Chapter Text
They landed in the Santa Monica Bay, near enough to the pier that Percy could easily lug himself and Grover to safety. He rested there on the end of the pier after ensuring Grover was dry, trying to shake the chill from his bones.
“Percy!”
Warm arms embraced him, parchment and owl.
“Annabeth,” he breathed. He turned to accept her hug.
“Thank the gods,” she said. “I’m glad you guys are safe.”
“Yes, I—”
A groan broke through the air. Percy’s eyes lit up.
“Grover!”
The satyr had rolled to his side, eyes fluttering open. He was frozen for a second, before everything seemed to hit him and he jerked up.
“Percy!” He cried, and dove into their hug.
Percy laughed, and Annabeth followed, as they were looked over.
“We’re okay!” Grover exclaimed, finally sitting back from his inspection. “We did it!”
“Not entirely, but we’re getting there.”
“We’ve got time,” Annabeth agreed. “Can you guys explain what happened after I had to leave?”
They quickly explained what had happened with the shoes, and Percy took over from when Hades had saved them.
She made a noise of disbelief in the back of her throat. “I’m glad he helped you, though I am…surprised.”
“I was too, honestly,” Percy agreed. “But I’m thankful. I think him being more aware helped cool his anger before we got there.”
“Like when you mentioned him by name to the God of War,” Annabeth murmured.
Percy nodded.
“Speaking of…” He got up and helped them to their feet. “It’s time to find us the god that started this mess.”
“Wait—” Grover looked between the two. “You mean…”
“Yes,” Annabeth confirmed.
“The prophecy was right,” Percy said. “‘You shall go west and face the god who has turned.’ But it wasn’t Uncle H. Uncle H doesn’t want a war among the Big Three. Someone else pulled off the theft. Someone stole the bolt and the Helm, and framed me because I’m Poseidon’s kid. Father gets blamed by both sides—a three-way war. And who else would be enticed by a war other than War himself?”
The wind helpfully blew the smell of Cinnamon Fire jolly ranchers, blood, and dog his way.
And there was the god himself, waiting for them on the sands of the Santa Monica beach, in his black leather duster and sunglasses, an aluminum baseball bat propped on his shoulder. His motorcycle rumbled beside him, its headlight turning the sand red.
“Hey, kid,” Ares said, seeming genuinely pleased to see him. “You were supposed to die.”
“Hades is not a fool,” Percy answered coldly. “And neither am I. You stole the Helm and the master bolt.”
Ares grinned. “Well, now, I didn’t steal them personally. Gods taking each other’s symbols of power—that’s a big no-no. But you’re not the only hero in the world who can run errands.”
“I’m sure you won’t give away who.”
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, kid, you’re impeding the war effort. See, you’ve got to die in the Underworld. Then Old Seaweed will be mad at Hades for killing you. Corpse Breath will have dad’s master bolt, so dad will be mad at him. And Hades is still looking for this…”
The air was heavy.
From his pocket he took out a ski cap—the kind bank robbers wear—and placed it between the handlebars of his bike. Immediately, the cap transformed into an elaborate bronze war helmet.
“The Helm of Darkness,” Grover gasped.
“Exactly,” Ares said. “Now where was I? Oh yeah, Hades will be mad at both Zeus and Poseidon, because he doesn’t know who took this. Pretty soon, we got a nice little three-way slugfest going.”
Percy had to wonder how stupid Ares could be.
“But they’re your family!” Annabeth protested.
Ares shrugged. “Best kind of war. Always the bloodiest. Nothing like watching your relatives fight, I always say.”
Oh yeah, sure. And the humans and demigods would be caught in the middle.
Father, Percy thought, Uncle Hades, I hope you’re listening to this nonsense. Be better than this.
“You gave me the backpack in Denver,” Percy said, just to tie up all the loose ends. “The master bolt was in there the whole time.”
“Yes and no,” Ares said. “It’s probably too complicated for your little mortal brain to follow, but the backpack is the master bolt’s sheath, just morphed a bit. The bolt is connected to it, sort of like that sword you got, kid. It always returns to your pocket, right?”
Percy wasn’t sure how Ares knew that and honestly didn’t care for the answer. Ares had quickly cemented himself as one of Percy’s least favourite cousins.
“Anyway,” Ares continued. “I tinkered with the magic a bit, so the bolt would only return to the sheath once you reached the Underworld. You got close to Hades…Bingo, you got mail. If you died along the way—no loss. I still had the weapon.”
Percy’s head tilted.
Interesting.
“But why not just keep the master bolt for yourself?” Percy asked. “Why send it to Hades?”
Ares got a twitch in his jaw. For a moment, it was almost as if he were listening to another voice, deep inside his head. “Why didn’t I…yeah…with that kind of firepower…”
He held the trance for one second…two seconds…
Percy exchanged a frown with Annabeth. Her eyes were dark in thought.
Ares’ face cleared. “I didn’t want the trouble. Better to have you caught red handed, holding the thing.”
What a cute little explanation.
“You’re lying,” Percy said easily. “Sending the bolt to the Underworld wasn’t your idea, was it?”
“Of course it was!” Smoke drifted up from his sunglasses, as if they were about to catch fire.
“You didn’t order the theft,” Percy guessed. “Someone else sent a hero to steal the two items. Then, when Zeus sent you to hunt him down, you caught the thief. But you didn’t turn him over to Zeus. Something convinced you to let him go. You kept the items until another hero could come along and complete the delivery. That thing in the pit is ordering you around.”
“I am the God of War! I take orders from no one! I don’t have dreams!”
Gotcha.
“Who said anything about dreams?”
Ares looked agitated, but he tried to cover it with a smirk.
“Let’s get back to the problem at hand, kid. You’re alive. I can’t have you taking that bolt to Olympus. You just might get those hard headed idiots to listen to you. So I’ve got to kill you. Nothing personal.”
Percy tensed.
The god snapped his fingers. The sand exploded at his feet and out of it charged a wild boar, even larger and uglier than the one whose head hung above the door of cabin five at Camp Half-Blood. The beast pawed the sand, glaring at Percy with beady eyes as it lowered its razor-sharp tusks and waited for the command to kill.
Percy stepped into the surf. “Fight me yourself, Ares.”
He laughed, but there was a little edge to his laughter…an uneasiness. “You’ve only got one talent, kid, running away. You ran from the Chimera. You ran from the Underworld. You don’t have what it takes.”
The smile that crossed Percy’s face was unfriendly, a jagged twisted thing that, though Percy didn’t know it, resembled his father when he was in a cruel mood.
“That’s an interesting way to put things,” Percy said. “Considering the Chimera is dead and Uncle let me leave. My my, one could almost say the God of War is scared.”
“In your adolescent dreams.” But his sunglasses were starting to melt from the heat of his eyes. “No direct involvement. Sorry, kid. You’re not at my level.”
Percy would force him to be.
“Percy, watch out!”
The giant boar charged.
Father, Percy thought, eyes swirling, a sacrifice for you.
As the boar rushed him, he uncapped his pen and sidestepped. Riptide appeared in his hands. He slashed upward. The boar’s severed right tusk fell at Percy’s feet, while the disoriented animal charged into the sea.
A wave, high and dark despite the pink sky, curled over it like a blanket. The beast squealed in terror. Then it was gone, swallowed whole.
Percy had not turned from Ares. “Are you going to fight me now?” He demanded to know. “Or are you going to hide behind another pet pig?”
Ares’ face was purple with rage. “Watch it, kid. I could turn you into—”
“A co*ckroach,” he interrupted, smiling—still smiling. “Or a tapeworm. Yeah, I’m sure. That’d save you the fight, wouldn’t it? How interesting, the God of War, running from a battle.”
It felt like they were being watched by more than the Sea, by more than the Darkness below.
They had an audience. Percy would give them a show.
Percy would give them a warning.
Flames danced along the top of Ares’ glasses. “Oh man, you are really asking to be smashed into a grease spot.”
“If I lose, turn me into anything you want. Take the bolt,” Percy offered. “If I win, the Helm and the bolt are mine and you have to go away, cousin-mine.”
Ares sneered.
He swung the baseball bat off his shoulder. “How would you like to get smashed: classic or modern?”
Percy showed him his sword.
“That’s cool, dead boy,” he said. “Classic it is.”
The baseball bat changed into a huge, two-handed sword. The hilt was a large silver skull with a ruby in its mouth.
“Percy,” Annabeth warned. “He’s a god.”
“And I’m a demigod,” he told her. “If anything, he should be terrified.”
“Just…” She sighed, shaking her head at his insanity. “Be careful, know that I stand behind you.”
“The satyrs,” Grover nodded, “stand with you too.”
“Thanks,” he said, and meant it. “Stay away from the water.”
Their eyes widened, and they scrambled further up the beach.
“You all done saying good-bye?” Ares came toward him, his black leather duster trailing behind him, his sword glinting like fire in the sunrise. “I’ve been fighting for eternity, kid. My strength is unlimited and I cannot die. What have you got?”
So much more than he should.
He kept his feet in the surf, backing into the water up to his ankles. The waves lapped at him in encouragement, fueling him.
The god cleaved downward at his head, but he wasn’t there.
Percy’s body moved for him. The water pushed him into the air and he catapulted over the god, slashing as he came down. But Ares was just as quick. He twisted, and the strike that should’ve caught him directly in the spine was deflected off the end of his sword hilt.
He grinned. “Not bad, not bad.”
Ares slashed again and Percy was forced to jump back onto dry land. He tried to sidestep, to get back to the water, but Ares seemed to know what he wanted. He outmaneuvered him, pressing so hard Percy could only focus on not getting sliced into pieces.
Percy kept backing away from the surf, with no openings to attack in sight. Ares’ sword had a reach several feet longer than Riptide.
Luke’s voice curled in Percy’s ear, whispering the rules of war.
A plan formed; it was dangerous, stupid.
Note their movements. Get in close.
He side-stepped in, bracing for impact. Ares followed through, whirling to the side. He knocked Riptide from Percy’s hands and kicked him in the chest. He went airborne, crashing to the ground several feet away.
Back towards the water.
“Percy!” Annabeth yelled. “Cops!”
His chest felt like it had just been hit by a battering ram, but he pushed himself to his feet.
He didn’t dare look from Ares, but out of the corner of his eye he could see red lights flashing on the shoreline boulevard. Car doors were slamming.
“There, officer!” Somebody yelled. “See?”
A gruff cop's voice: “that’s a kid…what the heck.”
“That guy’s armed,” another cop said. “Call for backup.”
Percy rolled to one side as Ares’ blade slashed the sand. He ran for his sword, scooped it up, and launched a swipe at Ares’ face, only to find his blade deflected.
He stepped back toward the surf, forcing the god to follow.
“Admit it, kid,” Ares said. “You got no hope. I’m just toying with you.”
Yes, but so was Percy. This was almost fun.
His senses were working overtime. He now understood what Annabeth said about ADHD keeping you alive in battle. He was wide awake, noticing every little detail.
He could see where Ares was tensing. He could tell which way he would strike. At the same time, he was aware of Annabeth and Grover, thirty feet to his right. He saw a second cop car pulling up, sirens wailing. Spectators, people who had been drawn by the noise, were starting to gather. Among the crowd, he could smell a few satyrs. There were shimmering forms of spirits, too, as if the dead had risen from Hades to watch the battle. He heard the flap of leathery wings circling somewhere above.
More sirens.
He stepped further into the water, but Ares was fast. The tip of his blade ripped Percy’s sleeve and glanced off his scales.
A police voice on a megaphone said, “Drop the guns! Set them on the ground. Now!”
Hm.
He looked at Ares’ weapon, and it seemed to be flickering; sometimes it looked like a shot-gun, sometimes a two-handed sword. He wondered what was in his own hands.
Ares turned to glare at the spectators, which gave him a moment to breathe. There were five police cars now, and a line of officers crouching behind them, pistols trained on us.
“This is a private matter!” Ares bellowed. “Be gone!”
He swept his hand, and a wall of red flame rolled across the patrol cars. The police barely had time to dive for cover before their vehicles exploded. The crowd behind them scattered, screaming.
Ares roared with laughter. “Now, little hero. Let’s add you to the barbecue.”
He slashed. Percy deflected his blade. He slashed again, following Percy deeper into the water.
The rhythm of the sea matched his heartbeat, the waves growing larger as the tide rolled in. Percy unfurled his core. He pushed the water back, commanded it away.
He was holding back the tide by force of will, but tension was building, like carbonation behind a cork.
Ares came toward him, grinning confidently. Percy lowered his blade as if he were too exhausted to go on.
Wait.
The pressure was almost lifting him off his feet now.
Wait.
Ares raised his sword.
Now!
He released the tide and jumped, rocketing straight over Ares on a wave.
A six-foot wall of water smashed him full in the face, leaving him cursing and sputtering with a mouth full of seaweed.
Something dark filled the air, ready to fill in. It was like stomping footsteps looming ever-closer. The sun disappeared. Light faded. Sound and colour drained away. A cold, heavy presence passed over the beach, slowing time, dropping the temperature to freezing. Life was hopeless, fighting was useless—
Percy couldn’t accept that.
Life was not hopeless, fighting was not useless.
He landed behind Ares with a splash and feinted toward his head as before. Ares turned in time to raise his sword, but this time he was disoriented, slowed. He didn’t anticipate the trick. Percy changed direction, lunged to his otherside, and stabbed Riptide straight into the god’s ankle.
The dark feeling dissipated. At the same moment, a roar that could have made a 5.1 magnitude earthquake look like a minor event echoed over the land. The very sea was blasted back from Ares, leaving a wet circle of sand fifty feet wide.
Percy scrambled back, ready, but everything had changed. Ares didn’t get up immediately, his eyes, pained, shocked, in complete disbelief, were locked on the ichor, the golden blood of the gods, spilling between his fingers and—he changed.
Another man, another god, took his place.
Percy made a noise of confusion; the smell of blood shifting to something warmer, almost earthier. Like the dried blood of a promise between brothers, like the celebration between two leaders, like a well-fought battle had ended in peace.
Cinnamon fire jolly ranchers to just cinnamon.
This new god was wearing a military uniform, hair spikier, longer. Ares’ black shades were now a deep, crisp red, though he could still barely make out his flaming eyes behind them.
Unbidden, his mother’s stories filled his head, the Greek and Roman ones. He knew before the name even appeared in his head. The only god this might be was…
“Mars?” Percy tried in disbelief, and the world rippled.
Elsewhere, the Fates laughed at this turn.
Surely not, Percy thought. Surely this is not how that worked, surely this is not what his mother meant, surely—
The god’s head snapped up.
“Filius maris?”
“Bellum?”
“Protector,” the god corrected, standing slowly.
Percy let his sword fall to his side, cautiously approaching at first and then moving faster when the god nearly stumbled.
“Protector first,” Mars mumbled, almost like a reminder to himself.
He accepted Percy’s help, surprisingly, and placed a hand on the demigod’s shoulder to steady himself.
“Are you…okay? What happened to Ares?”
Mars tensed, his body spasming. For a moment, his grip on Percy’s shoulder tightened, and Ares flickered back into view before Mars returned.
“Not right now, you bastard,” Mars growled, shaking his head. “You’ve done enough.”
Percy glanced over at his friends. Their eyes were glazed, similar to the mortals further up the beach. Even the Furies above seemed to be having trouble watching them.
The Mist at work, then.
“Are you okay?” He asked again, “I don’t know what that was, but I have a guess…”
“I’m sure you do,” Mars agreed. “You broke his control—this should be impossible. You shouldn’t even be able to…process that I’m here.”
“I don’t like being told what to do,” Percy said evenly.
Mars laughed.
It shook his shoulders, but unlike Ares’ cruel bark, it was deeper. It was loud, but honestly Percy didn’t mind it.
The crown of bones on his head was cleaner, interlaid with red ribbon and a victory laurel.
Mars grinned down at him. “You’re a good kid,” he said. “My other half is a rough mess, but a blessing on you for the help. I’ve got to go now. The Helm is yours. Try to avoid mentioning anything Roman when you return the bolt. It’ll save everyone the headache.”
Then he and Ares’ bike was gone in a snap of fire.
Hades’ Helm dropped to the floor, sinking slightly in the sand.
Percy sheathed his sword and carefully picked up the weapon.
The flapping of leathery wings loomed closer. Three evil-looking grandmothers with lace hats and fiery whips drifted down from the sky and landed in front of him.
The middle Fury, the one who had been Mrs. Dodds, stepped forward. Her fangs were bared, but for once she didn’t look threatening. She looked more disappointed, as if she’d been tricked out of a good lunch.
“Please ensure this gets back to Lord Hades.” Percy handed the helmet off, thankful to be rid of the chill it caused.
She sniffed in return, but launched in the sky, her sisters at her side. They rose up and disappeared in a swirl of darkness.
Percy knew, in his gut, that the Helm had been returned not a few seconds later. A singular asphodel bloom spun into existence and floated gently above him. It brushed his nose, then tucked itself behind his ear.
A bargain fulfilled.
He joined Grover and Annabeth, who were staring at him in amazement.
“Percy…” Grover said. “That was so incredibly…”
“Terrifying,” Annabeth finished.
“Cool!” Grover corrected.
He didn’t feel any of those things, just the satisfaction of a job well-done. He didn’t mention anything else, not wanting to go near the mess of Mar’s…visit.
He reclaimed his backpack from Grover. The master bolt was still there, gleaming innocently despite the mess it had made.
“We have to get back to New York,” he said, “and fast. What do we have, two days left?”
“That’s impossible,” Annabeth said, “unless we—”
“Fly,” he agreed. He smiled when they looked at him like he was crazy.
“Fly,” Annabeth said slowly, “like, in an airplane, which you were warned never to do lest Zeus strike you out of the sky, and while carrying a weapon that has more destructive power than a nuclear bomb?”
“Ye-p,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Pretty much exactly like that. Come on. If Uncle Z does something while we’re on the place, carrying his precious bolt, well…that’s on him really.”
In the chaos Ares had left behind, they were able to disappear into the crowd.
Percy spent the plane ride sleeping like the dead courtesy of his exhaustion and a little dramamine. He curled up into a small ball under his sweater and jacket and hugged his water bottle and the Bolt to his chest.
They touched down safely at LaGuardia and split up at the taxi stand.
“Are you…sure?” Grover asked for the hundredth time.
“Yes,” he drawled, amused with their fussing. “He thinks I stole it, so I have to return it. And, well, if something goes wrong you guys can tell Chiron the truth.”
Thirty minutes later, he walked into the lobby of the Empire State Building.
He’d managed to use a bit of the drizzle outside to clean off, so approaching the desk he knew he must’ve looked like a kid who’d gotten separated from their tour group.
“Six hundredth floor, please.”
The guard sighed, as if interrupting his reading was the greatest of travesties.
“No such floor, kiddo.”
“I need an audience with Zeus.”
He gave a vacant smile. “Sorry?”
“You heard me.”
For a moment, Percy thought he’d have to run for it, but then the guard actually put down his book and looked at him.
His eyes landed on the pin Percy was wearing first. Then, in a panic, they shot to his own eyes.
“I have an audience with Zeus,” Percy repeated. “And my father is expecting me.”
He was handed a keycard and given the instructions with no further questions.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Percy slipped the key into the slot. The card disappeared and a new button appeared on the console, a gold one that said 600.
He pressed it and waited, and waited.
Muzak played. “Raindrops keep falling on my head…”
Finally, ding. The doors slid open.
The first thing Percy noticed was the smell.
It was a thousand different smells, from tart to salty to sweet, each distinct, some overwhelming, some barely there. Humans smelled muted, though sometimes Percy would come across one that had a few strong smells like his mom. She’d never told him the reason for that, just politely asked that, should he run into anyone like that, give them her phone number.
Probably had something to do with that help group she ran.
But gods and demigods, monsters and immortals, smelled different. They encompassed what they were, revealing parts of themselves to Percy without them ever saying a word.
The path ahead of him branched off into several directions. The elevator had opened up into the heart of Olympus, an open-air market filled with colourful tents and several chattering people.
Around them, towering above, were apartments and houses and temples and gardens. Even further in the distance was the decapitated peak of a mountain, its summit covered with snow. Clinging to the mountainside were dozens of multileveled palaces—a city of mansions—all with white-columned porticos, gilded terraces, and bronze blazers glowing with a thousand fires.
An Ancient Greek city with a modern flair, but not in ruins.
The largest palace gleamed at the top, and Percy knew that was where he needed to go.
He wound his way through the crowds, ignoring the whispers and pointed fingers with the ease any New Yorker worth their salt had. As he passed through, he could make out other buildings, more stores, more temples, even a giant amphitheater and an arena.
The palace was the antithesis to Hades’ own, though he hadn’t gotten to see much of it. There, everything had been black and bronze. Here, everything glittered white and silver.
Hades must’ve built his palace to resemble this one. He did not have a throne nor a temple here. What had he said? That no member of his family would have helped him with his Helm…
The unfairness of it was…overwhelming.
Forget just visiting to swim in the Styx, maybe Uncle wouldn’t mind him spending winter break down there.
Steps led up to a central courtyard. Past that, the throne room.
Massive columns rose to a domed ceiling, which was gilded with moving constellations.
Twelve thrones, built for the ten feet tall form the gods were fond of, were arranged in an inverted U, just like the cabins at Camp Half-Blood. An enormous fire crackled in the central hearth pit.
The thrones were not empty.
His father and Zeus were arguing in rapid-fire Ancient Greek at the end of the hall. Ten other beings sat in their assigned, decorated chairs, and a thirteenth flickered by the hearth. The little girl from camp smiled gently at him, before she disappeared into the flame.
Dionysus acknowledged him first.
The god heaved a long, giant sigh that Percy could almost call relieved. The tilt of his Diet co*ke can in greeting caught Hermes’ attention from across the way. The god glanced up from his phone, that genuine, unused smile spreading across his face at the sight of him. He outwardly looked relieved.
Percy waved.
From there, it was a ripple-effect. Hermes’ greeting back caught the woman who smelled like roses’ attention, and her shifting caused the man tinkering with something in his lap to look. The one who smelled like bay laurels, Apollo, noticed him the same time a woman who seemed to be his opposite did. He waved enthusiastically with a bright smile. Artemis’ head turn caused the woman who looked like Annabeth to catch sight of him.
She glared.
As if sensing the change in his siblings, Ares looked away from the two fighting gods. When his eyes locked onto him, the God of War joined Athena in glaring something fierce.
He sneered something along the lines of ‘crazy child.’
The one who smelled like Katie, Demeter, gazed at him curiously. To her right was the Queen of the Gods, Hera.
She said something, gestured to him, and the two arguing gods fell silent. They returned to their chairs, still glaring.
Poseidon’s face softened when he looked at him. A tension in his shoulders eased. His eyes trailed to the flower tucked behind Percy’s ear and the blue-green flared in amusem*nt.
Just because Percy could, he greeted his father first.
“Should you not address the master of the house first, boy?”
“Peace, brother,” Poseidon urged. “It is only right for the son to defer to the father.”
Percy could tell, though, that despite attempting to soothe Percy’s transgression, the god was pleased.
“You will still claim him then?” Zeus asked, menacingly. “You claim this child whom you sired against our sacred oath?”
“I will not hear it from you,” Poseidon said, his voice just as cold. “Now I would hear him speak.”
“I have spared him once already,” Zeus grumbled. “Daring to fly through my domain…pah! I should have blasted him out of the sky for his impudence.”
“And risk destroying your own master bolt?” Hera asked calmly. “Let us hear him out.”
Zeus grumbled some more. “I shall listen,” he decided. “Then I shall make up my mind whether or not to cast this boy down from Olympus.”
Poseidon’s darkening expression said he would do no such thing either way.
Percy carefully pulled the bolt from his bag and placed it at Zeus’ feet. He began his tale, cutting out any mention of Roman gods.
There was a long silence when he finished, broken only by the crackle of the hearth fire.
Zeus opened his palm. The lightning bolt flew into it. As he closed his fist, the metallic points flared with electricity, until he was holding what looked more like a classic thunderbolt, a fifteen-foot javelin of arcing, hissing energy.
“I sense the boy tells the truth,” Zeus muttered. Then, louder: “Ares, what say you to this accusation?”
Ares stood from his throne and bowed before his father.
“The boy speaks the truth,” he confirmed.
Percy was surprised he hadn’t lied, but knew he shouldn’t be.
Ares was not just War, after all. The gods were never just one thing.
The tension in the room built. Zeus’ rage crackled in the air, but Ares did nothing as lightning began to spit at his feet. The others were silent, wary.
“It was grandfather,” Percy spoke, breaking through the ozone. He took a step in front of the kneeling god. “Ares is not fully to blame; he was tricked.”
Ares jerked. Percy could feel the fire of his eyes on the side of his face, but he did not look. Zeus stared down at him, looked at him for the first time, taking in water kaleidoscope eyes and the stubborn press of his lips and the flower tucked in his hair. Percy met his gaze just as intensely.
Bull horns jutted from Zeus’ head, eagle feathers tucked behind them. His crown was shaped out of jagged silver lightning, and it spat and hissed as it pleased. Eyes like storm clouds flickered in the light. His hair was a thick and curly black that tumbled down his back, the ends disappearing like wispy clouds. He had a short beard.
The suit he was wearing shifted into a long white chiton with golden edges; a purple himation draped over his shoulder. A thick gold belt lay around his waist, adorned with white amethyst quartz and carved oak leaf designs.
“Strange,” Zeus whispered, haunted. “You look like her.”
Poseidon stood.
Whatever strange mood Zeus had fallen into disappeared.
“Ares,” he boomed. “I will decide what to do with you later. Be gone from my sight.”
The god did not argue. He disappeared in a snap of fire and light.
Percy felt like his eyes were still seared onto the side of his head.
“And you,” Zeus said, not looking at him. “Speak not of what you do not understand. I will hear none of it.”
“You will turn from a threat?” Percy asked in disbelief. “He is rising, he will be coming here—you will do nothing?”
The air crackled.
“Watch your tone, boy,” Zeus warned. “Do not presume to fly again. Do not let me find you here when I return. Otherwise, you shall taste this bolt. And it shall be your last sensation.”
Thunder shook the palace. With a blinding flash of lightning, Zeus was gone.
Percy shook his head and turned to his father. “Grandfather is coming,” he insisted, “will he really do nothing?”
“Perhaps he will see reason later,” Poseidon said.
“I think we both know he won’t.”
Poseidon did not answer.
“You spoke in Ares’ defense,” a new voice interrupted.
“Lady Hera,” Percy greeted neutrally, eyes still on his dad. Poseidon’s eyes narrowed. They fixed on Hera like he was trying to work out her intentions.
“It wasn’t his fault, not fully,” Percy explained, “the voice I heard—I can see how someone would find it tempting.”
“Oh?” Hera’s head tilted, her eyes gleaming.
For a moment, he could see a mention of horns on her head, a wreath of peaco*ck feathers and lilies, a beautiful soft green veil draped over her hair.
It was gone just as quick.
“And you did not find the voice tempting?”
Percy’s nose wrinkled in disgust.
“I didn’t like it, it was too fake, and he smelled bad too, like, excessively bad.” Percy paused for a moment to think. “He smelled like someone I knew actually, though it’s more a feeling,” he finally said, “full of hate, anger, and the want to hurt. Like a dark dusty closet in some forgotten hallway, stomping footsteps, and cracked bottles, if that makes sense.”
Poseidon tensed. They were all looking at Percy carefully, like they weren’t quite sure what to make of that.
“I see,” Hera murmured softly. She addressed the room: “The quest has been completed per the terms set. I am formally ending this emergency meeting; everyone is now free to return to their everyday tasks.”
Her words echoed with the power of the Queen.
Several of the gods disappeared with one last look at the demigod child within their midst. Poseidon paused, waiting.
“Poseidon,” Hera said, “please escort your son off of Olympus. I do believe Zeus will not be back for a few hours.”
Poseidon’s eyes lit up.
“Thank you, sister,” he murmured.
Hera nodded and disappeared in a breeze of feathers.
In the empty throne room on Olympus, Percy’s father swooped him into his arms and made for the hall behind his throne.
He followed a winding, river-like path to a large house—a mansion—on the edge of a large cloud-like lake surrounded by pine trees.
The mansion was built like a temple, the walls a misty blue-grey, with four large grey-white marble columns framing the entrance. Two braziers framed the large blue door. Above the door, on the pediment, was a large trident that glowed faintly, like the symbol that had appeared on Percy’s head when he was claimed. Around it were carvings—the Titanomachy, the Gigantomachy, other stories Percy recognised from his mother’s tales.
The doors opened the moment Poseidon’s foot touched the porch.
“Nosy family,” he muttered.
Percy waved at whoever had followed them until the door sealed them in.
“My boy,” Poseidon said, shrinking to a more reasonable 6 feet tall and relaxing now that no one could see them. He pressed their foreheads together, a hand tangling in Percy’s hair. “My pearl, you did so well.”
“Thank you,” Percy said. He tilted his head to examine the house.
Despite the exterior, the interior resembled the beach cabin in Montauk, an open concept with wooden floors and walls. Directly in front of the entryway was a large pool of salt water, similar to the cabin. To the left, a comfy living room with a large plush blue couch and a purple loveseat surrounding a wood stove, woven rugs, and dark wooden furniture. Big, stained glass windows let in gentle light despite there being no windows on the outside. To the right of the pool was a kitchen with pale yellow wooden cabinets and a four-seater blue table.
The more Percy looked at it, the more it really resembled the cabin in Montauk, minus the pool.
Poseidon chuckled. He moved from curiously examining the flower in Percy’s hair to looking around.
“I met your mother on that beach.” He grinned. “I have many fond memories there and I find peace in the reminder. Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?”
Percy’s lip twitched. “I’m not very hungry, but I would like some water.”
Poseidon nodded in understanding, moving forward. He held him out like he was going to put him down gently, eyes glinting and—
He dropped Percy right into the pool.
Percy broke water sputtering to the sound of Poseidon’s rich laughter.
“Ancient ritual,” Poseidon grinned, and then dove in. Percy barely managed to move before the god hit the water and sent waves crashing into the rest of the house.
“You’re ridiculous,” he informed the god when he resurfaced. “I’m disowning you.”
“I am your father,” the god gleefully told him. “You will not ever escape me.”
Percy sighed like that was the worst fate in the world.
He floated around for a bit, periodically diving to look at the coral reefs and seaweed forests below. Poseidon stayed close, always appearing within a few feet of him when he wandered, and continually herded him back to the surface whenever he didn’t like how far Percy had gone. Percy got the hint eventually; he returned back to the edge of the pool.
“Who did he mean?” Percy asked. He folded his arms on the edge and looked over at his father, eyes a clear blue to match the pool he floated in.
Poseidon closed his eyes.
“Who do…I look like?”
What ghost do you see when you look at me? He wanted to ask.
His father sighed.
“You look like her,” he echoed Zeus’ sentiment. “Our mother, your grandmother, Rhea. She has not visited in…a long time.”
“Where is she?” He asked curiously. “You can’t visit her?”
A sad smile played on his father’s face. “I wish we could,” he said wistfully, “but she disappeared years ago and has not been seen since. Sometimes, there are moments where one of us feels her, like she’s looking in on us, but those moments never last long.”
“Do you think she’s trapped somewhere?”
“No no,” Poseidon assured. “We would know if she was. She is just…traveling.”
Percy was quiet.
“I can feel your judgement from here,” Poseidon teased, chuckling at Percy’s face.
“She could visit you,” he murmured. “She’s your mother—a mother visits her children. And I don’t mean just breezing over you all, I mean truly visit. Stop by for some tea and cookies, maybe some gossip. Just…to talk.”
A smile played on Poseidon’s lips. “Obedience and respect does not come naturally to you, does it?”
Percy stuck out his tongue. “Respect is earned…I got nothing for the obedience part.”
“I must take some blame for that, I suppose,” Poseidon mused. “The sea does not like to be restrained, and it respects no one.”
In the distance, there was an echo of thunder.
Poseidon frowned. “It is time to go,” he said.
Percy frowned too, but pulled himself out of the pool.
“Mητέρα?” He asked.
“She has been returned, as agreed upon. Hades does not back out of his deals.”
“And…will I see you again?”
“Yes,” Poseidon answered immediately. “As long as you’ll have me. You are my little Πρίγκιπας των Θαλασσών and the Sea does not abandon its own. Come, take my hand and close your eyes. When you open them, you will be with your mother…And please…” His eyes glinted in remembrance. “Try not to give me any more grey hairs; I fear they’ll become permanent as you grow.”
Percy smiled. “I don’t think I can promise that,” he said, “but I’ll try to avoid that pit, if that’s what you mean. I will see you later.” And Percy took his hand.
As if he’d stepped into a small drizzle, water coated him. When he opened his eyes, he stood in front of his mom’s apartment.
The smell of peppermint, licorice, and cookies washed over him.
The weariness and worry evaporated from her face as soon as she saw him.
“Percy! Oh thank goodness. Oh, my baby.”
She crushed the air right out of him. They stood in the hallway as she cried and ran her hands through his hair, gently touching the flower.
Relief weighed Percy down. His eyes misted. He was shaking, he was so relieved. So long had he held back his worry, his fear. It surfaced now, and she drew him into the apartment so they could curl up close on the couch.
She told him she’d just appeared at the apartment that morning. She didn’t remember anything since the Minotaur. She’d been going out of her mind with worry all day because she hadn’t heard any news.
He told her his own story, about the camp, the quest, the pit, the fight, the gods. He left nothing out, not the way he could see the gods, not the girl, not even Mars. When he finished, they sat in silence. She collected her thoughts and looked at him.
“Percy,” she said, “my boy, how much you have grown. You’ve found a place to spread out.”
He smiled.
“Will you return?” She asked, quieter. He didn’t need her to explain. “Will you return to me?”
“I will always find my way home,” he answered. “Always back to you, maybe with some friends, but for now, I think it’s time for you to spread out, too. I know you’ve been saving up. You should go to college, get your degree. You can write your novel, meet a nice guy maybe, live in a nice house. You don’t need to protect me from my world anymore. Besides, the story is not over yet. There is one last thing that needs to happen.”
She smiled tearfully, then helped him pack and sent him on his way with blue cookies and a kiss on the forehead.
Percy returned to camp to find Annabeth and Grover and celebrations waiting for him. They were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke. They wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in their honour, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where they got to burn the burial shrouds their cabins had made for them in their absence.
Annabeth’s shroud was so beautiful—grey silk with embroidered owls—it was almost a shame she wouldn’t be buried in it. She had punched him and told him to shut up for the comment.
As he had no cabinmates, the Ares cabin had stepped up. They’d taken an old bedsheet and painted smiley faces with X’ed-out eyes around the border, and the word ‘Loser’ painted really big in the middle.
Percy watched it burn with a gleeful smile.
And he waited.
Days passed, camp returned to normal life. Percy went back to training, back to bothering Dionysus, back to convincing Chiron to build more cabins, and back to pissing off the Ares campers just because he could. He traded letters with his mother about their plans, and burned some to Hades with random rambles.
Hades never wrote back, but every time he sent one a small undying asphodel would appear on his cabin doorstep. He strung them together and started lining them along the roof like Christmas lights.
The Fourth of July passed with fireworks and a goodbye. Grover had succeeded in his wish and went off to find Pan. Despite the fact that no searcher had ever come back in two thousand years, Percy knew Grover would be the first.
He had to be.
Cabin Three filled with life. He spread out a bit more. More furniture appeared, bookshelves packed with books and plants and plush rugs and a couch for Percy to curl up on. Little knick knacks, gifts, would appear on the shelves; shells and pearls and sand dollars, like Poseidon was making up for the years he couldn’t give him anything big. He put the Minotaur’s horn on a little stand, next to the Chimera’s poison-dart and the tusk of Ares’ boar which had tried to strike him down. His asphodel flower was carefully set on his nightstand.
And Percy waited.
The last night of the summer session came all too quickly.
The campers had one last meal together. They burned their dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads.
Percy got his own leather necklace. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.
“The choice was unanimous,” Luke announced. “This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!”
The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares’ cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena’s cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause.
Percy smiled (waited).
The next morning, Percy crumbled up the form letter and tucked his asphodel flower back behind his ear. He wandered around camp, watching the chaos. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspections.
He ended up in the arena, where Luke was training.
He was working solo, whaling on battle dummies with a sword that smelled like darkness and terror. Percy approached, eyeing it warily.
“Percy,” Luke greeted, pausing in his destruction.
“Just wanted to say hi and bye,” Percy smiled.
“Ah, you’ve decided to go home?”
Percy shrugged. Luke snorted, grinning.
He noticed Percy’s eyes on his sword, and lifted it into the light. “New toy. This is Backbiter.”
“Backbiter?”
The blade glinted wickedly.
“One side is celestial bronze. The other is tempered steel. Works on mortals and immortals both.”
Percy’s stomach flip-flopped.
“I didn’t know they could make weapons like that.”
“They probably can’t,” Luke agreed. “It’s one of a kind.”
He gave him a tiny smile, then slid the sword into its scabbard. “Listen, I was going to come looking for you. What do you say we go down to the woods one last time, look for something to fight?”
Percy paused. Father, he thought, something is about to happen and I’m not sure I’m equipped to deal with it.
Despite being so far from the beach, Percy could hear the waves.
“Aw,” Luke said, holding up a six-pack of co*kes. “Come on.”
Percy followed Luke.
They walked down to the woods and kicked around for some kind of monster to fight, but it was too hot. They found a shady spot near the creek where he’d broken Clarisse’s spear. They sat on a big rock farther from the water in the peaceful quiet, and watched the sunlight in the woods.
“You miss being on a quest?” Luke asked.
“With monsters attacking me every three feet? Are you kidding?”
Luke raised an eyebrow.
“Not the monsters…the lessons, the history, maybe, yeah,” he admitted. “Do you?”
A shadow passed over his face.
In that moment, Luke’s handsome face twisted into something angry.
“I’ve lived at Half-Blood Hill year-round since I was fourteen,” he told Percy. “Ever since Thalia…well, you know. I trained, and trained, and trained. I never got to be a normal teenager, out there in the real world. Then they threw me one quest, and when I came back, it was like, ‘Okay, ride’s over. Have a nice life.’”
He crumbled up the co*ke can in his hands and chucked it into the creek. Percy watched it hit the water and cause ripples with a frown.
You learn pretty quickly to not litter at Camp Half-Blood, and it went against everything Percy was to throw trash in any body of water.
He curved one of his fingers, coaxing the water to push the can up to the shore where he’d get it later.
Luke noticed none of this, brooding. “The heck with laurel wreaths,” he said. “I’m not going to end up like those dusty trophies in the Big House attic.”
“You make it sound like you’re leaving.”
Luke gave him a twisted smile. “Oh, I’m leaving, all right, Percy. I brought you down here to say good-bye.”
“Luke—”
He snapped his fingers. A small fire burned a hole in the ground at Percy’s feet. Out crawled something glistening black, about the size of his hand.
A scorpion.
Percy froze, feeling the poison within the creature.
“I wouldn’t move,” Luke cautioned. “Pit scorpions can jump up to fifteen feet. Its stinger can pierce right through your clothes. You’ll be dead in sixty seconds.”
“Luke, why—”
He stood calmly and brushed off his jeans.
The scorpion paid him no attention. It kept its beady black eyes on Percy, clamping its pincers as it crawled up his shoe.
“I saw a lot out there in the world, Percy,” Luke said. “Didn’t you feel it—the darkness gathering, the monsters growing stronger? Didn’t you realise how useless it all is? All the heroics—being pawns of the gods. Getting blamed for something you didn’t do; being sent on a glorified fetch quest. They should’ve been overthrown thousands of years ago, but they’ve hung on, thanks to us half-bloods.”
Luke looked at him. In his eyes, something else looked out.
“You could join me,” he offered, voice melodic. “We could do it together—I see that look in your eyes, Percy. Sometimes, you appear more than them, but you hold yourself back. You contain yourself. Wouldn’t you like to spread out? Wouldn’t you like to see what you can really do?”
No, Percy thought fiercely, shaking off the hypnotic words.
The scorpion crawled onto his pants leg.
“Grandfather is not the answer,” he answered. “You’re being brainwashed.”
Luke’s eye twitched. “You’re wrong. He showed me that my talents are being wasted. You know what my quest was two years ago, Percy? My father, Hermes, wanted me to steal a golden apple from the Garden of the Hesperides and return it to Olympus. After all the training I’d done, that was the best he could think up.”
“That’s not an easy quest,” Percy argued. “Hercules did it, but even he struggled.”
“Exactly,” Luke sneered. “Where’s the glory in repeating what others have done? All the gods know how to do is replay their past. My heart wasn’t in it. The dragon in the garden gave me this”—he pointed angrily at his scar—“and when I came back, all I got was pity. I wanted to pull Olympus down stone by stone right then, but I bided my time. I began to dream of Kronos. He convinced me to steal something worthwhile, something no hero had ever had the courage to take. When we went on that winter-solstice field trip, while the other campers were asleep, I snuck into the throne room and took Zeus’ master bolt right from his chair. Hades’ Helm of Darkness, too. You wouldn’t believe how easy it was. The Olympians are so arrogant; they never dreamed someone would dare steal from them. Their security is horrible. I was half-way across New Jersey before they’d discovered my theft.”
The scorpion was sitting on Percy’s knee now, staring at him with its glittering eyes. He tried not to pay it attention, tried not to focus on the venom swirling within it.
The wind was a tumbleweed of different things, sorrow, fear, surprise—all coalescing to one thing.
Rage.
“So why didn’t you bring the items to him, then?”
Luke’s smile wavered. “I…I got overconfident. Zeus sent out his sons and daughters to find the stolen bolt—Artemis, Apollo, my father Hermes. But it was Ares who caught me. I could have beaten him, but I wasn’t careful enough. He disarmed me, took the items of power, threatened to return them to Olympus and burn me alive. Then Kronos’ voice came to me and told me what to say. I put the idea in Ares’ head about a great war between the gods. I said all he had to do was hide the items away for a while and watch the others fight. Ares got a wicked gleam in his eyes. I knew he was hooked. He let me go, and I returned to Olympus before anyone noticed my absence.”
Luke drew his new sword. He ran his thumb down the flat of the blade, as if he were hypnotized by its beauty. “Afterward, the Lord of the Titans…h-he punished me with nightmares. I swore not to fail again. Back at Camp Half-Blood, in my dreams, I was told that a second hero would arrive, one who could be tricked into taking the bolt and the Helm the rest of the way—from Ares down to Tartarus.”
Percy felt like he was near choking as the air tightened.
“You summoned the hellhound, that night in the forest,” he pushed out.
“We had to make Chiron think the camp wasn’t safe for you, so he would start you on your quest. We had to confirm his fears that Hades was after you. And it worked.”
“The flying shoes were cursed,” Percy continued. “They were supposed to drag me and the backpack into Tartarus, except…”
For a moment, he was looking at old Luke. The Luke who’d sat beside him his first night at camp, ready for the nightmares, the Luke who’d first told Clarisse to back-off after the toilet fight, the Luke who hadn’t gone anywhere when he’d been claimed. The 'Luke' Percy considered his friend.
His eyes were like haunted tragedies.
“I didn’t think you’d give them to Grover.”
You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.
It was like a few things shattered, then. Percy had suspected this was coming. It didn’t hurt any less.
“Call off the bug, Luke,” Percy said, voice cracking. Please, don’t do this.
But his eyes hardened, and he wasn’t the Luke Percy knew anymore. Maybe Percy never really knew him at all.
“What have the gods ever done for us?” He quietly asked. “Just look at Thalia. The gods let her die. Do you know how many children I have comforted? How many go unclaimed even though their parent is obvious? How many leave and never come back? I have burned…so many shrouds. It feels like my hands are a graveyard because I just keep losing.”
“Things can change.” Percy blinked back his tears.
“Yes,” Luke agreed. “This is how they will change. Kronos will bring change.”
“No—”
“Goodbye, Percy,” Luke said. “I truly wish you had chosen to be on my side.”
He slashed his sword in an arc and disappeared in a ripple of darkness.
The scorpion lunged.
Percy swatted it away with his hand and uncapped his sword. The thing jumped at him again and he cut it in half in midair.
But he knew he’d been caught. He felt the venom enter his system, he could feel it crawling up his arm once again.
Sixty seconds.
He stumbled to the water, almost tumbling off the rocks, urged on by strawberries and caramel, pomegranates and bay leaves and other smells he didn’t yet recognise.
Every step felt like he was trudging through wet sand. His vision was getting dark and his forehead burned.
From the distance, he could hear the clomping of hooves, but it echoed weirdly. Perhaps he’d just imagined it.
His knees gave out. He coughed, and blood splattered to the ground in front of him.
The water, someone urged. Get to the water.
He was so close.
In the final moments of his strength, he pushed himself forward and fell.
It wasn’t enough to submerge him, but his fingers brushed something cool and wet.
Then he knew nothing but darkness.
.
.
.
Percy was pleasantly surprised to find himself waking. A straw was stuck between his lips, a silent order to drink he followed.
He opened his eyes.
He was propped up in a bed in the sickroom of the Big House, his right hand bandaged like a club. Argus stood guard in the corner, and Dionysus was leaning against the door frame with a large frown on his face. Annabeth sat next to him, holding the nectar glass.
“‘Sup,” he greeted.
“You idiot,” Annabeth said, ecstatic to see him conscious. “You were green and turning grey when Chiron got to you. If it weren’t for your father and Chiron’s healing…”
“Now, now,” Chiron’s voice said. “I’d say Percy’s constitution deserves some of the credit.”
Percy snorted. “You mean my stubbornness to not die?” He grumbled.
From the door, Dionysus muttered in agreement.
Chiron was sitting near the foot of his bed in human form. His lower half was magically compacted into the wheelchair, his upper half dressed in a coat and tie. He smiled, but his face looked weary and pale.
“How are you feeling?” He asked.
“Like my insides have been frozen, then microwaved.”
“Apt, considering that was pit scorpion venom. Now you must tell me, if you can, exactly what happened.”
Percy relayed his story, watching the room grow more and more tense.
Dionysus’ form flickered throughout the tale.
“I can’t believe that Luke…” Annabeth’s voice faltered. Her expression turned angry and she said, “Yes. Yes, I can believe it. May the gods curse him…He was never the same after his quest.”
“This must be formally reported to Olympus,” Chiron murmured. “I will go at once.”
“They are already aware,” Percy croaked. “And, extremely angry.”
“More than angry,” Dionysus spoke up. His voice hovered in the air. “Just about the whole country got slammed by several different natural disasters.”
Annabeth and Chiron winced, and even Angus in the corner grimaced.
“Ah,” Percy said weakly, “I will make sure to send Uncle H an apology.”
Dionysus snorted. He and Chiron seemed to hold a silent conversation before the god went off grumbling about reporting back to Olympus.
Chiron turned back to Percy. “Be sure to reach out to your father,” he advised, “and do not rush out to find Luke. At this point, he is not an opponent you are ready to face.”
“Will they even do anything?” Percy asked quietly. “I know you are not saying something, I know it has to do with your prophecy. The gods…he declared the matter closed.”
“The gods have their reasons, Percy, and I cannot speak more on the prophecy,” Chiron sighed, “but even if they decide to do nothing, we will not sit back. You must be careful. The Titan King wants you to come unraveled. He wants your life disrupted, your thoughts clouded with fear and anger. Do not give him what he wants. Train patiently.”
“I have already made my decision.”
Chiron sighed again, but nodded.
He rolled back. “I will be joining Dionysus on Olympus. Please try to rest. Even with our healing, pit scorpion venom is no joke. Argus will watch over you until we return.”
He glanced at Annabeth. “Oh, and, my dear…whenever you’re ready, they’re here.”
Chiron rolled himself out of the room.
Annabeth studied the ice in Percy’s drink.
“What’s wrong?” Percy asked her.
“Nothing.” She set the glass on the table. “I…just kept thinking about something you said. You…um…need anything?”
“I’d like to go back to my cabin.”
“Percy, that isn’t a good idea.”
He slid his legs out of bed. Annabeth caught him before he could crumple to the floor. A wave of nausea hit him.
Annabeth said, “I told you…”
“My cabin will help,” he insisted. “There’s a pool, it’s salt water.”
He managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on Annabeth. Argus followed them outside, but he kept his distance.
It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The other cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun.
They paused off the porch steps.
“What are you going to do?” Annabeth asked. “You said you had made your decision.”
“I’m returning home,” he admitted. “I know it’s not what Chiron would suggest, but it’s where I need to go.”
“Another feeling?”
He nodded.
“And you…who’s waiting for you?”
She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia’s pine tree, at the very edge of the camp’s magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blonde hair.
“I’m going home for the year. I…the way you talked about your mom. It inspired me. I wrote him a letter when we got back. I told him…I was sorry. I’d come home for the school year if he’d wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided…we’d give it another try.”
“That took guts.”
She shrugged. They continued their slow shuffle. “You won’t try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least…not without sending me an Iris-message?”
He managed a smile. “Trouble generally finds me,” he joked, “but I promise you’ll be the first to know…If things with your dad go sour, send me a message. You can always hang out at mine.”
“When we get back next summer,” she said, smiling, “we’ll hunt down Luke. We’ll ask for a quest, but if we don’t get approval, we’ll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The doors of his cabin loomed closer.
She held out her hand. He shook it.
“Take care, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth told him. “Keep your eyes open.”
“You too, Wise Girl.”
He watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia’s pine tree, then allowed herself to be led over the crest and into the mortal world.
For the first time at camp, Percy was truly alone.
He wished Argus goodnight and closed the door.
In the morning, he would pack his bags and make his way home.
For now, he dropped into the cabin’s pool, and fell asleep cradled by the Sea.
