Chapter Text
The moment he opens his eyes, he lets out the loudest, most done sigh in his entire life.
One would think that, after everything he’d gone through, his life could finally be peaceful.
Yes, he and Annabeth broke up, but it was mutual and, in hindsight, it was probably for the best. Sure, his days were aimless at times, but he had actually been looking forward to a life where he wasn’t subjected to Olympian bullshit and being the whipping post of the fucking Moirai who saw his existence from the age of 12 as some inside joke.
All of that resolutely went out the window, though, when he went to bed, and woke up suspended in some empty, black void.
‘Fucking Hades, what the fuck is this?’
An offer.
Immediately, he freezes. He looks around, and at first, he sees nothing, even though the sudden voice seemed to come from everywhere , all at once.
“Who are you?!”
A second of silence, before the void is broken by the sudden appearance of a glowing orb of soft, white light. He then finds himself floating down, to what he has no idea, but his feet touch solid ground. The orb follows him down, and then changes shape, becoming somewhat humanoid.
“You do not need to trouble yourself with who I am, Percy.”
He raises an eyebrow at the glowing figure, completely featureless except for a pair of golden eyes, completely empty, no irises, no pupils, just a sheen of spun gold that stares back at him unblinkingly.
“Shall we sit? We have a lot to discuss.”
On cue, a bench of the same white light manifested from nothing. He stares at it for a moment, before taking a seat. The figure sits down next to him, a few inches to his left.
“What is this? Some bullshit quest? My dad already said -”
“Far from it. An offer, as I said.”
That still doesn’t make things any more reassuring, but he simply gestures for the figure to continue. He is stuck here, anyways, he might as well listen.
“A chance to do things better. Save lives that could have otherwise been saved. Bring forth righteous justice for all of the wronged. Give yourself the happiness and love you rightfully deserve.”
He stares at the figure, for how long is immaterial.
“That sounds like bullshit.”
The figure has no visible reaction, merely shrugging, “Just an offer. Nothing else.”
More time passes, and silence persists. Seeing that nothing is evidently going to happen, he sighs, “This sounds like some kind of shitty time-travel fix-it fanfic.”
“Perhaps. One can argue as such. But, Percy, at the same time, is fixing things not always a bad thing?”
A rhetorical question, he thinks to himself, but yet, he also thinks of all of the death, destruction, loss , many out of his control…some within his control, and some that were because of him.
Before this moment, he had just begun to talk about it, commencing the painful, non-linear process of healing and acceptance. One that will take years of effort, grit, more pain and heartbreak, before he could achieve some semblance of peace. That is, if he actually stuck to it, and didn’t slip back into avoidance and self-reproach.
And, truly, was going back to fix things, to do things better , such a bad thing?
“What is the catch?”
“You will still bear the weight of what you went through, even as your physical body returns to the point in which you woke up. You will need to learn again, re-learn what you previously knew, and grow once more.”
He stares at the figure, “What else?”
“You will decide whether or not you want to suppress the power that holds the key to the gods, but inflicts mortal terror in those you hold dear.”
He knows what the figure is saying. Staring down at his hands, flashes of the utter terror in Annabeth’s eyes, her desperate pleas for him to never use such power again, and his promise in response. That was then, in hindsight it was easy for him to see why he agreed. Now, though, he isn’t so sure.
Well, he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.
“What will it be, Percy?”
He turns back to the figure, those gold eyes still staring deep into him, never once blinking, or changing.
“I won’t be able to save everyone, will I?”
“You are only one person, Percy. It is impossible.”
He nods. It is just a fact, nothing cruel, or sugar-coated about it. It is to be expected, whatever this figure is. They are simply stating facts. Being completely honest with him, which certain individuals could stand to learn from.
“But you will be able to save those who matter most. And they will aid you in kind.”
He flexes his hand, curling his fingers into a fist and releasing them. The silence stretches for another moment.
“My actions will change the future, right? Even in ways where it never happened before.”
“Yes. Every choice you make will alter what comes next. When the unknown comes, be sure to keep those important to you close.”
Yes. He can do that.
He makes his decision.
“I’ll do it.”
It may have been his imagination, or not, but he swore that the figure’s eyes shifted, crinkling slightly in the manner of a smile. Again, not of triumph, or satisfaction, simply a smile.
“Godspeed, Percy. And remember, veer hard left.”
It takes a moment for it to register, but he nods, his own smile spreading his lips without his permission.
Then, a heaviness descends upon him, the kind that feels like he is falling asleep. He closes his eyes, and knows nothing more.
As soon as Percy fades away, he gets up. The bench blinks away, and he walks.
He just walks, until he emerges into a large chamber, where three beings, aged and old as time itself, stand. One spins the thread, the second creates the tapestry of a person’s life, and the third cuts the thread of their destiny.
His eyes narrow. No more.
The three beings do not notice his arrival, which suits him just well. He flicks his right hand, and a sword materialises into his grip. He strides forth, and without warning, he runs the blade through the one who cuts the thread.
He savours in the choked gasp of pain and surprise, “Wha -”, but does not give her any longer to fully react. He twists the blade, slices her across the waist, brings the sword up, and for good measure, chops her head off. The scissors she had in her hand clutters uselessly to the floor.
He goes for the other two next. He hacks off their arms, slices their torsos to pieces, and chops off their heads. It is all over quickly. They stood no chance, because while some legends claim them as above the gods of Olympus, there is always something higher than them.
He watches impassively as the pieces and parts disintegrate into dust, not the gold in which slain monsters become, more of a cosmic shimmer, if there is such a colour. The dust is blown away by an unseen wind, leaving him all alone in the chamber. The sword in his hand also disintegrates, dematerialised into nothing. He has done what he had set out to do. There is no further need for it.
In the empty chamber, devoid of the beings once called the Fates, he stares up to the endless above, and makes a proclamation.
“Henceforth, mortals, demigods, gods, monsters, titans and giants are the masters of their own destiny. Their actions determine their outcome, be it their preservation, or their destruction.”
To Be Continued.