.

That’s it, you’re helping me in my test. Maybe you can even slow down the clock for me.

I like the way you think.

That night, he had the same dream. The storm, the waves, the man—

“Kronos?” He raised his voice to be heard.

“Yes, I am he.”

“What are you—where are we? What’s up with the storm?”

“We are in a dream, in a location created by your subconscious mind. Should you wish to, you can dispel the storm or change the scenery with a thought.”

Percy looked around. It looked like he was in Montauk, which he was fine with, but the storm had to go so he could actually hold a conversation with Kronos.

He furrowed his brows. No storm, sunny weather, summer vibes.

The scene shifted to match, clouds dissipating and waves dying down. Something that looked like a wheel-less blue ice-cream truck appeared by the end of the road with some blue beach umbrellas. Kronos was now wearing a purple Hawaiian shirt (with golden flowers to match his eyes) and a sunhat. A couple of blue-and-white Greek houses popped up on the hill for good measure.

“Wait, how?”

Kronos plucked at his new shirt and grimaced. “Dream manipulation is a skill that takes practice. It can be difficult to fine-tune. If you imagine something too vague, your mind will fill in the gaps with associated objects or random weirdness.”

Percy tried again, and a pair of beach chairs appeared. They were only slightly lopsided so he chanced sitting on one, and relaxed when it didn’t immediately collapse.

As Kronos took the other seat, it suddenly struck Percy that Kronos was a spitting image of his father, especially with that shirt. That is, if it wasn’t for the eyes, the eyes of molten gold that held no warmth. Percy glanced away quickly.

“Hey Kronos, I was wondering. You look a lot like my dad. Is it something I imagined too, or is that what you really look like?”

“This is what my physical form used to look like. Poseidon took after me, but he has his mother’s eyes.”

Rhea, Poseidon’s mother was Rhea. And wasn’t that weird, the thought that Rhea was his grandmother and Kronos was his grandfather who looked as young as Percy’s dad, and Kronos had actually eaten his dad—eww, gross. Shelve that thought.

“Okay. So, uh, you wanted to talk plans.”

“That is right. I took the opportunity to ‘brainstorm,’ as Luke would say, while you were enjoying dinner with your satyr friend.”

He procured a golden notebook and passed it to Percy, who turned it over in his hands. It certainly felt real (and unlike his chairs, it had all the parts that a notebook needed, including purple and gold stitches for the binding. Trust Kronos to colour-coordinate everything.)

The nameplate was in Ancient Greek:

Name: Kronos Ankylometes*
Subject: Diary of a Chrononaut

[*ἀγκυλομήτης, having crooked counsel, i.e., the Crooked One.]

Percy stifled a laugh and turned to the first page, luckily also in Greek.

Travelled through time with Perseus Jackson to stop Gaea.

Opponents we might face:

1. Born of Earth and the Pit, each one was created to oppose a particular god. Must be killed by a god and demigod working together. Do Titans count?
2. Stirs whenever the gods fight. From what I was told, she started to wake when I had my brothers released from Tartarus. Must be put to sleep, preferably permanently.
3. May retaliate if Mother is attacked, otherwise he does not like assuming a physical form and cares little for mortal affairs.

To-Do List:

• Find brothers
• Reform myself
• Reforge scythe
• Make alliances with gods and demigods
• Destroy Giants (make sure they don’t leave Tartarus immediately)
• Scatter Gaea
• Fight Tartarus (if necessary)

“Makes sense I guess,” Percy said. “But what you mean, ‘reform yourself’? Aren’t we fine as-is?”

“If the plot to kill Ouranos was anything to go by, my brothers would not want to deal the killing blow. I will have to end my dearest mother myself.”

“They’ll still help us defeat Gaea though, right?”

“Of course. After the Titanomachy, she left us to rot in hell while she gallivanted around with a new lover. Instead of freeing us, she birthed the Giants and raised them to fight us and the Gods.”

“Ah. Yeah, sorry to hear that, I had a horrid stepfather too.” Weird that they had something in common. “Anyway, do you have to reform? Why can’t you fight Gaea in my body?”

“I could, but then the physics of your mortal form would limit my abilities. Besides, if Gaea decided to show her divine form, you would instantly become a pile of ash.”

“Yeahhh, not great. I see, well, lemme think about it first. But in the meantime, what are we going to do about Luke? And Camp? Since the solstice is in a month, and we need to get them back before then.”

“As I said, Luke will take the blame for his actions, then you will go on the quest to bring them back. Perhaps you could take Luke with you.”

Percy didn’t really like the sound of that. Travelling across the country with his old enemy? (Well, he’s already got Kronos in his head, which is much worse.) But could he bring himself to trust Luke with his life, to have his back in battle? Luke, who tried to kill him so many times? Would old instincts kick in during a fight and cause him to attack Luke by mistake?

He had hoped he could redeem him from afar. Maybe if he stopped Kronos from manipulating Luke’s anger and resentment, he would come to terms with his past and be alright. But maybe that was naïve… And this version of Luke had never done those things which haunted Percy for years… It would be unfair to not give him a chance. Even Bob-Iapetus got a second chance.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally replied.

“See that you do. Speaking of whom, I must contact him with these new developments. May I use your form?”

“What?”

Kronos sighed. “I can’t contact Luke unless you let me take control.”

“Alright, but I’ll revoke your right to talk if you give him nightmares.”

Luke was having a bad dream, one of those where things kept going wrong in weird ways and he couldn’t seem to do anything right. He was on the streets again, alone. (Where was Thalia?) The city’s alleys seemed endless, and he was hopelessly lost. (He didn’t remember being this bad at navigation.) There was a monster around every corner and this time, he ran smack into a twelve-foot-tall cyclops. (Is there a limit on how big they can get?)

He raised his sword to fight, arms as heavy as lead. The cyclops roared, not caring that Luke’s arms were malfunctioning, and swung a massive fist at his head. He ducked and darted around to slash at its legs, then—both his sword and the cyclops vanished into thin air.

“Castellan!”

He knew that voice. (Ancient and old and scraped like knives on a stone.)

Luke whirled around, out of breath and his pulse racing a million miles an hour, wishing he still had his sword.

It was a boy in Greek attire.

(He didn’t know this kid.)

He peered down at the boy. Young, on the lean side, maybe ten or twelve, with dishevelled black hair, a pointed nose and golden eyes that gleamed with amusement. A god, then?

“Perhaps you do not recognise me in my new host?”

Luke’s blood turned to ice. “Lord Kronos,” he whispered and dropped to one knee. Was it Kronos? It probably was, better safe than sorry. What was Kronos doing here? (Did he really want to know?) Here to torment him again for getting caught stealing the lightning? And who was the boy?

“Rise, Castellan. We have much to speak about. There have been some new developments.”

Luke stood up stiffly, clenched his hands and stuffed them into his pockets. Then thinking better of it, he pulled them out and clasped them behind his back.

Kronos tilted his head slightly, as if debating with himself. Then he looked back at Luke, and in a flash of gold, the alleyway they were standing in morphed into the woods of Camp Half-Blood.

Kronos sat down on a boulder and motioned for Luke to join him.

“Okay, so, how do we start?” Kronos said, his voice shifting to an abnormally high register, its usual undercurrent of ancient power fading away.

Luke eyed his companion warily. Was Kronos a child now? A tween Titan? He noted that the boy’s eyes were now green with a bit of gold remaining around the pupil.

But Kid Kronos didn’t wait for Luke’s brain to catch up. “So long story short, I’ve got some new intel. I found out that if we free the Titans and start a war against Olympus now, it will cause Gaea—yes, that Gaea—to wake up. She hates us all and wants to destroy the Gods and all humans so that her Giants can rule the world. It’s all gonna happen in the next few years so we’ll need to change our plans.”

“Uh,” was the most intelligent reply Luke could come up with, given the circumstances. He couldn’t decide whether to be more surprised about Kronos knowing this, or that Kronos had turned into a child.

“Okay…so, um, let’s start again. I’m Percy Jackson by the way. I’m Kronos’ host, he’s currently living rent-free in my head as a vacation from Tartarus. We’ve just had a disturbing …dream or prophecy, which shows that if we trigger a civil war in Olympus now, it will lead to the Earth Mother waking up to destroy the world. So we gotta rethink our plans and deal with her first.”

Then gold flooded into the boy’s eyes and he spoke again with Kronos’ normal voice. (Luke shivered). “That is right. Though my mother has stirred several times over the centuries, she is now on the verge of waking up. She despises the Gods and Titans alike, and would remake the whole world itself to see them gone, to have her Giant spawn rule. So yes, we have to change our plans.”

Incensed by the unfairness of the situation, Luke stood up and jabbed a finger at the kid. “Why didn’t you tell me this five months ago? Before you got me to steal Zeus’ thunder? So you’re telling me that I did it all for nothing, and still going to get punished for it?”

Kronos’ eyes flashed dangerously. “Be grateful that I am telling you now. You have until the solstice to retrieve it and the Helm; do not fail me again.”

Luke winced when he realised he was about to be tossed into another nightmare of Tartarus. Kid Kronos had given him a false sense of security and he’d actually talked back to the Titan.

The kid’s voice floated into his mind. “Sorry about Kronos. I told him I’d suspend his speaking rights if he tried to give you nightmares. I know the situation isn’t great, and we kinda dropped a bombshell on you, but we only found out this morning too. I’ll be coming to Camp in a few weeks so we can talk more about it then. But hey, Luke?”

Luke turned to meet sea-green eyes.

“I hope you sleep well.”

With those words, the forest dissolved into a sea of gold, and Luke fell into a dreamless sleep.

(When he awoke, he realised he hadn’t felt this rested for five months.)

Chapter Text

The rest of the school year was a drag. Percy just couldn’t wait to get to camp.

Grover kept throwing Percy concerned looks when he thought he wasn’t looking, while Percy pretended to Grover that nothing had changed.

Sometimes Kronos would show up in Percy’s dreams. They’d sit on the beach and sip blue sodas, while Kronos made him summon all sorts of dream-objects. (“It’s good practice,” he said. But what for, he wouldn’t say.)

End-of-year exams happened, and Percy actually passed. He realised that the exam regulations said nothing against bringing along immortal Titans (only no calculators, cheat sheets or communication devices), so he decided to make the most of that loophole.

Against all odds, he was not expelled from Yancy that year!

Travelling home with Grover, he noticed that the Fates hadn’t appeared this time, so he assumed he was doing a good job so far. He had to ditch Grover again at the bus terminal bathrooms though. No hard feelings, just to preserve the timeline. (He hoped Grover wouldn’t mind, in the same way how Percy no longer minded his feigned ignorance about Mrs Dodds.)

He took a cab home from there, twisting his sweating palms together and bouncing his knees as he counted down the minutes until Gabe-time.

Percy arrived outside his mom’s apartment, suitcase in hand and bag on his back. He lingered in a futile attempt to delay meeting his ugly stepfather again in the flesh. Facing an alive Smelly Gabe was undoubtedly the lowlight of being twelve again—he wished he had Medusa’s head with him.

What are you waiting for? This is your home, right?

Yeah, but Smelly Gabe is here. My uh, stepfather. Let me handle this.

Kronos hmphed.

Taking a deep breath, Percy twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. Kronos, meet Smelly Gabe. The first thing that hit him was the musty odour of cigars, beer and sweat—the combo was stomach-churning, or maybe that was his nerves. He quietly set his suitcase and backpack down and tiptoed down the hall, trying to sneak into his room without alerting Gabe.

Of course, he had no such luck.

“Who’s there?” Gabe’s voice rang out over the din of the TV, gravelly from a lifetime of smoking.

Percy froze, blood pounding in his ears.

Aight, it’d been worth a shot.

Taking another deep breath to steady himself, he replied, “I’m home,” and shuffled into the lounge. Smelly Gabe wasn’t alone, he had his smelly friends with him too.

“So. You’re back.” The walrus-shaped man said with a drag of his cigar, hardly glancing up from his game.

“Where’s mom?”

“Working. Got any cash?”

Percy knew exactly how this was going to go. Gabe would take his money, gamble it all away, then threaten him for more; and if Percy ever told anyone of their ‘guy secret,’ he’d get his lights punched out of him.

But not this time. I’m not twelve anymore, he reminded himself. I survived Tartarus. I fought Misery and lived; I can deal with one Smelly Gabe. His anxiety morphed into firm determination. Over my dead body!

“Nope,” he lied, and set his jaw. He hadn’t survived the Mansion of Night and the cursed Arai just to fold to his mortal jerkfather’s demands.

Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Then how did you manage to catch a cab home? If someone expects to live under my roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

Eddie, the building super and a regular visitor, had the decency to try and speak up. “Come on, Gabe. The kid just got here. Give ‘em a break.”

“Am I right?” Gabe repeated, and Eddie looked away. The other two poker players stared stoically at their cards like their lives depended on memorising every little detail.

Percy scowled at the spineless lumps. “Even if I had money, you won’t be getting it.”

“What was that, boy?” Gabe growled dangerously and got to his feet.

“I said, you ain’t getting my money.” Percy replied evenly and turned to leave.

But fast as lightning, far quicker than he’d expected for such a large man, Gabe was on him, seizing Percy’s upper arm with one meaty hand. He yanked him around and Percy caught a face full of rancid garlic breath.

“Insolent brat! After everything I’ve done for you, allowing you to go to some fancy school and paying for your private education, all you’ve done is cause more trouble!” He drew back his other fist to strike. “This’ll teach you to show some respect to your elders!”

It all seemed to happen in slow motion to Percy, who desperately tried to worm out of his grasp or somehow dodge the blow, but his young form lacked the strength required. Gabe’s fist collided with Percy’s cheek, whipping his head to one side. Black spots swum in his vision before giving way to a haze of gold.

Percy straightened up and looked Gabe directly in the eyes, pain fading into the background. “I will show you about being an elder!” He spat, voice harsher than the sands of time.

A pulse of gold, and Gabe physically withered under his piercing glare. The lines on his face deepened into wrinkles and bags grew under his eyes, his hair turning white. Gabe began to hunch over as he aged decades in a matter of moments. He let Percy’s arm slip from his grasp as he raised his trembling, knobbly hands before him in unbridled horror. “What…have you done to me?”

“Only that which you deserve.”

Then the shell of a man crumpled to the floor.

Golden eyes turned to the stupefied poker players at the table. “What are you looking at? Your friend has had a medical emergency.” Another pulse of gold sent them scrambling to dial 911, convinced that their friend had suffered a sudden heart attack.

The room suddenly snapped back into full colour, and Percy gasped for breath as the pain returned in full force. Holding a hand to his throbbing face, he stumbled to the bathroom and shut the door. Not sure what else to do, he stepped into the shower box fully clothed and turned on the tap.

The cold water streamed down his face and washed away the injury, it felt so good. Phew, it had been close, but the Gabe problem is now solved. He supposed he had someone to thank for that.

Hey Crooky, I owe you one.

Anytime, little godling.

The wail of an approaching siren brought Percy out of his thoughts. He shut off the shower and dried himself and his clothes before checking his face in the mirror—a faint bruise was all that remained.

But now what?

Gabe would be taken to the hospital—Percy couldn’t bring himself to be sorry for it, in fact, he rather relished the memory—and the other poker players would disperse. His mom was going to be home soon, maybe even leaving work early.

His mom! Percy really missed his mom. He hadn’t seen her since Hera abducted him a lifetime ago. But this was a different version of Sally Jackson, one who hadn’t yet told Percy about his father, nor been captured by Hades, nor will she get a chance to turn Smelly Gabe into a statue.

What would she do once she found out Percy had magically doubled Gabe’s age? His mom was clear-sighted, unlike Gabe’s poker friends. Hopefully she wouldn’t ask too many questions about how Gabe ended up as a geriatric…

Oh, gods. Imagine if word got out… ‘the illegal son of Poseidon is now in cahoots with our ancient enemy, let’s smite him!’—but luckily his mother knew how to keep a secret. She managed to keep his parentage from everybody, including Chiron, and the centaur had been watching him for nearly a year. He started to wonder whether Grover or anybody had noticed the Gabe incident, but the ambulance arrived so he resolved to ask Kronos about it later.

Percy opened the bathroom door to see some paramedics lifting Gabe onto a stretcher, while Eddie spoke with another. “—got up from his chair, and tried to walk, then he clutched his chest and fell down—”

So Eddie was seriously going to pretend Gabe hadn’t tried to punch him. Percy tuned out his wheedling and turned his attention to the stretcher instead. The paramedics fussed over Ancient Gabe, then he was wheeled out of the apartment and out of Percy’s life.

The two other poker players (Percy couldn’t recall their names and didn’t care) made their excuses and left, but Eddie lingered behind.

“Hey, kid?” He said uncomfortably. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened. I guess I shoulda said something, done something earlier, or stepped in.”

“Yeah, you really should’ve.”

“…Yeah. My bad. I didn’t think he’d actually hit you.”

When it became clear that Percy wasn’t going to say anything more, Eddie quietly exited the apartment too.

Hey Kronos, is anyone going to notice our little stunt earlier? Or did we send out a siren call to all the monsters in a ten-mile radius, ‘fresh demigod feast, dine-in available, no prior booking required’?

I don’t think so, we should be safe.

Also, d’you reckon Grover suspects anything about us?

I have been masking my divine presence ever since we arrived in this timeline—not even Chiron suspects yet—but I can’t do much about your ‘demigod scent.’ It’s more than likely that the satyr noticed your sudden increase in power overnight.

Oh, okay. If we’re lucky, he might think it’s because we encountered Alecto in the museum.

Perhaps. Knowledge does indeed increase your scent, but the satyr is more intelligent than he appears.

Percy didn’t know if he should feel offended or proud on Grover’s behalf, so he changed the topic.

My mom will be back soon. She’ll take us to Montauk for the weekend, then Grover will show up on our doorstep tonight to tell us we have to get to Camp because the Minotaur is after us. Zeus will zap our car while we drive, then the Minotaur takes my mom hostage to Hades, and I kill it on the border of Camp. What a way to make an entrance, eh?

But this time I’m not letting my mom get captured.

…Perhaps that is not wise. Changing the timeline may cause more problems to arise later. For example, have you considered—

Yeah, yeah, whatever, timeline be damned. I’m not going to let ye olde Ghost King to get his hands on my mom if I can help it!

You did say earlier that you ‘owed me one.’ I shall now call in that favour and ask that you do not alter the timeline on a whim.

That’s not what I meant, and you know it.

Ah, but it is what you said.

Percy fumed. He should’ve known that Kronos would be, well, Kronos, and he mentally kicked himself for letting his guard down. And it wasn’t just ‘on a whim,’ it was to save his mom. Kronos probably didn’t know the first thing about awesome parents.

You know that Hades is unpredictable. Let him borrow your mother, lest he retaliate in another manner or escalate the war—there is simply too much at stake. Besides, she will be fine. Hades needs her alive as leverage.

That was not comforting, to say the least, but it made sense, and Percy hated that it made sense. Moreover, he hated the fact that it was Kronos making sense.

…Fine, you win this time, he admitted. Eventually.

Kronos was smart enough to not reply, leaving them in an uncompanionable silence as they waited for Percy’s mom to get home.

Chapter Text

After what felt like an hour (though Kronos informed him it had only been fifteen minutes), Percy got too antsy to sit around. He paced the lounge, skirting around scattered beer cans and used tissues. He toed an empty chip wrapper on the ground, kettle cooked chips, family sized. He bounced on the balls of his feet, then opened the windows for some fresh air. He stared at the crawl of traffic outside, then resumed his pacing, arms swinging.

In short, Percy was bored of being bored.

Letting out a huge sigh, he put one foot on an empty can of diet coke and leaned his weight on it until he felt the metal warp beneath his shoe. When was his mom coming back? It was getting late, and she should be home by now. Last time, she’d taken the afternoon off so they could get to Montauk before dinner. Last time, they’d left in the early afternoon.

The clock in the kitchen said 3:09.

The clock on his mom’s dresser said 3:10.

“Kronos,” Percy said with a twisting feeling in his gut. “Mom should be back already.”

He pushed away unbidden thoughts of his mom abducted by the Minotaur, caught in a workplace accident, in a car crash, or maybe—

She’s probably at the hospital for Gabe.

Also known as the biggest change they’ve made to the timeline so far.

Still, he worried.

Percy, how about you pack your bags and clean the apartment while we wait? I can hardly imagine how horrid those dishes would be after a fortnight away.

So he re-packed his schoolbag (removing everything that wasn’t Minotaur-proof), picked up Gabe’s trash, scrubbed the dishes, wiped the bench, but only succeeded in keeping his hands occupied.

He wasn’t usually a worrier, but time travel was a special case. How should he greet his mom? What should he say? Could he be a convincing twelve-year-old? Would she be mad about Gabe? Should he mention the time travel? What would she think of him?

A knock on the door jolted him out of his thoughts. Percy sprinted down the hall and flung it open—however, it wasn’t his mom on the doorstep.

“Percy! You’re here! Thank the gods you’re safe.” Grover said with a relieved laugh.

“Hey G-Man, what brings you here?” Percy asked, and mentally added, and how do you know where I live?

“I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. Is your mom around?”

“No, she’s still out. Why don’t you come inside?”

It was a good thing Percy had cleaned up earlier—he didn’t want Grover finding out about Gabe, that would be really embarrassing. But Gabe was out of the question now, so Percy pushed the thought away and grabbed a new bag of chips from the pantry.

“So,” Percy plonked himself on the couch and gestured for Grover to do the same. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”

He popped open the bag and grabbed a handful while Grover spluttered.

Time to rip off the band-aid. “There’s no way you stalked me to my house just to meet my mom. I know it has something to do with our math teacher who turned out to be a monster—yes, I haven’t forgotten about that incident—but you’re a terrible liar, you know?”

Poor Grover turned beet red, so he decided to change his tone.

“Hey man, I’m not mad.” Percy offered him the bag of chips. “I know why you pretended she never existed. It was to keep me safe. My mom says the same thing, that it’s dangerous for me to know too much.”

Percy couldn’t recall his mom using those exact words, but it was close enough to the truth.

Grover sighed and slumped back on the couch. Picking up a chip, he mumbled, “Yeah, you got it in one.”

“What was she, then? Mrs Dodds?” Percy asked quietly.

Grover sighed again. “Well, we call them the Kindly Ones—names have power, you see. We don’t want to bring their attention upon us—they’re spirits of vengeance who work for the Lord of the Underworld.”

Percy feigned surprise. “Wait, you mean like the ones from Mr Brunner’s myths? So we’re talking about those gods, and that H-a-d-e-s guy?” He spelt out.

Grover looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, one and the same,” he replied, reaching for more chips.

“That’s …great. So you’re telling me that the Greek gods are real, the Kindly Ones aren’t kindly, and they’re all out to get me?”

“Uh, yeah.” More chomping on Grover’s part.

Percy tried to lighten the mood—he was really bad at this conversation. “Y’know, I once saw a cyclops in a trench coat. Forget about the three penguins! He was hanging around the playground when I was in third grade, with a big hat to cover his big eye. No one believed me of course, but I was convinced I saw a cyclops.”

Maybe his father had sent the cyclops to watch over him.

“What happened to it?” Grover asked.

“The teachers threatened to call the cops on him and he left.”

“Blahaha,” Grover let out a nervous laugh.

Percy had forgotten that Grover had some bad encounters with cyclopes in the past. Time for another topic change.

“Hey, Grover? Despite all this …crazy Greek stuff, we’re still besties, right?” Percy held out a hand.

“Besties, Perce.” Grover grabbed it and twisted it in their usual handshake.

The bag of chips was half finished when Percy’s mom opened the door.

“Percy, honey? Are you home?”

“MOM!” He sprang out of his seat and barrelled down the hallway, wrapping his arms around his mom before she could even shut the door. She smelt of candy, like she always did after work.

“Mom, I’ve missed you so much! Where were you?”

His mom nudged the door closed and returned the hug. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.”

She rested her hands on Percy’s shoulders and looked him up and down. “You’ve grown so much too!”

Percy grinned. He’d actually shrunk since the last time he saw her, but his mom didn’t need to know that.

“I was at the hospital, Percy. I got a call this afternoon, it was about Gabe.” She bit her lip. “He had a heart attack at home and his friends got him to hospital. But he, he—the doctors say he might not wake up again.”

Percy looked away, unable to meet his mom’s eyes. Guilt, relief, anger, triumph, he felt a conflicting mix of them all.

She ran a thumb over Percy’s left cheek, and he knew then that she’d spotted the ghost of a bruise there. “Percy…you’re hurt. What happened?”

He swallowed.

“It’s alright, you can tell me. I won’t be mad, I promise.”

His mom was really smart. She probably already suspected he had a hand in hospitalising Gabe, so he might as well tell her the truth.

“It was Smelly Gabe,” Percy spat, the words coming out harsher than he intended. “Tried to take my money, but I didn’t let him.”

Hot tears welled up in his eyes and he buried his face into his mom’s shoulder. “He hit me, Mom, and I turned him into an old man!” He tried to keep his voice even, but it came out as a sob.

“Oh, Percy,” his mom whispered, and rubbed comforting hands on his back. “I am so sorry…I thought that keeping Gabe around would protect you, not hurt you more.”

“Protect me from what?” Percy said in a small voice.

His mom stiffened.

“From the monsters, right?” Percy said. “Grover and I were just talking about it. At school this year, one of my teachers tried to kill me. She turned out to be a Kindly One in disguise.”

He winced at his own words. Yet another bombshell for his poor mother.

“Oh no, no, Percy… I thought Yancy Academy would be far away enough. I thought you’d finally be safe. But a Kindly One, tried to kill you… We have to leave. It’s not safe here. I’ll explain along the way.”

He let his mom pull away to grab her things. It turned out she’d already packed beforehand.

Then Percy suddenly remembered that he’d left Grover in the lounge. “Uh, Mom, Grover’s here too. My friend from school.”

Grover set aside the empty bag of chips and got up. “Ms. Jackson. It’s nice to meet you!”

“Please, Grover, just Sally is fine. Don’t make me feel old!” She replied with a shaky laugh. “Are you boys ready to go?”

Too tired to pretend to ask questions (“Where are we going? Why is Grover coming too?”), Percy simply said, “Yep, let’s go.”

“We’ll stop for takeaways first. How do you two feel about burgers tonight?”

Percy listened with half a mind in the backseat as his mom explained the mythological world to him. How she met his father, how she’d been reluctant to send him off to Camp, why no one can know of his parentage, and so on. He was glad she didn’t press about Gabe. Grover chimed in from time to time with tales of his own adventures and retellings of Greek myths.

He let himself drift off to their voices. It was all old hat anyway, he’d heard it all before. Lived it, too. The car engine thrummed, windscreen wipers swished, distant thunder rumbled, and he fell asleep to the sound of pouring rain.

He dreamt of Camp, of seeing young faces on old friends. Annabeth, Lee, Michael, even Silena. He dreamt of war, of a golden-eyed Luke and a boy with an eyepatch in the throne room of the Gods, of a nine-day fall into hell, the wailing river of lamentation and the dreaded mansion of Night. He felt the poison of Misery seep into his skin and sear into his lungs, and heard her choking gasps as he turned it back onto her and she began to melt—

“Percy! Control your dreams!”

A tug on his mind yanked him out of Tartarus and he tumbled sideways onto solid ground.

Trembling, Percy stood up and looked around. Sand, sea, beach, hills, sun, Kronos. He was still in a dream.

The latter crossed his arms and frowned. “Nightmares of the Pit again?”

“Yeah. Hate that place,” Percy muttered.

“Tell me about it. We will have to work on controlling your nightmares.”

Then Kronos took a step closer and placed a hand above Percy’s shoulder, just shy of a touch.

“You did well today, Percy,” he said. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

Dealing with Gabe.

Percy glanced up, sea-green meeting gold, and it dawned on him that those eyes were the last thing the Sky ever saw.

And, against his better judgement, Percy reached up and grasped Kronos’ hand.

When Percy woke up, it was almost pitch-black outside. Sheets of rain battered the windshield and the car was rocked by gusts of wind. A flash of lightning, and he saw Grover’s face on his left, wide-eyed in fear. Then followed a crack of thunder; the storm was almost on top of them now. He didn’t know how he’d managed to sleep so long.

“Mom, are we there yet?”

“Soon, honey, we’re almost there.”

If Gabe could see how they were driving his car, he’d surely have another heart attack.

Percy turned around and tried to get a glimpse out the rear window. Nothing outside.

“Sit down, Percy!” His mom ordered.

Another flash of lightning, and he saw black shadows of trees twisting in the wind. Thunder boomed, closer this time. Still nothing outside.

“What are you looking for?” Grover asked.

“I think there might be something out there.”

The car swerved around a corner, slamming Percy back into his seat. The road turned into mud, half a mile to go now.

Perhaps they could all make it to Camp safely?

But even then, his mom couldn’t enter the borders. There was nothing to stop Hades from stealing his mom after Percy entered the camp. Blasted gods.

Now Grover was also frantically looking out of his window. Did he smell something? Or did he pick up on Percy’s fear?

Then the world lit up with a bang. Lightning cracked open a tree, blasted by the gods.

“Look out! On the left!” Grover yelled.

“What is it? What did you see?” Percy tried to see out of Grover’s window, but it was too dark now.

“Big man, monster, sort of thing, wants us for dinner!”

“Maybe a late-night snack!”

“We’re almost there, come on, please, please…”

“Mom, step on the gas!”

“We can’t go any faster!”

Then—A blinding flash, a deafening explosion, and the car stuttered to a halt.

Struck by lightning.

“Ow…” Percy said in a daze, peeling his face off the window. The car was sitting at an angle in a ditch.

“Percy!” His mom shouted.

“I’m alive… Grover’s out cold…”

Seatbelt off, Percy. Use the left door.

He took off their seatbelts, and true enough, his door was wedged shut. The other side, then, but Grover was in the way. His mom was first out of the car, and helped him get the other door open and pulled Grover out, followed by Percy.

The rain hit his face, sharpening his senses. Something growled behind them—he turned to see the Minotaur. It pawed the ground, flicked its tail and lowered its head to charge.

“Percy, run! It wants you! I’ll distract it!” He heard his mom yell.

Run! Kronos echoed in his head.

Sorry, Mom, he thought, I’ll get you back from Hades soon.

Drawing strength from the water soaking his clothes, he sprinted up the hill with Grover’s limp form in tow. He set Grover down by Thalia’s tree, checked that he was still breathing, and turned back to the Minotaur—just in time to see it seize his mom. Even though he knew it had to happen, the sight of her vanishing in a shower of gold filled him with fury.

Percy’s heart thudded in his chest. He had no idea how he’d managed to kill this beast the first time with no training and no weapons. It was just pure luck that he’d managed to break off a horn.

Grover’s words from earlier floated into his mind. “—Names have power, you see. We don’t want to bring their attention upon us—”

And suddenly, Percy had a new idea.

“Hey, you! Moo-man!” He hollered, running down the hill.

The Minotaur, who was still looking around in confusion at its prey’s sudden disappearance, swung its massive head to face Percy.

“Yes, you! Free-roam your Angus beef over here!”

The bull-man let out a strangled moo and charged towards him, curved horns impossibly sharp. Forty, thirty, twenty feet away.

“Asterion!”

Ten feet.

“Asterion, stop!”

The creature hesitated, and Percy took the opportunity to swing himself onto its back. He wrapped his legs around its torso and hung on for dear life in the world’s deadliest rodeo show. Grabbing one horn, he yanked it back with all his might. It came off in his hands and he sank it into the Minotaur’s heart, stabbing it twice for good measure. It bellowed in pain before dissolving into golden ash, dropping Percy onto the ground.

No injuries this time, at least. Fortunately, the Minotaur’s birth name was one of the few things he remembered from Mr Brunner’s class this year. Take that, Nancy.

He picked up the horn and turned it over in his hands, feeling its texture. It was beautiful in its own way, dappled white grading into a gleaming black point. He wondered if Pasiphaë had loved her half-bull son.

“Lil Starry, eh. With that sort of name, you could’ve been a rapper in a better life.”

Getting to his feet, he noted that the car wreck wasn’t too far away. He might as well check for anything that can be salvaged. The trunk wouldn’t open, but he managed to grab his schoolbag from his seat at least.

He put the horn in his bag—maybe if he’s lucky, no one will find out he fought the Minotaur—and trekked back up Half-Blood Hill.

Chapter Text

Percy didn’t want to leave Grover alone in the dark, but dragging him half a mile to the Big House was out of the question. It’d injure him further, and besides, Percy didn’t think he had the energy to drag himself there. He was feeling every bit of his exhaustion now that they were past the Camp border, out of the rain.

At least Grover wouldn’t get soaked. Percy took a jacket from his bag and laid it over his friend, who stirred and muttered something about food.

“Hey, G-Man,” Percy murmured, “Hang in there. I’m going to get us some help.”

Then he whispered to the tree, “Keep him safe, Thals,” before turning to sprint to the Big House with what remaining strength he could muster up.

Luke found himself sulking by the campfire after Capture the Flag. He was not in a good mood—not only because of their third loss in a row to the Ares cabin, nor the out of tune weee alll live in a yellow submarine he was surrounded by, but mainly because of Kronos.

First of all, Kronos had shown up a month ago in his dreams, no longer in Tartarus, but as a black-haired, golden-eyed child. Then it turned out said child was his host.

Luke would never admit it aloud, but he was more than a bit jealous. Whatever happened to Luke being Kronos’ second in command? He was supposed to be Kronos’ host. Perhaps, deep down, he felt a little left out… first the gods, now Kronos …but no one needed to know that, and Luke wasn’t going to admit it to himself either.

Then, Kronos had delayed their plans for revenge. Why? “Because the Earth was waking up?” Talk about excuses… They didn’t need the Olympians to fight Gaea, they had the Titans.

And it was clear that Luke had risked his neck to steal from the gods for no reason—Kronos now wanted him to return the things he’d stolen. No “thank you for your service” or “sorry for the bother,” only a “you better do it, or else.”

And what was he even supposed to do? He had no clue where Ares had taken them, and Kronos had fallen off the grid. It’s been a full month since the kid had told him “We’ll talk about it when I get to Camp in a few weeks,” and the solstice loomed closer day by day.

Well, a month without nightmares had been a relief, but a month of not knowing what was going on was quickly turning out to be worse.

A satyr tapping on his shoulder brought him back to the present. “Luke. We’ve got a new camper, Mr D needs you in the Big House.”

As the counselor of the Misfits Cabin, it usually fell to Luke to welcome the newcomers. It was the least he could do—Mr D wasn’t exactly the welcoming type, and Chiron had disappeared last September—so he excused himself from the sing-along that he hadn’t been singing along to and made his way there.

Voices drifted through the still air from the Big House, and Luke listened. He stilled his breathing.

“—and then I left Grover on the hill and ran all the way here,” a child’s voice said.

“What happened to your mother?” Mr D asked.

“She… she disappeared. In a shower of gold sparks.”

“Eh, she’s not dead, just taken. Now, Perry—are you aware of what you are?”

The child laughed. “A demigod?”

“Sure thing, kid.”

Then Mr D raised his voice. “Logan, quit loitering outside and find this boy somewhere to sleep!”

Embarrassed at being caught—he’d underestimated Mr D’s perceptiveness—Luke slid open the door to find the two sitting around a table.

Mr D was drinking his customary diet coke with an uncustomary amused expression. And the boy, the boy from his dreams, drained his glass of nectar, looked at Luke, and grinned.

“Hi, Luke!”

There was only one reason the boy could know his name, and it wasn’t Mr D.

Luke felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Well, Lewis, how long are you going to stand there gaping?”

“Right, ah—Come along with me, I’ll show you to our cabin.” Luke glanced at Mr D, then turned to leave without waiting for the kid to follow. “You’ll be staying in the Hermes cabin for now, where all the unclaimed demigods stay, since he’s the patron of travelers.”

The patron of leaving demigods to die on the streets.

“We can watch the orientation film tomorrow morning, and I’ll give you a tour of the camp afterwards. It’s Saturday tomorrow so it’s a day off.”

Luke wasn’t running away, no. He was just walking briskly.

“These are the cabins. Each god has one—well, only the Olympians—and their children stay in them. Except the ones who don’t have children.”

Cabin 11, packed like sardines. Cabin 1, pristine and empty.

“That’s the dining pavilion over there, where we have our meals. Breakfast is at 8, so don’t sleep in!”

His welcome speech became more hollow each time he gave it.

Luke turned around when he reached Cabin 11. The boy was jogging to keep up, and Luke felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps he should’ve been nicer, but seeing Kid Kronos in person was making Luke all kinds of nervous. At least his eyes weren’t gold…

On second thought, he should be nicer to Kronos. He scanned the empty cabin. “Here, you can take this bed.”

Luke’s bed.

“I’ll, ah, leave you to get things settled, alright? Just watch where you put your stuff, our father’s the god of thieves.”

The boy simply nodded, and Luke beat a hasty retreat. He didn’t mind sleeping on the ground, but he sure was going to pick the farthest patch of floorboard from Kronos.

By the time he got back to the campfire, Lee was leading an encore of Yellow Submarine.

Kid Kronos—well, Luke supposed he should call him Percy—was …not normal, to say the least.

Percy seemed to know everybody’s names in advance.

Percy would sometimes stare at people, especially Luke, as if he had never seen them before, or as if he was seeing them die in front of his eyes.

Percy drank blue soda.

When Chiron arrived back from wherever he’d disappeared to, Percy greeted the centaur with an intensely withering glare.

When Clarisse came by to introduce Percy’s head to the toilet, Percy told Luke to stay out of it. (Luke watched in shock as the plumbing exploded and three fuming Ares kids stormed out. He supposed Kronos didn’t need him to be his bodyguard…)

When Luke taught him how to use a sword, Percy proceeded to attack Luke as if he was seriously trying to kill him, before apologising awkwardly and withdrawing into himself.

Eventually, Luke managed to get him alone for a moment.

“So, Percy, how have you been finding camp so far?”

“Eh, it’s been alright. It feels really crazy to be here, and I miss my mom.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mom. If you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

“I will get her back from the Lord of the Underworld soon enough.”

For a second, Luke thought Percy was planning to steal her soul back from the dead, Orpheus-style—and Percy seemed just the sort of kid to do that—before he recalled the conversation he’d overheard – “She disappeared in a shower of gold.” – “Not dead, just taken.”

“How do you know it was him? Could’ve been Big Z, he’s got a penchant for showers of gold.”

Percy looked up sharply, as if he hadn’t considered that anyone besides Hades could be the culprit, or perhaps because that was how the original Perseus had come about. A look of apprehension crossed Percy’s face, before he sighed.

“Look, I know it’s him. There’s a reason—I can’t tell you here. Maybe we could talk about it at midnight at the canoe lake? To chat about time?”

That was code for Kronos-talk.

“Alright, I’ll sneak us out.”

Child-eating curfew harpies are no match for the Lightning Thief himself, he thought wryly.

So that was how Luke found himself sitting in a bubble at the bottom of the lake.

“We all live in a yellow submarine, eh?” He remarked, trailing a hand over the surface of the bubble. The song was still stuck in his head after three days.

Percy laughed. “Yeah, it’s the only place I could think of where we could talk about this. The forest has ears, and I’d much rather speak in person than in a dream.”

Luke glanced around and waited for his eyes to adjust to the underwater gloom. Percy had apparently found them a patch of sand without lakeweed or other unpleasant sliminess, and created a dome of air underwater. Some curious fish approached like darts of shadow, and Luke could’ve sworn he saw something larger swimming in the distance.

Percy was sitting cross-legged next to him, with eyes shimmering like abalone—that was new. Luke had never seen demigods’ eyes taking on a glow before, or maybe he’d simply never seen one use their powers in the dark.

“So, you’re a son of the Sea God? That explains the bathroom trick.”

“Yup. That never gets old! Anyway, we have to talk. Kronos and I have agreed, which is a rare thing in itself. We’ve decided to let you into the loop of our world-ending plans, if you swear on the River Styx to never tell a soul.”

“Wait, so old Barnacle Beard broke his oath too, and you really are Kronos’ host?”

Percy reached into the water and plucked a piece of lakeweed in lieu of replying. His eyes momentarily brightened into pure gold, casting an eerie glow underwater, and the sprig grew, stem lengthening and fronds unfurling, before it withered brown and turned back into dust.

Luke stared at the dust trickling through Percy’s fingers in morbid fascination. “So you really are Kronos’ host.”

“Yeah. It’s a long story, but one that’s important for you to know, as our co-conspirator.”

After a moment’s consideration, Luke said, “Alright, you got me curious. I’ll swear it. I swear on the River Styx not to disclose the information you’re about to share, unless you allow me to.”

A distant rumble of thunder confirmed the oath.

“So, how do I start? Me and Kronos, we come from the future.”

The future! Luke leaned forward with interest. Time travel sounded implausible, but it probably wasn’t impossible. Who knew what the Titan of Time was capable of?

“We come from a time of war, from four years in the future.”

“So you arrived …one month ago? The day you appeared in my dream?”

“Yep, that day. It was the Fates that sent us back, actually. They borrowed a piece of Kronos’ essence to use in some ancient ritual, which sent me back four years with Kronos stuck in my head.”

“So that’s how you became his host.”

“Yeah… our souls are bound now. I can’t get rid of him even if I tried.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier, in a dream? Since you obviously can?”

“Ah… sorry about that. I got busy with end of year exams and all that, and kinda lost track of time. Kronos can’t reach you on his own now, we have to use his power combined with my essence since he’s stuck in my mind.”

“Alright,” Luke said, not understanding at all. “So where’s Kronos now? Is he still in Tartarus?”

Percy flinched. “Don’t say his name. But yeah, most of Kronos’ essence is still scattered somewhere in the Pit. We figured the largest piece has been welded onto my soul—don’t ask, I don’t know how. Like two sides of a coin, maybe.”

“So, um, are you allowed to tell me what happens in the next few years?”

“I’ll give you the short version for now—basically, there was a war between the Gods and the Titans. The Gods won, but the entire mess caused the Earth Mother to wake up, and she wanted all of us gone. The Fates abducted me before I could see the final battle, but I assume it went absolutely horribly.”

Luke wondered what had happened to himself in Percy’s timeline. He guessed he would’ve been working with Kronos, so the losing side.

A sudden thought occurred to him. “We were on opposite sides of this war, right? That’s why you snapped and tried to kill me in our spar today. You fought me, and your old instincts kicked in.”

“…Yeah, you could say that.”

Luke couldn’t think of a reason why Percy dreaded facing his sword, Backbiter, other than— “I became Kronos, didn’t I? That was our Plan B if we couldn’t resurrect him directly.”

Percy looked away, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Gold eyes don’t suit you, Luke.”

Personally, Luke thought golden eyes would go well with his hair, but he knew Percy wasn’t talking about that. He started to get a sinking feeling that he must’ve done something …unpleasant in the other timeline.

He dreaded to ask, but asked anyway, “What… what happened to me, between now and then?”

“Kronos happened, Luke! He used your rage and despair, and then blackmailed you the rest of the way.”

True, he had those in droves, but blackmail. Luke suppressed a shudder. Whatever he had done in another life, whatever he was capable of doing in this life, he really didn’t want to know.

“How come Kronos lost in the end?” He asked instead.

“You destroyed him before he could fully reform.”

“Me?”

“You turned from him. You realised that taking your revenge, deposing the Olympians, and making Kronos king, that none of these would bring justice for demigods. Only more death and suffering to those you promised to protect.”

Luke grimaced at the thought. He knew himself well enough to guess what he would’ve done next. “I suppose I died, then?”

“Yeah, taking Kronos with you.”

They fell into a long silence after that.

The only thing Luke could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears, and he traced circles in the soft sand, lost in thought.

Eventually, he managed to say, “Thanks for telling me this, Percy, I… I think I needed to hear it.”

“Of course.”

“Also, one more thing. Why are you trying to help me? Why is Kronos letting you help me?”

Another silence.

“I have to admit, I didn’t want to at first. But I guess I couldn’t let it happen to you again. After we defeated Kronos, we made the gods swear on the Styx to claim all their children and let us build cabins for the minor gods. But it wasn’t enough. We were still pawns in their little games, sent to die on their request.”

Percy told him about how Hera took his memories away and made his life hell, and the failure of the Olympians to address the Gaea problem, then his fall into Tartarus.

“I don’t know what the solution is,” Percy admitted. “But we gotta stick together, us demigods. And as for Kronos, he doesn’t like it, but he can’t do anything at the moment apart from complain in my head.”

“And judging by what you said, we’ve got Mother Earth to deal with first, anyway,” Luke said, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “But first, I think I really need some sleep. And a few days to think about, y’know, all of this.”

“Probably more than a few days. But look, if you ever wanna talk, or complain about the gods together, I’m your man.”

Chapter Text

“I’ll, ah, leave you to get things settled, alright? Just watch where you put your stuff, our father’s the god of thieves.” Luke said.

Percy absently nodded, mind elsewhere. He’d completely forgotten how overcrowded the Hermes cabin was. In addition to the usual bunks lining the walls, the floor was covered with mattresses and sleeping bags, a literal campsite.

He realised, slightly guiltily, that Cabin 3 was a five-star hotel in comparison.

There was no one around. It was Friday night—had he only left Yancy that morning?—so Percy supposed everyone was at Capture the Flag or the campfire. But he was tired. So very tired that he simply stowed his bag and shoes under his bunk and crawled into bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.

Of course, he woke up the next morning at an ungodly hour.

And of course, he had to stand on someone as he tried to Twister his way across the cabin.

And, of course, that someone had an eyepatch.

“Ow, what the heck?” a sleepy voice grumbled.

“Sorry, sorry!” Percy hissed.

That was not the first impression he’d wanted to make on this timeline’s Ethan Nakamura, but then again, he had no idea what sort of impression he’d wanted to make in the first place.

“S’alright. Was gonna get up anyway.”

Percy wondered if the eyepatch was magical, charmed to stay on while Ethan slept, then continued his trek with twice as much caution. Perhaps he could take a shower then go for a stroll by the canoe lake before breakfast.

It was by the lake where Ethan found him half an hour later.

“Hey.”

Percy turned around. He honestly hadn’t expected Ethan to be the first camper to strike up a conversation with him, but then again, he did step on his arm.

Ethan was wearing a dark hoodie and jeans with his hands in his pockets. He was probably around thirteen, though a bit shorter than Percy.

“Morning. I’m sorry about earlier. Should’ve watched where I was going.”

“Don’t worry about it. The name’s Ethan. So, you’re new here?”

“Yeah, I arrived last night. I’m Percy by the way. Unclaimed.”

Percy wondered if he should try to stay unclaimed for longer this time. Maybe he could get to know Ethan and the other unclaimed demigods better, but if he went unclaimed, Chiron probably wouldn’t send him on the quest. He decided to ask Kronos about it later.

“Wanna walk?” Percy asked, jabbing a thumb towards the lake.

“Sure.”

Percy honestly had no idea what to say to his one-time foe. Sorry I couldn’t save you when you fell to your death. You’re an absolute tool for thinking Kronos would bring balance. Don’t worry, we honoured your dying wish—so he decided on a simple, “How long have you been at camp?”

“Almost three years now,” Ethan replied, unaware of Percy’s inner turmoil. “A monster got my dad and a satyr brought me here.”

“Same with my mom,” Percy said, dragging a foot in the lakeside sand as they walked. “But I hope Grover’s alright. Our car was struck by lightning on the way here. I should check on him after breakfast.”

“Whoa, maybe you did something to piss off Zeus.”

“You mean, I existed?”

Both snickered as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Look, we hurt his feelings!”

“Yeah, you definitely pissed him off with your mere existence.”

“So what’s the deal with the Hermes cabin?” Percy asked nonchalantly. “How come you sleep on the floor? Big Z don’t wanna share?”

“Naw, he doesn’t. It’s also why we can’t expand the cabin—all the cabins have to be the same size, you see, or the gods get mad.”

“That’s stupid, they don’t even live in them!”

“We wanted to build a cabin for unclaimed campers a while back, but nothing ever came of it. Maybe the petition got lost en route to Olympus.”

“Petition?”

“Yeah, Luke wrote one up and got everyone to sign it. Two years later and we still don’t know if it got lost on the Hermes Express or if the gods threw it out.”

“Oh,” Percy said.

“Oh, indeed,” Ethan replied.

They ended up sitting together for breakfast too. Half hanging off the end of the Hermes bench, Percy dug into his Camp pancakes with gusto. Soft but not gooey, slightly crisp on the outside, and slathered with maple syrup and butter. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had them—before Hera?—but he wouldn’t be taking them for granted again.

Percy glanced around the tables, making note of familiar faces. Over at the Athena table, Annabeth was peering over at him too, probably trying to gauge whether he was The One™ or just another unclaimed camper.

Their eyes met across the pavilion.

Percy glanced away, heart pounding in his chest.

By the gods, he missed Annabeth. The realisation hit him like a brick, the fact that he’d never see her again, his Wise Girl. He knew, had known, that everyone in his old life was gone, the tapestry of time unwound, but seeing Annabeth so young, it drove a spike of regret and longing and pain into his heart. The Fates themselves had come between their promises to never leave each other again.

He poked at his pancakes with his knife.

He hoped Annabeth wouldn’t try to talk to him.

Maybe he could move to Camp Jupiter.

“Hey, man, what up?” Ethan nudged him with one pointy elbow.

Percy let out a sigh. “I miss her so much. Now I’ll never see her again.”

He let Ethan assume he meant his mom.

“It hurts, don’t it?” Ethan said, stabbing a fork into his own pancakes. “The gaping hole left by someone who’s gone.”

Percy set his head on one hand. He glanced at Ethan, who wasn’t looking at him, then back at his breakfast.

“All we can do is carry on.”

“Yeah,” Percy replied.

Annabeth tried to talk to him shortly after he gave Clarisse & Co a good drenching.

“So,” she said, crossing her arms. “Who’s your godly parent?”

“I dunno,” Percy shrugged. Maybe he could try and convince himself that this Annabeth was a separate person, because, perhaps, she was…

“Surely you must have some idea. Look at what you just did!” She flapped a hand at the crime scene behind him.

“Why don’t you tell me then?” Percy huffed. “Then maybe I can move out of the Hermes cabin.”

Annabeth glared at him like he was the biggest dolt she’d ever met, which was probably true.

“That’s not how it works! You only move out if you get claimed. Anyway, do you know what’s happening on the solstice?” she asked.

“Why, it’s the longest day of the year, of course, when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky.”

Despite his dour mood, he couldn’t resist getting back at Wise Girl.

She sighed. “You obviously don’t know anything about it then. I’m Annabeth, cabin 6.”

“Percy, cabin you-know-what.”

“I want you on my team for Capture the Flag next Friday.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!”

Now that hadn’t gone too badly.

Chiron returned to Camp later that day, hooves and all.

When he found out Percy had arrived, he summoned him to his office for a little chat. Percy hated little chats with his teachers, they always ended with one party disappointed and the other, irate. He hoped this one would be different, since ‘Mr Brunner’ wasn’t his teacher anymore.

“Percy, my boy, I am glad to see that you have made it here alive.”

Chiron stood behind his desk, and Percy sat on the tall stool in front of him, swinging his legs.

“No thanks to you,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

Chiron pretended not to hear—he’d probably heard worse in his centuries of raising impetuous demigods—and continued, unfazed.

“I take it you are settling in well?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the P. “My mom and Mr D told me about everything.” Again, no thanks to you.

He should probably cut Chiron some slack, given that the centaur had personally gone to Yancy to watch over Percy for most of a year. But Chiron’s deception still stung, and Percy had run out of niceness for the day. Or for the year.

So he said, “Now that you’ve finished your job, can I go?”

A small frown crossed Chiron’s face, as if he wanted to say more, but he let Percy leave.

That night, Percy managed to control his dreams for the first time. He pictured himself in a seaside coffee shop, and prodded at Kronos, who showed up.

“Percy.”

“King K. You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

“No comment,” Kronos said. He smirked.

Percy decided to change Kronos’ outfit into something, hmm, Shakespearean, in retaliation.

The look of pure disgust on Kronos’ face was priceless.

“Hmm,” he said, “Your control has improved, at least.”

Then, out of nowhere, he dropped a bucketful of ice water on Percy’s head.

“Two can play that game,” Kronos intoned as Percy spluttered. “I thought it best if I didn’t distract you with my presence on your first day of Camp.”

Percy thought himself dry and sat down at one of the picnic tables outside the café, overlooking the sea. A large red and white umbrella sprouted from the centre of the table, shielding him from the sun. Kronos, back in his usual chiton, didn’t sit.

“By the way, do you think Mr D knows you’re here?” Percy asked.

“Dionysus sensed something not-so-mortal about your soul. He hasn’t yet recognised me yet—he’s too young—so he probably just thinks you’re a godling more powerful than the rest.”

“Anyway,” Kronos continued before Percy could interject, “We shall attempt to contact Ares later tonight, but I presume you called me here to discuss something else first?”

“The quest,” Percy said. “Specifically, how do we start it? Since Luke’s not going to summon a hellhound, I’m not going to get almost killed, and Poseidon won’t claim me, so Chiron won’t send me to the Oracle.”

“Who said Luke wasn’t going to summon a hellhound?” Kronos asked.

“Me.”

Kronos narrowed his eyes. “Very well. You can do it instead of Luke.”

“I—no, wait, no one’s summoning a hellhound! I’m not going through that again!”

“But—”

Percy turned to face Kronos. “Look, how would you feel if I said I had to banish you back to the Pit or chop you into pieces again for the sake of our plans?”

Kronos frowned.

“Yes, that’s exactly how I feel,” Percy said. He jabbed a finger at Kronos. “No hellhounds, no maiming.”

“I suppose,” Kronos said. He walked around the table to sit opposite Percy. “Either way, the solstice deadline will force Chiron to send a quest. We can simply coordinate Ares to hand off the items to whomever the questers are.”

“He can’t return them himself?”

“The Ancient Laws prevent him from setting foot in Hades’ domain without permission. And, as it had to be a mortal to steal the Bolt, it has to be a mortal to complete the quest.”

Percy supposed mortal referred to demigods—Kronos probably considered everyone who could die a mortal, whether they were a demigod or not.

“Where did these ‘ancient laws’ come from anyway? Feels like an excuse for whenever the gods don’t want to do anything.”

“They didn’t always exist. Perhaps instated after the Titanomachy, or the Trojan War—it’s after my time. You’ll have to ask someone else who was there.”

Someone who hadn’t been in a thousand pieces at the time.

“Do the laws affect you?”

“We are part titan, part mortal. What do you think?”

“I think, it sounds like you don’t know either!”

“Absolutely no clue,” Kronos said.

Percy wondered if he could ever get rid of Kronos. If he died, would Kronos scatter again? If Kronos assumed his true form, would he be incinerated? Or would he somehow be immune due to the soul-bond?

“We have to tell Luke,” Kronos’ voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Tell him what?”

“Who else would Chiron send on the quest, if not his oldest, most experienced camper? He only sent you last time because you were the suspect, a claimed son of Poseidon living in Manhattan.”

“Because you framed me!”

“Exactly. Now it’s your job to convince him to take the quest. Tell him about our time travel too.”

“No! We can’t trust him.”

Kronos gave him a look similar to the one Annabeth had given him earlier.

“Are you expecting to single-handedly coordinate the entire war effort?”

Well, no, but Percy didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone, least of all Luke, that they were from the future.

It’s true that he needed somebody to contact the titans, find demigods who weren’t at camp, and be the leader of their little ‘Anti-Gaea Army’ while he was at school for most of the year. But it didn’t have to be Luke. Especially not Luke!

He just needed to find somebody else who’d be willing to work with him and Kronos, is capable of organising an army, and doesn’t require year-round adult supervision.

…Okay, who was he kidding? There wasn’t another option.

“Fine,” Percy sighed. “Yes, we need Luke, but we don’t have to tell him everything.”

He pulled up his feet to sit cross-legged on the bench and fiddled with a shoelace.

“But think about it from his perspective,” Kronos said. “He was promised revenge, but now we’ve told him to wait. He doesn’t understand why. What do you think he’ll do next?”

Percy was very tempted to punch something, someone, Kronos, for causing the whole mess in the first place, but figured he shouldn’t start a fight he probably wouldn’t win.

So he said instead, “We can tell him about Gaea without mentioning time travel.”

“Would he believe that? Would you believe that, if you were in his shoes? Besides, wasn’t it your intention to save Luke from me? You could warn him of the future so he doesn’t repeat his mistakes.”

If only Kronos would stop making valid points.

Percy supposed he could tell Luke some of the things he’d done. Not everything, lest he create a self-fulfilling prophecy, but enough to change Luke’s mind. After all, Past Luke had shown regret at the end of his life. It’d also make it much easier to strategise with Luke if he could refer to his memories without having to pretend they’re not from the future.

But what was Kronos’ stake in all of this? Why did he care about Luke?

Percy realised, suddenly, that Kronos didn’t care about Luke’s fate at all.

Because Kronos already had a host, and that host was Percy.

Luke was inconsequential.

A chill ran down his spine.

“You’re insufferably heartless, you know?” Percy told Kronos. “Ares can wait ‘til tomorrow. I’m sick of talking to you.”

Kronos did not reply, though Percy was pleased that he did look slightly discomforted.

Chapter Text

Four days later…

“Heroes! You know the rules,” Chiron announced, after dinner. “The creek is the boundary line, the entirety of the forest is fair game…”

Percy knew the rules. He knew they would be broken today, with the only consequence being a week sans dessert.

“…No killing or maiming allowed. As always, I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves.”

Chiron spread his hands and the tables became covered with equipment from the armoury.

Ethan passed him a blue-plumed helmet with a grin. “Don’t die yet!”

“Don’t die, period,” Percy replied.

He chose a cuirass he hoped would fit, one of the smaller shields and a xiphos sword. It wasn’t quite Riptide, but it’d have to do.

Luke threaded his way towards them. “You two will be part of the rearguard,” he said. “Ethan will show you what to do.”

“Alrighty.”

This was new; Percy wondered what had changed as he followed Ethan into the forest.

“Hey!” A voice, running footsteps, then Annabeth materialised in front of them, taking off her cap of invisibility. “Where do you think you’re going? Border’s that way.”

Ah, drama, Percy thought. Then he said aloud, “What do you mean, border? We’re on rearguard.”

Annabeth looked frustrated. “I don’t know where you got that from, you’re supposed to be border patrol.”

She gave Percy a scrutinizing look. He glanced at Ethan, who shrugged.

“Miscommunication?” Ethan asked.

“Beats me,” Percy said. “Guess I’ll see you later.”

He followed Annabeth’s directions and trudged to the creek.

So, Kronos said, after Percy had been standing alone for a while. I was under the impression that you were ‘done with being a pawn.’

This is different. It’s just a game. Besides, I can handle it.

Cope.

Today’s teams were Hermes, Athena and Apollo against Ares and everybody else. Percy supposed he could take one for the team to help them win, but then again, he hated being set up. “Athena always has a plan,” but at his expense, perhaps. It hadn’t seemed so bad last time, but then again, the chaotic aftermath of the hellhound attack and his surprise at finding out his father was Poseidon had put the incident out of his mind.

Suddenly, the underbrush exploded across from him. Five Ares kids charged out, brandishing weapons.

“Cream the punk!” Clarisse yelled, raising her electric spear.

The others rushed at Percy but only got in the way of each other. Adrenaline in his veins, Percy ducked, slashed, parried, missed, changed tactics to accommodate his smaller frame, got in close and quickly sent two of them sprawling into the mud.

“Looks like you need a refund,” he jeered at Clarisse. “Your minions only managed the ‘dirty’ part of your dirty work.”

Clarisse lunged forward, red energy crackling on the tip of her spear. Percy blocked with his shield, parried a sword strike, but another fighter slashed him from behind. Clarisse struck again, quick as a fox, getting his shield-arm. A painful jolt ran through his body, all his hair stood on end. His shield fell out of his limp fingers, arm gone numb. Something hit him in the back of his head, and he stumbled.

“All bark, no bite,” Clarisse drawled.

Shieldless and surrounded, things weren’t looking very good for him.

“The flag’s that way,” Percy stalled, gesturing in its vague direction.

“That’s nice,” a carbon copy of Ares said. “If only we were here for the flag. We only care about the guy who made our cabin look stupid!”

Mini-Ares swung, Percy parried and made a dash past him. To get to the creek.

Clarisse’s spear pierced his leg. He fell forward, groaning in pain, but the pain was soon replaced by growing numbness. He tried to crawl the rest of the way to the creek, but Clarisse put a foot on his back.

“Not so fast!”

Then, leaning forward, she whispered, “Goodnight, Prissy.”

A blow to the back of his helmet knocked him out.

Voices floated into his mind,

“—but I want to see him—”

“—needs some space—”

as he drifted in,

“—will he be alright?”

“—should’ve gone with him—”

“—everybody, get out!”

and out of consciousness.

When Percy next came to, he felt like he’d been trampled by a horde of Party Ponies. He blinked open his eyes blearily, finding himself in a bed in the Big House’s infirmary. Grover was sitting next to him, and it was daytime.

“Percy, you’re awake! How’re you feeling?” Grover asked softly.

Percy was grateful, as his head was throbbing like crazy.

“Really meh, could be better.”

He got fed some ambrosia, which tasted like his mom’s cookies, and Grover kept him company with chatter as his aches faded.

Grover told him their team won, thanks to Percy’s little diversion. Word had gotted out about the Incident. Apparently, after Percy had been taken to the infirmary, Luke confronted Chiron in front of the whole camp, and the old centaur had actually done something about it. Annabeth got a stern talking-to, while Clarisse got a month of stable duty on top of no dessert for a week.

“What about the others?”

“They didn’t do any maiming, it was only Clarisse. Annabeth spilled the beans, she’d been watching the whole fight.”

And Grover had gotten his license! Their car being struck by lightning was considered an act of the gods, so the Council of Cloven Elders deemed his performance acceptable. Perhaps they never found out about the Minotaur. Percy suddenly remembered Polyphemus, so he tried warning Grover about false signals of Pan, but Grover waved him off.

Chiron issued a quest a day ago, the day after Percy was injured. Luke came back from the Oracle pale and trembling, and was supposed leave on a quest to return the Master Bolt on Monday, tomorrow.

“All the drama’s happening without me,” Percy joked.

“Don’t worry, I think Luke wants you to join the quest,” Grover said. “Silena, too, by the sound of things. Be careful out there, alright?”

Percy thanked Grover for taking care of him, and reassured him that he would.

Other people showed up to visit over the course of the day.

“I told you not to die!” Ethan said.

“If I died, you’d still visit me in the underworld!”

Annabeth appeared in the infirmary.

“Chiron says I have to apologise for using you to win the game.”

“Did he?”

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt! You should’ve used the water! You were supposed to… to…”

“Beat five Ares kids in my first week of camp?”

Her face turned red. She squirmed, staring at anything that wasn’t Percy’s face.

“I’m…sorry,” she mumbled. “Sorry for using you. And sorry you got hurt.”

She did seem genuinely sorry.

“Apology accepted,” Percy said. “Just, learn from your mistakes?”

She nodded, looking like she was about to cry, and bolted from the room.

“Hey.”

Luke stood at the end of Percy’s bed, arms crossed.

“Hi,” Percy replied warily. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

Percy kept his mouth shut so the “well, duh” and “you didn’t last time” on the tip of his tongue wouldn’t escape.

 “Look,” Luke said, shifting his weight. “I was thinking about what you said the other day. About me and what I did. I had to do something.”

Because I was afraid of what I might become went unsaid.

“Yeah, I understand. Thanks, truly.”

He smiled, and Luke relaxed.

“Also, I heard something about a quest?”

Luke told him Chiron was getting worried about the approaching solstice, and had asked him to lead the quest. He’d bring Percy for obvious reasons, and Silena because she probably wouldn’t care that they were working with Kronos.

“And the prophecy?”

Luke made a face, then recited it.

“You shall go west to encounter the god who has turned,

You shall regain what was stolen and see it returned,

One who is dear, shall be withheld,

Kept without cheer, ‘til the foe is felled.”

Percy grimaced too. He’d been hoping that the quest wouldn’t change too much, but the changes to the prophecy sounded Bad with a capital B.

“The first two lines are similar to my quest last time,” Percy said. “But who’s the ‘dear one’ and who’s the ‘foe’ that we’ll beat on this quest?”

“That’s why I hate prophecies! They make no sense, then they come true in the most unexpected, worst way possible.”

“Well, we can guess who the ‘god who has turned’ is. Probably the God of War, it was him last time.”

“What has he turned to?” Luke asked.

“To Doctor Who.”

“Who?”

“Guy with the TARDIS, travels through time, time lord?”

Then, remembering that Luke had run away at a young age, he added, “Me and mom have a few boxsets at home. You gotta come over someday and we can watch it together.”

“Gotcha. I think I’ll take you up on that.”

They couldn’t make any more headway with the prophecy, so Luke bid Percy goodnight and left.

Kronos, I’m worried about the future. We’ve barely made any changes, but everything’s already going off the rails.

Such is the nature of time. How did you manage to live the first seventeen years of your life without foreknowledge? Aim to live like that again.

With sheer dumb luck, apparently.

Trust me when I say that worrying about prophecies will only drive you insane.

Oh, Percy could trust him on that alright.

Tell me about the Golden Age. All I’ve ever heard about it is how it’s all ‘Titan propaganda’ and humans lived for your entertainment.

My reign was one of prosperity and peace, harmony and stability, and it indeed gave me entertainment.

What, am I supposed to despise being a good ruler?

But you don’t care about us.

You all die too quickly. Your lives are inconsequential to the bigger picture. If an anthill stood in the way of constructing a hospital, I am sure you would demolish it with no regard to the ants inside.

Percy suddenly felt guilty about all the ants he’d squashed as a child.

How many ants have you squashed? He asked Kronos.

Only the ones in the way.

Percy recalled Luke’s attempt to persuade him to join Kronos, before he unleashed the pit scorpion on him. He’d said Kronos wanted to do away with the gods, to build a new civilisation, a new age, without regard to how many mortal lives it would cost.

He privately thought that the real reason was probably for revenge, rather than to create a better world.

But what if the ants had thoughts and feelings and families and friends? Just because you live longer, doesn’t mean our lives don’t matter.

Kronos didn’t reply.

The next day – Monday, June 12^th

They met on top of Half-Blood Hill. Percy with his new (old) sword, Luke with his non-cursed shoes, and Silena with a box of magic makeup.

“It tricks people into seeing what they want to see. Like the Mist,” she explained.

Chiron waved farewell, wishing them good luck as they piled into Argus’ SUV. The ride to the Greyhound station was uneventful, though three elderly ladies joined them on the bus.

Percy found a little piece of paper and wrote, “Three Kindly Ones in the back of the bus, they want to kill us.”

Luke and Silena squinted at the piece of paper. Either his handwriting was horrible, or they didn’t have text-to-speech Titans in their heads, or both. He crossed it out and rewrote it in Ancient Greek.

“Don’t look behind us,” he warned.

It was easier said than done. Percy could just about feel their wrathful gazes boring into the back of his head, burning through plastic seats and other passengers alike. He shuffled lower into his chair. Luke suggested playing I Spy as a distraction. Silena painted notice-me-not blue eyeliner on their faces. Percy bounced his legs and fiddled with the zips on his backpack.

At some unspoken signal, the old ladies stood up in sync. They shuffled along the aisle toward them, blatantly ignoring the please remain seated while the bus is in motion signs.

“We’ve been noticed,” Luke hissed.

“But the eyeliner!”

“Maybe you smell.”

“They probably saw us before you put it on.”

“What do we do?”

“Grab your stuff, this bus is gonna blow.”

“I’ll take them, you two run.”

“But—”

“There’s only space for one in the aisle. Now, go.”

Luke swung out of his seat, slashing Backbiter through Mrs Dodds before she could even reveal her true form. She disintegrated into gold dust (Percy could swear he heard a ghastly cry of “Nooo, not again!”) while the mortal passengers around them screamed. He wondered what they saw. A serial killer stabbing old ladies to death?

The bus screeched to a halt, the driver made an emergency stop in the grass on the side of the road. Percy managed to grab his backpack this time, and with a quick glance back at Luke (who was hampered by the tight space, but still managed to decapitate the second Fury), he filed off the bus with Silena.

Panicked passengers milled around outside, some on their mobiles, some sobbing, some raging at the driver. Percy tried to get a glimpse of Luke, but all he could see through the tinted windows were flashes of orange light. The whip.

An explosion, more people screaming, then Luke smashed the emergency exit and catapulted himself out of the bus as it caught fire.

“Well, time to run!” Luke joked, orange t-shirt only slightly singed.

Sure enough, there were distant sirens approaching, so the three of them made their escape into the forest.

“What do we do now?” Luke asked as Silena fixed his makeup. “I can stop the cops from finding us, not that they’ll be able to identify us through this magic.”

Percy dug out a map he’d acquired from the Greyhound station.

We’re near Trenton, Kronos said. We could stop by Aunty Em’s, then catch the train across the country.

We’re not having dinner with Medusa.

But I would like to meet her. You killed her last time before I could ask her to join my army.

She’ll turn us into garden gnomes!

Not if I’m there. And, if we recruit her, she’ll have to stop her garden gnome business.

Fine, but I’d rather we killed her.

What if I told you she has “thoughts and feelings” and we can give her “family and friends?”

You’re the worst.

Percy showed Luke and Silena the map.

“How ‘bout we walk the rest of the way to town?” he said. “It’s not too far, and I know of a nice burger joint on the way.”

Chapter Text

It was a Monday night, meaning fewer customers for Aunty Em’s Gnome Emporium. She bustled around the restaurant’s kitchen, slicing onions, loading the fryer, toasting buns, prepping. Oh, what she’d give for another pair of hands. She was the chef, the cashier, waiter, cleaner, sculptor, tax filer and the accountant, all in one. Alas, every assistant she’d hired over the years had packed their bags almost as soon as they’d arrived, complaining of phantom hissing noises or of her garden statues’ unnerving expressions.

But how else was a monster to survive? She’d appeared west of New York one night, alone, with nothing but a curse to her name. A bit of luck, and a bit of business acumen, and she’d managed to acquire a run-down burger joint east of nowhere. She had dared to hope, then, that she might earn enough to retire someday, disappearing into a country villa with an expansive garden, hidden from the world. But, even after she diversified into the garden gnome industry, she still had little to her name.

The shop door opened with a chime. She washed her hands, adjusted her veil, and made her way to the counter. A child stepped into her shop, softly closing the door behind him. He was a demigod, alone, a perfect candidate.

“Dear boy,” she crooned, weaving magic into her voice. “Why are you out on your own? Where are your parents?”

The boy shook his head. He was an orphan, or a runaway. An enchantment obscured his features, rippling and shifting like the sea; it was Aphrodite’s handiwork.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said. “Please come in, let Aunty Em get you something to eat.”

She led him to a table, empty, as they all were, and studied him while she waited for his order. The Mist dissipated under her focus, revealing his true face. Dishevelled black hair, golden eyes, a mischievous smile, and blue winged eyeliner. He was not a demigod; his eyes glowed with too much power.

“I’ll have ‘Aunty Em’s Special’ with a side of fries,” the god-in-disguise said cheerfully, passing the menu back to her. He read the menu without issues.

She wondered who he was as she grilled a burger patty and loaded the fryer. It could be Apollo; he often appeared as a golden-eyed youth. But Apollo took after his mother, Leto. This boy reminded her too much of Poseidon, with his up-to-no-good smile, handsome (though boyish) face and jet-black hair.

She flipped the patty, drained the fries and sliced some onions. If it weren’t for the eyes, she would’ve guessed him to be a son of Poseidon. Golden eyes, perhaps a god of the harvest. Triptolemus, bringer of agriculture to mankind, would have those eyes, but he was not a relative, only a protégé of Demeter.

She assembled the burger, loaded the fries into a basket, and served him his meal.

“This is good!” the boy said, eating a handful of fries. “Come, sit with me, I have matters to discuss with you today.”

She took the seat across from him. She saw, through the window behind him, two shadows shifting outside, spies in the dark.

“What do you want?” she asked.

The boy said, “I have recently returned. I have news that my Mother is stirring. When she wakes, she intends to remake the world. Without us.”

She raised a hand to her chin, thinking. So, he had returned, from hiding or from a long absence. His mother, now asleep, would soon awake and refashion the world. It meant his mother was Gaea, then, and he was one of the Titans who had been cast into Tartarus.

Pieces of the puzzle came together in her mind. This wasn’t Triptolemus, it was the Titan of the harvest. He wasn’t a son of Poseidon, but Poseidon’s father.

“You’re Kronos,” she stated.

“Correct!” Kronos grinned. “I am pleased to see that Owl-Head failed to remove your intellect, only your humanity.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It is why I would like you to join me, Medusa.”

Medusa. It had been centuries since she had heard the name.

“Help me free my brothers; we will give you a purpose.”

It wouldn’t be too bad, working for Kronos. It would be an interesting experience. Medusa recalled her sisters, faded long ago, having lost the will to regenerate. Freeing Kronos’ brothers sounded more appealing than selling statues and burgers for the foreseeable future.

But some questions remained. “Why does your mother intend to remake the world?”

Kronos informed her about the Gigantes, born to replace the titans, born to conquer the gods. He told her of Gaea’s stirring, of her putting her plans into motion. Her goal, he said, was to raise the Giants and raze the world.

Medusa asked, remembering the ancient legends she’d heard of Kronos, “Isn’t it also your goal to destroy the gods?”

“I can’t fight a war on two fronts,” Kronos admitted with a wry smile. “My Mother is too strong.”

“I suppose you intend to destroy her the same way you defeated your father?”

“Yes, to subdue her into an endless sleep.”

“Very well, I accept your offer.”

“Good. I shall return this way before the end of summer. Anyway, my food’s getting cold, and my friends are too. I’m sure you saw them outside.” Kronos made a hand signal to the window, summoning his friends. “Please refrain from turning them into stone; they are useful to me.”

“Very well.”

The shop door opened with a chime, and two demigods stepped in.

“Percy, what took you so long?” the tall one said. “I can’t believe you made us sit outside and watch you eat!”

The shorter one said nothing, simply studying Medusa’s Middle Eastern attire.

Medusa observed Kronos (Percy?) as he greeted his friends. The tall one, blonde with a long scar running down his right cheek, had the complexion of a son of Hermes. He was the eldest of the group, but not the leader. The shorter one, a black-haired girl with a doll-like face, would have to be the daughter of Aphrodite, the source of the enchanted makeup they all wore.

She made both of them burgers as well, before joined them for some conversation. It turned out they were on a quest across the country, but had lost their ride due to a monster attack.

“—and so we walked here for like four hours,” Kronos finished.

Medusa noted with interest that he had turned his eyes sea-green at some point. Perhaps it was a part of his ‘Percy the Demigod’ disguise.

“That’s my physical exercise for the month,” Silena said.

Luke scoffed, “Yeah, we’re kinda stuck for transport for now. Chiron didn’t give us nearly enough money. Or time. He gave us nine days to get across the country!”

“He procrastinates almost as much as me,” Kronos said. “Six months, and he’s left us less than a fortnight.”

“Hey, Aunty Em,” Silena interrupted, “I’ve been wondering, what sort of herbs did you use on these fries? It tastes like oregano, but …fancier.”

 “It’s za’atar, a mix of sesame seeds, sumac and several types of wild oregano.”

“Wicked!”

A rare smile tugged at Medusa’s lips. “An old friend taught me her family recipe, but I haven’t been able to find quite the right herbs in this country. We used to mix it with olive oil and spread it on flatbread, though I’ve since found that it goes nicely on fries as well.”

“Me and my dad like cooking too!” Silena said excitedly. “We use peri peri on our fries, and also on our bagels. Dad told me the secret to making a good bagel is to boil the dough before you bake it.”

“Well, now it’s not a secret anymore,” Luke said.

“It’s a figure of speech, duh. I can keep a real secret! So secretly that you wouldn’t even know I had a secret.”

“I can believe that,” Kronos replied.

The smile remained on Medusa’s face for the rest of the evening and she decided, when the trio made to leave, to aid them on their quest. She retrieving a part of her savings, pressing the wad of cash into Kronos’ hands. “Take this,” she said. “You need this more than I do. I don’t know how far it will get you, but it would be faster than walking.”

One day and a very long train ride later, Percy and his friends disembarked, stretching their very stiff limbs. He’d never been to Chicago. The zebra crossings had wider stripes, the traffic lights were painted black, and the whole place felt… broad in a way that Manhattan was not. Even Percy could admire the train station’s big stone pillars and the classy skyscrapers all around. Annabeth would have a field day.

“What now?” he asked, wheeling his arms in the afternoon sun.

Luke checked their tickets. “We’ve got about six hours,” he said. “Might as well have a look around. Maybe our resident Chicago local can take us for a tour.”

“I, ah,” Silena said, blushing slightly. “I only live here. I don’t know any tourist places.”

“Forget touring. Food first,” Percy said. “My stomach is gonna eat itself. How much money do we have left?”

“Don’t worry about it. We have enough. I’m not sure how we’re getting back to New York though, but that’s a problem for later,” Luke said.

They’d agreed, shortly after leaving Medusa’s, that Luke would manage the quest’s logistics, as the adult of the group. To Percy’s suggestion of going to St Louis, he’d objected, “No, we’re not going there, that’s too big of a detour.” Instead, Chicago, Denver, then Los Angeles was the plan.

Percy didn’t mind; it had been Annabeth’s idea to go there in the first place. St Louis had the Gateway Arch, and the Gateway Arch had Echidna, and Echidna had “Sonny” the Chimaera, and Sonny had poisoned him and sent him hurtling into the Mississippi River far below. He wasn’t in a rush to go back there.

He zoned back into the conversation in time to hear Luke’s plan of action: 1) find food at Mr Beauregard’s restaurant, 2) take the bus to Lincoln Park, 3) visit Silena’s favourite animals at the zoo, 4) catch the bus back, and 5) don’t get eaten by monsters.

They only managed the first four.

Silena’s dad had been really excited to see them, though he worried for their safety. His restaurant wasn’t technically open yet, at three in the afternoon, but he still invited them in and made them all crepes for afternoon tea.

No Furies followed them onto the bus to Lincoln Park. As they meandered around the zoo, clouds began to gather on the horizon. Kronos wanted to see the lions, Silena wanted to see the doves, Luke was done with everything, and Percy wanted to go to the lake instead.

He got his wish when the zoo closed at five.

The three of them sat along the concrete edge of the lake, watching people mill by. Joggers, cyclists, dogwalkers. A toddler, feeding the pigeons.

“Look at the clouds,” Silena said. “There’ll be a thunderstorm soon.”

“Huh,” Percy replied. He hadn’t noticed. The pigeons squabbled and flapped, fighting over the food. A scream; apparently the toddler had been bitten by the birds. His mother quickly scooped him up and carried him away.

“As your local Chicago tour guide, I think we should head back to the station now. Storms can get quite bad.”

“Good point. Big Z probably has beef with us,” Luke said.

“Or it’s just a normal thunderstorm,” Silena said. “They happen a lot around here.”

The pigeons all took off into the air, some hundred of them in total.

They are looking for their next meal, Kronos commented as the flock turned towards them. Looks like we’re on the menu.

“Oh, yeah, I think we should go,” Percy said at the same time Luke shouted, “Stymphalian birds on the right!”

Percy sprung to his feet, uncapping Riptide. The birds made a beeline for them, ignoring the mortals in their path. Their beaks gleamed bronze, lit by glowing red eyes. Luke wielded Backbiter, and Silena produced a bow from somewhere.

A wave of birds dive-bombed them, claws at the ready. A slash of his sword turned some to dust, but more of them scratched his face and took off before he could bring his sword back. Music! They needed some form of crowd control, some loud noises. No one had any speakers this time, nor Chiron’s music… The birds launched some of their feathers as projectiles, razor-sharp. Percy dodged and deflected. The sky darkened, storm clouds rolling in.

“Give me your sword!” he shouted at Luke.

“What?!”

“Just give it to me!”

Luke tossed Backbiter over, which Percy caught with his free hand. He clanged the flat of both blades together, Riptide and Backbiter, making a racket to (hopefully) daze the birds.

They wavered slightly. “Go get ‘em!” Percy yelled.

Luke switched to a dagger, which seemed to do better than his sword, but Silena yelled, “I’m running out of arrows!”

The ground was strewn with gold dust and shed feathers. Maybe… “Throw some of those feathers as darts!” Percy suggested.

“I can’t aim!”

Thunder rumbled as the storm finally broke. Rain started to pour, drowning out Percy’s clanging, which hadn’t been that loud anyway. The surviving Stymphalian birds picked up speed and ferocity.

Percy needed a new plan. Perhaps he could use the water—he focused his attention on the rain in the air, letting it coalesce around the birds, slowing them down. “Watch out!” he yelled, then he summoned the lake with a flick of his hand. Raising an arc of water from the lake, he positioned it above them and let it drop.

The water cascaded down, he shielded Luke and Silena while the birds were flushed out of the air. Percy pushed the water, and the birds, into the lake, but a strong current caught hold of his legs. He dropped both swords as he tried to fight the tide, to get a grip on the ground, but something, someone, had a stronger pull on him.

“Percy!” Luke shouted as Percy disappeared feet first into the lake.

The water went over his head.

He opened his eyes.

He found that he couldn’t move his limbs, the water restraining his movements.

Murky lake water, floating trash, and a merman with two tails drifted lazily into his view.

It was time for some fun. “O Prince of the Seas, Storm-Herald, Lord of the Tides, Big Bro, Triton. Whaddaya want?” Percy asked. “Lemme go, I’m not going to run away.”

A look of frustration flitted across Triton’s face, but he released Percy. “You weren’t supposed to recognise me,” he huffed.

“What, did I ruin your dramatic reveal?”

Triton scowled, crossing his arms.

“Stop pouting. It doesn’t match the rest of your look.”

His brother had dressed to impress, wearing his ceremonial armour with his conch shell slung over one shoulder. In his merman form, he had mottled green and blueish skin (or maybe it was the lake water), with shimmering fish tails.

Triton narrowed his eyes. “You’re an interesting one, Perseus,” he remarked. “My father has a message for you. As you may know, you’ve been suspected of theft. Complete the quest, find the Master Bolt, and your name will be cleared.”

He held out his hand, giving Percy three pearls. “Use these as a shortcut to escape the Underworld.”

Percy pocketed them. “Is that all?” he couldn’t resist asking. “He sent you all this way to tell me one thing?”

“Hmph,” Triton said. “I am the messenger of the sea; it is my duty.” Then his eyes took on a predatory gleam. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, little brother.”

He laughed and disappeared with a flick of his tails, then the lake spat Percy out onto the ground.

“What on earth was that?” Luke asked.

“Triton visited,” Percy said. “He summoned the storm, dragged me into the lake, and had a message for me.” He handed Luke and Silena a pearl each. “These will get us out of the Underworld, just smash them on the ground when it’s time to go.”

“Sure.” Silena eyed him suspiciously.

“C’mon, the storm’s cleared up, the birds are gone, let’s go find some dinner,” Percy said.

“…Sure,” Silena repeated.

Chapter Text

“Triton,” Poseidon said, leaning back in his study’s clamshell chair. “I need you to check on Perseus for me and pass on a message.”

Check on Perseus? Triton scowled. He was the Crown Prince of Atlantis, not a babysitter for Poseidon’s bastard brats.

Seeing his frown, Poseidon continued, “I am afraid his quest may be a trap. I cannot interfere directly, of course, but it is important that Perseus is told of his heritage before he enters the Underworld. He needs to know that Hades has framed him for theft. Hades has already taken his mother! If he dares to lay a finger on my son too—”

“Just claim him, then,” Triton said. “Then Hades can’t harm him without repercussion.”

Poseidon sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then he replied, “We’ve been over this before, Triton. Claiming him would mark him as guilty in Zeus’ eyes, so I would like to delay it for as long as possible.”

It was a no-win situation. It fell to Triton to do something, then, as he fit through the loophole of Zeus’ silly law, but he was already sick of this Perseus problem. Poseidon’s broken oath had resulted in ten years of punishment …for Triton. First, a year of ruling his father’s kingdom as Poseidon slumbered in a Styx-induced coma. Then while Poseidon enjoyed his nine-year exile from Olympus, Triton had to take his place on the Council of the Gods. It had been a ten-year-long nightmare.

But despite all the issues Perseus’ existence had caused, he was still a son of the sea, and the sea protected its own. Triton would help Perseus, after he put him in his place. Poseidon’s mortal spawn got all uppity after learning about their heritage, with no respect for their immortal half-siblings. He didn’t want Perseus ruining the next ten years of his life too.

“Very well, father,” Triton said with a bow of his head. “I will see what I can do.”

Leaving Poseidon’s study, Triton appeared in Lake Michigan disguised as a fish. He felt the brat’s presence before he could see him, a bright spark of the ocean’s essence. He was strong, Triton had to admit, strong for a mortal. Poseidon probably needed to hear about this.

Scanning the shoreline with senses that fish didn’t typically have, Triton located Perseus in a park, taking an afternoon stroll with two demigod companions. He’d have to distract them in order to talk to Perseus alone.

Triton had an idea. The sun was shining, a few clouds sat on the horizon, there weren’t many mortals around; a flock of flesh-eating birds pecked at breadcrumbs and at each other in the park, and the demigods had just sat down near them, unaware.

Triton shifted into his merman form, with his silver-green tails, his silver-gilt coral armour studded with pearls, and of course, his conch-horn inlaid with silver; the form of Triton Deinós, the fearsome herald of the sea. Picking up his conch, he blew a single, haunting note; it called to the winds, though silent to the mortal ear. The breeze picked up, the clouds billowed, a storm began to rise. It would be a perfect backdrop for his dramatic entrance.

The flock of birds caught the demigods’ scent when the wind changed. They took off, making a beeline for the trio. Triton supposed he would step in if things got out of hand, but the birds would nicely occupy Perseus’ companions during their little brotherly talk. Now he just needed to wait for the right moment to rise up from the lake in a cascade of waves and the storm at his back. It would be so perfect, and it would be so dramatic.

The storm broke—and the blasted godling decided to use his own powers. What? Where did he learn how to do that? Not even Theseus had such control at this age. Did Perseus not realise he was painting a massive target on his back?

Triton quickly seized Perseus and dragged him and the water he’d summoned into the lake. Idiot boy. If they were lucky, any gods watching would think that he, not Perseus, had summoned the water. Holding him underwater, Triton peered at the brat, who indeed looked like a miniature version of Poseidon’s human form. He also noticed, from this close up, that there was something strange about Perseus’ soul.

Perseus interrupted his thoughts. “O Prince of the Seas, Storm-Herald, Lord of the Tides, Big Bro, Triton. Whaddaya want?” he asked. “Lemme go, I’m not going to run away.”

Triton released him, satisfied that he wasn’t going to cause any more trouble. It seemed that the little godling knew of his titles and had bothered to use them. Impressive. Speaking of which… “You weren’t supposed to recognise me,” Triton said.

Perseus wasn’t supposed to know about Triton, nor about his heritage, nor have such control over his abilities, nor be a godling. Poseidon really needed to hear about this.

“What, did I ruin your dramatic reveal?” Perseus asked.

Well, yes, he did, but Triton was never going to admit it aloud.

“Stop pouting. It doesn’t match the rest of your look.”

Sighing, Triton counted to five in his mind. He wasn’t going to let himself be riled up by a twelve-year-old. He sighed again, passed on Poseidon’s message then conjured up some transportation pearls for Perseus.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around, little brother.”

He supposed if Perseus successfully ascended, he’d be stuck with him for the rest of eternity. Although, on second thought, it might not be that bad after all.

He could do with a little brother.

Back in Atlantis, Poseidon exclaimed, “A godling?!”

“It would seem so, although I cannot think of any situation that could’ve caused his mortality to crack at such a young age,” Triton replied, “Besides, he recognised me, listed my titles and called me ‘big brother.’ Someone’s told him already; and I felt a foreign presence on him. Someone’s done something to his soul.”

Poseidon drummed his fingers on his polished stone desk. It had been a gift from Okeanos and Tethys, but for what occasion, Triton couldn’t remember. Its surface had great concentric bands of dark basalt, rimmed with volcanic glass; lava quenched in the depths of the sea. Delicate metalwork filled in the spaces between the basalt circles and natural fractures in the rock, forming a network of gold.

“I think it’s Hekate,” Triton broke the tense silence. “I wouldn’t have noticed the shadow on his soul, had it not been for the fact that it wasn’t from the sea. But once I did, I realised it felt …old. Ancient. Older than the gods. But Perseus seems unaffected.”

Poseidon’s worried frown morphed into a slightly-less-worried, thoughtful expression. “So, you think it was Hekate,” he said carefully. “It would make sense. After all, she once took an interest in Perseus’ mother. But he’s alive and unharmed?”

“He’s cheerful and energetic,” Triton said. And he’s a menace, he added mentally.

Perhaps Hekate hadn’t fractured Perseus’ mortality, but was trying to help him manage it. He told Poseidon this, who tentatively agreed and asked Triton to continue watching over Perseus.

This time, Triton found that he didn't mind after all.

Luke sat in the lobby of Chicago Union Station, bouncing his knees, with Silena and Percy on his left. They’d arrived some hours ago, after the fiasco with the Stymphalian birds, and after …Triton? had shown up with a divine gift for the three of them. Their train was supposed to leave in half an hour, but there still hadn’t been a boarding call. More concerning, still, was the fact that they were the only ones waiting for a train. Luke started to worry. Perhaps he should re-check their tickets.

95P20, DMOTER, IT?

The ticket was written in a confusing, blocky font.

0950P, DTEIROI, MT?

0550P, DETROIT, MI?

Wait a minute. Detroit? 5 pm?? Luke was so certain the ticket had said Denver, 9 pm before. He read and reread the ticket, but the shifting letters refused to say anything other than Detroit. Luke stared at the piece of paper in dismay, feeling like his bones had turned into lead. He must’ve messed up at the ticket kiosk. He’d messed up big-time.

Kronos was going to kill him, if he didn’t die from embarrassment first.

Luke was supposed to manage the money Medusa had given them; then he’d gone and booked tickets to the wrong city starting with D. His father would be so proud of him; Luke had just managed to ruin another quest. But years of living on the streets had taught Luke to press forward without stopping to agonise over his mistakes. Spend too long moping and you’ll end up dead in a ditch, he told himself. Or monster food, or both. Don’t look back.

He considered his options. He could steal cash from an ATM. Perhaps he could try a Mist trick on the train conductor, although Thalia had always been better at that than him. Maybe Kronos could ask Ares to meet them here instead of Denver. Either way, he still needed to find them a place to stay overnight.

“Luke? Are you alright?” Silena asked, picking up on his inner turmoil.

Oh, right. The first item on the agenda was to apologise, but what was he supposed to say? Sorry I just wasted most of our quest funds? Oops, my bad? That had been a few hundred dollars down the drain… Realising that Percy and Silena were both watching him, Luke fidgeted with the tickets in his sweaty hands. He took a deep breath and willed his thoughts to line up in order.

“Look, I uh… I just realised I booked tickets to Detroit by mistake,” Luke said, passing the tickets to Percy when he reached for them. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I misread the ticket machine.” He looked away. “We’re gonna have to find a new way to Denver.”

“Hey,” Silena said, putting a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “Don’t stress about it. It happens to all of us. We’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Percy chipped in too. “One time I misread Charon’s nametag and called him Chiron by mistake. He was so mad—”

“You what?” Silena asked.

It was Percy’s turn to look sheepish. “Just visiting family, y’know?”

Silena gave him a very suspicious, “we will talk about this later” look, while Luke was just grateful for the unintentional diversion and the fact that his friends didn’t blame him, even though it was entirely his fault.

“I just had an idea, actually” Silena said, still frowning at Percy. “If we have a couple of coins, we can call my dad and he could pick us up. You guys can sleepover at my place!”

To Luke’s surprise, Mr Beauregard wasn’t angry, nor disappointed, nor disgruntled at having to pick them up. He just told Luke to get in the passenger seat and “don’t mention it,” and that “children like them” shouldn’t be travelling cross-country alone, quest or not. It was essentially what he’d said earlier that afternoon, but Luke hadn’t been listening at the time. Besides, Luke wasn’t a child, he was nineteen, and he’d been through much worse than a missed train.

Mr Beauregard asked mundane questions about Luke as they drove, such as, who his divine parent was, how he met Silena, and whether he had any plans to go to college in the fall. He was so painfully normal that Luke had to wonder how he’d ever caught Aphrodite’s eye. He was still wearing his chef’s jacket, he listened to classical music on the radio, and he said that hopefully they weren’t allergic to cats because he had two at home called Minnie and Mickey.

“Maybe you should’ve gotten a pair of mice instead,” Luke blurted out before his brain caught up to his mouth. To his relief, Mr Beauregard just chuckled at his impudence.

As the city blocks went by, Luke couldn’t help but feel a little resentful despite Mr Beauregard’s kindness. Or, perhaps because of it. His own deadbeat father hadn’t ever visited him or his mother until he gave him the quest to steal a golden apple. Luke had been so desperate to prove himself, then, that he’d accepted instantly; but then he’d failed the quest, and Hermes had never visited him again. Meanwhile, Mr Beauregard had come straight from work when Silena called, offered them a place to stay for the night and even bought them new train tickets for tomorrow—2 pm, to Denver, Luke checked three times. It simply wasn’t fair that Silena had a loving father, while he didn’t even have a sane mother. But of course, he couldn’t blame Silena, so he just blamed himself for being so bitter and jealous.

The Beauregards lived in a mid-sized apartment with a nice view over the city. Mr Beauregard sat them in the lounge and made them some hot chocolate, then went off to find some spare bedding for his guests.

Once they were alone, Silena spoke up. “Percy, I’ve been wondering about you,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the couch between Luke and Percy. “I think you’re a son of Demeter.”

“…What makes you say that?” Percy asked with a surreptitious glance at Luke.

Luke raised two fingers to his lips, then made a slashing motion with his hand, setting up a concealment ward. When Mr Beauregard returned, he’d assume they were just talking about the weather or whatever it was that normal kids talked about.

“Well,” Silena said, “First, you managed to convince Medusa not to kill us, then she gave us food and money—Demeter is called Sito, ‘she of the grain,’ which means she who gives food, and Himalis, ‘of abundance.’ I saw your eyes turning gold while you were doing that; the same colour as Demeter’s. Then you got kidnapped by a water god, just like Demeter. And then you mentioned going to the Underworld to visit family—to visit Persephone!”

“I didn’t realise you knew so much about the old myths,” Luke said, mainly to cover up Percy’s unsubtle laughter.

“Yeah! I loooove reading about them, they’re so interesting. I even made little collectible cards for all the gods, I’ll show you later. So, Percy, did I get that right?”

Indeed, Luke could see several large-print volumes of Greek history and mythology on the bookshelf across the room. Meeting Percy’s gaze above Silena’s head, he raised his eyebrows. Tell her your parentage? Percy nodded in silent agreement.

“Almost,” said Percy. “I’m actually Kronos’ host.”

“What?” Silena gasped. “You’ve been in contact with Kronos?”

Luke whipped his head around again to face Percy, who simply shrugged, as if to say, Oopsies, I didn’t realise we were having completely different silent conversations. Setting down his empty mug, Luke rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He could feel another Kronos-induced headache coming on.

“…I’m also Poseidon’s son, but no one’s supposed to know about that,” Percy tacked on belatedly.

Silena jumped off the couch to grab one of the volumes. Flipping it open, she found the page with a picture of Kronos eating a rock. She pointed to one of the paragraphs, saying, “Look, here. Mythographers have never agreed on what happened to Kronos after the Titanomachy, but we have him right here! We can solve the greatest mystery of all time!”

It was true that Luke had brought Silena along so he could convince her to join Kronos, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

“Kronos’ fate is ‘the greatest mystery of all time?’” he asked skeptically, his eyes still closed.

“Yeah! Unlike every other god, there are so many diverging myths about what happened to him. On the one hand, some people say he’s bound in unbreakable chains, but that begs the question of how the chains were forged in the first place, if the material is unbreakable. Other people say he was sliced up with his own scythe, but then there are also accounts of Zeus freeing him to rule over the Blessed Isles, which means he had to be whole in those myths. Oh, and also, Hesiod talks about his Golden Age, but Kronos is usually remembered as the Crooked One. I wonder what he’s really like.”

It struck Luke that Silena was so young. She’d never encountered the darker side of the myths she loved; she’d had a relatively normal life; she’d never been abandoned by the gods. Originally, Luke had intended to use her idealism and naivety to turn her to Kronos’ side, before Kronos’ return from the future delayed their revenge. Now, however, the very thought of manipulating her made him feel sick. Guilt twisted away at him; he wished he could dissolve into Mr Beauregard’s couch and become one with the upholstery.

A fragment of the conversation at the bottom of the lake drifted into his mind. “What happened to me?” Luke had asked, and Percy had replied with the spine-chilling words that “Kronos happened to you, Luke.”

It was much too late for him now, but he decided he’d try to save Silena from the same fate, at the very least.

Chapter Text

41 days, 17 hours, four minutes and 32 seconds ago, Kronos had been abruptly yanked out of his semi-conscious daze by the Fates when they assembled the particulate matter which passed as his soul and sent him back in time. At first, Kronos had enjoyed his third lease on consciousness. It was a chance to correct the mistakes he’d made the second time around without having to spend millennia regaining his strength again. This time, he concluded, he would wait until he had fully reformed before attempting to reclaim his rightful throne. But 41 days, 17 hours, seven minutes and 54 seconds later, all he had accomplished was getting increasingly fed up with the mortal in his head.

Perseus Jackson was an irritating host. He was argumentative. He constantly criticised Kronos’ “lack of morals”. He was even more inattentive than Luke had been. When Percy looked in the mirror, Kronos’ own face stared back, albeit younger and with Rhea’s ocean-green eyes. Of all the six and a half billion souls currently alive and the countless more in Hades’ realm, the Fates had decided to bind him to this particularly irksome mortal in such a way that only a weapon on par with Kronos’ soul-severing scythe could hope to free him.

Said weapon was currently located three feet away in sword form, propped up against the side of the couch they were sitting on. It was so close but yet so far. Kronos couldn’t hope to reach it of his own accord, but whenever he brought up the matter with his host, it was always “Kronos, no!” and “How could you even suggest that?”

Kronos had realised on the fourth day after his time travel that his initial plan wasn’t going to work. “Leach power from Percy’s followers through their soul-bond until Kronos reformed” seemed like a good idea until he realised he would still be bound to Percy. Or, if Kronos tried to burn Percy away, Percy would simply ascend like Herakles. He almost wished, in his chronic boredom and inability to wrest control from Percy, that he’d been left in a million pieces. Almost. It was still better to be awake and bound, than to be scattered, half-conscious and imprisoned. He would find a way out of this situation.

Hey, Crooky, Percy wheedled. Silena wants to meet you. Can you talk to her for a moment? Please? Otherwise she’ll bug us about it for the rest of the trip.

Percy had told him on day 32 that if Kronos wasn’t nice to Percy’s friends, he’d shut him away for good. So Kronos turned his attention to the present.

It was 11:58 pm on Tuesday the 13^th of June, the second day of their quest. Silena sat next to them on the couch, looking expectantly at them, and Luke to her right, with his eyes shut. Beauregard Sr. was in the guest room, about to make his way back to the lounge to tell them to go to sleep.

Kronos blinked. The clock on the wall stopped; Beauregard paused in his tracks.

“Hello, Silena,” Kronos said. “Percy said you wanted to talk to me.”

Silena’s eyes widened. “I- yes. I have some questions if that’s alright!” She grabbed a notebook and pen from the coffee table drawers. Without waiting for Kronos’ reply, she continued, “Let’s start from the start. Why did Ga—”

“The Earth,” Kronos interrupted. “For obvious reasons, we refrain from speaking the names of powerful deities who might want us dead.”

“Sorry.” Silena scribbled in her notebook, writing in Greek.

“You may continue,” Kronos said.

“Where was I… Let’s start from the start. So why did she pick you to kill Ouranos?”

The girl was very bold, but Kronos had nothing else to do. He used his rare moment of liberty to get off the couch. “Tonight, I tell of Kronos Ouranion,” he began, drawing Luke’s attention as well. The tale of Kronos, Son of Ouranos. Slinging Percy’s blanket over his left shoulder like a himation cloak, he narrated his tale in a manner worthy of Koios the First Poet.

“She did not ‘pick’ me, but I stepped forth.
My father was the sky itself; as such,
There was no place on earth beyond his gaze.
He scorned his offspring; Hundred-Handed Ones
And Cyclopes, he bound in chains of night.
When these were hurled to depths of darkest hell,
The Earth, she took us underground, away
From Father’s baleful sight; for long we hid.

“Oh, what misery it was to toil
Away our lives in darkness and despair.
Then— ‘Dear sons,’ she said, one fateful day,
A sickle clasped within her hands of soil.
To Okeanos of the deep, and bright
Hyperion ascending with the dawn,
Iapetos the mighty with his spear,
Clairvoyant Koios, and his twin who longed
To see the stars, and last of all, to me,
She said, ‘Today, we strike! Revenge is ours!
Which of you shall do the dreadful deed?’

“The Titans trembled; none of whom stepped forth,
Save I, the foolish Crooked One, at last.
So thoughtless and young, a footnote to the rest,
I wished to prove my worth. ‘I’ll volunteer,’
Said I, ‘For all our sakes, I’ll take the blade.
We’ll wait ‘til night and seize him by his limbs.’
But Okeanos fled into the sea;
The rest took North, South, East and West,
Ouranos slain by all-devouring Time.

“‘So long, old man,’ the youngest said, ‘The curse
Of your existence fades away at last.’
‘Not so!’ The tyrant cried with dying breath,
A curse to blight the ages not yet passed.
‘May you meet your demise, matching my own,
Overthrown by your offspring; an unforeseen foe.
Your sanity scattered, you shall suffer my doom,
Until flung into your fate, you are effaced from this world.’”

His little audience stared back at him, nonplussed.

“…Could you please repeat that last bit?” Silena asked, pen at the ready.

Foolish girl. She would never be able to transcribe the Tongue of the Old Times in that pink sparkly notebook covered with hearts. Kronos sat down, motioning for her to pass her notebook and pen, then wrote out the prophecy in English and in Greek.

Luke leaned over, trying to get a glimpse of the page. He read the lines, then froze. He turned to Kronos in alarm.

Not out loud, Kronos warned him telepathically.

Understanding registered in Luke’s eyes.

Yes, that’s right. The curse was broken when Percy and I were flung back in time.

Luke’s brow furrowed with another question.

I too thought ‘unforeseen foe’ referred to Zeus, but in hindsight, he was too obvious. Prophecies rarely unravel the way we expect. Congratulations on outsmarting the Crooked One.

Luke slumped back into the couch, rubbing his eyes defeatedly.

The whole exchange lasted 9.4 seconds, during which time Silena had already come up with more questions. “I don’t understand,” she pestered. “You said earlier that your mother ‘might want us dead,’ but she helped you against Ouranos.”

“Mother Nature is fickle with whom she decides should live or die,” Kronos said.

Tartarus was, too. He’d woken up and taken offence when Krios and Hyperion had called him a “stinking pit” within his own domain. It would’ve been funny had it not been so horrific to watch his idiot brothers being siphoned into the gaping maw of Tartarus’ face. Then, to make matters worse, Tartarus decided to join the party upstairs instead of going back to sleep.

“Anyway,” Kronos said, releasing the time dilation field around them. “It’s getting late. Rest up, we’re going to Denver tomorrow.”

Percy didn’t get any rest. Kronos summoned him to their dream café as soon as they fell asleep, muttering something like “we still haven’t called Ares yet.”

“Wait,” Percy said. “I wanted to ask you something first. The curse… could you repeat the last two lines?”

Kronos gave him a displeased look but obliged. “Your sanity scattered, you shall suffer my doom; until, flung into your fate, you are effaced from this world.”

But that would mean— “You were insane this whole time,” Percy said.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Now that was what crazy people said. Stepping closer to Kronos, Percy said, “For someone who calls himself the Crooked One, you’ve been pretty foolish. What sane person would rock up to Olympus with an army of kids? When it’d taken you ten years and all your brothers last time?”

Kronos scowled, eyes glowing dangerously.

“You didn’t even wait until you were fully reformed! You could’ve literally waited one more month, then you would’ve been almost invincible.” Percy poked him in the chest. “See, you were either cursed by Ouranos to fail, or insanely stupid.”

Kronos’ eyes became incandescent with rage. A glow built up under his skin like he was going to spontaneously combust. Realising what was about to happen, Percy quickly hurled himself into the ground, opening up a crevasse to hide in as Kronos unleashed what remained of his divine form.

With Kronos hot on his literal heels, Percy ran through the twisting caverns of his mind. He was incredibly stupid, he should’ve broken the news better... squeezing past stalactites and stalagmites, cave formations and mental constructs; Kronos simply burned through them all. Down through the strata of his consciousness he fled. Kronos wasn’t powerful enough to vaporise him, but it would still hurt like hell if he caught up. The cave branched ahead; he took the left-hand path to a glittering lake of self-reflection. Pillars of wisdom held up the ceiling, where gems of thought set high above illuminated the cavern in an ethereal blue light. Water quenches fire, Percy thought, and dove into the icy depths. He had to lose Kronos. But Kronos wasn’t made of fire. Down he swam, hurtling past coelacanths of his forgotten childhood memories and dodging viperfish of his very embarrassing moments. All the while, Kronos blazed behind him like a falling star, vaporising everything in his path, water, fish, stone and all. The lake floor loomed ahead of Percy, subliminal lake-bed mud and bones of guilt. Swerving at the last minute, Percy dodged to one side. Kronos wasn’t so lucky. He slammed into the ground at full speed and exploded in a burst of divine light.

The blast wave hit Percy, tearing through his mind like a blower to dry leaves. Every molecule of his being was polarised, he felt like he’d been reshuffled and recombobulated. The energy dissipated, leaving Percy a sizzling husk at the bottom of the lake. He had never felt so alive.

What had just happened?

Percy tried to replay the events in his mind, but the memories slipped through his grasp. He’d figured out Kronos’s curse, then he angered said Titan by being an asshole. Kronos had ...tried? to take on his divine form but ended up hunting Percy to the very recesses of his mind. Then came the explosion—was Kronos alright? And though Percy had been shredded by the shockwave, he felt absolutely fine. Rejuvenated, even.

Carefully peeling himself off the lake floor, Percy looked around. Spotting Kronos’ crater, he crept to the edge and peered over the rim. Kronos lay in the centre, stunned, a shattered mosaic of glowing pieces.

“Kronos!” he shouted. No bubbles came from his mouth, what a weird dream.

Slowly, Kronos rearranged himself into an upright shape, a thousand golden fragments held aloft, revolving like stars in a galaxy, then they coalesced into his human guise.

“What was that?” Percy asked frantically.

Kronos didn’t immediately reply. Perhaps Kronos didn’t know what to say. Neither did Percy. They stared at each other, sleep-deprived demigod and sandcastle titan, both too shocked to do anything else.

“Perhaps I lost my temper,” Kronos said. “…Perhaps, you might’ve been right.”

“Yeah, perhaps,” Percy said. “Next time, let’s not shoot the messenger.”

Kronos winced.

“Anyway, I’m getting out of here. You better follow if you don’t want to get lost,” Percy said, then kicked off from the bottom of the lake. Back to the lakeshore, back through the caves, Percy retraced his steps, trusting Kronos to follow.

The scenery was vastly different than before. Veins of gold covered the walls, filling in cracks and fractures and chipped off stalactites. “What’s all this gold stuff?” Percy asked, running his fingers along the side of the passage. He looked back at Kronos, who stopped.

Percy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What did you do to me?”

Kronos crossed his arms, glowering. “It’s more like, what did you do to yourself? I had to piece you back together.”

“Hey! You were the one who went supernova.”

“I ran into the wall you led me to. The force of it cracked your—.”

“Because you were trying to kill me, remember? What was I supposed to do? Stand and wave a red flag?” Percy said. Because that would be a massive red flag. But then Kronos had apparently fixed him up again, so he didn’t truly want him dead, which was already miles better than their previous near-fatal encounters.

Kronos huffed, reminding Percy of the Minotaur, which made him think of his mom, and the quest’s prophecy, and— “We still haven’t contacted Ares yet!”

“You’re worse than Luke,” Kronos muttered. Then louder, he said, “Well, back to business for us. We’ve put this off for far too long. How are you feeling?”

“Better than ever, actually,” Percy said, resuming their trek to the surface. He was still feeling very energised, despite the long day, birds and Triton and missed trains, and longer night. Had it only been yesterday that they’d set out from Camp?

“That is good. Finding Ares is not like with Luke, whom we could contact directly because we knew his location. We have to search the realm of Morpheus for Ares. I’ll need you to pay the utmost attention and follow my directive. Do not, under any circumstances, be distracted from our mission. If we lose our purpose, we will lose our way home, unless Morpheus chances across our poor wandering soul.”

Percy recalled going to a park once with his mom where they’d rented a pedal boat for an afternoon. It had taken him much too long to figure out he needed to pedal at the same speed as his mom, otherwise they’d just spin around in circles. “Right, so we’ll pedal-boat our way to Ares with our combined braincell.”

Kronos made a strangled sound. “Would you just focus for one minute!”

“I am focusing!” That was what Percy’s focus looked like. “But what do you mean, ‘lose our way home?’ It sounds bad.”

“In the years Before Percy, I would walk the dream world by sending out a fragment of my essence. It would always return to me,” Kronos said. “But After Percy, I have to lug the both of us there and back again, risking getting lost on the way. So, focus.”

They’d reached the surface by now, climbing out of the crevasse to the remains of their dream café. Percy had grown fond of their little space, the only place where they could sit and chat face-to-face like proper worsties. With a wave of his hand, he restored the charred and overturned furniture, closed the hole in the ground and retiled the floor; unfortunately, the new tiles came only in gold, leaving a jagged golden scar on the blue floor.

Kronos opened the café’s back door, which Percy hadn’t noticed before; a door to the beyond. Through it, Percy saw a shadowy version of Mr Beauregard’s guest room; himself on the bed and Luke on the floor.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Kronos said. “Trust me.”

Then he tossed them both out the door.