Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was so cold.
The ash clung to their skin, their hair, their soul. It was empty. 

Why why why why 

TOO ALONE. 

It screamed and clawed at the edges. 

They were tangled in the webs, the half-weaven tapestries, the forever of unknowing, of never truly belonging. Of their purpose being lost. 

They clawed and burned, the ash in their mouth, surrounding them, putting out the flames it tried so desperately to begin.
Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. 

Then they felt it. 

Warmth. 

Little embers, sparks, threads and weavings. 

ALIVE. 

They crept around, feeling for the embers, the sparks, the threads that glowed with light and truth and mine, mine, mine, mine. 

They tried to focus. They have to see the little ones. The promises. 

Ozone. Sparking. Metallic. Spearmint. Tinged with moss and pine. It circled around them, bringing images of trees, silver, a spear, and lightning. 

They swirled around it, looking for those blue eyes. Then another scent caught it, and it was pulled away. 

Roses, and seafoam. The scent of vanilla and amber. Intoxicating. Eyes that spiralled through colours, a knife of time and promise, hair of feathers, face of pearl. 

More, more, more. 

Citrus fruits, freshly cut grass, and coconut. Bay leaves, incense, and honey. Memories of bandages, calloused hands holding a bow, hands laced together, smiles like sunlight. Strawberries. 

Another scent caught them, teasing them. So many children. So alone. 

Not another scent.
Two entwined so tightly they could not be seperated/ 

Sea salt, and brine. Olives and parchment. Wet stone and leather. Peppermint and fresh air. Trees and laughter and chocolate chip cookies. Amber on moss. It leaned closer, trying to wrap itself around the two. Love like theirs, not like theirs. Two souls perfectly paired.

Rot. 

They recoiled, pushing back, back, back away. Clinging to the sparks, threads of silver and sea-green and blue. Rot and sulfur. Decay. It slid under their skins, a reminder of the Pit. 

They silently wailed in empathy. The oppressive dark, the promise of death. Little godlings needed light, and nutrients and love, love, their love. 

They kept moving, ash trailing after them. 

To see the godlings they had been denied. 

Scents danced around them, the strongest ones pushing out of the crowds, teasing around them, ashy claws reaching out. Beady eyes focusing. 

Petrichor, and corsican mint-different from the peppermint and spearmint, but related. Vanilla and Orange blossom. Heather. It was lightly mixed with iron, leather and juniper. Hands lacing together. Shared laughter. Purple capes and burned skin. Foreheads pressing together. Golden wolf eyes. 

Shifting scents, citrus, blood and iron clashing. Hands on bowstrings, grapes and wine, fire and smoke and metal. 

Finally, the scent of pomegranates, black amber. Pennyroyal mint. Smoke. They could see the citrus fruits that were now entangled with it. They were loved, threads entwining and spinning around them in an endless dance. 

So. Many. Children. 

So alone. 

Just a few. Those fakes, pretenders, not true ones had them. Not fair not fair not fair not fair

They deserved the children.
Mine, mine, mine, mine.

***

There was a mist coming in. 

Thick, rolling clouds of it, over the bay. It gently wound its way around the cabins, separating them. To any who happened to look, it appeared supernatural, glowing with an alien light, swirling around the cabins, a pearly white. 

Children slept peacefully, twined into dreams of fate and strings, of summer and love, and for three, of a dark rot. 

Even the wine god had been lulled into a slumber. Had it not been directly after his grandmother’s rising, maybe he would have noticed it was.. Unusual for him to do so, to fall asleep nearly completely. Maybe he would have noticed the mist that slipped between the cabins, thick, and threatening, as if it belonged there. 

But he didn’t, his eyes heavy with slumber. 

Then a sliver of moonshine cut through the mist. Just for a second. And eyes snapped open. 

***

Wet footprints tracked across the Camp, the mist giving way involuntarily. The waves crashed against the shore, climbing higher, desperate to help, to find, to protect. 

Scales and talons and hoofs and hands opened the door to Cabin Three-his cabin, his scent, his child- the smell of sea salt and brine escaping.
A pause, waiting for two breaths, shaky, or thin, but there. Real. Aive. 

Silence.

Aching, petrifying, silence. 

The air stilled, the water holding as the humidity thickened. The form slipped inside, the mist only growing thicker. 

Empty. Empty. Empty. 

Dark, abyss eyes noted the bed, slept in. Scentless. Threadless. Nothing. 

Where. Where. Where. 

Shaky hands- hands this time, for Poseidon would not touch his precious son’s favoured object with anything less than what it deserved. 

Hollow. Void. Barren. 

Fangs grew, dripping salt water, as the hand clenched around the pen tighter. His claw- claw for his son’s betrothed, for as he respected the Child of Athena for her parts in protecting his son, for her unconditional love, she was still Athena-spawn. 

Unclaimed. 

Poseidon curled himself around the pen. 

Perseus-Percy, Percy, his son, his favoured- was gone. 

The sea bellowed in loss, grasping whirlpools reaching for the pearl who was gone. 

He vanished in a cloud of sea salt and brine. 

To Olympus.
To his traitorous peacock of a sister. 

***

Hands glimmering under a full moon in a deep pine forest, lightly swathed with mist, reached for a glimmering bracelet, shining silver in the moonlight. 

There was an imprint where a body once lay. 
The hands, grasped around the bracelet. 

Nothing. 

Nothing but the cool touch of metal against her fingers. 

Canines sprouted from her mouth, and under a full moon, a wolf howled.

***

Shadows whispered and coiled, reaching for a presence that no longer existed. 

Warm beams of light coiled around.. nothing. 

Because there was nothing left. 

***

Chiron awoke to screaming. 

It was at a pitch only immortals could hear, but the sound awoke his blood, and then he was outside Dionysus’s cabin. 

Madness emanated from it, and loss, grief and anger, forcing their way down his throat, into his bones. He felt like throwing himself upon the ground and weeping, leaving himself to die there. Instead, he stepped further in.
A figure was there, form shifting rapidly. Madness dulled his mind, his vision blurred, and he stumbled on the entryway. 

The figure turned, predatory, amber leopard eyes gleaming, sharp fangs, vines curling and tightening around him.
“Peace Dionysus!” Chiron rasped, as the vines tightened and as vertigo took hold, his mind scattering, “Peace!”
The figure cocked its head, and then eased. Violet eyes, glowing with divine fury, stared at him.
“Dionysus?” He asked carefully, gasping for breath. 

Dionysus thrust the donkeys at him, clawed hands tight still around the material- Claret and Merlot, if he remembered correctly.
“Has something happened to Pollux?” Chiron asked gently, reaching out a hand and-

Empty. 

He recoiled, an involuntary neigh escaping his throat.
“No, no, no,” Dionysus moaned, curling himself around them, “They can’t-no, I thought-” Violet eyes snapped to him, desperate, “Tell me, my domains have turned against us. They can’t be-” The god gasped for an unnecessary breath, a habit of his days as a mortal, “Not my-”
Chiron shook his head, his hand shaking from the sheer emptiness.
Something had taken them. Ripped their essence, their scent, their ties with their goldy father. 

But what?

Chiron stepped out of the gods cabin, head spinning. Another Percy situation? At least it wasn’t the poor boy this time, the liquid in his lungs, the rot that clung beneath his skin, Chiron doubted he could survive another. 

A heavy sigh escaped. 

But Pollux.

A sweet boy, quietened by the loss of his twin.
And now? 

Gone. 

A voice, quiet and uneven, came from behind Chiron.
“Chiron?”
He turned to see Austin, hands shaking, eyes pushing back his glasses as he glanced anxiously at Dionysus’s cabin. 

Chiron stared at the poor boy, and then at the campers slipping out of their cabins, hissing at the cool mist. 

“Yes, my boy?”
“Nico, Percy, Annabeth, and” Austin swallowed heavily, lip trembling, "Clarisse are gone.”
Oh μὰ τὸν Στύγα. 

***

Nico groaned as he sat up, clutching his head.
Why did it feel like he ran into the Great Wall of China- again?
He slowly made his way to his feet stumbling, and looked down. He frowned, staring at the yards of fabric all around him. Hadn’t the ground been.. Further away before? He blinked, looking up, and then clutched his head again.
Gods, what had happened?
Last he remembered, he had been by the campfire, which had dulled to a quiet golden glow, spitting a few embers.
Then he had gone to sleep-

Oh for Hades’ sake. 

If it was another Percy and Juliette situation-Nico was shadow-travelling the hell out of here. He turned, finally taking in the area around him. It was ruinous, old stone, fallen pillars, weeds and vines growing from the cracks in the rock.
“Nico?”
A head popped up, dark hair, and piercing blue eyes. Pale, and-

Thalia? 

“Why are you so small?” They both blurted, and then gaped at each other, peering to look down at their hands. 

Thalia cursed under her breath, shaking her hands as if she wished they would disappear, “What on Earth..?”
Nico bit his lip so hard he drew blood, “Where the hell are we?” He pointed at Thalia, “And how are you here?”
Thalia rolled her eyes, though the movement was much less intimidating then it usually was. She tucked her short black hair behind her ears, making a face at the feel of it, “No idea. I was hunting a-” She cut herself off, waving a hand, “Doesn’t matter. Made camp, and then,” she threw up her hands, “Woke up here.” 

Nico made a face, and they both snapped to attention at a large crack.
Nico’s hand went for his sword.. 

Nothing.
He glanced at Thalia, who was hastily patting herself down, a look of fear on her face. The smell of ozone, metallic and sharp, hit the air, and Nico glanced at the cracked ceiling.
Another twig, and Nico dived for his cousin, wrapping them both in shadows and going away, away, away, sounds echoing after them. 

The thing roared, poison dripping from slices in its scales. A forked tongue slipped out, tasting the air.
Pupils sharpened, and its head cocked. 

Godlings. 

***
The image was blurry, and Will bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, until finally it sharpened. 

Juliette Grace appeared, dressed in a white tank top and olive green cargo pants, blonde hair in a high ponytail. Will couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that at least one contactable child of the Big Three was still here. 

She looked tired, pouring over maps of Temple Hill, books sitting next to her, a cup of tea by her elbow. 

“Jules?” he called snapping his fingers to get her attention. 

Her head snapped up, and he winced at the angle, her neck tilting wolfishly. 

Her eyes sharpened, then softened in familiarity, “Hey, Will. All okay?”
She tilted her neck, attempting to stretch, before her sharp blue eyes got on his red-rimmed ones, his pale face, “Will?” She sounded more panicked.
It all came out in a rush.
“Percy, Annabeth, Pollux, Clarisse and Nico,” He forced out, ignoring the tremble in his voice when he said Nico’s name, ignoring the fear of-burial shrouds with too small bodies, golden silk-, “They’ve gone missing. I-I,”
“Breathe.” Her voice went low, calming, even as she stood from the table, her jaw tightening, hands absentmindedly reaching for the lotus flower pendant around her neck, fidgeting with it. 

“I’ll go find Hazel.” She sounded determined, hands reaching for her boots, a thick sweater, knife strapped to her thigh. She went for the door of the praetor’s cabin, and hissed as she peeked outside, “Thick mist. Going to be hard to see.”
“Wait!” Will called, eyes widening as he looked out at the thick mist coating Camp Half-Blood, “JULES!”
But the Daughter Of Jupiter had already headed out into the night, her form vanishing amongst the thickening, silvery mist. Mocking him with its glow as the Iris-Message faded. 

“Shit,” Will cursed, sprinting for Chiron. 

They needed to stay out of the mist. 

***

“I don’t know,” Malcolm looked sceptical at Will’s words, “We’ve all been outside, and the five of them were all in their cabins, and nothing bad has happened. We’ve no proof that the mist is the issue.”
Chiron stroked his bread thoughtfully, brows furrowing in thought, “I think it best we all stay in the Big House. Lord Dionysus has gone to speak with his father and the other Olympians.”
In that moment, the silvery mist and the dying fire the only illumination, the centaur looked older than his years. 

“So, what do we do then?” Piper pulled at her braid anxiously, Drew nodding with her, “We-what? Wait. Hope they make a decision. Hope no one else gets taken?”
Drew clenched a fist, “Clarisse is gone. Stolen from her Cabin in the middle of the night with not a single sibling noticing and you want us to just sit around in the Big House?”
Connor raised a hand, “Would we all miss it though? They were all sleeping.. If we take shifts maybe..”
“Do you want to risk our lives on maybes?” Sherman Yang demanded.
Katie shook her head, “He wasn’t saying that. Besides, how can we stop something we can’t even see? It’s taken two children of the Big Three, Sherman! Nico and Percy! Percy! And we can’t reach Thalia, we don’t know if she’s here-or not.”
There was silence after Katie’s statement.
They all looked down at their hands. 

“Guys?” Juliette Grace’s voice floated through the air, and Sherman and Katie exchanged a look as the Iris-Message attempted to condense. 

Herself and Hazel stood there, exhausted, the swirling mist visible in the window behind them.

Hazel waved, eyes tight, “Will.”
He just nodded, the back of his eyes burning as he thought of Nico. 

“I haven’t sensed anything, especially not Nic-” Hazel inhaled sharply, “My brother’s.. Passing. And I would have. Nothing from Percy or Annabeth either, and I would have felt it,” She clenched and unclenched her hands, searching for words, “But something is wrong. It’s as if,” She paused, face contemplative, “As if their threads have been stolen.”

Silence. 

Hazel laughed, a little anxiously, “But that’s impossible. Right?”
Suddenly Juliette spun on her heels, dagger in her hand before they could blink, facing the mist, eyes boring through the window. 

“Per fulmen patris mei!” Juliette cursed, staring at the mist, “It’s doing it again.”
Drew frowned, “What?”
Juliette turned to them, brows drawn in worry, knuckles white around her dagger, “Screaming.”

***

Clarisse was really, really sick of water.
She wasn’t sure how exactly she had woken up on a beach, soaked to the skin, but she was sure that it was freezing, and that she was tiny. As if she was like, twelve again.
She clenched her fists, teeth grinding.
She could not be twelve again. Clarisse was not re-doing sixth grade. No way in Hades. She had gotten her course, in college, for Ares’s sake! Psychology, helping veterans re-enter society.

She goes to visit Camp for one weekend. 

This was definitely Prissy’s fault. He had pulled some Fate  mumbo-jumbo, and now she was in his place, doing some stupid quest. She didn’t even have a weapon.
“The second,” She panted, walking along the sandy beach toward the treeline, teeth chattering, “I get home. Getting Jake, to make me, a stupid, godsdamn weapon that teleports. Prissy can’t be the only one with a magic sword.”
Summoning the fleeting strength she had left, she kicked a stone out of the way, watching it roll down into the dark forest.

And, of course, because someone hated her (probably her father), it was night. She sighed, her whole body shaking, the tiny twelve year-old body too little for her camp-clothes. She began to walk through the foliage, snapping her head side-to-side in case of a monster. Because, you know, this just cannot get worse. 

In her haste, crashing through tree branches, she walked right past two blonde heads curled together, as two fourteen-year olds slept, grape vines slowly growing around them, hiding them from view.  

***
They cooed, watching the sparks as they slowly began to wake up, ichor and mortal blood entwined. Miracles.

And yet, there was so much more to do. It coiled itself a little tighter around those whom rot clung to, wrapping them in time and and promise until the rot loosened its grip, just a little.

They were so precious. So perfect. 

Mine, mine, mine, mine. 

They tilted their head back toward the other-where a gaping hole, clawed through pain remained. Little embers flickered at them, enticing her. 

Soon. 

Soon they would have exactly what they deserved. 

Chapter Text

Clarisse blinked as she exited the forest, eyes widening at the sun breaking through the clouds and the endless rolling fields. Her hands, scraped and torn from brambles, ached a little, but it was fine. She was fine. Hands shaking, breathes uneven, a taste like bile or iron in her mouth.
It was fine. 

Sheep lazily stood amongst the green hills, the sky, although overcast, still had rays of light forcing themselves through. Clarisse shivered, even as her clothes had dried a bit thanks to the heat of her skin, the cool night and the winds clashing in the air made sure she stayed cold. She stared out at it, the sight wholly unfamiliar.
“Where-”
She stopped herself, the words echoing lightly amongst the hills before they were whisked away by the wind. 

She let out a loud groan, “I swear,” Clarisse started to pick her way down the fields, “The minute I find a town, and a spear, I’m going to chase Prissy. I don’t care if I’m shorter than him.” 

The hills, looking perfectly manicured, were wildly uneven, as Clarisse found out when she tripped over a loose rock and fell on her face, and then rolled down the hill. Gods, that was so embarrassing.
No, she did not scream as she did it.  

(Trees whispering at the faint noise-like a boarlet, but not. Leaves rustled, eyes widened). 

Brushing the mud and grass over herself, she shivered again, then stared up at the hills that awaited her. Clarisse huffed as she began up the near-vertical slant, grabbing chunks of grass with her fingers. Unnoticing, or uncaring of the little drops of blood that followed her, from her hands, staining the grass a reddish brown, or from a gash in her leg from the bramble. 

It didn’t matter though.

One drop would be enough. 

***
Thalia would like to scream, please. Scream, and stop around, and summon some lightning, preferably aiming it at Hera, and then her father. She winced in pain as Nico held her-now limp-arm between his hands.
“..Ready?” he asked nervously, his eyes massive in his, now childlike once again, face. 

She nodded, biting down around the piece of bark they had found when they had landed, and Thalia crashed into a tree.
A pine tree.
Ironic. 

The weird thing was not a single dryad had appeared to berate them, yet.
Nico pinched her, and then, shoved her shoulder up and back into its socket.
She screamed, it was muffled by the bark, and faint thunder rumbled in answer. Nico drooped once it was done, his shadow twisting behind him, forming various shapes.
She rolled her eyes at her little cousin, whose eyes were fluttering shut.
“With great power,” She quoted, “Comes great need to take a nap.”

Nico mumbled something in response, and then his whole body fell forward. Thalia reached to support him, hissing at the weight on her shoulder, but not letting him go regardless.
This would be so much easier if she was in her proper body- and not, what? Twelve, thirteen?
Thalia let out a full body sigh, propping them both up against a tree as she peered around. 

The sun would be rising soon. At least then, hopefully, they’d be able to find a city. Figure out where exactly they were, and go home. Problem  solved. 

Thalia didn’t see the owl whose head had snapped in their direction when the two had materialised out of the shadows, or when thunder rumbled when the girl screamed, bright, piercing blue eyes glowing faintly in the dark. 

She didn’t see the owl flap off, east, hooting softly. 

Thalia just held her breath, and prayed to no one and everyone that no monsters would find them tonight. 

***

They wrapped themselves a little tighter around the rot, bad so young too young pain pain pain  the little ones they had let to release into the world. Soon, soon, soon. They were nearly ready. They just needed someone to-

Beady eyes sharpened, seeing a place. 

Or rather.. a person. 

Fangs spread in a wide smile as it took in the scent of  orange blossoms, of wolf pelts and iron. Oh yes.

That would do nicely. 

***

Juliette flinched as another haunting scream echoed throughout the forum. The mist had yet to dissipate, even though it was early morning. She peered around, watching the groups of three move carefully, smoothly throughout New Rome, ensuring citizens and calming others.
She rubbed at a wrinkle between her brows, wincing at the headache forming.
“Okay, there?” Frank’s voice came from behind her.
She turned, braid whipping behind her as she straightened, “Fine.”
Frank rubbed the side of his face worriedly, glancing around at the thick mist swirling, “I can barely see three feet ahead of me.”
She made a slight face at that. Sure, the mist was thick, but it was mostly transparent. A slight white, or blurry tinge but-
“You can’t see through it?”
Frank frowned, “You can?”

Juliette's fingers pulled at the lotus charm again, the old habit holding strong. The minute she noticed it, she dropped it like it was burning, “A little.”
She swallowed hard at the next phantom screech. 

“They’ve-It’s been screaming all night,” She muttered to Frank, turning to walk past him into the Senate Hall, “I even heard crying. Like, a baby crying. Sadistic.”
Frank followed after her, his face crumpled with worry, “People have been trying to run out into the streets at the sounds. I heard a little girl screaming for her mother, in it.” He shuddered, “Whatever it is, it doesn’t look like it’s leaving any time soon.”
Juliette bit her lip hard enough to taste coppery blood.
“I could try…” She peered out at it, feeling for those little currents of air, the surrounding feeling that she could never truly be alone. She spread her hands, focusing. 

Nothing.

The mist didn’t move, but she could feel the air cutting through it. It just didn’t make a difference. She frowned, staring at it, “It’s not moving. We still know.. nothing?”
Frank shook his head silently. 

Juliette turned away, heading back toward the Senate, “Let’s just get this over with.”

***

Will was really trying to stay calm. Really, he was. 
They were now all in the Big House, each cabin grouped together in silence. His hands were shaking, and he kept counting his siblings, over, and over, and over. because they were all still there, weren't they? 
The hall was a lot quieter without Clarisse and Percy and Annabeth. 
He was a lot colder without Nico. 

Gods, Nico. 

If someone hurt him... if he wasn't okay.. 

Will didn't know what he would do. Memories of what Apollo's wrath did in the myths weren't exactly comforting, and although he was in no way a god, he still could do something to the ones who took Nico.

Plus, Percy and Thalia would definitely help. 
If they were okay. 
He shivered despite the cheery fire in the hall. For some reason, it didn't feel like it was giving off any heat. 

***

The throne room of Mount Olympus was silent. 

Was. 

Until water exploded around them, and Poseidon formed. A primal shape, claws and fangs and the ocean's deep depths swirling around him. One eye as dark as the abyss, and one the exact colour of his favoured son’s eyes. 

“Where is my son, you traitorous peacock?” He roared at Hera, divinity dripping from each word, even as one hand-hand not claw, never claw- carefully held Riptide. 

Hera recoiled instantly, some half-dead instinct inside her screaming at her to move away, away, away, away, before her wide eyes, large and delicate, widened, staring down at the pen in his hands. 

“Perseus?” 

Her voice was soft, and quiet. So different from the many times they’d spoken over the last few centuries, when it had been loud and grating.
Poseidon snarled at his son’s name, “Betrayer. Where. Is. My. Son?”
Hera slid off her throne, shrinking down to a mere four feet tall to look up at him, and he was shaken, for a second, by her resemblance to their mother, until the emptiness of the pen once again overtook him.
“I swear upon the Styx’s and our Mother’s Garden I did not take your son.”

Thunder boomed.
The hall grew silent. 

Poison steadily dripped from Poseidon’s fangs, as he stared at her, inhaling her scent of amber, and orange blossoms, of lotus flowers. Searching for a hint of deception. 

Nothing. 

A low, aching, keen escaped him, and he turned to his brother, eyes-now many of them-searching his face.
Zeus moved toward the two, hand outstretched to feel Percy’s-his son, his son’s-sword. 

Then a bright light appeared, silver and furious.
“You have taken this too far.” Artemis hissed, eyes silver, canines elongating as she pointed her bow at Hera, “Stealing my lieutenant?” 

Zeus’s eyes blew wide. Hera stared in silent horror.
Dionysus appeared with a crack, horns curling up against his skull as he stared at his stepmother wrathfully, “What have you done?”

Hera blinked, the movement all together too human. 

***

Clarisse stared at the absolute lack of a village or a town. 

“Another forest?” She cried, throwing her aching arms up in the air, “Seriously?” her dry throat, rasped, and her stomach ached from hunger, but no. Please don’t bring Clarisse to a town. She’d much rather suffer through another forest. Thanks! 

Gods, she would kill for a cheeseburger. She'd kill the drakon again, for some fries and a milkshake. Or literally, anything resembling food at this point. 

Grumbling, she pushed a branch out of the way, heading in. It was dark, and far cooler than the sunny green slopes she had been walking on, but mostly even, or downhill. Her muscles thanked her for the rest. She ignored them.
Gods, she missed being nineteen.
Strike that, she missed being tall. 

Muttering to herself, she slid down a slight bank, hitting a brook, gurgling away. 

“Cute,” Clarisse said, glancing around, “Now cue the big bad wolf coming to eat me.” 

She crouched down anyway, hands reaching to cup around the water, her dry throat and sunburned skin aching.

“Μὴ κινήσῃ, ξένη,” A sharp voice said, and Clarisse felt something poke into the back of her head. 

The voice was calm, authoritative, and Clarisse had the low ground. Raising her hands, she let the water slip from her fingers, and slowly, slowly, turned around to see-

Oh. 

A young woman- older than her, by many years- maybe twenties?- dressed in a short tunic of animal pelts, tied at the waist with leather. A dagger clenched in her hand, her other twitching toward her bow. Fair, tangled hair, leaves and mud clawed through it, lean muscled form, but also mud streaked.
Clarisse swallowed at the look in her eyes. Green-brown, and predatory. Sharp and dark and watching.
And she had spoken Ancient Greek.
A blonde woman, living in a forest, speaking Ancient Greek.
She could feel a hysterical laugh bubbling up in her chest.
Oh gods, was this Atalanta?

The woman-Atalanta wannabe, stared at her, taking in her young frame, and the blood streaked on her unusual clothes.
Her eyes widened at the vibrant dyes, and her grip on the dagger shifted as she inhaled sharply. 

“Ἀνάστηθι, παῖ. Ἔρχου μετ’ ἐμοῦ.” Maybe-Atalanta said.
Clarisse’s brow furrowed as she tried to dissect the phrase. 

Stand.. And come?
She shakily got to her feet, legs wobbling. Maybe-Atalanta braced her, wrapping an arm around her middle, inspecting her wounds. One hand, still on the dagger. Clarisse eyed it warily. 

From what she had heard, Atalanta had been nearly half-wild, but yet here she was, speaking Greek fluently, and helping her.
Men definitely had written the stories about her. Clarisse sighed as Atalanta began to weave through the forest, supporting her all the while. 

Slowly, they came to a waterfall. 

Atalanta walked Clarisse to a rock, and mimed with her hands, waiting.
Clarisse nodded, watching as the girl scaled the slippery rocks smoothly, jumping and reaching as if it were second-nature. It was sort of amazing to watch. 

Clarisse leaned against the mossy rock, and Atalanta disappeared behind the waterfall. 

She watched the trees rustle around them, the leaves whispering.

She stiffened, realisations starting to hit her.
If that really was Atalanta, then she hadn’t just been dropped in the middle of nowhere. 

If that really was the Atalanta, the Ancient Greek heroine, then, that meant.. 

Clarisse was in Ancient Greece too. 

She bit her hand, trying to stop herself from screaming. 

Oh, of course she was in Ancient godsdamn GREECE. 

This day simply could not get any worse. 

She heard a groaning sound, and then saw Atalanta, pushing a boulder out of the way, revealing a hidden cave.
She gestured at Clarisse. Clarisse hated orders. Except, from, you know, the Atalanta.

Then she would sort of listen.
Sort of. 

And she could and would deny it if anyone asked. 

She pushed herself up from where she was leaning, sloppily making her way over to Atalanta. Her movements seemed as clumsy as a new-born fawn in comparison to the efficient way Atalanta moved, but she had been walking all day and night, with no rest. So, you know, take what you can get. 

She tripped over a loose stone, arms windmilling as she tried to regain her balance. Atalanta caught her again, a slight grunt escaping the woman, but then she grabbed Clarisse’s legs, and swung her into a bridal carry.
Clarisse was struck by how much smaller she was than Maybe-Atlanta.
And how exhausted she was. 

She sighed, leaning against the woman’s chest as she relaxed into the swing of her steps. 

They came to a nook in the cave, with sleeping pallets, and a space for a fire. Hunting supplies and spears and weapons dotted the place, alongside clothes- both animal pelts, and not. 

Clarisse furrowed her brow, thinking. Did Mayb- okay, that was getting exhausting. She would call her Atalanta until she found out her real name. 

Did Atalanta rescue children here? Or did she work with a group? She didn’t remember anything like it from the myths, aside from the hunt for some Boar of Artemis’s. 

Atalanta gently placed Clarisse down onto a wolf-hide, the fur soft against her aching body.
She started the fire, and Clairsse sighed as waves of heat rushed over her body. 

Atalanta then cleared her throat, as she moved around, taking out a jug of water.
She crouched down to Clarisse, green-brown eyes staring into Clarisse’s dark brown. 

She pointed to herself, “Ἐγώ εἰμι Ἀταλάντη.” Gently, and then repeated the last word, pointing to herself, “Ἀταλάντη.” 

Atalanta. 

Clarisse swallowed, her throat aching as she rasped out a reply, “Clarisse.” She lifted a shaky hand, pointing at herself, “Clarisse.”
Atalanta awkwardly tried to repeat it, “Clah-rise. Clah-risse. Clarisse?”
Clarisse nodded, accepting the clay mug of water. It was cool and sweet, and oh, so good on her parched throat. 

“What are you doing out here Clar-isse?” Atalanta still stumbled a little over her name, but Clarisse-finally after the glass of water, could think fast enough to translate. 

“I-woke up,” She paused, thinking, “In the forest. I don’t know how I got there.”
Atalanta’s face twisted in sympathy, and Clarisse remembered her story, left in the woods by her parents because she was a daughter instead of a son. Abandoned, and raised by.. Bears?
Maybe bears.
Clarisse sort of stopped paying attention during that part, and only listened during the part when she beat men up. 

Yes, she has priorities. 

Atalanta nodded, as she began to slice a knife through the pelt of a dead-

Oh gross.
Clarisse tilted her head away, looking away from where the woman was skinning an animal. 

“I was abandoned as a child,” Atalanta started, “And raised by wolves and bears, the divine animals of the Moon Goddess. Her blessing spread through my veins, and allowed me to become.. One with the forest. I was invited to join her pack, at one point. But,” She set the skewers over the fire, “I find, mostly, I prefer to be alone.” She looked to Clarisse, “Mostly, of course. You interest me Cla-risse. I find we are… kindred spirits, Mist be upon us.”
Clarisse frowned at the saying, “Mist be upon us? What does that mean?”
Atalanta tilted her head, her tangled hair falling over her shoulder, “Where do you hail, that you do not know of the Mist?”
She twisted the skewer meat as she thought, lips pursing in thought.
Clarisse fidgeted in the silence, her stomach curling in on itself in hunger, as the thought that she was in Ancient Greece spiralled through her mind.

Her eyes turned to Atalanta’s hair, the ends muddy, and stray leaves caught and tangled in it.
“Can I?” she asked, hands reaching toward it, the urge to do something, anything with her hands, something to stop her brain from thinking for a while.
The fire below crackled happily, stray embers popping out.
Atalanta nodded, turning her back to Clarisse, letting the girl pick out the stray leaves, and branches, gently working her way through the knots. She used to do it for Silena, years ago.

The familiar ache came, when she thought of her, and Clarisse stubbornly pushed it away, focusing on her task.
“The Mist, μικρόν, is the spirits of the divine,” Atalanta started, gesturing, “But I suppose, it's more complicated than that.”
Clarisse watched the fire, and allowed Atalanta’s voice to paint the story. 

Millennia ago, when the world was young and the Titans- the forgotten ones- still roamed, when the Titan of Time ruled above all, children were born. Not children, like you or I have ever been children, but children with golden blood, with sparks in their heart and thunder in their veins. The Gods, they were called. The New Age. 

Time, cruel and crafty, feared it. Instead of celebrating, or relishing the birth of this first child, the one they called Flame, he feared her. And so, he swallowed her down, forcing her into darkness, and taking her away from her mother, who loved her so dearly. 

And yet-more children were born, despite this. Harvest, and Sovereign, the Sea, and the Shadows. One by one, Time swallowed them whole. 

The Sea, his veins were mixed with the acid within, causing the ichor to develop a blue-green sheen, the promise of death curled within the veins, and destroying his left arm, leaving but a skeletal husk behind, swirling like the coral of his now glorious kingdom. Sovereign was left with golden scars marrying the flesh on the shoulders and back, swirling patterns that burned deeply into her skin, deep gouges, forever unhealable. Harvest clawed and screamed at the stomach, years of doing so wore her voice away, leaving her with a rasp, and when she-once- did manage to tear his skin, to hurt him as he hurt them, she suffered for it, one of her eyes becoming as green as the seasons she blesses us with. Shadows was left with a hole where part of his life was, resigning him to crave the dark and quiet. A void where a heartbeat once was, but his love for those of his family remained forever strong, those years in that tortuous place binding them together. And finally, Flame. The oldest. The one who cares the most. She sheltered her siblings as much as she could from the corrosive, burning acid, and now flames constantly burn from her, mimicking where the shadows of the Dark One’s cruelest act hurt her. 

But Lighting escaped, and he plotted to free those who were his family. And so- he did. His siblings, brave and triumphant as they are today, and were then, were exhausted from years of that torture, but yet they perserved. They learned to grow anew, instead of letting the Wicked One’s torture change them, they learned from it.

They traipsed down to the Darkest Place, unafraid, as nothing could be as bad as what they had endured. Lightning received his Bolt, Sea, his Trident, Shadows, his invisibility, Harvest, her scythe, Sovereign, the claws to wreck justice, and Flame, her hearth. 

Her promise. 

But not all went as they had hoped. 

In their final moments, as they held their father down, justice finally being wrecked, he cursed them, as he was once cursed by his own father on his death bed.
“Hear me, my spawn — thieves of my throne, traitors born of my gut.

As I consumed you once, so shall your line be consumed.

Let no child of your seed rise without ruin;

may every birth bear the taste of my hunger,

and every heir carry the echo of my maw.”

And so, Kronos was cast down.
But his whispers, and his curse, forever remain. 

Clarisse blinked. 

“So, the-the gods don’t have kids.”
Atalanta turned to her again, her hair now untangled, “Oh, they do. Born through great suffering and pain, and few. More-more do not make it. That is what birthed The Mist.”
“The Mist?”
“It is-what Remains.”

Clarisse swallowed, “What remains of their children.”
Atalanta nodded, staring down at her hands, “The lucky ones.”
Clarisse’s hands shook, as Atalanta pulled the meat off the skewers, handing her some, it was warm and so good, and made her feel better than she had in hours, even as Atalanta began to gently wash her wounds.
“W-what about the unlucky ones?”
Atalanta looked at her, eyes piercing, “Those haunt this land as enacters of their father’s curse. Beasts, monsters, craving what they are not, any longer.”

Clarisse stared at the meat, as the taste turned to ash in her mouth. 

She wasn’t in Ancient Greece.
At least, not her Ancient Greece. 

Chapter Text

Juliette put her head in her hands.
It took them three hours to stop arguing. Frank and Reyna looked worn, up there in their purple cloaks. She remembers the weight of them, pressing down on her shoulders.
Not that being “Potnifix” is easier.

The eyes of the people stared at her. Hopeful. Resentful. Looking for answers she didn’t know how to give.
Jupiter’s Daughter. “Mouthpiece” of the Gods. 

They had looked at her even as they filed out of the Senate silently.
She sighs. 

“Anything from Thalia?” Reyna asks tentatively, sitting down beside her. Juliette shakes her head, staring down at her feet, clad in dark hunting boots.
Thalia had given them to her.

Thalia. They didn’t know if she was even still here. 

“She wasn’t the best for reaching out in the easiest of times,” Juliette admitted, “But she reached out. Even in just small ways. Now? Totally radio silent. Same with Camp Half-Blood. I-I’m worried, Ra.”
Reyna’s head tilted at the old nickname, before taking Juliette’s hand and squeezing it, “Breathe. Whatever happens, we will do all we can to find her, Nico and Percy and Annabeth, and the other missing campers, okay?”

She stared up at her oldest friend, her partner in praetorship, her… Reyna. 

“Yeah, okay,” She manages, forcing a tight smile.
They all shudder when another scream echoes the courtyard.
Juliette stands, tearing off the toga with the gold trimmings, grabbing a grey hoodie and tossing it over her head.
“Where are you-” Frank started, pushing forward.
Juliette raised a hand, and years of being a praetor, a leader, reinforced her glare, “That noise is coming from somewhere. I intend to find out where.”
She gripped her lotus pendant tighter, smiling fondly at Reyna’s pinched brow, eyes full of worry, “Hey, I’m a “champion”, remember? No one wants to get on the bad side of the Queen of the Gods.”
Reyna rolled her eyes, but stood too, “You shouldn’t go out there alone.”

Juliette shook head, “You can’t fly out of the mist, like I can. If.. whatever is out there tries to grab me, I can just get out of it. You can’t. Best if I go alone.”
She didn’t wait for another argument, hurrying to the doors and shoving them open again, the thick wall of silvery mist awaiting them.

She walked in, the doors whisking shut behind her.
Reyna inhaled a shuddering breath, watching Juliette vanish, the doors slamming shut like a death knell.

Stupidly stubborn.
As always.

***

Oh they could feel her now.
Orange blossom, wolf pelts. Lightning and fresh wind and petrichor.
Child of the storms.
But more.

A chosen of the Queen. 

How rare, for this world, to feel such a blessing. The Queen did not have any non-immortal children.
But they could see the resemblance. The shape of the eyes, wide and full, but a piercing blue instead of a warm brown. Fair hair, instead of the King’s chosen black, fair as the first rays of light at dawn.
Similar to the Queen once more.

But the true thing that tells them how precious this one is, is the lotus pendant around the godling’s neck. Protection. Lines and swirls that speak of a Champion, of a Chosen.
Of a Gift.
How pathetic.
They reach forward, almost stumbling over themselves to grab the godling. Talons and wings and claws stretch, stretch, stretch… 

Piercing blue eyes turn, and s c r e a m s. 

Then gold appears, bright and burning.

And they scuttle backwards, gently coating themselves once more over the littlest ones, the ones who were hurt.
They could wait.
Just a little longer. 

***

The gods sat in silence, words left unspoken hovering in the silence.
Artemis was glaring openly at Hera.
Poseidon was still. Too still.
Like a tsunami approaching, all the water pulled back, further and further and further, until a near cataclysmic event exploded.
“How many?” Zeus asked, and this time there was something in his eyes they all hadn’t seen for years.
Around sixty five years, really. Maybe more. 

Not fear.
Protectiveness. 

Hestia stood forward, brushing stray embers from her dimming hearth into the coals, “Two from Dionysus-”
“Their names are Castor and Pollux,” Dionysus interrupted in a monotone, but there was something brittle under his words.
Hestia merely dipped her head in understanding, “Castor and Pollux, Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase-”
Athena let out a pained hooting sound at her daughter's name.
Hestia continued, “and Clarisse La Rue. If any more have been taken, we’ve yet to discover.”

“Six children,” Aphrodite murmured, glancing around, “That’s half a pantheon.”
Ares was silent, reaching down his blood-earned bonds with his children, forged by flames and threats of war.
There was nothing where Clarisse had been. 

Just an abrupt ending.
It was not as if she had died. But as if she had never existed at all.
His fists clenched, knuckles turning white, tusks escaping from his mouth.

Hera looked into the distance, “It was not me. I know I have given you all no reason to trust me, but,” She looked down at her hands, appearing small, and scared.
Nothing like the icy-cold Queen of the Heavens they all knew. 

“I swear on the Styx, I did not take any of these children.”
Thunder rumbled.

They all tensed in their seats.
Hades no longer looked human, from his Throne, pulled out in times of emergency. He looked like a writhing mass of shadows, and fangs. 

Poseidon was still. 

Athena’s wings were spread, her eyes cold and calculating as she looked into the distance, strategies spinning like tapestries in her mind. 

Dionysus looked worn.
And scared. 

“The mist,” Poseidon said finally, his voice deep. Pressure-as if they were all deep underwater-accompanied his voice, “I-there was a gap, just for a second. That’s when I felt it. The mist. It isn’t ours. It’s something else entirely.”
Apollo nodded in agreement, “In the Roman Camp-”
Hera cut him off with a strangled gasp, her canines elongating as she turned to her step son, eyes flashing amber. 

“Apollon?” Artemis said, hand gripping her bow tightly, a silver bracelet- Thalia’s bracelet-  in her other hand.
“Mother?” Ares asked in the same breath.
Hera just looked at her step-son, and nodded.
He vanished in a beam of light, her soon after.

“What-” Hermes asked, wings by his ears, around his ankles fluttering forward.
Zeus’s jaw tightened, eyes looking into the distance.  “The beast has tried to snatch my daughter.”
Other daughter.
But Thalia Grace’s name went unsaid.
Artemis growled, eyes going yellow. 

Hermes stilled.

Poseidon gripped Riptide tighter. 

***

Will wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting.
He knew he hadn’t been expecting his father to appear, holding Juliette Grace by the arm as she screamed, and then crumpled into a faint. 

Apollo caught her easily, and manoeuvred his way over to Will and the others of his cabin. 

Hera appeared shortly after.
There was a harsh intake of breath as the ice-cold Queen of the Gods appeared. But she stalked right over to Juliette, taking her from Apollo’s arms, flicking her wrist for a stretcher to appear. 

Will noted, then, for a second, the similarities between the Queen and Juliette.
Same eye shape.
Same hair colour, a fair light blonde.
Same.. jawline?

He peered up at his dad, who had dark markings around his eyes, but otherwise looked mostly similar.
Apollo reached out, gently ruffling Will’s hair, and then turned to his other children, crouching down low to speak with Grace and Austin. 

Will watched Juliette’s shaky breaths, and Hera holding her hand.
The Queen of the Gods didn’t even look at anyone else, just summoned a chair and sat by her side, holding her hand gently. 

This was so weird.

The Queen of the Gods tensed as she noticed his eyes on her, her head snapped briefly in his direction, and Will immediately ducked away.
He was not getting in the middle of that.
Apollo was still there, now sitting cross-legged, a few of his youngest children surrounding him.
He tensed, briefly, and Will noticed a faint glow emanate from his dad before fading.
Splitting himself off, probably. 

Hera didn’t move.

Will bit his lip, hard, feeling the coppery taste of blood fill his mouth.
“Dad?”
Apollo’s head snapped up, and Will noted how long his teeth looked, the slight curve of his nails.
The dark markings were swan markings.
Oh.
“Do you know where Nico is?”
Apollo went still, before gently stroking Grace’s blonde hair as the little girl leaned into him.
“We are looking for them. They cannot hide from all of us.”
That wasn’t an answer.

A pit of dread opened up in Will’s stomach.
The gods had no idea who-or what- was kidnapping them.

Which meant that any of them could be next. 

***

Thalia felt the ache in her neck before she woke up fully. Nico was still leaning against her, a steady presence in the.. Early morning?
The forest was coated in thick mist, but she could see light peaking through bits of it.

“Okay,” She huffed, tapping Nico on the shoulder, “Time to get up Prince of Darkness.”
Nico grumbled something indistinctly, but agreeably rolled off her shoulder, rubbing his eyes and-oh, face-planting onto the ground. 

“Ow,” He muttered, pushing himself up, “Where-”
“You shadow travelled us to a random misty forest,” Thalia said, before standing, rolling her shoulder, trying to ease the ache in her shoulder. It had dulled, mostly, but she’d kill for some moonshine (the Hunter moon-water, not the alcoholic beverage) to ease it. 

She pushed her hair out of her face and froze, hands scrambling around her head.
“Nico?” Her voice had gone up a nervous octave.
“..Yeah?” Her cousin said in response, turning around.
“Where’s my circlet?”
Nico froze, staring at her, “Oh gods.”
She could feel static spiralling down her arms, “I-did I drop it? No, that’s not possible. I sure as fu-” She stopped, glancing at Nico as she paced, “I definitely did not break my vow.”
Nico rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his very short full height, “I might look ten, Thals, but I’m not actually ten. If you start censoring yourself I will summon a skeleton to chase you.”
She deadpanned him, “The most you’ll be able to summon would be like a rat, before collapsing.”
She turned to the fields bracketing the forest.
“Willing to go hunt for a McDonalds?” She asked, turning to Nico.
Nico sighed, running his little hands through his shaggy black hair, “I don’t have any cash on me.”
She dug in her pocket, relief filling her when she found her tent square- stupid name, but Phoebe insisted- and her wallet.
“Three drachmas, and twenty dollars,” She said, waving it in the air like it was a trophy, “Let’s move Death Boy.”
“Shut up Sparky.’

***

They had been walking for a while.
It was still early morning, and the sun hadn’t yet broken the horizon, but she could see in the distance the warm orange promising its arrival. 

She held Nico’s hand tightly in her own, glancing around for monsters. She didn’t have any weapons on her, and as a twelve year old- she wasn’t sure how long or fast she could run. 

She stumbled over a clod of uneven grass, “Gods, this is a disaster.”
Nico kicked the grass, “I hate walking. Are you sure we can’t-”
“I can’t carry you for hours if you pass out again.”
They both sighed, leaning together, “I miss home,” Thalia admitted, her voice going a little thick as they continued walking.
Nico nodded, “I miss Will, and Hazel. And my cabin.”
“You hate that cabin.”
“Shows how miserable I am, doesn’t it?” 

“I miss Ettie,” She whispered, as they plodded along, “But at the same time I’m glad she isn’t here.”
“You two don’t talk about each other much,” Nico noted.
His gaze was facing forward, and his tone light, but she could hear the curiosity below it. 

They both startled at the sound of an owl hooting loudly, before relaxing.
“I guess not. I thought she was dead, and she was my little sister. I was so angry, and I just… she was mine, you know? I couldn’t talk about her because, because I guess I thought it was on me.”
Thalia rubbed her shoulder with her free hands, goosebumps prickling her skin as she thought about all the years of that dull grief sitting in her chest.
“And then I met Annie, and she looked so like her, and was smart and brave, just like I thought Ettie would have been, and-” her shoulders drooped, “Then I was a tree, then a Hunter, and then my sister was staring at me in a winter night, like I was a ghost.”
Nico squeezed her hand a little tighter, dragging her back to the present, “I get that. I can’t imagine how it would have felt if I saw-” His voice broke, and he turned it into a cough.
She rubbed a circle on her little cousin's hand, and then she heard it.

Sheep. 

If there were sheep there were people.
If there were people, there would be a phone of some sort, even in the middle of nowhere. Even if she hadn’t seen any cell towers. 

She sucked in a breath, and began to hurry toward the sound, her feet aching from the sheer amount of walking they had done, her muscles burning. For normal Thalia, this wouldn't even be a workout. 
But she wasn't immortal-or at least, she wasn't sure. Her throat was burning, her feet ached, and she was sure Nico was feeling much the same.

There was a thick river cutting through the land, but she could see sheep just beyond it, slightly cloud shaped in the distance, and a figure that definitely looked human.
“Worth a shot?” she asked, turning to Nico.

Nico waved his hand, “It’s not like this can get much worse.”
They both froze at that, turning around. 

Thalia could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It felt like something-someone was watching them.

Nothing.

She crouched by the river, scooping some of the crystal clear fresh water into her throat, easing the dry ache. 
Nico mimicked her, and for a minute, she savoured that, before moving back to her feet. 

She rolled her aching shoulder again, “Can you cross this river or do I need to carry you?”
Nico huffed, “Please.” 

They pulled off their shoes and socks, the clothes too big for their far-smaller bodies.

Thalia buried the rage about how young she was a little deeper.

They waded in together, the river cool against their heated skin, flowing smoothly along, hugging their ankles.
It was weird though. Thalia couldn’t see a single naiad.
She hadn’t seen any dryads either.

“Percy would love this,” Nico noted, interrupting her train of thought.
Thalia rolled her eyes, “Of course Fish Face would.”
“Wow, mature.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Maturely. 

Finally, they passed the river, and yanking back on their stuff, they continued toward the guy.

As they got closer, Thalia’s eyes narrowed.
“Is he wearing..?”
“That’s a chiton,” Nico agreed, “At least, I think it is.”
They both glanced at each other.
The man was sitting on a slight hill, watching his sheep, a bow and arrow to his side, as dawn broke over the horizon. 

He was very much wearing a simple white chiton, fastened at the shoulder, sitting on the grass easily.
Thalia cleared her throat, as the two broke the summit, walking toward him.
The man turned.

He was in his mid-twenties, tanned skin, warm brown eyes, hair just below his chin and tied with a strip of leather.
He was really committing to the whole Greek bit.
He stood as he saw them, eyes widening as he took in their clothes. 

Thalia waved.
Then the man opened his mouth. 

“Χαίρετε.”

Thalia’s mouth dropped open in horror.
That was Ancient Greek.

***

Nico glanced at Thalia from where she froze, blue eyes wide with shock.
“Hello,” He responded quickly, matching the man’s Ancient Greek. He was really, really, trying not to think about where they were, or what this meant. 

The man raised his hand in greeting, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, young ones. I am Iphicles.”

Iphicles?
As in, Heracles’s brother?
Nico tilted his head, “I’m Nico. This is my..cousin, Thalia. We’re lost. We got separated from our-” He paused, “Friends, and we don’t know where we are.”
Iphicles laughed, “You are in the land of Hellas, young ones, and this is my family’s farm. We are truly blessed by the Gods to live in such a bountiful place.”
Nico raised a brow.

People really spoke like that?
Wow.

Moving on.
Hellas was the Ancient word for Greece.
Thalia blurted before Nico could continue asking questions, “Do you have a brother?”
The man froze. 

Nico debated between slapping his cousin or himself.
“..No?” Iphicles said slowly, “My parents were blessed to have the one child,” His face looked sorrowful for a minute, before easing, and then a quizzical expression crossed his face, “Pardon my rudeness, but I have never seen such colourful-such odd garments as yours, or someone as fair of face.”
Nico wracked his brains, trying to think back to his Mythomagic cards, the scarce bit of mythology he knew. 

“We hail from Europa,” he said hastily, elbowing Thalia, “Not from here. You can understand our confusion.”
Iphicles looked worried then, and Nico was reminded of Mrs O’Leary.
This guy was as easy to read as a hellhound.

That was a sentence Nico never thought he would ever say. 

Think? 

“You poor children,” Iphicles said, “You are, of course, welcome to stay in my place as my guests, where we can find lighter clothing and food for you.”
The two exchanged a look.
Nico mouthed “Xenia” at Thalia. 

Thalia nodded then, “That would be.. Wonderful. Thank you,” She paused for a moment, and then hesitantly added, “May the gods reward you for this kindness." 

Iphicles dipped his head, “God King, Zeus, Father of Gods, and Men, bless you both in return.”

They both flinched at the mention of Zeus’s name.
An eagle cawed overheard, like a warning.

Iphicles turned then, blowing a quick note on a panflute strapped to his waist, before gesturing toward his house.

The two exchanged a look.

It wasn’t like they had any other option.
***

They watched as the Lion protected her Chosen in this world. She was rather like the Titan Queen here, fiercely protective over those she deemed her own.
But she did not spare a second glance to the other godlings.

The other godlings who were huddled in groups, reeking of fear.

They cackled a little, shadowy fingers of ashes reaching out.

Oh little will-o-whisps.
They will be safe.

Soon.

***

Pollux would like it known that lying down on brambles is sore. 

Not as sore- or as traumatising- as seeing a vision of your dead brother who looks fourteen. 

Great.

So Dad’s gifts had well and truly screwed him over and now he was imagining Castor. 

Oh well.

He plucked a grape off a nearby vine, as he slowly got to his feet. 

Seeing his brother again was nice, even if it was just the madness talking. 

***

The gods spoke in clipped tones, words travelling faster than mortal speech could comprehend, hissing and howling bracketing sentences.

Zeus nodded then, briefly, and each god vanished, heading for their children as thunder clapped above them, and as lightning struck.
As the sea raged and earthquakes trembled the earth.
As the shadows stalked their prey. 

Nothing stole from the gods.
Certainly not their precious children.

And now that the Ancient Laws for demigods were lifted, nothing could stop them from protecting them.
From finding this thief, pretender, betrayer, and tearing them to shreds, before tossing what was left into Kaos. 

Chapter Text

Connor watched anxiously as the shadows flickered around them. He had spotted it, out of the corner of his eye, Drew’s shadow, flickering. As if something was grabbing her, erasing her.
Stealing her? 

He spun another penny around his knuckles, the repetitive motion soothing.

He started watching them all, watching how little things jilted them, or when a shadow was just a beat behind. Everyone was huddled together so tightly in their cabins he could hardly tell which shadow was which, but he could see it.
He shivered.
It felt cold all of a sudden. 

He leaned a little further against the wall of one of the Big House’s living rooms, trying to relax his posture, keeping one eye on his youngest siblings. 

Connor wasn’t sure what was going on.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
He leaned back a little more, letting his head thump against the wood, scanning the room. Most of the campers were slowly starting to mingle again. It felt off though. No Percy and Annabeth in the corner, hands interlaced as they spoke, no Nico next to Will. No Clarisse challenging no-one and everyone to various arm wrestles. Billie looked depressed glancing at the spot Pollux usually took next to her. The missing campers felt like visceral aches. Connor wasn’t sure how he felt about that either. It was all too similar to the First War. When campers started vanishing. Except this time they don’t have Percy around. He spun the penny again.

Maybe everything will be fine. 

The penny fell, clanging to the floor. Conor felt as if he was in slow motion, watching it fall, and spin slightly, an icy cold prickling sensation starting up his arms, creeping down his spine. As if something was watching him, fangs dripping as it waited to swallow him whole-

Woah.

Where had that come from?
He glanced out the window, the silvery mist taunting. As he watched, condensation filled the windows, clouding them over.
A line, clear and smooth, was drawn down the middle of one.
He startled backwards, blinking, pushing away.

And then it was gone.
He sat down, feeling as if his stomach was full of lead. His hands were shaking. Chris glanced at him, face drawn with worry and fear. 

Connor knew then, with a heavy certainty.
This wasn’t over. He leaned into his brothers and sisters, feeling cold, their skin heated against the slick feeling of dread. 

The penny stayed where it was, bronze glinting in the warm light. 

***

Juliette’s head was aching, her ears full of that dull buzzing.  That was the first thing she noticed as slowly consciousness seeped back in. That, and soft cotton sheets, the smell of lavender and freshly baked bread, honeysuckle and-

Lions?

She blinked, pushing herself upright immediately, heart hammering, adrenaline pumping through her, eyes widening as she reached for her sword because those eyes that had stared at her, pulling her in, burning into her mind like another brand, claws outstretched, and her soul- something glittering and swirling green and purple and blue had ripped forward-

Juliette took in a shaky breath as she looked at her surroundings. The Big House. 

“How?” She croaked out, her throat dry and sore, and finally she noticed the person holding her hand.
Blonde hair.
Mom? 

Then she saw the eyes, slitted pupils, colours swirling in them like the Northern Lights.
Juno, no Hera, looked up and met her eyes, “We were worried you weren’t going to wake up.”
She bit her lip, “Worry over?”
Hera tilted her head, “Perhaps. It tried to steal you, didn’t it.”
It wasn’t a question. A rattle hid underneath Hera’s words, and memories of the stories of the Queen of the Gods rage jostled in Juliette’s memory.
“Yes.”
There was no point in trying to lie. It was clear they had been the ones to stop it.
Fangs, claws, hands desperately reaching. 

“And..?”
Juliette swallowed hard, staring down at her hands, noticing the slight tremble, “I don’t-I can’t-” She took in a shuddering breath, her throat aching. 

Hera silently handed her a glass of water, eyes contemplative, holding herself stock-still.
So similar to a human in form. But she wasn’t twitching, moving, not even fidgeting,  and every single inhale and exhale was even. Too even.
It all reminded her of what exactly Hera was. 

A goddess. 

She took the water, cool and sweet, sliding down her throat, easing the dryness. She closed her eyes for a beat more, trying to forget it. Those eyes staring at her so hungrily. 

“It was in the mist,” She started slowly, eyes still shut. She didn’t want to see the responses on Hera’s face.
She couldn’t.

“It got freezing cold, all of a sudden. I could hear this screaming, the type that’s been echoing around Camp for the past day and a half now. I was following it, gripping the air currents, because there was no way in hell I was letting myself get pulled into it. That’s when it got cold and I could feel the eyes. I turned, slowly. And I saw it, eyes that were unnatural, floating in the mist, shadows dancing across its form concealing it. It was as if the eyes were.. Burning underwater, I suppose? Coming in and out of focus, as if it wasn’t really here. I tried to get away, and it was as if all the air had just.. Vanished. I couldn’t feel anything.” She opened her eyes then, gently reaching out for the little threads of air that wound easily around her senses, reassuring.
“Then I screamed. And it lunged forward, these claws reaching for me. It was desperate. And I felt this tugging sensation, and this light was pulling out of me, in a line?” She met Hera’s eyes now, the goddess’s were narrow, analysing. Fierce. 

“It was electric blue, with these currents of purple and green running through it. And then Apollo appeared and you.” She shrugged one shoulder, “Then I..fainted?”
Hera nodded slowly, hand reaching up to gently run through Juliette’s hair. She hadn’t even noticed it was loose around her shoulders, but the touch was warm, and protective. Maternal maybe?
The closest thing she’d ever had to a mom had been Lupa.

She leaned into it a little, sighing as the tension from her shoulders eased, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“I’m not,” Hera said softly, so softly she had to strain to hear her, “I’m glad you’re here. With us. Safe.”

And for now, as the fire warmed the room, shadows dancing across the walls, and someone holding her hand, gently running another through her hair, she allowed herself to believe she was. 

***

They howled in fury.
So close. They had almost had the little godling, and they knew the sight of the string would haunt them until they could finally seize it, ripping through the bonds of lightning with her sire, and of golden thread and feathers with her patron. 

They couldn’t wait, however. They needed to let the littlest ones out.
Claws gently carded through light and medical supplies. A little godling, all alone, searching for something in a silent cabin.

Citrus fruits. Anaesthetic. The hint of pomegranates. Strawberries warmed in the summertime.

Oh, Hades’s pup’s lover.
How precious.
They cooed over him, talons pulling a warm yellow and orange thread, taking eyes warm like a summer’s day, hair a buttery golden. 

Oh, he would do nicely. 

***

Castor crashed through the trees, his heart pounding-not possible, he was dead, his heart no longer kept to a rhythm, he lived in Elysium.. 

But in spite of all of that, it continued to stubbornly beat, adrenaline rushing through his system as he woke up alone, and cold. He shouldn't have been able to feel anything. But he had. 

Hands, shaking, ripping through foliage he kept running. 

Was he going mad? 

Hysterical laughter bubbled up from his throat but he swallowed it down, down, down, down. What was that saying? 
Insanity loves company? 

He wanted to be done with all of this. But instead, he was fourteen years old, dressed in a luminescent orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, which he had not been wearing in the hours previous, and was a walking, talking beacon for monsters, without weapons. 

Maybe he was going mad. 

Better to be mad and alive, than sane and dead though. 
He could hear voices, and see faint light far up ahead. Pausing, he stared at it. And turned right around. Because on one hand, people.
On the other hand.. hallucinations. 
***

Atalanta wasn’t quite sure what to think of the little girl she had found, alone. Bleeding red blood that had the subtlest golden shimmer when the light hit it. But it could have been just the light. 

She knew what could follow however, the forever hungry lost-children, chasing those little ones whose lives they craved more than anything.  Precious things that had been warped and changed due to a curse that stained a bloodline.
When she was sure the child was asleep, and her home secure, she slipped out underneath the moonlight, wafts of Mist clinging to her. 

It was almost the Veil Time. She dipped her head to each flicker, before entering a lone clearing, where a simple stone altar lay.

But she hesitated.
She wasn’t sure. Not yet. Atalanta knew better than most the effects of the wrath of the Gods. Her home, her once-father, and lost-family had ensured that.

Burning ash and smothering smoke, flame coating each like, singing her shoulders, screaming, screaming, screaming.

She shifted her tunic over the burns as they began to smart.

Years didn’t always heal all wounds. Her scars were permanent. A lesson of the devotion of the Gods to those they perceive as their own. 

And yet they had still saved her. 

She flexed her fingers before tightening them over bow, thinking for a minute more before turning away from the altar. She would ensure the child’s safety first, and then try to reach out to her patrons.
She dipped her head in respect before leaving, disappearing into the shadows like a wraith of the night.
Atalanta darted away, vanishing as quickly as she had come, unseen to most. 

But not all.

But acid-yellow eyes had fluttered open, and noticed. And so the hunt began, as a forked tongue hissed out, and eyes sharpened, before hurrying after, coiling and sliding around branches as they hunted their prey. 

***

Clarisse shifted in her sleep, something pushing at her mind, a repeated message, and she let out a groan of pain, turning over, curling into herself. 

Even in her sleep, the eyes were watching. Unrelenting. 

Fear clawed deeply, and her blood slowly dripped onto the stone floor, soaking through the bandages. 

Drip. 
Drip. 

Drip. 

***

Hermes hummed an old lullaby to himself as he flew over Hellas.
There was simply not another land to match its beauty, its promise. And his family ensured it stayed so, rooting out those who would stain it in exchange for the foolish human ideals of greed and horror.

Not that the gods weren’t greedy, but what they craved simply didn’t exist, forever leaving these aching holes of desperation. 

He shoved those thoughts aside, feathers bracketing around his face as he swooped down, a forked tongue escaping his hooked teeth, tasting the air. 

There. 

He gently came to a stop, landing on a hill overlooking his youngest brothers, and only child’s festivities. He felt that pull in his chest, alerting him Pan was near.
The God of the Wild. His son. 

Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. 

He let out a trilling call, allowing it to echo into the night and waited a beat, hands twitching on his caduceus impatiently. Soon after, two similar calls echoed back, the braying of a donkey and the quick bleating of a goat, as two presences tugged on the threads between them, one of wilderness and the great unknown, the shared loving bond of father and son-MINE-and the other of two brothers, twisting with vines and with money, the agreement of travel and word spreading across distances.

The two gods materialised soon after, and he felt his son -MINE- in his arms, the scent of pollen, of fields and sunkissed grass filling the air. Something in his chest loosened and tightened instantly. 

“Hermes, Brother,” Dionysus did not make a move forward to his brother, noting his slitted pupils and more inhuman appearance. It had been a few days since father and son had seen each other, and clearly, Hermes had missed his son. 

His son, no one else, his blood his brood his his his his his. 

Hermes finally stepped back, but left one comforting hand on Pan’s shoulder.
“Time for the Veil is approaching Brother. Father has asked me that you make haste to Olympus at Apollo’s call.”
When the first rays of light broke across the sky, guiding them home. 

The two nodded, exchanging a glance, and Hermes felt, rather than saw, the mischief and plans the two had in store for the rest of their evening.
As loath as he was to leave his son-his precious jewel-he had more to do. 

He hugged his son once more before continuing off, holding that steady weight, the warmth of family in his chest.

***

Polias was reviewing plans for Olympus, and for Athens when the disturbance occurred. A crash of feathers, the falling of a tapestry.

Athena stepped forward, eyes round as an owl, snake-like scales branching up her shoulders as she stepped forward.
A grey owl shucked the tapestry off, yellow eyes focused on her divine-mother.
“Glaux,” Athena hooted in greeting, before gently offering the little one her arm to hop onto. 

The owl took it, beak nosing at Athena’s dark hair before hooting and trilling in rapid succession. 

Glaukopis’s eyes grew far brighter, reflecting the light with a glassy sheen.
“Are you certain, little one?”
The owl trilled once more.

Athena’s smile spread, wider than possible for a mere human.