Chapter Text
The gods of Olympus rarely spoke of their children. The camp was not a subject for feasts or council meetings. Their little ones remained below, under Chiron’s care, mentioned only in passing, if at all.
But now Olympus felt broken.
Something fundamental had shifted.
Zeus no longer held his indulgent feasts. Apollo did not interrupt meetings with foolish poetry. Hermes’ laughter had disappeared from the marble halls. And Athena…
Athena was quieter than ever.
Many would have said that was normal. She had always seemed cold, distant, carved from reason rather than flesh. But those who knew her understood this was different.
Her grey eyes were no longer sharp. They were dull. Sometimes glazed. Sometimes filled with tears that refused to fall. She would stare at nothing for long stretches of time, as if she were trying to calculate an answer that simply did not exist. She only spoke when directly asked for her opinion, and even then her voice lacked its usual precision.
The matters discussed were grave.
Children, many of them, had vanished. Their claims had disappeared. Their scents were gone. The divine threads that connected parent to child, cut.
Only memories remained.
And the terrified children who had not yet been taken.
No one knew what had happened. No one knew why.
The uncertainty was worse than war.
There was an emptiness in their cores now, something ancient and primal. A fear that more would disappear. A fear that the missing ones were already gone forever.
There were arguments, there was denial.
Gods who had never set foot in camp before now refused to leave it, dividing their forms, hovering near their remaining children as if it could protect them.
It did not help. The children were still terrified.
And Hades, her uncle, Athena did not remember the last time she had seen him on Olympus for longer than a formal council.
But he was here now.
And he was furious.
Elysium had been breached, the dead had been taken. Whoever was responsible had not only stolen from the living, but from the Underworld itself.
For a logical mind, it was incomprehensible. How does one steal from Death? Why would they?
Dionysus had not stopped pacing since the news arrived. Athena could not recall seeing him walk more than a few miles since Zeus punished him to camp. Yet now he crossed the marble floors endlessly, over and over. Not stopping.
One son taken from Elysium, his soul erased.
One son stolen from the living.
He was the god of madness. And he was losing his sanity.
Poseidon, her uncle, was never known for calm, but this was something else.
The pillars shook as he roared at Zeus, demanding action, demanding war. It even scared the War Goddess, who had not seen him this furious since he lost the city againts her. She was not grieving back then, she was smug. But now, they had a pain to share.
His son was gone, maybe forever. He was yelling justice, action.
How could they sit here and debate still?
Ares, her brother, had not let go of his weapon since the disappearances began. His knuckles were white around the hilt as he swore blood for blood.
Someone had taken his warrior daughter.
Someone would die for it.
Aphrodite wept openly. No masks, no performance, for once. Just a mother mourning her child, who was taken and left without a trace.
And Artemis, her sister,
Athena did not know where her sister was.
She did not know if Artemis was searching or if she had withdrawn entirely. It shook her, giving her an ache, not knowing if she was even on Olympus.
Olympus was no longer a sanctuary. It was a battlefield waiting to ignite.
Peace had burned away and the flames rose so high that even Hestia struggled to keep them contained. She did not even try to contain their feelings, not like how she used to. She was struggling herself, feeling the strong power interfering. She did not explain who might be, but her in her eyes, there was fear. Something she rarely see in her aunt’s eyes.
And Athena… She could only watch.
Watch her home fracture.
Watch divine certainty crumble.
Watch as gods, immortal, powerful, untouchable, were reduced to grieving parents.
Athena wanted anger.
She wanted a target. A name. An enemy to destroy.
She wanted to tear apart whoever had dared take Annabeth from her.
Her Annabeth…
A war-weary, traumatized child who had already endured too much. A girl, a child still recovering from Tartarus, from a sickness that no healer fully understood, something dark and lingering that left her weaker than she pretended to be. Even Apollo was lost, cant name the disease, the darkness in her daughter’s soul. Athena had hoped time would heal her. She had even hoped Percy would heal too, knowing that if he fell, she would lose her daughter in another way entirely.
But, it was not illness that stole her.
It was mystery.
It was magic.
And that was what drove Athena to the edge of madness.
She was tired. She was so tired.
Tired of watching her remaining children like a hawk, afraid that if she blinked, another would vanish.
Tired of their tears, their questions in her mind, their fear, their sobs, their calling for her.
Every time one of them cried for their sibling, it split her open all over again.
She needed an answer.
She needed a direction.
She needed something to calculate, something to solve, something she could tear apart and rebuild if necessary, anything that would lead her back to her child.
Her logical mind whispered what she refused to say aloud.
Annabeth was likely gone.
What were the chances she had survived? She had already been weakened by Tartarus, scarred in ways even divine medicine could not fully heal. If something powerful enough to erase claims could take her… what chance did a demigod have?
What chance did any of them have?
They were children, none of them reached adulthood yet. Her daughter, was only 17. She was small, she did not have powers, she did not have…her. Fighting battles was another thing, not like fighting against what gods even didn’t know.
But another part of her rebelled.
Annabeth survived Tartarus.
She survived monsters, war, betrayal. She was not alone, Percy was likely with her. And whatever it was, wherever they were, he would protect her daughter. They would survive by staying together, until the Gods can find their location and get them.
Athena clung to that thought.
She wanted to believe it.
But she was the Goddess of Wisdom, and… Logic.
And every time hope tried to bloom, her mind dissected it until nothing remained but cold probability.
She hated it.
She hated what she represented.
She hated herself.
And that, was when the first tear fell.
It startled her.
A warm trail down a face that had not wept in centuries.
Then another.
And something inside her broke.
The scream tore out of her before she could restrain it.
It shook Olympus.
Suddenly, hands grabbed her wrists, careful, firm, preventing her from digging her nails into her own skin. And then talons, almost sticking to her own skin as she screamed.
Her form flickered uncontrollably. Divine light pulsed around her in violent bursts. For a moment she was fully owl, feathers bristling, wings beating in fury. Then she was herself again. Then something in between.
Her screams shifted, owl screeches splitting the air, then collapsing into raw, human sobs.
The glow around her intensified, the hands nearby holding her, pouring steadying power into her unraveling form.
Then suddenly, warmth.
Arms wrapped around her.
She wanted to hate herself more for this weakness. For letting them see her undone. For letting the mask shatter.
But she could barely breathe, let alone care.
It took time before her senses returned. Before the roaring in her ears faded enough to hear the soft murmurs around her. Gentle hands smoothing her hair. Grounding touches at her shoulders.
She lifted her head slowly.
Artemis’s face was before her, pale, tight with grief of her own. She was holding her close, trying to smile, despite her own grief.
“She is gone,” Athena whispered, her voice hollow, shaking.
Artemis tightened her hold.
“I know, sister. I know.”
More tears fell. A miracle she still possessed them.
“My Annabeth is gone,” she choked. “They took her from me.”
Another hand closed around her arm.
She turned and saw her brothers, Apollo, Hermes, Ares, Dionysus.
They all looked as if war had passed through them.
There was no arrogance., there were no laughter, no teasing.
Just grief.
“We will get them back,” Apollo said, kneeling before her. His hand remained steady against her shoulder, grounding her. “I swear it. We will find our children.”
His golden eyes darkened.
“And whoever dared to touch a single hair on their heads… will pay.”
And... hope began to bloom again.
It was fragile, small. But it was there.
It lightened her chest just enough for her to breathe.
Athena let Artemis hold her, allowed herself to remain still while the other gods spoke in hushed, urgent voices nearby. Plans, theories threats, vengeance…
She would join them.
She would calculate.
She would lead.
But not yet.
Something tugged at her mind.
A pull.
Faint, distant.
Like a thread brushing against her thoughts.
She did not know whose voice it was, if it was even a voice at all, but it carried urgency, need.
As if someone, somewhere, was calling for her.
And it felt like she was needed.
Desperately.
“Mom! Mommy!”
A small voice tore through the air.
Seven-year-old girl ran across unfamiliar ground, her blond hair falling into her face, tears blurring her vision. She screamed at the sky as if itself might answer.
“I want my mommy!”
A fourteen-year-old boy, seated beside a younger dark-haired child, watched her for a moment before standing. He caught her by the arms gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.
“Annabeth, she’s not coming,” he said quietly. “Please, you have to stop.”
Her lower lip trembled harder.
“But I need her,” she sobbed. “She would get us out. She would fix this. Percy’s sick, Luke. He’s really sick. I am sick too, I dont feel good, I want my mommy.”
"Annabeth, I know, but we need to get to the safety. Look, there might be monsters nearby,"
At the word monsters, Percy’s head jerked up. His face was pale, his sea-green eyes wide with fear.
“Monsters?” His voice was hoarse. “Here?”
Luke ruffled his dark curls, trying to steady him.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he said. “I promise.”
Annabeth, his little sister, his bright, stubborn little sister, managed a shaky smile. Her grey eyes flickered with trust. And Luke wanted to punch himself.
How he wished he could tell her everything.
How he wished he understood it himself.
It felt wrong. Like time had folded in on itself. Like he had been given another chance.
Another chance to do better.
“I’ll carry you both,” he said gently. “Can you climb on my back?”
She nodded eagerly, just like she used to.
He lifted Percy first. The boy felt too light in his arms, his skin pale with exhaustion. Then he let Annabeth climb onto his back, her small hands gripping his shoulders.
Her tiny giggle, weak but real, made his chest ache.
He would protect them.
This time, he would.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s find somewhere safe.”
They moved forward slowly, the two younger children drifting toward sleep.
“Everything will be alright,” Annabeth whispered drowsily against his shoulder. “That’s what my mommy says.”
In Olympus, Athena’s head lifted sharply.
“Everything will be alright,” she whispered into the silence, not knowing why the words formed.
Artemis looked at her in confusion.
“We will find a way,” Athena continued, her voice firmer now. “I promise.”
And somewhere across the divide of worlds,
“I promise…”