Chapter Text
The Throne Room on Mount Olympus.
If any mortal were to accidentally—by luck, or perhaps misfortune?—stumble upon the Throne Room on Mount Olympus, they would surely think they had entered a chamber built for giants. Soaring stone columns supporting a starry dome surrounded by white marble walls. Arranged in an inverted U-shape at the centre of the room were twelve thrones, varying in shape, function and colour, yet uniform in size. A mortal standing one metre ninety tall would, even at the very best, barely reach the surface of the throne.
At present, all twelve thrones were empty. It was rare for the Olympian Council to convene in full, save on the days of the Winter Solstice and the Summer Solstice. If necessary, Zeus—the head of the council—could summon a meeting at any time, whether amongst a few of the Olympians or an irregular session with all twelve present.
Even when no one was present, the hearth in the centre of the throne room still burned brightly. Though called a hearth, its size is no different from that of an entire room ablaze. If that mortal were able to look into the flames, they might catch a fleeting glimpse of thousands of scenes flashing by: the bustling kitchens, platters of food laid out, families gathered together… Among them were also heart-wrenching scenes: a plate of cold rice in an orphanage, a half-eaten bowl of noodles in a small, humble room, a loaf of bread bought in a hurry at the supermarket. The myriad facets of human life seemed to be contained within that flame. Gazing into it, the mortal felt as though they were seeing their own life.
Perseus could see nothing in the flames.
Or, to be more precise, he could not see the things mentioned above. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, he would see long dining tables crammed with children of all ages; he would see them passing before his eyes one by one, tossing a little food from their plates into the fire, and murmuring prayers to their godly parent. He could see other children, in another place, dressed as ancient Roman warriors, performing the same sacrificial rites.
Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter.
It was part of his responsibility, and even though his heart was heavy at that moment, those children and those scenes of joy and happiness still brought Perseus a profound sense of fulfillment.
“Hello, Perseus.”
Perseus startled, then looked more closely at the girl in the simple, long white dress who had just stepped out of the flame. He was about to stand up, but the girl’s hand pressed against his shoulder before she sat down beside Perseus, mimicking him as she stared intently into the fire. Perseus bowed his head
“Lady Hestia!”
The girl – the goddess Hestia – shot him a disapproving glance. Perseus had no choice but to say
“You called me Perseus first.”
Hestia snorted. “Hello, Percy? Is that alright?”
Perseus – Percy Jackson – smiled.
“Hello, Hestia.”
The goddess in the form of a little girl nodded contentedly, and the two of them slipped back into a pleasant silence. Perseus wasn’t the sort of person who could sit still for too long – the ADHD he’d had as a demigod had only exacerbated this trait – but whenever he sat by the hearth, he usually felt a sense of peace bordering on contentment.
“What are you thinking about?” Hestia asked suddenly; only then did Perseus realise that the goddess’s gaze had shifted from the flames to him at some point.
"What do you mean?" Perseus confused, it was not like Hestia to query him during their time together at the hearth, she was contend to let him work through his mind and decide when to talk, what to talk about on his own.
"Today is August 18th." She said simply, as if the statement was self-explanatory. And maybe it was, because Perseus went rigid besides her, his eyes widened and filled with something akin to a combination of terror, sadness, devastation, and above all, guilt.
August 18th, two hundreds years ago.
The gods arrived in a few minutes later in the full war regalia, thundering into the Throne Room and expecting a battle.
What they found was Percy Jackson and Grover kneeling over the broken body of a half-blood, while the former cradling in his arm the lifeless form of another one.
"Percy." Poseidon called over his son, awe in his voice "What happened here?"
Percy slowly turned to face the Olympians, and suddenly a shattering cry reverberated the Throne Room when Athena saw her daughter, smiling peacefully in her eternal slumber, nestled in Percy's embrace.
"We need two shrouds." There was a hollowness in the demigod's voice that shook even the immortals. "One for the son of Hermes. And one…for the daughter of Athena."
"Percy."
The call of his name shook Perseus from his recollection. Hestia was standing before him now, two hands grasped tightly on his shoulders, and it seemed she had just give him a good shake. Perseus looked in those two simmering embers, and suddenly the dam broke. Hot tears bursted out, his body went limp and Perseus slumped forwards in his position, ready to hit the floor if not for the slender but strong arms of Hestia - who had turned into a grown woman - collecting him into a hug.
Like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline, Perseus clung tightly at the goddess while continued sobbing and trembling uncontrollably. Hestia, confused as she was, graciously remained silent and provided Perseus what he craved the most at the moment: a steady presence with the warmth from her hearth.
Perseus did not know how long had he cried, the notion of time started to blur after a few decades being immortals, but he reckon it must had been long, since the front of Hestia's dress had been totally drench when he finally detached himself from the goddess.
"I'm sorry 'bout that." he said meekly, his voice still shaky and heavy with emotion.
"Don't worry about it." With a wave of her hand, the clothes returned to its original state. Hestia looked at him questioningly, her gaze filled with worry, but the goddess did not pry. As the deity look over the hearth, she had learned long ago that sometimes it was better to leave people to talk when it suited themselves rather than urging them.
It took long before Perseus started to talk, his voice hoarse and tired
"I was scared."
The sentence was short with only a tiniest bit of information, but in Perseus's case, it spoke volume. For all the time she had known Perseus Jackson, Hestia could see that he was indeed not immune to fear, but never once Perseus gave in to it. Fear as he may be, the demigod still managed to gain control over the situation and somehow turned the tide against his adversaries. He had faced monsters, gods, Titans, even met the Lord of the Titans himself in battle, and yet the half-blood prevailed. The broken, helpless sobbing was never a sight Hestia could use to describe Perseus.
What scared him?
"Have you been to my brother's realm?" She tried to make him talk more. The question was vague, but they both knew which brother Hestia was mentioning.
"Yes."
"And?"
He swallowed "I tried to go to Elysium."
This was nothing new. Once in a few decades, Perseus would make an attempt to slip into the Elysium. This was a known secret among the Olympian, Hades included, but they had made no move to prevent him, contend to let the Ancient Laws do its job, which was to allow none but the death to ever walk Elysium.
"I had a hunch that this time I could actually make it." Perseus whispered helplessly "But when I was close to it, I got scared."
He lifted his head to look at Hestia, tears filling those sea-green orbs again, and Perseus broke
"I got scare, Hestia. I can't…can't remember her anymore. I tried, and tried, and tried again, for days now, just to picture her in my head, and every time I looked at a blank paper. I can't remember her face, I can't remember her smile, or her voice, or her characters. I can't event remember the way she looked at me when I first woke up at Camp after Minotaur. I can remember the fucking monster, but I can not remember the girl I loved all those years ago."
"Oh Percy!" Hestia sighed before embraced him in her arms again, let him burying his tear-stained face in her neck and let him wept to his heart's content. There was nothing she could do to ease his pain and lost, because such was the fate of all immortals, and Hestia was no exception. They were forever, ageless, powerful, yet whilst time had almost no effect upon them, it could eventually destroyed almost everything they had ever cared about. To stand on the bank of the river of time came with the consequence of ultimately forfeiting everything on that river. Love and loss, pain and joy, all was but a fleeting moment with the gods.
Perseus thought himself was prepared for this day to come. Hestia thought much the same. It turned out they were both wrong.
The goddess of the hearth could possibly hold Perseus for as long as he needed, but something else caught her attention.
"Percy!"
Whatever happened was obviously serious, because even in his current state, Perseus could detect the distraught in his favorite Olympian's voice. He reluctantly withdrew himself from her warmth to look at Hestia
"What?"
Her eyes still fixed on him, Hestia murmured
"Can you please explain to me…why are you glowing?"
"Can you please explain to me…why are you glowing?"
For a moment Perseus was utterly confused. They were on Mount Olympus in their godly form, sitting in front of the hearth in the Throne Room, so although he did not mean to glow, it would be understandable that there was some kind of light on him.
But when Perseus looked down at himself, he went slack-jawed.
Around his body was a faint blue glow, which was totally out of place with the red and orange color of the flame. It seemed to emit from inside and slowly spread away, as if his ichor somehow turned into light and he was currently bleeding out photons. Perseus suddenly rose to his feet, but it lasted for a mere moment before he felt light-headed and a wave of nausea rolled over him. This time, even Hestia could not catch him and Perseus soon found himself lying on the floor, heaving and sweating profusely.
Hestia was upon him in a blink, cradled his head on her arms, worry evident in her voice
"Percy? Perseus, my child, tell me, what happen to you? Is there anything amiss yesterday that you have not mentioned?"
"I…I don't know. What is…happening?" He tried to talk, but could only wheezed out those words. His eyes started to glow alarmingly.
"Your status is dire." For the first time in millennia, fear appeared in Hestia's eyes and voice. Not even the threat of Kronos all those years ago could have such effect on the guardian of the hearth. The flame behind burned more vigorously as she tried to stabilise his condition with her power.
"You are conflicting with your own domain, Percy. Your mind and your power are at war with each other."
Hestia racked her brain, searching for an answer. She knew about Perseus's domains. She knew the young god. Perseus was granted his godly domains because those were everything that shaped him into the person he was. Those were in his nature even before they were his power. So what could possibly make Perseus doubt himself enough to create such a rift between his immortality and his sense of existence?
Her chaotic thought was interrupted however, by a deafening thunderclap. A clear sign to announce her brother's arrival, and Hestia shuddered when she could practically detect the anger within.
Zeus - the Head of the Olympian Council - loomed at them when he declared, the emotion in his eyes unreadable
"The council must convene!"