Chapter Text
Percy was quite used to strange things happening. In fact, unnatural, weird things defined his very existence. Oftentimes, the adults in his life chalked it up to his “active imagination,” or the usual disparities that came with being a kid with ADHD and dyslexia.
He wasn’t so sure.
And the more that strange things happened, the less sure he became. The thing was, unlike those adults, Percy had limits to what he could excuse as strange coincidences or being extraordinarily unlucky. And standing here, surrounded by the dusty remains of his monstrous pre-algebra teacher, he wondered bitterly if, once again, he would be told it was all his imagination.
The terror that had consumed him moments before, when he had swung the bronze sword, now gave way to a quieter fear that felt much colder, much less tempered by the heat of panic and adrenaline. This, he was familiar with too. Many people crumbled under pressure; they were crippled by preparatory plans and an inability to improvise that did not bode well for catastrophic situations.
Percy was not one of them.
He thrived in chaos. Sometimes, it felt like he could only function if the world was on fire. This was, he was told, just another result of having ADHD. He constantly required external stimulus; a lack of such would have him grow restless. In the silence of downtime between activities, he felt overwhelmed by every small movement and sound, feeling it bearing down on him–constricting–but being unable to react, unable to get up and move to release the tension of everything because it was a school and such behaviour was inappropriate.
Other times, it seemed that he couldn’t notice anything, so caught up in the rushing, half-formed thoughts that flowed like a furious river. Moments like that made it feel like he was miles ahead of everyone else, himself even, because his mouth definitely couldn’t move fast enough to voice his thoughts before they vanished.
But despite the constant barrages he was subjected to–both internally and externally–Percy never truly noticed the mayhem, as he had never lived without it. Looking down at the sword that most certainly was not a pen anymore, a part of him missed the buzz of action that had drowned out everything unnecessary, leaving a single, undeterred purpose in its place. The panic and terror had satisfied every part of him that was desperate for something and had quieted the storm that often clouded his mind.
But without the action, he was left with a ringing silence that was much, much worse than the old bat lady. He felt a creeping fear slipping into his bones, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, and he shook his head slightly to dislodge it, trying to get his heart back under control.
That was not his imagination.
Percy recognized this as a fact, just as he knew that the sword in his hand was the same one that Mr. Brunner brandished at them on tournament days. The same Mr. Brunner that had tossed the blasted thing to him and then had the audacity to just vanish as if he were not leaving a 12-year-old in the same room as a murderous creature that, for some reason, had decided said kid was way past his expiry date.
For a good while, Percy just stood there, deciding what to do.
He very much doubted that he could avoid getting chucked into a mental asylum if he told anyone about the crazy bat woman. Even more so if he insisted she wasn’t part of his imagination, as he was way past the age where it could be considered a cute, childish, quirk. Not that Percy had been a particularly cute child, as everyone but his mother was generally convinced he was devil spawn, something they attributed to his alleged “troublemaker look”.
Whatever. The point was that Mrs. Dodds could no longer torture innocent middle schoolers with unfair detentions. Was that truly so bad? Percy mentally whacked himself over the head. Even if Mrs. Dodds was a horrid, sadistic old woman, it was not normal to transform into a bloodthirsty bat intent on committing homicide. But the reassurance felt hollow. Even with the gold dust still sprinkled about, there was absolutely no way to prove what had happened to people that would have already decided the truth with one look at him. Percy let out a frustrated sigh and looked up.
His gaze fell on the stele from earlier, a grave marker for some young girl. Somewhat absentmindedly, he walked over to column and ran a hand over the carvings, pointedly ignoring the DO NOT TOUCH sign. He didn’t exactly love kids but gobbling them whole seemed a bit overkill in his humble opinion. Then again, this Kronos character didn’t seem too troubled by trivial concepts like morals or ethics, not to mention that he was an overpowered titan. The carvings themselves didn’t really interest Percy. They weren’t the reason that he felt a dreadful sense of foreboding. No, rather, he found himself replaying Mr. Brunner’s words from earlier. About how his teachings applied in real life.
Vitally important, the man had said. A chill ran down Percy’s spine.
Why exactly had Mrs. Dodds bothered going this deep in the museum when there were plenty of exhibits closer to the entrance and just as devoid of witnesses? What had drawn her specifically to the Greek section? Percy tried to cut off that train of thought. That was impossible, it was probably just his-
He wracked his mind for a creature from the myths with bat-like wings and sharp talons, something that would want to kill him as punishment for some perceived wrongdoing. He desperately searched through his memories for any kind of hint, anything about her, from her stupid black leather jacket to- wait. Black leather jacket. Black. Punishment. And it clicked. Figures characterized by their viciousness in carrying out vengeance, often depicted in black. Percy circled the stele, scanning the engravings urgently. Sure enough, there they were.
The Erinyes. Dangerous, ancient, beings whose wrath one did not want to incur under any circumstances.
And he had just killed one of them.
Percy stepped back from the stele and took a deep breath. Okay, so he had apparently ended a being of pure vengeance. He didn’t think her sisters would be too happy about that, and the thought made him wince. Lovely, more things that wanted him dead. As if the math he’d been tortured with wasn’t lethal enough. He wondered if one of the remaining two would show up to continue tormenting children with linear equations in her sister’s stead. He shuddered. He’d rather they just try to kill him right off the bat.
Even trying to make light of the situation, Percy found it hard to rid himself of the confusion clouding his mind. Every possible explanation he had as to why they wanted him dead seemed more far-fetched than the existence of Greek mythology itself. He seriously doubted that he had incurred divine wrath by selling candy. So, what had he allegedly done?
Percy leaned against the stanchions surrounding one of the marble statues in the gallery as he frowned in thought. He stayed there for a while, looking at the various displays.
Staring at a red-figure pottery piece, he tried to remember the name of the creature with the bull head whose snout was held by a second figure holding a sword. Eventually, he gave up and consulted the plaque. It took some time and a bit of squinting, but the inscription identified the mystery beef-head as the Minotaur, and it jogged his memory on the half-man, half-bull monstrosity.
Percy pulled a face, recalling vaguely how the thing had been the result of some curse and had ended up in a maze of sorts. It had been killed by a hero… Theseus, right? He looked back at the plaque which confirmed his somewhat educated guess.
Unable to look away from the artwork, Percy felt a spool of dread unwind in his gut. If his theory was real, and Mrs. Dodds really was one of the Erinyes from the myths, that meant that a whole slew of other things could be real too. Including the mystery beef-head that was no longer a mystery. And just how many more beings wanted to kill him? He didn’t consider himself lucky enough for Mrs. Dodds to be the only one.
It was not a pleasant thought.
Percy swallowed, glancing around nervously as though another homicidal maniac might bust out through the shadows. His hands were shaking nominally, clutching the sword with a white-knuckled grip.
“This is impossible,” he declared out loud.
His voice echoed slightly in the empty gallery, but, thankfully, there was no response.
Myths were not real. They were stories. Fiction. Made-up characters to account for phenomena that were explained by science. It was just peoples’ imagination.
Imagination.
Right. Percy was making a very solid argument here, wasn’t he? How many times had he been told that his experiences were not real? His imagination? Even if the existence of Greek mythology was an absurd notion, did he not live and breathe absurdity?
Unbidden, old, memories slowly rose to the forefront of Percy’s mind.
He was in preschool, having been laid down for a nap when a snake slithered into his cot. He still remembered his mom recounting that memory. He had somehow managed to strangle the reptile in his sleep and given her a terrible scare. Percy remembered the expression she had worn telling him that story; torn between pride and a faraway uncertainty that still unsettled him.
He was 9 years old, brushing sand off his hands after going down one of the slides in the playground. He had looked up, assuming the shadow was one of his teachers, only to see a man in a black trench coat glaring at him from under a broad-brimmed hat. But there had been something strange about the way the man had watched him.
He only had one eye. Right in the middle of his head.
No, Percy thought with a shiver. Not a man, a cyclops.
And it fit. There was no other plausible explanation (his sanity was perfectly intact, thank you very much). His theory no longer felt hypothetical. It was all real. Very, very real.
Approaching footsteps jolted him out of his existential crisis. A young woman with gentle features crossed the threshold, frowning at him in confusion.
“You’re with the Yancy tour, yeah? Shouldn’t you be outside with your class?”
Percy shrugged.
“My math teacher was giving me a talking to and then she… left. I wasn’t sure if it was over so I’m still waiting.” The half-truth slipped off his tongue surprisingly easily.
The lady smiled slightly, brown eyes glinting.
“Troublemaker, are you?” She gestured for him to follow her.
“Come on. Your teacher can scold you away from unsupervised exhibits.” She sounded slightly annoyed and Percy hastened to follow her, lest he become the subject of her annoyance.
Then her gaze fell to the sword in his hands. She arched a brow.
“Pretty weird weather for baseball,” she remarked, turning towards the exit.
Percy faltered momentarily, staring at her in disbelief. He watched her very sincere expression then looked down at the sword.
For a moment, its entire form flickered, appearing instead as a metal baseball bat.
He blinked and it reverted back to the bronze sword. The lady walked on, entirely oblivious to the shape-shifting thing that Percy felt a sudden urge to throw out a window.
Did it appear different depending on who saw it? Or was there a specific trigger that made it appear one way or another? What was it really, then?
The last question irritated him. To Percy, it was undeniably a sword. Even though it had flickered for a moment, it still remained in that form; that meant that the bronze sword was its true form no matter what anyone else thought or said. Percy was much too obstinate to entertain any other possibility. He could ignore their false perceptions. But why exactly were they unable to see what he saw? It was the same for Mrs. Dodds. He had seen her as an old woman before she turned into an Erinys; the math teacher must have been an illusion, and the bat lady, her true form.
More than anything, Percy felt inordinately frustrated.
Of course he was being singled out again. Of course he was the freak again. It just had to be him that was seeing things nobody else could, that was almost murdered while the others could sit outside and eat their lunch. Normal people could look at these statues and engravings and see products of imagination while he fumbled here, scared and confused, without a single answer to his countless Why?s and How?s.
Percy did not understand what was happening. He didn’t understand what had been happening. Worst of all, he had no idea what else could happen. And that uncertainty was more frightening than certain death. He felt too exposed in the echoey gallery and as much as he wanted to leave to escape the visions of Mrs. Dodds, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d be opening himself up to other things that wished him harm. There wasn’t much he could do though, with the lady glancing back periodically to make sure he was following. He tried to shove aside his apprehension and appear as nonchalant as possible.
As they passed through the entrance to the gallery, a flash of blue caught his eye. He snapped his head back when he realized what it was. With a cursory glance towards his self-appointed guide, he bent down and scooped up the pen cap in one smooth motion. Percy continued walking as if he had never faltered.
When Mr. Brunner had tossed the sword to him, it had been a pen. A regular old ball-point pen that could be bought cheap from the nearest dollar store. He eyed the cap and the object that was no longer a writing utensil. What if he tried putting it on the sword point, since that sort-of correlated with the nib of a pen? Right as the cap touched it, the sword shrank down until he was holding the most ordinary, everyday object one could hope for.
Percy grinned.
He slipped it in his pocket, feeling slightly better that he had a compact, reliable weapon to greet any Erinyes with if they came knocking. The fact that the whole shape-shifting thing had worked in the first place was also reassuring. It meant that some things were fixed, even in terms of the supernatural. It had been a pen-sword before, and it was a pen-sword now. The baseball bat thing didn’t count, since that was just an illusion; the thing in his pocket was an actual pen, and it had been an actual sword before that.
“Where’d your bat go?”
For a moment, Percy’s head went blank.
“What bat?” he tried weakly.
The lady blinked as she looked back at him. Her brows furrowed, and she peered around furtively as if hoping to find a baseball bat lying somewhere on the ground. Face morphing into a confused frown, she stopped and turned to face him.
“I could have sworn you were just carrying one,” she asked, perplexed.
Percy stared back, as blank-faced as he could manage. Then he tilted his head a bit, trying to subtly match her confused expression without appearing too obvious. He could feel his heart beat a little faster, and he desperately tried not to look guilty.
“Is that what you meant about the weather and baseball earlier? I thought you were just talking to yourself and I didn’t want to make things awkward,” Percy offered, doing his best impression of Grover’s sheepish grin. It seemed to work, as her expression turned embarrassed, and Percy thanked his lucky star.
“Sorry, I guess I’m a little out of it today,” the successfully-gaslit-lady said with a small laugh. Percy couldn’t suppress a snort.
“Believe me, you’re not the only one,” he huffed, and she smiled at him mirthfully.
Percy just hoped his day wouldn’t get any worse.
Naturally, his day got worse.
He should have expected it, honestly. There was no way he’d be able to waltz back to school without more strange things happening.
As Percy and his guide finally made their way down the front steps of the museum, she turned to bid him farewell. He waved her off and walked back to the Yancy congregation, hoping he looked sufficiently innocent and not like someone who had just killed a being that shouldn’t exist. It had started to rain, but the droplets seemed to ignore him, as his clothes remained dry.
Weird.
But Percy barely noticed. He walked over to Grover who was sitting by the fountain, using a museum map as an umbrella, and Nancy Bobofit who was still standing there, soaking wet. When she caught sight of him, she scowled, and her friends sneered in what they probably thought was a threatening manner.
Percy just thought they looked stupid.
“I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt!” she said.
He blinked.
“Who?”
She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes as if he was being particularly dense.
“Our teacher. Duh!”
Percy stared, waiting for her to break character and laugh about this non-existent teacher.
She didn’t.
Now seriously annoyed, he asked her what the heck she was talking about. Nancy didn’t answer, turning away and acting like he had just asked her whether she existed or not. Percy was tempted to pretend she didn’t. Instead, he turned to Grover.
“Where’s Mrs. Dodds?” Percy demanded.
Grover hesitated, not meeting his eyes.
“Who?” he asked.
Percy’s frustration peaked, and he resisted the urge to grab his friend and shake him until he confessed and stopped messing around.
“Not funny, man,” he said. “This is serious.”
The myths are real and they want me dead! Percy wanted to scream at him, but he was not in the mood to have his sanity questioned for the billionth time, and so he stood stiffly trying to ignore the impulse. He ran a hand through his hair in aggravation and looked away, catching sight of Mr. Brunner in the process. He walked over to him, a little apprehensive.
“Sir,” he said. “Where’s Mrs. Dodds?”
The Latin teacher looked at him, a jarring lack of recognition in his gaze.
“Who?” He asked blankly.
“The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher.”
Mr. Brunner’s blank look shifted into a concerned mien as he leaned forward.
“Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling alright?”
Again, Percy felt his frustration mounting. Except, this time, it was laced with an undercurrent of hopelessness. It was one thing being told that he was insane. It was quite another to be denied a fact as indisputable as the existence of a teacher that had been acknowledged by everyone prior to two seconds ago. There was no way in hell that Mrs. Dodds was a hallucination.
Also, how was he already being asked if he was feeling alright? He hadn’t even gotten to the demonic transformation part yet!
Above all, he felt inexplicably angry.
How the heck was Mr. Brunner such a good actor? Here he sat, reading his novel with a puzzled expression as if he had never moved, as if he had never thrown a pen-sword to Percy when he’d been attacked by a rabid bat. And then he had disappeared and was now trying to gaslight him.
This is what I get for gaslighting the museum lady, Percy thought bitterly.
Watching his favourite teacher, Percy wondered how long he could keep the facade up. Mr. Brunner definitely seemed dedicated to his part. He had not faltered for a moment during the couple minutes that Percy silently stared him down. He looked as confused as ever.
Just to be petty and vent his frustration a bit, Percy decided to play along.
“Right,” he said. “I must have fallen asleep when Mrs…” he tried to remember the name Nancy had used, “...Kerr was talking to me. Your lessons are getting to me, I think. I had the weirdest dream about one of the things we discussed in class and I wanted to clarify one of the topics with you.”
Mr. Brunner leaned back in his wheelchair and nodded in an encouraging manner.
“Of course, Percy. Ask away.”
“Thanks,” he said. Then, looking him dead in the eye, Percy continued, “You know the three sisters of punishment? The Erinyes? What exactly would you have to do for them to come after you?”
A clap of thunder sounded above them, but he paid it no mind.
Percy watched the Latin teacher like a hawk for any indication of understanding, and was rewarded with the smallest twitch of an eyebrow.
But he wasn’t done yet.
“I mean, like, hypothetically speaking, if you set one of them after me, what exactly would you set them after me for? In your professional opinion. Considering, you know, I haven’t murdered my mom or anything like that.”
Mr. Brunner was silent for a moment, and Percy begrudgingly admitted that the man had an insane poker face.
“It is difficult to say, Percy,” he started carefully. “The Eumenides–Kindly Ones, as the Greeks called them–were called upon by various gods for various reasons. But they also exercised independent authority in terms of what they believed to be unforgivable crimes. The most notable of which were, of course, crimes against parental authority. Those were punished most severely. Apart from that, the Eumenides were often sent on behalf of a god who felt they had been wronged and sought justice. However, since the sisters are beings of the Underworld, they are generally considered to be under the purview of the Lord of the Underworld.”
Percy withheld a sigh. The Lord of the Underworld. Sure, why not? He was tempted to cuss out the universe.
The amount of bombshells packed into that mini-lesson was staggering. A Kindly One–he was pretty sure there was some specific reason that the Greeks called them that but he couldn’t remember–had tried to kill him, and there were still two others out there that might want to try as well. For one thing, at least, he was sure that she had been hired on behalf of someone. He remembered her saying we, and her sisters were not there with her for it to make sense. That begged the question, what god had he accidentally pissed off in his first attempt at living? His options were Hades (allegedly the most likely), and a million others. He guessed he was stuck playing a game of Who Is Most Likely To Kill Percy Jackson until further ado, then.
Mr. Brunner was still watching him cautiously.
“Are you certain that it was simply a strange dream that brought this query on?”
Clearly not, if you’re so worried.
Nevertheless, Percy nodded at him, assuring him that his lack of sleep must be catching up to him. He turned and made his way back to the fountain, settling down next to Grover. His friend graciously provided him with a museum map and they both sat in companionable silence, holding the maps over their heads against the rain. Percy tried to put troubling thoughts of the supernatural out of his mind, listening to the sounds of the water and observing the droplets splashing into a nearby puddle. He turned his attention back to Grover when he shivered, and did a double take when he realized his friend was soaked to the bone.
He hadn’t realized the rain had gotten heavier.
Percy frowned, wondering why he didn’t feel cold or wet. He eyed his sleeves intently, seeing the water slip through the fabric. But his sleeves didn’t get wet. None of his clothes did; his hair didn’t feel heavy either.
He was completely impervious to the rain.
Percy glanced back at Grover. Thankfully, his friend was entirely oblivious to his waterproof situation. He silently begged the water to be normal and to not single him out even more than he already was. Percy could already imagine the weird looks, and the dreaded questions to which he’d have no answers.
The water appeared to have heard his pleas, as within a few minutes, he was as soaked as Grover.
He still didn’t feel cold though.
Quite the opposite, in fact, as the rain soothed aches and pains in his body that he hadn’t even noticed were there until he felt the relief of their absence. The water felt comforting, warm in its familiarity. Percy shook off that thought. It was stupid.
Instead, he focused back on Grover, pulling him to his feet and leading him towards a nearby building. They both ducked under its eaves and Grover sighed in relief.
“Can’t believe they’re making us sit outside in the rain,” he grumbled. “We couldn’t have had lunch inside?”
“Then the workers would have to worry about a bunch of kids getting food all over their displays.” Percy reminded him. “I doubt they get paid enough for that.”
Grover sniffed but didn’t argue.
Percy leaned back against the wall and watched his friend sideways.
“At least they don’t have to worry about parents showing up to eat their kids. Not like Mr. Brunner’s myths are real or anything, right?”
Percy knew he was being too obvious with that one, but, then again, he wanted Grover to know that he didn’t think it was his imagination. Not like with Mr. Brunner. And he also just didn’t care. He was tired of skirting around almost dying, tired of people not seeing what he saw, and also just tired in general. He needed a serious nap. If he could manage that without bat ladies in his nightmares, he’d be ecstatic.
Grover stiffened immediately, looking around in obvious panic that he tried (and failed) to mask.
Percy was glad that his friend, at least, did not have a good poker face. Grover opened his mouth to respond. Before he could, they heard Mr. Brunner and an unfamiliar blonde woman gathering the students and directing them back inside. The kids followed without question, thankful for the reprieve from the downpour. Many, like Grover, still grumbled complaints about being left to the elements in the first place. They both peeled themselves away from the building and joined the crowd re-entering the museum to continue the tour, and Percy politely ignored Grover’s noticeable relief.
The woman was pretty lively and seemed well-liked amongst the students, unlike Mrs. Dodds. Percy watched her closely, but she didn’t seem confused at all, despite having appeared from practically nowhere. Nor did anyone else seem curious as to where Mrs. Dodds had gone and how a random woman had taken her post.
This was probably Mrs. Kerr, then.
Mr. Brunner seamlessly continued from where they’d left off, not missing a beat as he haphazardly chose a student to summarize the events they had already covered. Despite being back in the Greek section, Percy didn’t feel as uneasy as he previously had. Surrounded by students, his friend, and a couple teachers, he felt that if anything wanted to attack him, they’d have a hard time singling him out in this crowd.
Grover was clearly troubled. He kept trying to catch Mr. Brunner’s eye and was more skittish than usual, jumping every time someone so much as coughed in his vicinity. Even though he had denied her existence, Percy was sure that he knew Mrs. Dodds was real… or had been real, anyway. Before Percy killed her. Both him and their reticent Latin teacher. But they refused to admit it, feeding into the illusion that had overtaken every other student present, content to let Percy drive himself insane.
He didn’t understand why. There was something deeper going on here, of that he was sure. But the only two people who likely had the ability to clear things up for him refused to do so. He wasn’t the only one capable of seeing these mythological creatures that shouldn’t exist. Grover proved that. But he was the only one they wanted to kill. After all, the Erin-Kindly One hadn’t attacked anyone but him.
Percy debated whether or not to call Grover out on it again but ultimately decided against it.
His head felt wrong, like it was filled with cotton. The sounds around him seemed to exist only as a buzz in the background. It was strangely hard to distinguish between words, coughs, and other noises that plagued the air. He felt mentally exhausted but his body buzzed with restless energy.
Percy just wanted out. He wanted to get away from the distracting presence of people, and the even more distracting thoughts. He wished that he could find a hole in the ground, an isolated pocket of silence, and curl up into a ball for a couple centuries. The thought of talking to anyone right now, even his friend, seemed unbearably overwhelming.
He found himself wandering further and further away from the tour group as Mr. Brunner’s voice grew fainter in the background, swallowed by the buzz permeating his thoughts. Percy didn’t have any particular destination in mind. The simple desire to get away was more than enough to fuel his impromptu disappearing act, enough to lead him to a section of the gallery devoid of students. The few people in his relative vicinity were spread quite sparsely, enough to offer him the illusion of solitude. His pace slowed, and he ran a hand through his hair, gaze brushing over the numerous displays until his eyes snapped to one in particular. He stopped before it.
Perseus. His namesake.
Percy felt strangely as though he were standing before a chasm. The severed head of one of Greek mythology’s most infamous monsters loomed over him, preserved indefinitely in stone. His eyes tracked the arm holding it to the imposing face of the one responsible. The expression on statue-Perseus’ face was unreadable and poised. He looked untouchable.
Perhaps he was.
Percy remembered the nights he had spent listening to his mother tell him about old myths and legends. Tales of feats so incredible, so unbelievable, that they embodied greatness even centuries later.
Thousands of years stood between Percy and the imposing hero. Much more than that, actually. Truly, the only thing that connected them was a name. A name that should have inspired hope in him, but only left him feeling ridiculously pessimistic.
He had asked his mom about it years ago.
“Mom?” Percy had begun hesitantly.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
They had been sitting together on the sands of Montauk, toasting blue marshmallows. She had carefully evaded Percy’s queries regarding his father, and they had been silent for a moment before he had spoken once again.
“Why did you name me after a Greek dude? I mean, he is pretty cool and stuff, but did the idea just pop into your head or what? I don’t usually go around meeting people named Herakles.”
Her lips had twitched a little at that before her expression grew more solemn. She had seemed wistful, even as she regarded him with a hint of sadness. When her eyes turned back to face the sprawling ocean, they had reflected the golden hues of the setting sun dancing across the endless waves.
“Names have power, Percy. You can’t imagine just how much of a difference they can make. Neither can I. I thought that it might be my saving grace. Your saving grace.”
Sally Jackson had looked scared then as she paused. Not for herself. Never for herself.
But for Percy. Always for him.
He had not realized the distinction.
“The names of beings–humans, gods, and monsters alike–are written into the very fabric of their existence.”
His mother’s voice had taken on a strange quality. It was quiet, unusually puzzled, like she was finding the words to describe something she had never acknowledged out loud. Percy had been very confused. He had no idea what she meant by gods and monsters. They didn’t exist. But his mother’s tone had frightened him.
“I’ve seen it. The name you are born to, and the names that you accumulate throughout your life. They shape you, Percy. They shape your very soul, and the version of yourself that others see. Beneath layers of mist and deception, your name is laid bare for anyone that pries. It’s literally written on your soul. And it’s insultingly easy to see the truth of a person, when you see what kind of titles they have been given.”
“So… hypothetically, if someone called me an idiot-”
She had shut the thought down with a stern look.
“You are not an idiot, Percy. You are brilliant; you are strong. And you are my son. No matter what happens, and no matter what anyone says. Always.”
And just like that, Percy had forgotten to be frightened. Content to bask in his mother’s love, he had looked back into those caring eyes and immediately disregarded her previously ominous tone.
“The name Perseus,” Sally had continued, “means avenger or destroyer, depending on how you interpret it. The biggest reason, though, is that the original Greek hero, the first Perseus, got a happy ending. He had to do some awful things, fight some awful stuff. He struggled a lot. But in the end, he was happy. He lived long and well.”
When her eyes fixed upon her child again, they were soft.
“I want you to have the same.”
Percy didn’t think he’d get the same. He didn’t think he could do what Perseus had done, didn’t think that he could have a happy ending. How could he ever achieve one? He was no hero. There were no old stone statues of him in dusty museums. There were many times where he wished that he could be smarter, better, stronger. But he wasn’t. Percy didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that. He wouldn’t be able to stand the heartbroken look on her face, or the thought that her sacrifices had been in vain.
His throat felt oddly tight the longer he stared at the stone face. He honestly hadn’t thought much about his future. He didn’t really think he’d have an all too bright one. But the encounter with the Erinys had shaken him. It was one thing to know that you’d die one day.
It was another to know that someone–something–was actively trying to kill you. That something genuinely wanted you dead. The thought scared Percy more than he wanted to admit.
A soft voice shook him out of his musings.
“Is this one your favourite hero?”
Percy blinked and looked over to his right. A woman stood there, hand resting lightly against the exhibit’s stanchions. He was certain that the lady hadn’t been there a second ago; it felt like she had appeared out of thin air. She had golden locks that flowed down her back. Her hair looked so glossy and healthy, Percy wondered briefly if she modeled in hair commercials. She’d give most hair models a run for their money.
Her face was similarly beautiful, with round features that gave her a soft look. She wore a collection of flowers in her hair of various, bright hues. She honestly reminded Percy of a Disney princess. He was tempted to ask her if flowers bloomed where she walked.
It was her attire that tainted that image. She wore an elaborate dress of black lace and silk that hugged her waist but flowed like liquid. The fabric was indeed luxurious, but it seemed to swirl and move like shadows given substance. As Percy watched, the edges of her dress curled off into the air like smoke. She shifted her lacy cuff with incredible poise, and the fabric rippled once again.
The constant movement was kind of mesmerizing. Percy mentally shook himself and went back to her earlier question.
“I wouldn’t say favourite,” he contemplated. “I mean, it’s kind of hard to have a favourite since a lot of them did some really messed up stuff, but compared to some others, Perseus wasn’t as bad. But, um, well… I guess he is my favourite actually? Because he wasn’t as messed up as the others?”
He hadn’t really thought about having a favourite, so he ended up voicing his thought process aloud and sounding like a rambling idiot. Percy groaned internally.
The woman did not seem to mind. She hummed in understanding, and studied him with a piercing gaze. She looked to be weighing something in her mind. Percy did not look away, noting the way her irises changed colours, fluctuating between hues that reminded him of blossoming life. For a moment, they flashed with purple fire.
He blinked, and her eyes were a bright, spring green. Percy felt a trace of wariness crawl up his spine.
“Sorry, I’m rambling.” He said to the woman. “I’ve just never thought about your question before.” His eyes dropped again to the swaying material adorning her. He switched subjects, anxious to move past his awkwardness.
“Your dress is really cool, by the way. I’ve never seen fabric that looks like that.” Percy told her as he turned to properly face her. “It’s like liquid shadows. It looks awesome.”
That managed to get a small smile out of her, and her eyes softened imperceptibly.
“Thank you. This dress was a gift from my husband.” At that, her expression became carefully neutral again. Despite her politeness, Percy felt uneasy. She was tense in a way that was unnatural, as if she wanted to lash out but couldn’t, and the restraint was physically ailing her. Her hand had tightened against the stanchion's belt so firmly that the knuckles turned white. There was a dangerous glint in her eyes, something that looked suspiciously like rage, as she regarded him.
“You are familiar with him, are you not?” She asked, voice low.
Percy shifted uncomfortably. He now genuinely wondered if she was a model, and if her husband was someone famous and important.
“I’m really sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t think I know your husband. I doubt that I’ve ever met him.”
Her expression seemed to grow even colder. It felt like the temperature had dropped.
“Is that so?” She said softly. She turned back to the statue stiffly, still appearing as though she were holding herself back.
“It has been some time since I last saw him. The last time I did, it was the day before the vernal equinox. I spend spring and summer with my mother, you see. She is not quite fond of my beloved.”
An awareness stirred in the back of Percy’s mind, something familiar about what the woman was saying. She continued, oblivious to, or perhaps, willfully ignorant of his unease.
“My husband was quite distraught then. He lost something very, very precious to him. It was stolen. He still has not found it, and I am unable to help him search for the thief, separated from him as I am.” She turned back to him, and the rage burned brighter in her eyes. “Or so I thought.”
A pool of dread settled in Percy’s gut. He swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” he tried again. “But I really don’t know how to help you or your husband. I’ve never met him, and it sucks that he’s lost something so important to him, but I have no idea what to tell you. Is it an heirloom, or something? Maybe I can help you look if you know where he’s lost it?” Percy tried to sound helpful, but he really didn’t know what to tell this lady who looked like she wanted to rip him apart. He really just wanted to get the hell away from her.
Her mouth twisted into a snarl.
“Do not play coy, Perseus Jackson. I know what you have done, what you have stolen. Do not bother keeping up this pretense. Why would you have killed Alecto if you were innocent?” The woman’s voice shook with suppressed fury. Percy shook his head, mystified.
“Alecto? Who-” And then it hit him. The Erinys. “You sent her after me?” The idea seemed ludicrous. He didn’t even know this woman!
“Why?” Then he processed the rest of her words and said indignantly, “And I only killed her because she would have killed me! She was my math teacher but she’s a…” His voice trailed off. Percy looked again at the woman like he was seeing her for the first time.
“You sent her after me.” He repeated, his mind swirled, trying to put the pieces together. He exhaled sharply and took a step back. “You… you’re a goddess. Your husband is Hades, you’re Persephone!”
A small part of him desperately wished he were imagining this. The majority of him knew better. Still, every inch of him reeled in disbelief at standing before a goddess, and one who had tried to kill him, at that. She likely still wanted to, if her furious expression were anything to go by.
Persephone pursed her lips. “Obviously. And it was not I who sent Alecto. Hades did, once he learned of your theft.” She stepped forward. “Return it now, child, and you will suffer less torment. At least, from my husband, perhaps. I’m afraid I am not so forgiving nor so inclined towards justice and proper punishment. I will see you tortured for eternity.”
The air around her grew thick and heavy. Percy found it difficult to even draw a breath. The goddess began to glow, divine power emanating from her in waves that dulled everything. Black vines began to creep out from the floor’s grouts, inching towards him with wickedly sharp thorns. Her eyes burned with a dark flame.
He took another step back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Percy burst out in frustration. He was getting tired of the constant accusations, and his anger pushed back his apprehension. “Really, I’ve never met Hades in my life, and I have no clue what he’s missing! I swear it.”
“Swear it on the river Styx,” Persephone challenged.
“I swear it on the river Styx!”
Thunder rumbled. For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Persephone faltered. Uncertainty crept into her expression. She appeared to be waiting for something, but nothing happened.
The pause stretched.
Finally, the goddess lowered her arms. The vines crawled back towards her and then vanished. She stared at Percy.
He glared right back.
“Truly?” She murmured hesitantly. He seized the opening.
“I have never knowingly met your husband. I have no idea what he’s lost, and I did not steal whatever it is! I only killed the Erinys because she threatened my life, and before she attacked me, I had never once thought that the Greek myths could be real. I don’t even understand why this is happening to me, and I have no clue why you decided that I’d make a good thief. I swear this on the river Styx!” Percy hurried to get the words out before Persephone could zap him into oblivion. Distantly, he registered the rumble of thunder upon his oath.
Again, the goddess stood in anticipation, but nothing happened. Now, she shifted awkwardly and looked at him with a conflicted expression.
“Ah…” she mumbled. “This is a rather unfortunate situation.”
Percy looked at her incredulously. The indignation hadn’t faded, but it was at least tempered by the relief that he wasn’t going to be smote. “Do you often go around accusing random kids of divine theft for no reason, and with absolutely no proof?” He struggled to keep the disbelief out of his voice. The words just made her scoff.
“No reason and no proof? Hardly. Tell me, boy, what of your father?”
Again, Percy found himself staring at her. She was definitely insane, then. He supposed this was what happened when you were immortal; the years clearly took a toll.
“I have a single mother.” He informed the goddess flatly. Percy chose not to mention Smelly Gabe. That jerk did not deserve the title of husband to Sally Jackson. “You’ve got the wrong guy. The last time I saw my dad, I was a baby. He’s basically non-existent in my life.”
An unreadable expression graced Persephone’s features. She nodded slowly, but still regarded him with a hint of hesitation.
“You really have never met your father?” she pressed. “He has never contacted you through any means? Never?”
By now, the fury that had driven her had mostly dissipated. The dregs that remained, she hid quite well, but they were no longer directed towards Percy. Instead, there was concern and an all-consuming anxiety, no doubt a result of whatever priceless artifact had been stolen. Beneath her impeccable image, Percy sensed that she was driven by a kind of helpless desperation. It said a lot that she would go so far as to blame him on a misguided notion of his supposed pedigree.
He felt a spark of pity for her, despite his lingering irritation.
“Never.” He told her firmly. “Like I said, it sucks that you lost whatever you lost, but it has nothing to do with me or whoever you mistook my dad for.”
She was silent for a long moment, staring despondently at the stone statue. When she spoke again, she sounded weary and uncertain.
“This is truly an unfortunate situation.” She sighed. “Though I see now that you are innocent, you were previously the only lead we had to uncover the whereabouts of… the missing item.”
Percy noted how she neglected to specify what exactly the item in question was. It was clear that she still did not trust him. Even so, he found it quite telling that she was willing to confide in him about her troubles.
“I’m afraid it does not end there, young one. My husband is not the only one who has lost a powerful item.” Persephone paused, biting her lip as though she were mulling something over.
“My father, the Lord of the Skies, has also been in a frenzy over the loss of something invaluable.” She glanced at him carefully. “It is likely that you will be blamed for that theft as well.”
Now, Percy really felt his anger mounting. She could not be serious. Just when he thought his day had finished with the unfounded accusations, now the goddess was informing him that freaking Zeus had a bone to pick with him.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he growled. He knew that he probably should have been more respectful to a being who could kill him with a snap of her fingers, but he was so frustrated he found it hard to care. “Who the heck do you people think my dad is to accuse me of divine robbery just on the basis of being related to him?”
To Percy’s surprise, Persephone did not appear overly bothered by his tone. She simply studied him, looking somewhat torn.
“It is not my place to say.” She finally said. “Regardless, I am regretful that you had to find out this way.” The goddess actually looked contrite as she said this.
Percy blinked, anger momentarily forgotten, feeling rather taken aback. Based on most myths, he knew that immortal beings were prideful creatures. To hear one expressing regret… it seemed out of character. Persephone seemed to catch his line of thought.
“It was rather… unwise of one such as I to declare you guilty without definitive proof.” She paused, solemn. “I am the Queen of the Underworld. Despite how often I am tied to this upper realm, at my core, I have become a chthonic goddess.”
She straightened, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress.
“The Underworld is not characterized by wrath,” she told him. “Nor is it known for its mercy. What it upholds is something far more convoluted.”
Percy thought for a moment.
“Justice?” He guessed.
Something akin to approval glinted in the goddess’ eyes.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Justice.”
Percy fought the urge to point out that she hadn’t seemed to care much about justice when she’d been about to kill him. Again, Persephone seemed to pick up on his thoughts and sighed.
“Your anger is not unwarranted. This has simply been a tumultuous time for many of us.” She conceded. “But you are right in that it was unfair of me to take it out on you. It was a slight against your honour.”
She stepped back from the display and turned, surveying the people in the gallery, all blissfully unaware of the goddess in their midst. When she met Percy’s gaze again, the entirety of her eyes had gone dark, matching the fluctuating shades of her dress. He could not distinguish between the sclera, iris, or pupil. The effect made him shiver. She looked utterly inhuman, out of place surrounded by souls brimming with life. She tilted her head as she considered him.
“I shall offer you a favour,” Persephone declared. He blinked.
“Um, what?” Percy said eloquently. “Why?”
The goddess hesitated, eyeing him with an unreadable expression. She laced her fingers absentmindedly as she pondered his question, gaze returning to the people in the gallery.
“It is… difficult to explain to a mortal,” she began slowly. “I find it disgraceful, especially considering my unique position as Queen, that it took a binding oath for you to prove your innocence. Indeed, it is rather unacceptable, considering that I had, veritably, nothing of substance to prove your guilt.”
Persephone seemed greatly disturbed by something. She was rather good at schooling her expression, though a tightness around her mouth betrayed her.
“Mortals do not often swear such oaths. The consequences for one would be…” she trailed off, but Percy got the general implication of doom and eternal torment. “It was I who challenged you to do so in the first place, though I never imagined that you would go through with it. Even in this, I see your naivety and ignorance of our laws and traditions, to which I was previously blind. It is one thing for an immortal to make an oath upon the river Styx. Even for us, it is binding, and consequences are dire. For a mortal, it is even more so.”
When the goddess looked at him again, her mouth curved slightly with something like amusement. Percy didn’t like how she regarded him, as if she were in on a joke that was made at his expense. His brows furrowed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Now she really smiled. The effect was uncanny when paired with her eyes that felt like looking into an abyss.
"It is simply ironic that I am speaking of the sanctity of oaths with you."
"How so?"
She shrugged. Somehow, the casual movement appeared elegant on her.
"It is not my place to say."
Percy opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he got the chance.
"That is a separate matter and irrelevant to what I am discussing with you. As I said previously, oaths made upon the river Styx are not often done so as readily as yours were. It is rather jarring. Although immortals may break oaths that are sworn upon her waters, the Lady Styx is not merciful with her punishments. They are catastrophic to an immortal's very being. Despite having been obstructed from enforcing her wrath as of late, she would not hesitate to strike down a mortal for violating such ancient rites."
Percy swallowed. He had made the oaths in the heat of the moment, not giving nearly enough attention to the wording as he probably should have. It was only now that he realized how badly things could have gone had a single word of his been a lie. Persephone was silent, allowing him to process the magnitude of what she was telling him.
"You understand now why I hesitate you leave you in such a manner." She said quietly.
Percy shook his head.
"I get that it's a big deal. But why are you offering me a favour in compensation for something that I'm responsible for?" He asked her. Whilst not being entirely opposed to having a favour from a goddess to call upon, the fact that it was this particular goddess made him uneasy. He knew that the Underworld was seen as a taboo and accursed place. To have the Queen of such a realm grant him a favour was not something that would traditionally be seen as propitious.
"I fear that I may draw the Lady's ire upon myself," she admitted. "It was I who challenged you to invoke her to begin with, and I did so while you were ignorant of the seriousness of such an oath. That dishonesty is not something that she would appreciate. To accuse you while you were innocent was equally a slight upon your honour, a transgression that has incurred a debt on my part as per the ancient laws."
Percy's head felt overloaded with information. He had way too many things that he needed clarification for, but the goddess kept moving on too swiftly.
"A slight upon my honour?" He repeated in bafflement. The words felt medieval, out of place in a digital age. "How does that incur a debt? And what ancient laws?"
Persephone considered him. "Are you familiar with duels of honour? Other challenges of that nature?"
The words stirred an old memory. Was it an episode of Pokémon, where there was some kind of battle of honour? Something to do with a white glove… but that had been between gym leaders. Percy figured the semantics didn't matter. He got the general gist anyway. He nodded.
"It is not simply a matter of tradition. An immortal's essence is dynamic; it is not a fixed form like a mortal one. It constantly fluctuates and changes in response to external circumstances. To apply a rigid characteristic to it is to cage it, oftentimes weakening or harming the one in question. Newer immortals are particularly susceptible, as their essence needs time to settle into a semblance of stability."
"Okay, wait," Percy interrupted. "That's how it is for immortals. I'm not a god. Whatever honour or other was slighted, it can't affect my essence because I'm a mortal."
Persephone regarded him carefully.
"That is the case for pure mortals." She agreed.
"Then why are you offering me a favour?"
The goddess hesitated, seemingly weighing her words.
"If you do not know who you are, it is not my place to tell you before one in particular has staked his claimed." She finally said.
"Um, what the heck does that mean?" Percy asked, bewildered. The cryptic, wiser-than-thou attitude was strong with that one. If Persephone made any less sense, she'd turn into a math teacher. The goddess sighed.
"As I've said, it is not my place to tell you."
Percy could tell from her tone that no amount of pestering would get him an answer. There was nothing to be gained from pressing the matter, and he would likely only anger her. The little self-preservation instincts that he had kept his mouth shut.
"What kind of favour are you giving me?" He asked eventually. Persephone was quiet for a moment as she thought.
"One of aid." She decided. "It will not be direct, nor will it be apparent, but rather, something small that may have a large impact."
That honestly didn't tell him much.
"Think of it as a matter of convenience," she elaborated, sensing his skepticism. "If you are in danger, a building that you enter would conveniently be hidden from whatever monster is after you."
Percy begrudgingly admitted that it was pretty convenient. If he had a magical building to hide in from Mrs. Dodds, he'd be a happy camper. He decided not to think about how many other monsters could potentially want him dead.
"Alright," he said. "I'm fine with that."
Persephone looked noticeably less tense. She opened her palm and a metallic liquid dripped from her fingers, gathering at the heel of her hand. It condensed and twisted until she held a simple silver ring that she offered to him. Percy accepted it carefully and studied it. It was a plain band, devoid of any jewel or crest, that was about the right size for his pointer finger. He slipped it onto his left hand where it sat snugly.
"Whenever you wish to call upon my favour, burn the ring as an offering and pray to me with your request. I shall deliver so long as it is within my bounds."
Percy nodded.
Persephone seemed to remember something at that moment.
"A word of advice, little one." She spoke gravely. "Beware of how you address ancient beings. Names hold unfathomable power, and it is incredibly unwise to invoke every being of whom you speak. My own name, and that of my husband, should not be used so casually as you have previously."
Percy considered her words, and inclined his head in understanding.
"Thank you," he murmured. "For telling me, and for the favour. I hope you find whatever it is that you've lost."
Her face softened.
"I hope so too." She said quietly.
Percy blinked, and the goddess was gone.
He was quiet on the bus ride back to Yancy.
Grover was equally occupied with his own thoughts and did not offer much conversation. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously and glanced at Percy periodically as if he'd drop dead any moment. Percy did not have the energy needed for any type of conversation, and he didn't want to worry Grover even further by mentioning his encounter with the Queen of the Underworld. Even though he figured his friend would probably stop with the gaslighting if he did so, he just couldn't muster the strength. He was glad that Nancy had been ignoring him since they left. Percy doubted that he'd be able to keep his cool with her after everything that had happened.
He watched the buildings rush by in silence, the scenery broken occasionally by a cluster of pedestrians. It was still raining steadily, and the water made tracks on the window as the droplets raced each other down the glass. A million questions buzzed in his head, each demanding answers that no one seemed inclined to provide.
It is not my place to say.
Percy couldn't decide if he felt more angry with the lack of clarification, or afraid. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what made a goddess hesitate like that. But he was equally desperate to know what made him such a prime suspect for a theft so major.
And then there was his father.
The more Percy thought about him, the more bewildered he felt. What the heck had his dad done to put himself in such a position? He couldn't help but ask that question over and over. Persephone had not retracted her statement of him, so she must have been reasonably certain that it was his dad and not some other guy who had picked a fight with the gods. Then again, she had been convinced that he was guilty without ever meeting him, so maybe she could have been mistaken?
Somewhere beneath the confusion, Percy felt a surge of resentment. He couldn't help it. His father wasn't even present to guide him through this, to support him, as he should have been. Even if he had pissed off divine beings, it wasn't like Percy would hold that against him. Accidents happened. What angered him was that he got no heads up or warning that he might be in danger. The man had just up and left, leaving him defenseless against the consequences.
Percy exhaled and let his head fall back against the seat.
It was no use questioning it. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway.
The Underworld was in a fragile state.
Its many occupants could sense the displeasure of their sovereign, and the Lord of the Underworld himself did not bother to soften the effects of his anger. It manifested in the minute trembles of the eternal caverns, the unrest of the guards shielding the various entrances to his realm, and the air itself that seemed heavier than it had any right to be. Beyond the sprawl of Asphodel, the palace of Hades stood tall, unyielding, and easily identifiable in the vast domain.
The majority of the god's essence was separated into thousands of apparitions, each dealing with a different issue that required his explicit attention. Even then, the matters piled up rapidly. Yet the weakest of his apparitions, sitting in his throne room, still radiated power that demanded caution of the punishers that waited before him.
He did not acknowledge their missing sister, whose presence they had been awaiting.
Before they were informed of her death, that is.
Hades' hand clenched around his throne's armrest so fiercely that the ivory cracked. He did not send the remaining two in her stead. No, the sea brat had proven himself far more capable than Hades would have ever thought. He would not release the others to retrieve his Helm until Alecto reformed, and their strength was complete.
He could not afford any more setbacks.
Even now, every fiber of his being strained without the control and outlet provided by his helm. His most powerful weapon, his symbol of fear, missing. He felt unacceptably vulnerable without it, and that debility extended to his every duty.
And yet, the dead did not wait.
They crowded his domain, demanding his action and condemning his inaction. They understood nothing, or perhaps, cared not regardless of whether they did.
He did not even have Persephone here to aid him.
Suddenly, just as that thought surfaced, a letter appeared before him, suspended in midair. The words Hermes Express were stamped on a corner of its envelope, but the distinct godly aura was undeniably Persephone's. Hades blinked, puzzled.
He and his wife were not allowed any correspondence, nor any sort of contact during the warmer months. There were times when they broke that boundary, but such cases were seldom, as the repercussions if they were caught were not usually worth it. Persephone was normally careful with her communication as well, shying away from direct channels that could easily be exposed and favouring subtlety over speed.
Hades couldn't remember the last time she had used Hermes Express.
He seized the letter with an uncharacteristic urgency, feeling a rare flicker of concern. She couldn't be in danger, could she? He had noticed that the more untamable edges of his kingdom had begun to stir. He had lost several ghouls to the various conduits down to Tartarus, a matter that he had pushed to the side in favour of searching for his Helm. But surely nothing too catastrophic could have happened?
He ripped the letter open, briefly admiring the wax seal that his wife had inlaid with the likeness of a chrysanthemum.
My Dearest Husband,
I must apologize in advance for the abruptness and brevity of this letter, but this is a matter of utmost importance & I cannot at present afford to indulge in any sort of propriety.
I confronted the son of your brother with the intent of reclaiming your Helm. He was utterly ignorant of anything and everything that I spoke of, and took an oath to his innocence. He is completely unaware of his reality to the extent of genuinely believing his father to be an ordinary mortal, and he has yet to entertain the notion that he is a demigod. He has had absolutely no communication with his father. He cannot be the thief.
Your brother below seas is not responsible for this, no matter how much your brother of the skies insists. I believe that something much deeper is going on; it seems as though your brother of the oceans has been set up on two accounts. By whom, I cannot say. But you must promise me that you will exercise caution.
We must prepare ourselves.
With love,
Persephone
For the first time in centuries, the Lord of the Underworld found himself feeling a foreign sense of uncertainty. It was not merely indecision. No, rather, Hades did not want to imagine what kind of enemy could be so cunning as to instigate two accounts of theft whilst remaining entirely impartial to & separate from the matters as a whole. The more he ruminated Persephone's letter, the more his unease grew.
It was, admittedly, brilliant.
There was no question to the fact that the three elder brothers had not maintained a trustful relationship. The distance between them often felt so vast that bridging it was an impossibility, and this thief was clearly leveraging it against them. Hades closed his hand and the letter burst into purple flames, leaving ashes to trickle through his fingers. He brushed them away without really seeing them.
It had seemed so obvious to him before. His Helm was missing. Zeus' Bolt was missing. And Poseidon just so happened to have sired a child that had been in New York at the time, violating the oath they had all sworn.
Upon hindsight, it was much too convenient. Unnervingly so.
Hades' hand clenched into a fist.
The more he considered it, the more pieces began to fall into place. It was evident why Poseidon had been made the scapegoat; he was the one with a forbidden child. Hades doubted that it would be his Helm missing if he had been the one to violate the oath. No, he was certain that it would be his brother's Trident in that case, and he would have been the one to blame for two accounts of theft on the basis of using his child to do so. Whoever had taken the items on the Winter Solstice could have also taken Poseidon's Trident, but they had not. Clearly, they wanted to pin the blame on him.
This was… a development, to say the least.
The Ruler of the Underworld rose slowly from his throne and descended the dais. He was no closer to finding his symbol of power. If anything, the new revelations only served to complicate the path of things even further. Hades considered his options.
Truthfully, he doubted that he'd be able to reclaim his Helm by himself. His movements in the realm of the living were restricted because of his younger brother's paranoia, and he could not simply send the Erinyes without a lead to follow. The admission sparked another burst of rage and beneath it, a quieter sense of humiliation, followed by waves upon waves of resentment.
He could not believe that he was about to reveal such a crippling weakness to his younger brother. Hades gritted his teeth. There was very little chance that he would be provided with aid anyway. When had anyone ever stood up for him? Even when he was cast from Olympus, denied a throne, his children shunned from the one safe haven that existed for their kind, his brother had never objected. Why should now be any different? It would not be, he was certain.
…But what other choice did he have?
Hades exhaled slowly, trying desperately to maintain the little control he had left. Somewhere in the lands above, the earth trembled. Just this once, he would have to risk it. His being would not be able to remain stable without his symbol of power, and it was him alone that would suffer. Just this once, he would set aside his pride. Just until he got his Helm back.
If Poseidon decided to be difficult, well, there was always his son to use as leverage.