Chapter Text
Percy’s vocal cords were shot through from screaming. His muscles had no such limitations. They screamed and screamed and screamedscreamedscreamed and he wanted it to stop, he wanted it to end, he wanted it all to go away and let him die, but he couldn’t. He had to hold it up. He had to stop it from crushing everything. He had to save Annabeth and Grover and Nico and Bianca – no, wait, Bianca was already dead, he had failed her, he would keep failing them, he would fail now, his muscles would give out at any second. He almost couldn’t wait.
Drip, drip.
A steady drip of water fell from the ceiling, bending down along an invisible and infinitely heavy surface to pool at his feet. That water was the only reason he was still alive. It kept the worst of the screaming away and let him keep fighting. He had been fighting for too long. He could feel it, the heaviness in his eyes. He had lost his ability to focus on what they were telling him a long time ago, but sometimes he could muster up the strength to try. Not now, though. Now was night. It was almost impossible to tell, in the black stone fortress of Othrys with his head bowed low under the weight of the sky, but he managed. The water at his feet wasn’t glaring at him, so the sun wasn’t up, or maybe he had gone blind again.
Drip, drip.
How long had he been like this? It was impossible to know, unless he counted the days by the glares in the water. He had tried, but the pain was all-consuming, and he had forgotten as soon as he had started. It was hard to keep thoughts in his head. Had it always been this hard? Was it like this before? Was there a before? It felt like this had gone on forever, endless as the sky.
Drip, drip.
No, that wasn’t right. There had been a before. He remembered screaming and blood, a Titan hamstrung by… by… who was it? He remembered flashes of red hair, lighter than blood, almost orange. Between the long darknesses of pain, he heard echoes of a fury and desperation so very much like his own had been, before.
Drip, drip.
What was he doing here? He could remember that it was very important to hold up the thing above him. If he didn’t, he would die. Would that really be so bad? No, but everyone else would die, too. He was fairly certain that was unacceptable.
Drip, drip.
Hiss.
Through the static filling his ears, he heard a scaping of scales on stone. A dracaena. Most of them knew to stay well enough away from him, after Atlas had been driven out. Whoever it was he couldn’t remember had chased him away while he was wounded. Most of the monsters had fled with him, but a few lucky cowards stayed and hid within their stronghold. He had killed the last dracaena to come close to him. That had been a long time ago, back when he had the strength of will to fill its lungs with water. The others had stayed away since then, but this one might not.
Drip, drip.
Hiss.
He could hear it getting closer. It was behind him. He wouldn’t be able to see it strike. That was good. It would make it easier to not fight back. Just in case, he closed his eyes. It would be over soon.
Drip, drip.
The weight shifted ever so slightly, and his eyes were assailed by a sudden brightness. He struggled to open them and saw, reflected in the puddle below him, a great silvery orb hanging in the air.
Drip, drip.
It was back. This was the only good thing about the night. It was why he stayed awake. Every night without fail, the pure white light would come and take away a fraction of the burden. It was the closest he could get to heaven.
Drip, drip.
The dracaena was gone. He could smell the acrid scent of monster dust. The weight above him seemed to lift an inch, and he could see clearly for the first time in what felt like years. The stars were so beautiful, shining up at him from the water. So was the moon.
Shh, it seemed to whisper. I’m here. You’re doing so well.
His eyes glazed over again.
Oh, he thought. That’s nice.
Drip, drip.
Phoebe raced along a forest trail. She had to corner him. The Hunt was counting on her. Lady Artemis had tracked him this far, and now was the hour of the struggle.
Atlas was wily, but he was also large, towering over the lower treetops. He had had a massive headstart even with his wounded leg, and outrunning the Titan of endurance had been no mean feat. Fortunately, Lady Artemis had cut him deeply enough to sever his hamstring, and the injury had slowed him down.
She loosed an arrow into the air midstride, watching as it sunk into the Titan’s side. He plucked it out and kept running, but he veered to the right, away from her. Good. He was heading for the canyon.
She chased after him, peppering him with arrows to spur him on. Lady Artemis had lodged one in his eye at the start of the chase, and hopefully it hadn’t yet healed. They were counting on that.
He was almost at the canyon’s edge. Now or never.
As if rehearsed, a volley of arrows came from the left, causing Atlas to roar in pain. He turned and ran to the right, along the edge of the cliff face, toward the place where the Hunt had made a pitfall. It wasn’t enough to trap him, but it might cause him to lose his footing.
An arrow arced up out of the tree line. Atlas raised a hand to swat it out of the air. Too slow, Phoebe thought with a feral grin. Nothing can outspeed our Lady.
Atlas roared in pain as the arrow took his other eye, just as his foot fell into the pit and he tumbled off the cliff. Lady Artemis jumped down after him, landing catlike on her feet before slicing at his prone and blinded form with her silver knives.
Phoebe and Atalanta threw down the lengths of coiled chain they had been carrying. Those chains had been forged by Hephaestus, and no god or mortal could break them. Aphrodite and Ares had been caught in a mesh of them once.
Phoebe crossed her fingers, a new mortal superstition she had recently acquired. Here’s hoping Atlas isn’t the exception.
He wasn’t, she discovered with relief. A cheer went up from the Hunters at the sight of Atlas, general of the forces that would destroy Olympus, trussed up like a pig in golden chains. His mouth was bleeding profusely, and Phoebe suspected that Lady Artemis had cut out his tongue. That would take a while to heal.
When the Hunters had gathered around their prey, Lady Artemis beckoned them to start moving. They needed to return their captive to Othrys before the sky came crashing down.
Lady Artemis set a breakneck pace back to Mount Tamalpais, faster than Phoebe had run in years. The Goddess of the Hunt seemed as tireless as ever, despite dragging a struggling Titan behind her as she ran. When Phoebe caught a glimpse of her expression, she saw naked anxiety on her Lady’s face. It was rightly earned, she knew – if the sky fell, they would all die. Phoebe had no idea who held it, or how it had stayed up for so long, but it was best not to push their luck.
Atlas’s injuries had barely healed by the time they reached the mountain. Good. If he was too badly wounded in his legs, he might not be able to stop the sky from falling.
When they reached the throne room, Phoebe was met with a sight that would haunt her for the rest of her days.
Standing in the center of the chamber was a boy, no more than eighteen years old, mouth open in an unending silent scream. His whole body was quivering, tensed from exertion and pain. He seemed to always be a single second away from dying. If this boy was the one holding up the sky, then it would be a miracle if they walked out of the room without being flattened.
Lady Artemis loosened the chains binding Atlas the tiniest fraction and shoved him roughly under the sky. The Titan tried to scream obscenities, but without a tongue, all that came out were incomprehensible sounds of fury.
Lady Artemis rushed to the boy, and he collapsed into her arms, unmoving. She called frantically for nectar, and a Hunter produced it. Lady Artemis gently trickled it into the boy’s mouth, and after a long moment, his chest began to rise and fall rapidly. He made a strangled, choking noise as he tried to breathe in as deeply as he could.
“Shh,” Lady Artemis said. “I’m here.”