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Chapter Text

She is seven years old when she tells her twin brother the truth. Or at least as close to the truth as she can get it. 

She'd pull her brother aside, closing their bedroom door as she takes the glass of water in her hands and holds it out in front of her. He gives her a look, bouncing between confusion and unimpressed. 

"I'm not thirsty," he says, staring at the glass. 

She rolls her eyes and sighs. " Watch,” she says as she holds her hand over the glass. Slowly, the water moves, pulling itself out of the glass, curving around her hand and up her arm until all of it is out of the glass. 

Percy sits on the ground with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. 

“How are you doing that?” He exclaims, jumping to his feet. He shoves his face up to her arm, poking the water as it bounces slightly, only to move onto his own index finger. 

“We have water powers,” she says with an affirming nod. 

He brings his other hand up, moving it like she had as the water jumps over to his arm. He smiles wide. “It’s like Avatar then?” 

“Yes.” 

There's a pause. 

“But we aren’t blue?”

“No, no, not the blue one, the one with the fire nation.” 

Another pause. 

“Why couldn’t we have gotten earthbending powers instead?” 

“Ask our father.”

“What?” 

Atalanta Jackson sighs. “We got these powers from our father.”

Percy frowns. “When did you meet Dad?!” 

“I didn't.”

“Um, then how do you know?”

“Because,” she tries to think up a good enough answer that doesn't make her sound crazy, “I just do okay. Think, Percy, about all the stories Mom tells us.” 

He takes her words to heart, scrunching up his face in thought. “Okay, I think I understand."

“You do?” 

He nods. “Yeah, we have magic powers from our dad, and that's why he can't be here.” 

Huh, maybe he did understand what she meant. Percy had always been quick-thinking in the books. She shouldn't have been so surprised. 

Just then, their bedroom door clicks open to reveal their mom standing in the doorway with hands on her hips and a quirked brown 

“Oh, hey, Mom!” Percy waves to their mother with a toothy grin. “We aren't doing anything.” 

Way to not look suspicious at all, thinks Atalanta. She turns to their mom with a nod, “What's up?” 

Their mom, Sally Jackson, eyes them both and gives Atalanta a knowing look that something is most definitely off. “Now what trouble are you two getting up to?” 

She exchanges looks with Percy. She opens her mouth, a lie on the tip of her tongue, when Percy interrupts.

“Look at what we can do, watch,” he sticks his hands out, revealing the moving water. “We can waterbend!” 

Their mother, for her part, doesn't get angry or nervous. She's more resigned than anything and lets out a sigh of her own. “Atalanta.”

“Hey, why do you assume it was me who started this?” Her mom and brother both stare at her. “Okay, you aren't wrong, still.” 

Their mom shakes her head and comes over to kneel beside them both. “I’d thought I'd have more time before you found out. Thought I could hide you longer, but it seems my children have their father's brain.” 

“More like our mom's,” Atalanta says under her breath, though still loudly enough to get a look from mom. “Sorry, go on.” 

“I should've realized I couldn't keep your heritage a secret for long. You don't hate me for keeping this all to yourself?” 

“Never,” Atalanta says, squeezing her mom's hand. 

She'd had a mom before, back in a former life that grows hazier every day. She'd hated it at first, the abrupt change and having a new family when she didn't ask or want a new one. But with the seven years in this life, Sally Jackson has become her mom, just as Percy is now her twin brother. She can't remember if she had siblings before. Maybe she did, it feels right, but she can't be sure, not anymore. Maybe that's the price she had to pay for rebirth, forgetting her former life until nothing remains. 

“So when are we meeting the others?” Asks Percy excitedly. 

“The others?” Their mom glances at Atalanta, who holds up her hands in defense. 

“Hey, I didn't say anything else.”

“Yeah, the others you know, like Jean Grey, Bobby Drake, and Peter Maximoff?” 

“...what?” 

“What?” Percy rolls his eyes. “You know the X-Men? People with superpowers duh.”

“Yes, Percy, I know what you mean, but why do you think the X-Men?” 

“You said the stories Mom told.”

This boy. Atalanta shakes her head. “I meant the Greek mythos. You know the guy in the sky with lightning and a temper tantrum, dude who has a three-headed dog. Or, I don't know, like the really inaccurate Disney movie?” 

“Oooh,” says Percy, nodding his head before making a face. “That's not as cool, though. I'd rather have Wolverine as my dad.” 

Not that she'd disagree, in fact, she wouldn't have minded having Scott Summers or even Charles Xavier as dad. Alas, this is not that world. “Yeah, well, the X-Men aren't real.”

There's a beat of silence, and then he says, “First you say we don't have earthbending powers and now you say the X-Men aren't real?” Atalanta nods. Percy frowns, “Well, that doesn't seem very fair.”

Chapter Text

Atalanta Jackson is named after one of the few women to have a choice of who she would marry.

Atalanta, raised by wolves and hunters both, was swift as a fox and strong like a boar. A challenge was posed that whoever could beat her in a race would get her hand in marriage. It's a story that is known as one of the few where a woman deems her own fate, often appearing in lists of the most notable non-goddesses of Greek mythology. Why, some versions of Jason and the Argonauts name Atalanta as one of the ones to join him. 

Which is why it is also unfortunate that her namesake ends up being transformed into a lion due to the consequences of a man, because her chosen husband was a fucking idiot who offended Aphrodite after the goddess helped him win Atalanta’s hand. Or so the stories go. Whether it was a trick or not, it is not so heartwarming as the Top Ten lists and Did You Know videos would say. 

But then again, aren't the fates of the majority of all the women from the Greek myth subjected to the attraction of a god, mother of a demigod, or one made into one, turned into either animal, flora, or fauna, or brutally killed? There are worse namesakes like Archane, or Helen or Elaea. 

Atalanta decides not to share the same fate as the woman with her name. She has no plans to become a lion or any other animal or plant life. Thankfully, from what she recalls of the Greek Gods of this world, they are a lot less trigger-happy with the transformations and smiting. After all, Percy got off relatively okay, minus a few…uh…instances. 

They don't say the name of their father. Not out loud at least. They'll point to his face or draw a trident if they must, but all three keep the name Poseidon far away. Well, they sort of do it with all the gods, Olympian and minor, in the end. Considering one never knows who could accidentally listen in. 

Strange things still happen, and she doesn't know if it is more than usual because they know they are half-bloods or because there are two children of Poseidon now instead of one. That and the fact that they are twins, too, give way to more divine perception, at least if the histories and many myths across cultures and time are to be believed, and at this point, knowing that the Greek, Egyptian, Christian, and Roman gods are real, Atalanta might as well believe them all. 

They get kicked out of school, a lot less than she initially thought and a lot more than she'd like. Really, truthfully, and honestly, 9/10 it's not her or Percy's fault. Weird, unexplainable things do happen. Like when their second-grade glass room explodes and they just happen to be in the vicinity. Or the fact that there was a live cannonball at the Saratoga battlefield for some reason. Not to mention that time at the Marine World where there was a lever that literally dunked the entire platform into the shark tank, like, really, who thought of that design? It's more surprising that no other kid had pulled that lever. 

Now that Percy is aware that not everything in the world that happens is his fault, he's gone to blame their dad for every inconvenience. 

Oh, there's a cyclops following us? Dad's fault. 

The horses that pull the buggies in Central Park are talking to them? Dad's fault. 

They had to cancel their trip to New Jersey, not that any of them particularly wanted to go, because of a hurricane watch. Yep, 100% Dad's fault.

Some are legitimately his fault or the fault of his powers. Others, well, less so. 

A goose stealing Percy's sandwich? Dad's fault. 

Is the library closed for the holidays? Dad's fault. 

The store is out of mint chocolate chip ice cream? Dad's fault, he bought them all. 

“I don't think you should speak that way about your father,” says their current teacher with a deep frown. 

Percy shrugs her off. “Nah, it's fine. Maybe if he hears, he'll show up and pay mom the child support she's owed.” 

That line gets most of the adults to back off and let him continue blaming their father, if now with added pity and even some of their fellow classmates’ parents' approval. 

It's a tad comical to say the least, and Atalanta doesn't help the issue by contributing and shifting the blame to their absent father, who can't really defend himself. Though, to be fair, with their father's track record, if the myths are to be considered real accounts, deserve taking the L and catching strays. 

“If my dad doesn't want me to speak of him this way, then he should make himself known,” she tells the guidance counselor with a shrug. 

“I don't think your mother would approve of you saying such things either,” the old man replies. 

Atalanta hums, “Not sure about you, but if my man tells me he loves me, gets me pregnant with twins, leaves before they are born, never visits or sends any kind of financial assistance, and just skiddles skaddles away, I wouldn't mind not one bit.”

Beside her, Percy bobs his head in agreement before assessing the guidance counselor. “I don't know, Ata, he kinda does look like the type of old man to get a teenager pregnant, ditch her, and evade the law.”

Yes, that specific expulsion was their fault in the end. 

But it had left Atalanta thinking until she musters up enough courage, some may call it audacity, to ask their mom once in the car just the two of them.  

“Mom, can I ask you something?” 

Her mom looks up and into the car mirror, “Yes, my love?” 

“In the myths, gods came down and slept with a lot of people. Some were reciprocated, some weren't. Father is known to have many lovers too, like Nerites and Cleito, but some weren't like his sister, the goddess of harvest, or Tyro, and even Medusa if we consider Ovid’s telling is true.” 

Her mother looks her straight in the eye, keeping a steady tone, “It was a mutual relationship, reciprocated in full. There was no coercion or force, I promise.” 

“Even when he is a god and you a mortal woman?” Atalanta asks, fidgeting with her fingers. “Weren't you just out of high school?” 

Her mother sucks in a deep breath. “I was young, yes, but I don't regret it. I was blessed with the greatest gifts of all, you and your brother.” 

Atalanta nods. It doesn't answer her questions, not really, but it at least confirms that her mom wasn't taken advantage of, at least not like some had been. And, if she must give him a bit of credit, at least her mom was a legal adult, even if she still had been a teenager. Still a bit gross though. 

Chapter Text

“It’s kinda gross,” comments Percy as he rubs the dust between his fingers, making a face of disgust. 

“Don't breathe it in,” Atalanta tells him, scooping what she can into the ziplock bag she’d been carrying for a week. “And don't eat it.”

“I'm not going to eat it.”

“You said it reminded you of Fun Dip.” 

“Okay, but I wasn't going to eat it.” Percy totally doesn't stick out his tongue at her. “After seeing you stab that woman, she exploded kinda hard, not to put two and two together and figure out that it wasn't Fun Dip.”

She gives him a look. “It was an empousa.” 

“Ata,” he says, shaking his head. “Well, at least you didn't just stab an everyday woman.”

She doesn't answer. 

“Right?” 

She looks away. 

“Atalanta, you did know it was an empanada, right?”

“Empousa,” she corrects, as she finishes filling the bag and seals it shut. “And, to be fair, if she hadn't been a monster, she wouldn't have died.” 

“And you know how?” Percy asks, crossing his arms

“Only celestial bronze can kill monsters, not normal mortal stuff like steel and iron.” She pulls out one of their mom's earrings, all dark gold with a pointed tip. A few specks of dust linger on the end. 

“Right, common knowledge,” Percy says with an air of sarcasm, only to freeze up, processing what she is holding. “Is that mom’s earring?” He looks up at Atalanta. “You blew an empanada up with Mom's earring?” 

“Empousa, Percy, an empousa,” she says blankly. “And it's for all our benefit, okay. I had it under control.” Mostly, she thinks, but her family doesn't need to know that she nearly slipped up and was nearly shishkabobed. “Found it in her jewelry box, she mentioned they were a gift from Dad or something. She doesn't wear them, and I thought, Why not see if they worked?” 

“How exactly does making a doggie bag of monster ashes gonna benefit us?”

“Because,” she starts rubbing some of it onto her skin, “monsters hunt demigods through smell, and once you know the truth about your parentage, it's like a beacon saying ‘come eat me’ to every monster in the area. But, if we don't smell like demigods…”

“...then monsters won't come and kill mom or us.”

“Exactly,” she nods as she shoves the baggie into her coat pocket. “Let's head back, I'm sure the school has already called Mom about us ‘disappearing’, but hey, after they expel us, we can give her the good news.”

“That you made someone blow up with her earring?” 

“That she can dump that ugly waste of space cockroach named Gabe.”

"Fuck yes!" 

"Percy language!"

Chapter Text

When they are ten, both are granted a degree of freedom. Now they are in the double digits. Percy has kept up with karate, still wanting to be cool like Toph, though his interests have begun switching over to DC comics now that they've started watching the Justice League Unlimited cartoon every Saturday. Now he's been going around like Batman, because he is the coolest out of them all. 

“Not Superman?” asks their mom as they walk to the subway. 

Percy makes a face. In his hands are half a dozen Batman comics. “Superman is okay, but he's not as cool as Batman.”

“Did you know the Library of Congress has the first Superman comic in its archive? And that any congressman could be sworn in on it?” Atalanta says matter-of-factly. 

“Right,” Percy replies and then shakes his head, “Anyways, Batman over Superman any day. I mean, he doesn't even have superpowers. He does everything with his gadgets and hands.” 

“His hands are rated E for everyone,” Atalanta agrees, much to their mom's amusement. 

“Not Aquaman or Green Arrow?”

“Aquaman is lame, all he does is talk to fish and stand there,” he complains as if he isn't just describing their dad. “Green Arrow isn't bad. He has a good color scheme, even if it's not blue. And okay, fine, Flash is also really awesome, too. But Aquaman? Please, Mom, you need better taste.” 

“Alright, alright, I understand,” their mom says with a chuckle. They go down the steps, entering the tunnels and making sure both are still behind her. She looks over at Atalanta, who'd taken out her tote bag to put Percy's comics into the bag alongside her own. “And you, Ata? Maybe Wonder Woman or Supergirl?”

She shrugs. “I like them both, but I don’t like how the New 52 run has made Diana the daughter of you know who,” she points up at the sky, “Black Canary and Zatanna are my current favorites, besides the Teen Titans.” 

“And Batman,” pipes Percy,  “Ata, loves Batman too, right?” 

She smiles. “Yeah, I like Batman, but his kids are better. Have you seen Nightwing, Mom? Or Jason Todd? Way better.” 

Percy stops in his tracks and turns with a look of offense written across his face. “Take that back. They're not better at all! They’re just his sidekicks.” 

It's Atalanta's turn to look horrified. “What? Just his sidekicks? I'll have you know his kids all have their independent runs away from him.” 

“Yeah, but what's a Robin without their Batman? Just some kid in a mask and no tights.”

“Hey, Jason looked great, okay? And only Tim kept the ‘robin’ moniker in his hero name.” 

“Alright, you two, you've both made your point,” says their mom, calming them down with pats on their heads as the subway train pulls up to the platform. 

 “Batman is still cooler,” Percy whispers. 

“And Jason Todd is hotter,” Atalanta shoots back. 

“Percy, Atalanta.”

“Sorry, Mom.” 

“My bad.”

Needless to say, comics have continued to reign supreme in their household, though the X-Men continue to be both of their number 1s. 

While Percy does his karate, Atalanta ends up dropping ballet and switching to kendo after school. Which only happens once she hunts down one that is less expensive than ballet and easy to get to on the Red Line. And without much hassle, her fourteen-slide PowerPoint becomes moot, and off to kendo classes she goes. 

On the weekends, Percy gets signed up for theatre classes, much to his own misery, as if he doesn't secretly love doing entire sonnets in the shower. Atalanta takes art classes instead, deciding to keep her own interests and hobbies separate from her brother. After all, just because they are twins doesn't mean they have to be tied to liking the same things. 

In art class, they learn everything from color theory to famous artists and their masterpieces, to drawing and painting techniques. She has fun, a lot actually, returning home with a new sculpture or drawing at least once a week. 

With the summer coming, the class’s last one is at the art museum. She's been there before, multiple times, but it's still always nice to wander and look at everything like it's the first time again. It's also, hopefully, the first time that there are no half-blood related accidents or incidents. Again, most are really, truly, not their fault, she swears. 

Her class of ten entered the ancient Greek section, where all the statues are. They stop at each one as the teacher and assistant read off each plaque and stand. Continuing on as they reach the hall where all the paintings are. Just before exiting, the two flanking statues are those of Hades and Persephone. 

They are white, as most of these statues have become over time from age, and there are a few chips and scuffs here and there, but nothing so jarring as some of the others in the exhibit. She thinks of the Winged Victory statue or the broken busts of minor gods and people whose names have long since been forgotten. It could be much worse. 

“A peculiar perfume you wear, daughter of the sea.” 

Atalanta turns her head to see a man who has come to stand beside her. His gaze is on Hades, reaching the statue's eyes with a familiar intensity. 

Her own eyes roam the room, realizing then that she'd been split off from the rest of her art class. In fact, no one else is in the room at all other than the man and herself. 

Upon closer inspection, she recognizes that he is rather tall. He is well-dressed in a suit and tie, and his skin is quite pale, too. His gaze is old and dark, as if having seen thousands of years come and go. 

“Not every day one meets a god,” she replies, shifting her gaze back to Persephone's statue instead. “What do I owe your approach to, your lordship?” 

The god hums, low and baritone. “I am not here in regard to your father. I come with a far more personal reason. It's not often a soul escapes my domain without my knowledge or approval.”

“Oh,” she says, realizing, now, exactly who this god is. “Lord Thanatos.” 

Chapter Text

It is a misconception that Hades is the god of death. He is the god of the dead, but not of death.

That honor and title belong to Thanatos, who, depending on the interpretation, is the god of non-violent death or is simply the personification of death. In fact, Thanatos is not the only god of the dead, as some attribute the Moirai, Atropos, as the goddess of death. There are, of course, other gods of death too, outside the Greek pantheon, such as Morrigan of the Celtic pantheon, the Norse goddess Hel, and the Hindu God Yama. 

But Thanatos is of Greek and Mycenaean myths, and thus, Atalanta infers it is he, with whom her soul would reside once her time comes. She's not entirely sure about the before, the lifetime that came before she was Atalanta; the details get fuzzy over the years and fade. She thinks she might've been raised Catholic, but that too feels wrong, so perhaps she was agnostic instead? Either way, she is Greek now, sort of? Again, the details of half-blood DNA get weird, and she is quite interested in the science and medical aspects surrounding it. 

Nevertheless, Atalanta hadn't planned on meeting with a death god anytime soon. She'd actually rather not until way down the line, in fact. Alas, Thanatos seemed to have something else in mind with his approach.

Often, throughout the myths and statues, Thanatos is depicted with wings, a sword, and an inverted torch. Here he stands, forgoing all three on his person from the naked eye. It is instead the way his shadow widens itself that clues her in that it was the god of death. 

“I suppose you did not come here to peruse old memories then,” Atalanta surmises, tilting her head toward the exhibit surrounding them. 

“Most of what remains now is best left to the past,” Thanatos tells her. “It is better for the gods not to dwell too long in old memories, else bits of those versions return to the surface.” 

She supposes it makes sense. So many memories and interpretations across time, the gods would have to adapt and change to fit both the times and the location they are at, else they run the risk of being forgotten. After all, they aren't news reports of people getting jumped by shape-shifting animals or magical golden showers that impregnate them.

Damn, she thinks, the gods must be very good at compartmentalizing. 

Atalanta stares up at Thanatos. “And for mortals?” 

He turns his gaze down on her. His lips tighten into a straight line. “I suppose we shall see together.” 

Atalanta considers his words with surprise. “You don't plan on telling the big man up there?” 

His eyes twitch ever so silently at her wording. “No. I do not trouble myself with the happenings on Olympus, nor its king.” 

She looks back up at the statue of Hades. Even in stone, the god of the Underworld's stare is unnerving. And she wonders, briefly, if Hades would appear from the statue itself. He had sent the worst of monsters after Thalia because Zeus broke the oath. What would he do to Percy and her now that there are two forbidden children instead of one? If she were him, she'd likely be bitter that only she had stayed true to the oath. 

“And the king below?” she asks, trying to keep a steady tone. 

“There are other matters which concern him.”

“Should he ask you?” 

“Then do not become a matter of concern.” 

“My father?” 

Thanatos turned toward the Hellenistic section of the exhibit. She followed his gaze, finding it on one of the terracotta jugs which depicted her father. “A curious thing, it is, I wonder if your father's old cult is the cause for you?” He muttered to himself out loud. 

"Is there," she begins, unable to stop herself, "is there a reason I was reincarnated?" 

Perhaps it was the way she worded it that garnered his unimpressed look. "You do not recall choosing that option?" 

"I think I'd remember that." She really did think she would. Not something so easily glossed over. "I was alive, then I was dead, and I awoke as a baby."

"You did not drink from the River Lethe."

"No, I didn't. But you already know that."

"Yet you didn't choose reincarnation nor recall your time in the underworld?" 

"No," she repeats. "I had thought it was originally along the lines of metempsychosis."

"Ah," he says with a hint of interest. "The Orphic and Pythagorean theology. They are concepts I hadn't considered in a very long time. I wonder-"

“ Atalanta Jackson, please make your way to the front entrance”

The PA comes over the intercom, and Atlanta jolts, looking up in the direction of the speaker.

"Lord Thanatos, you were saying-" When she looks back at Thanatos, he's gone, leaving not a single trace that he'd been there. 

“ Atalanta Jackson, please make your way to the front entrance to meet with the rest of your group”

Well, it had been her last art class for the year. Might as well be her last in general.  In the end, her meeting with Lord Thanatos becomes the first time a member of her father's side comes to call, but it isn't the last. 

Chapter Text

On her and Percy's eleventh birthday, their mother takes them on a surprise trip to Montauk. 

They arrive before sunset, setting up in their usual cabin. They spend the night watching TV and cuddling in the living room inside a pillow fort. In the morning, they eat pancakes loaded with syrup and then head out to the beach with their blankets and shovels, and sun umbrellas.

Lying them out on the sand, Percy and Atalanta go down to the water with their shovels and pails. For a while, they run back and forth, carrying buckets of water to wet the sand to build their sand castle. 

Every time they come to Montauk, they try to make a bigger and better sand castle than the one before. Once it's complete, their mother will take out the Polaroid camera and take a photo, which gets added to the “Wall of Sand Castles” in their kitchen. 

Together, she and Percy work on the castle for the entire morning and part of the afternoon. 

“I'm going to see if I can find any seashells or sand dollars,” she informs him, wiping the sand off her knees and grabbing her empty pail. 

Percy gives her a thumbs up as their mom yells for her not to go too far out. 

“I’ll stay in sight of the water,” she calls to them, gesturing to the ocean. Then she walks, searching for things to add to the castle wall and towers. She goes, perhaps a mile or so, walking just beside the ocean with a half-full bucket of shells and sticks, and seaweed. 

Atalanta endeavors not to stare too long at the ocean. She understands that if she looks long and hard enough, she may spy things looking back. It's happened before–nereids, sharks, small dancing starfish that made her think she'd somehow become Ariel. It is not as if she dislikes the connection to the sea, but rather would prefer that the other gods not find out. 

She resumes her walk along the water, staring down at how it ripples, as if trying to embrace her. A smile tugs on her face. 

SMACK

A ball came sailing in the air, smacking her square on her forehead. She fell backwards onto her back at the force, as the contents of her bucket went everywhere. 

“What the fuck?” Atalanta declares, sitting up. 

“Your mother lets you say that word?” comes the annoying-sounding voice of a boy. 

“Does your mother know you're trying to assassinate kids with plastic balls?” She fires back, looking up to find a boy, seemingly a few years old, with black hair and blue colored eyes that swirl. 

“It's not my fault you didn't react faster.” 

She gets to her feet and huffs. “And you should have better aim. I don't see anyone you could've been aiming for. What, you wanted to shoot it out to sea or something?” 

“I–”

“Ata!” shouts Percy, running up from behind as he slows to a stop next to her, “Mom sent me to get you for lunch and–Wow, why are all these shells and sticks on the ground? You're not usually clumsy.” 

She points at the boy who resembles her brother. “He tried to kill me with a beach ball.” 

Percy moves in front of her, standing right up to the boy with a heavy glare. “What the fu—”

“I didn't!” The boy quickly argued, waving his hands up. “She just got in the way, okay?” 

Percy twists around to face the sea. He turns back again and makes a face. “Why would you waste a perfectly good beach ball?”

“She said the same thing.” 

“Well, we are twins.” 

“Really? I couldn't tell,” he rolled his eyes and grumbled. 

“Then you need glasses,” replies Percy, tilting his head. “For your shitty aim and your face blindness.” 

“Percy,” Atalanta starts, “that's rude.” 

“It's not rude if it's true.”

“Just because you can say it doesn't mean you should.”

“As if you're any better.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

“How many times have you corrected our teachers?” 

“That's not fair! And different! They're teaching things that are genuinely incorrect. You know how detrimental that is?” 

“Not really.” 

“Percy, I am going to–”

“Hello? I'm still here?” The boy waves his hand in front of them, interrupting her. 

“And? Want a prize? It's a free beach?” Percy scrutinizes him. “Who are you anyways?” 

“I...er, uh,” the boy clears his throat. “I'm Trenton?” 

It comes out as a question, and she exchanges a look with Percy. “Right.”

“Okay then,” Percy stifles a snicker, “ Trenton , we’ll see you around." He makes another face. "Or not.” 

Percy grabs Atalanta’s hand and starts pulling her back in the direction of the cabin. 

“Nice meeting you…Trenton…” she calls back to the boy standing at them with an odd look in his old eyes. 

“Oh, and–” Percy yells when they are a good distance away, “you really should get your eyes checked. And next time, pick a better fake name.”

‘Trenton’ balks, “You–”

“Honestly, just blame dad, it's what we do, bro.” 

They high-tail it out of there as fast as they can when they notice the water starting to recede. 

Chapter Text

They end up having to clear out of Montauk a few hours later, after a surprise flooding alert that the locals can't explain and are beyond confused about. 

“I, for one, have absolutely no idea why,” says Percy when they're in the car on the way home. Atalanta leans over and pinches him. “Ow! Ata what the fuc–”

“You better not finish that sentence, Perseus Jackson,” comes their mom in the driver's seat. She looks back from the rearview window. Her eyes are raised and waiting, “Anything you'd like to say, Atalanta?”

“Uh, the flood warning may or may not have been our fault?” 

Mom sighs. “Atalanta.” 

“Okay, so like, our brother, the er, son of our dad, kinda showed up and hit me with a beach ball.” 

The car slows to a stop, and there is a beat of silence.

“What?” 

Percy shakes his head, throwing his hands into the air, “And she complains about me.” 

“And like, his disguise was very, very bad, I mean, he looked just like Percy, well, not the eyes, his were blue, but I guess gods can change their appearances, so it's not so odd. Again, we said some things, but not anything wrong or should've caused that sort of reaction, really? Honestly, he was a bit too easy to rage bait. I blame Dad for that trait.” 

Mom looks her in the eyes, "I had been referring to whether you are going to say something to your brother for having pinched him?”

“Oh.” Atalanta flushed pink. “Sorry, Percy. My b.” 

“It's fine, Ata,” he says with a suspicious smile. 

“Now wait a moment–OW!” She exclaims, rubbing where he'd pinched her. 

“Now we are even.” 

“You little–”

“Children...” 

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Sorry.”

When they return home, the first thing Percy wants to do is rewatch The Little Mermaid. For absolutely no reason at all, and certainly not because Ariel’s father is meant to be the same being as their godly half-brother. 

They do, in fact, watch the movie to many giggles and Atalanta cutting in with bits and pieces of both Hans Anderson's original fairytale and the few myths regarding Triton. 

“Wait, so he doesn't have any kids?” Percy asks when Atalanta tells him that, no, they are not aunt and uncle to seven mermaid princesses, or at least she's pretty sure they aren't. 

“One, three depending on the myths, but he had kids once,” she replies steadily. “Daughters too.” 

“Had?” asks Percy, though by his face and tone, he already seems to have gathered it isn't a happy ending. 

“They were water nymphs, who don't have much in the way of recorded history, except for one who is the most well known, Pallas,” she explains, telling him all about Pallas and the Amazonians, to Athena, and the sparring match that took her life. “Some say it was an accident. Others, purposeful on either Parthenos’ or the sky king’s part.” 

Percy sits beside her, silent with his brows furrowed. “That isn't–” he pauses, stopping himself from saying something he likely shouldn't for once, “–yeah, I don't think I'm really liking anyone on Dad's side.”

Atalanta nods in agreement. “The more you learn, the more you realize they all kind of well…”

“Suck ass?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What about our brother's other kids?” 

She winces. “Because he's a minor god, he doesn't have as many myths as Dad does. Same with our brother's children and wife. It's why it starts getting iffy.” 

He sputters, whipping his head up in shock. “Hold up, he's married? That guy?” 

“Maybe? It gets complicated with all the localizations and name etymologies.” Atalanta wracks her brain for the name of his consort. “I think it's…Libya?” 

“The country?!” Percy gasps. “He's married to a country?!” 

Chapter Text

The next year is anything but normal. 

The school they attend is the same one they had in fourth grade, which is rare and surprising, considering they managed to return to the same school for the next grade level. Unfortunately, that's as far as the positives go, as by Halloween, they are once again kicked out. This time, it's because she and Percy went a tad too far with the dodgeball game. Let's just say they both ended up throwing a ball and somehow both ended up hitting and knocking the vice principal who'd been walking past the open doors, out cold. 

The next school they are shipped off to is one of those Montessori schools that is anything but structured. It's very much along the lines of “going with the flow’ and connecting to nature, and less rigid than other public schools. 

Percy does rather decently; it's Atalanta who struggles with the whole gentle and student-led type approach. For her brother's sake, she does try to keep it together. She manages for a while, though she is pretty sure, if not certain, that the gardening teacher is, in fact, a nymph or a child of some earth god. Flowers don't just grow because someone sings to them, right? Had to be some sort of ability.

By January, Atalanta can't take it anymore, and the next thing everyone knows is that the school sprinklers have exploded. It ends up flooding the school, as even though the janitors and principal shut the water valve off, it just keeps spraying water. 

Due to the need to now fix the school so it can be safe for the kids, their mom switches them to a different school just in time for Percy to apply for the spring musical. 

Between The Wizard of Oz, Atalanta thinks Percy would've been a great flying monkey for, Matilda, which he also could've pulled off the lead role of, for certain, Hadestown: The Teen Edition, she hopes it isn't the pick, and Shrek Jr,. It ends up being the latter. 

Percy gets cast as Peter Pan and one of the knights. Needless to say, Atalanta and their Mom get front row seats. 

The musical goes off brilliantly, if by brilliantly one means the tower set ends up falling down and half the light cues are wrong, it's brilliant. On opening nights, there's always something going wrong. She thinks that Dionysus must have cursed all school-led theater productions. It seems like something he'd do, if only to get back at having to be at Camp Half-Blood for a century. 

When the final applause comes and all the parents rise to their feet, Atalanta thinks she spies something out of the corner of her eye. Or more so, spies someone in the audience. 

She stands on her tiptoes to get a better look. It's a man with a head of black hair and an aura that draws her gaze even when those around him pay no mind. Yet his face is turned away. Just when she thinks he'll move so she may see, her view is blocked. 

“Could it be?” she whispers to herself before jolting when her mom taps her shoulder. 

“Let's go give Percy the flowers,” her mom says with a warm smile. 

By the time Atalanta looks back, the man is gone. 

Spring break arrives, which means the apartment pool finally opens back up. Grabbing a towel, Atalanta tells Percy she's headed to the pool. He waves her off, saying he'll come join after he's done watching the latest Batman movie. 

“Have fun with Battinson,” she tells him. 

“It's really good,” he replies, eyes locked on the screen. 

She laughs. “And here you were worried about it because he was in Twilight.” 

“Aren't you going to the pool?” he shoots back, still fully engrossed. 

“Alright, alright, I'm going. Speeding away like Barry Allen.” 

“Wally West is cooler!” He shouts as she shuts the front door behind her. 

Down at the pool, she keeps to herself, swimming and bobbing in the deep end. 

There truly is something about the water that's so relaxing. Sure, the chlorine-filled pool water is nothing compared to the oceans and rivers, but it's still nice. It's one of the positives from their Dad. 

That's when she thinks she feels someone watching her. She pushes herself back up to the surface and surveys around only for that feeling, those eyes, to vanish. 

Weird. And strange. And wholly inhuman she knows. 

She gets out and wraps a towel around herself just as Percy appears. 

“Done already?” 

She nods, still a bit wary. “Yeah.” 

He scans her face. “What is it?” He whispers, gaze shifting across to all the people at the pool. Other than the usual families of the apartment building and the lifeguard, there is no one else. No strangers or oddities that come through the Mist. Everything is perfectly normal. 

“It's nothing. I just wanted to get out.” 

He doesn't seem to buy it, at least not completely, though he nods. He takes her hand in his.  “Want to watch a movie and make pizza?” 

She rolls her eyes playfully. “You just want to laze on the couch.” 

“Hey, it's what Spring Break is for.”

“Fine. But I get to choose the movie.” 

He stops walking and puts his free hand on her shoulder. Solemnly, he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “We are not watching all three extended editions of The Lord of the Rings again. And you already played Revenge of the Sith four times this break.” 

“Deal,” she replies, holding out her hand as they shake on it. “Unfortunately, you didn't say no to Twilight.” 

Percy lets out a groan as he rips his hand back, but it's too late. “I knew I forgot one.” 

“How about all five?”

“Ata, please have mercy?” She smiles wider at him in response. His head droops. “How did I forget about Twilight?” 

Chapter Text

Yancy Academy is like half the other schools they've been in. 

Too many classrooms, not enough teachers despite the amount of funding, mediocre food, and the majority of the students fell under the legal definition of well off. At least it didn't smell as bad as the last one. 

Admittedly, it is the first time in two years since they started a new school on the actual first day of class and not halfway through the year. It makes them seem normal. Makes them feel normal, too. 

Percy stays relatively excited. He's always seemed to enjoy attending a new school; Yancy Academy is no different. Especially since this one had them staying in on-campus dorms like a truly proper boarding school. 

Atalanta is less impressed. And even less impressed by her roommate, who gives her a single look over before promptly dismissing her. It's fine, and Atalanta decides she actually prefers the girl ignoring her and keeping to her side of the dorm. One of the few highlights is that Atalanta is able to keep her stash of soda in her dorm without worrying that her mom would find out. Or worse, Percy finds and drinks it all. 

Already on the first day of school, she and Percy are both pulled from class to talk with the principal and the guidance counselor. It's the same usual fanfare of “we know you have a history of troubling behavior” and “we are aware of your dyslexia and ADHD so we've come up with a game plan” oh and let's not forget the “we are here to support you both and *insert guidance counselor name here* is free to talk if anything comes up” which all really boils down to “we are watching you both and don't start anything”. Again, it's the same usual spiel and stern talking that really won't amount to much when something does, inevitably, happen. 

Atalanta shoots Percy an unimpressed look once they are out of the office. He matches her look before they burst out in laughter. 

“We're still going to try, though, right?” Percy asks softly once he's calmed a bit. “For Mom, I mean.” 

Atalanta sobers and nods. “Yeah, we will. And you know what? I think we'll make it this year.” 

“The whole year?” 

“Bet you five dollars.” 

“You know you've just jinxed it.” 

She puts her hands on her hips. “You’re just saying that cause I’m right.” 

He rolls his eyes. “And this is why I'm the older one.” 

“Barely!” Atalanta replies. According to their records, Percy is only nine minutes older. And even then, mentally she's, well–

She freezes. There is no number. She can't remember. Where that number had been is blank. All the information about how old she had been before she died is gone. Then she realizes she doesn't even remember how she'd died either. All the information she has remaining is linked to this world and life, and what could happen. 

She can recall the Great Prophecy verbatim, but the memory of when she'd read it the first time is gone. She can recite the names of the books, but not what her old name was. Even the names of the other main characters from the other series come more easily. 

That's when she realizes, for the first time, that if it doesn't have something to do with this life in particular, she doesn't remember. 

“Ata? You good?” Percy asks, waving his hand in front of her face with concern. “Need to sit down? A soda?” 

She recovers quickly, at least she hopes it seems so. “I’m fine.” 

He doesn't look convinced. “I think this calls for a squishy squashy super duper hug from your big bro.” Before she can get away, his arms are already around her tightly.

“Percy! Really, I'm okay. Isn't this embarrassing for such a strong, macho man like yourself?” 

He sticks his tongue out. “Nah. As if I'd be embarrassed to hug my baby sister.” 

“I'm not a baby.”

“You look like one.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He frowns. “That doesn't make any–”

“–Anyways, we should head back to class, I think we've already missed most of the first period, we should get back before it ends–” 

RING

“–never mind.”

It takes one week for Atalanta to decide she hates it. 

She doesn't like not being able to see her mom every day. And though she is able to call her mom, using the very shitty prepaid phone that Atalanta only uses for a few minutes at a time and turns off immediately after use, it sucks. Seriously, couldn't the gods give every half-blood a 'monster-free' phone? Like a 'sucks you're probably going to die, here's the latest iPhone'? 

It also sucks that Percy’s dorm is on the complete other side of the campus, making the time she's able to see him even less, considering they aren't in the same classes. Benefits of being “advanced”. 

Due to the whole “remembering her past life”, Atalanta had always excelled in school. Too well, in fact. Resulting in several grades skipped. So now, though she's actually been put in sixth grade here, she is taking the advanced classes meant for the eighth graders. It also means she doesn't see Percy in any of her classes. 

The only highlight of Yancy Academy is the library. It's quite large with tons of texts, both current and not. She thinks she'll be spending most of her time there. 

At lunch, she waits by the windows for her brother. She's drinking her second can of soda when he finally shows up, all but dragging another kid with him. 

“Sorry, I'm late! Ata, it's okay if a friend joins us, right?” Percy says, gesturing to a short, scrawny-looking boy with crutches behind him.

“Of course,” she replies, already figuring out who the boy was. 

He grins, stepping aside to introduce them both, “Atalanta, this is Grover. Grover, this is my sister, Atalanta.” 

Chapter Text

Percy is in detention again. It's the third time this week, and so it's just her and Grover at lunch again. 

He always seems so nervous sitting with her, especially when they are alone. Looking at her as though she's going to attack him. Either that or that she'd like to eat him. Neither is the sort of impression she thought she gave off. When the next time they are alone, which is the following day after classes are done, she asks Grover what's wrong. 

“I uh, nothing?” 

“That's a question.” 

“I just have a sensitive nose.”

Oh shit. She'd forgotten that his sense of smell is far superior to her own, and it is often utilized for finding monsters. Did that mean he thought she was a monster? No, that couldn't be it, because then why would he be okay around Percy when she knows he is wearing dust on him? 

“Are you saying I smell bad?” she says, in a somewhat teasing manner. 

“N-no! Not at all, I just,” he looks away, “have allergies?” 

She opens up her backpack and pulls out her Ziploc bag. “Other than normal deodorant, this is the only other thing I put on.” 

He stares bug-eyed at the bag and then at her. “W-why–what is that?” 

“It's loose powder.” She holds it out to him. “Do you wanna smell it?” 

He shakes his head. “No! I'm good. I think that's it. What's causing my nose to flare up, I mean.” 

“Right,” she puts the Ziploc away. “Percy and I wear it because of our dad.” 

She can see him process what she'd just said. “Your mother said to?” 

“Sure,” she says, with a half lie, “something like that.” 

After that, Grover doesn't shy away from her. Still, he keeps a bit of distance but makes an effort not to be scared around her, and by the end of the month, they become relatively good friends. 

Once again, Percy is in detention, for what? She truthfully isn't sure anymore. She thinks it has to do with the science teacher this time, something involving exploding test tubes, which really if that is the case, Atalanta doesn't understand why Percy should be punished for that. 

So, like the previous days, it's just her and Grover holed up in the usual spot in the empty hallway to eat their lunch, having moved after some issues with other students in the cafeteria. 

Speaking of which, she looks up just in time to see a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich get dumped onto Grover's head. The culprit stands above him with a smirk and a haughty giggle. 

“Grover? More like grovel!” mocks Nancy Bobofit in a very childish tone. “What are you named after, a stupid muppet?” 

This girl, Atalanta, thinks, how foolish and silly. She rolls her eyes and slams her book shut. 

“What? Are you going to cry to your mom?” Nancy jeers. 

“You know, any child named ‘Nancy Bobofit’ has no right to bully someone over their name,” Atalanta replies, standing to her feet. “Your name makes you sound like an old woman, and your last name makes it seem like someone was trying to spell Boba Fett and it autocorrected to Bobo the Clown. Which, by the looks of it, is a much better fit for a name.” 

Those around them are unable to withhold their snickers as Nancy turns bright red and clenches her fists tight. “You–”

“Just call me a bitch and move on,” she interjects as she holds her hand up, “I have more important things to be doing.”

“You bitch!” 

“Great. Now move along.” 

“Hmpf,” growls Nancy before turning on her heel and storming away as the rest of her cohorts follow. 

“Wasn't that a bit harsh?” asks Grover with a slight whimper, once Nancy and the others are out of sight. 

Atalanta raises her brows. “No?” 

“But aren't you being just like her?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Sorry, what?”

“Honestly, if people are going to bully others, we should just bully them back. Treat others the way you want to be treated, and so if you make fun of others, I'll make fun of you back.” 

“But,” Grover looks away, “shouldn't you try to be the bigger person?” 

“No?” Ata raises her brows. “If you can't take it, don't dish it out. It's like self-defense. If someone tries to beat you up or pick pocket you, are you saying you won't fight back? You're not going to defend yourself?” 

“That doesn't always work though,” argues Grover louder than she'd ever heard him get. “What if they are bigger than you? More powerful? Fighting back doesn't always work. It could end up with you hurt, or worse.” 

Atalanta realizes, then, what Grover is truly going after–what he worried about and who he is likely referring to. 

Thalia Grace. Her would be, is, was, and likely still will be cousin. 

She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh. “In Greek mythology, there is something many heroes have, it's known as a fatal flaw–their weakness. For most, it is their pride and hubris, for others, their recklessness.” Atalanta watches as Grover’s face jumps between different emotions in the span of a very few seconds. “I know what my mother's is. As well as my brother’s. Mine, well, I suppose could seem more in line with my namesake and her husband's.” 

“That's not, I didn't–” 

She smiles. “I know. Though you're right, picking fights I know I can't win could hurt me and those I love. So I understand your concerns, honestly, I do.” Then she frowns. “But Nancy Bobofit isn't one of them. Unless she transforms into a 20-foot hydra or grows snakes for hair, I do not see why I shouldn't stand up for myself and others.” 

Even then, she's pretty sure that if Nancy did end up being a monster, she, as a half blood, is meant to fight and kill her.

Grover clears his throat after a minute passes. Atalanta can see the gears turning in his head. 

“So you know? About me?” She gives him a look. “Right, sorry that was a silly thing to ask.” 

“I know about you, my dad, and ‘Mr. Brunner.” 

“You know about Chiron too?!” Grover sputters, “wait, your dad? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am. Mom confirmed it. And don't worry, Percy knows too.” 

Grover drops his head into his hands. “Percy’s known all along?”

“Well, maybe,” Atalanta stops to think. She's pretty sure her brother knows Grover is a satyr; it's obvious. “He likely does, and honestly, he wouldn't care, like seriously. You're good for each other. He, we, never really had many friends over the years. Kept mostly to ourselves with comics and videogames, you two playing Mythomagic is actually fantastic.” She smiles at Grover. “Really, you two are great together.” 

He flushes bright pink. “He is a really good friend.” 

“And a great brother too.” She hands him her empty soda can from earlier. “Want to munch?” 

He nods and takes it, happily chewing on it. A comfortable silence washes over them. 

“...Does that mean Percy is just pretending not to know then?” 

Atalanta shrugs. “Probably. I mean, he used to do acting for a while. Did you know he's been a part of four different productions? I would be more surprised that he didn't clock it.” 

“...should I ask him?” 

“Nah, it's fine. He's not that dumb.” 

Chapter Text

Percy doesn't like Mrs. Dodds. 

Mostly because the woman is not, in fact, a woman but a furry. 

No, that's not right. Not a furry, a fury. At least according to Ata. Or a Kindly One? Not that Mrs. Dodds is kind in the slightest. She's kind of the worst, actually. She should be called the Mean One. But not like the Grinch, cause the Grinch is cool. Mrs. Dodds is not. 

All the code names get confusing, honestly.  Everyone seems to have multiple names because everyone on their dad's side has a boat ton of names, powers, and variations of stories. 

He doesn't know how his sister and mom are able to keep it all in check. He's tried, like really tried. But it's so much information, and depending on when and who, from Ovid to Homer, Percy can't keep it all straight, with the majority of it swimming in his head. And don't even get him started about the difference between the Greek, Roman, and early hell…helicopter…heathen…hellinestic… stories.

He barely has the Odyssey figured out, and that's mostly because of the catchy songs that his sister and some of the other kids in the theater department have been listening to lately. Not to mention Mr. Brunner, their history teacher, has been drilling Greek and Roman facts down their throats all semester. And even then, he can't keep half the names in order. And if he categorizes half the gods under: friend of Dad and enemy of Dad, who would stop him? 

That's why he has Ata. She's good at these things, like very good at remembering and finding information. People at their old schools would call her a bookworm and a nerd, which one rude, and two, that's his sister. 

How dare they say that about her. They are kind of right, but only he can say that. Sibling privileges, duh. Just like how he is allowed to snag one of his sister's secret cans of soda from her dorm room whenever he wants, and not because her roommate just lets him in when Atalanta isn't there. It's called the brother tax, and he knows his sister is also skimming the lollipops he has stashed under his bed, too. 

But he will admit, to himself, that his sister is stranger than most. Sometimes she'll just say things that even Percy knows aren't normal or common knowledge. Maybe it's the ADHD. People experience it differently; it could just be how Ata’s shows up. 

Still, it can be off-putting. Like during spring break, he'd woken up from the strangest dream he'd ever experienced. 

See, he's on a beach amid a storm of all things. The waters were crashing against the shore as the skies above were billowing with black clouds full of lightning. Ahead of Percy were two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, trying to kill each other at the edge. Before he could do anything, the eagle swooped down and slashed the horse’s muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared its legs up and kicked at the eagle’s wings, sending it backwards and airborne. As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere below the sand, and he had a feeling it was even further beneath than that. The voice, dark and reverberating, was goading the animals, laughing among the storm and floods. 

Percy woke with a start, straight up and clutching his head in confusion. It felt real. Far too real. More than any dream he'd experienced before. 

“Are you alright?” comes Atalanta from her bed, sitting up and watching him carefully. 

Percy sucks in a deep breath. “Just a dream.” 

She didn't believe him. She could always tell when he was keeping things from her. He blames the sixth sense on the whole ‘being siblings’ thing because Percy swears he is a good liar. Ata just knows, maybe it's like their mom's bullshit radar. 

Ata gets out of her bed and walks over to him. “Move over.” 

“It's my bed.” He rolls his eyes but scooches over. 

“It's not uncommon, you know. To have dreams.” 

“Gee, had no idea,” he replies immediately, but upon the unimpressed look from his sister, he shuts his mouth. “Sorry, continue.”

“Demi-god dreams they're called—”

“Let me guess, it's called that because we're demi-gods.”

“—anyways, sometimes they'll tell you things about the future, or the past, and often it's important.” Percy nods his head, slowly understanding, at least he believes he does. Atalanta continues, “They're normal…ish. Because we're kids of Dad, big three if you recall—” which he did recall, thank you very much “—our dreams are more powerful, or something. I do wonder if part of it is linked to Dad's connection to Delphi, as he originally held that domain before the Python, so perhaps there are residuals?” 

She mutters the last part like a question, but hey, Ata usually knows these things, so he trusts her. 

“Do you get them too?” Percy asks her, searching her face. Ata sounds as though she knows what it's like. And honestly, she probably did. It would make so much sense. She knew so much as if she knew the future. Dreams must be such a powerful thing, then. “Is that how you know so much?” 

Ata shakes her head feverently and averts her eyes. “Ah, no. I don’t, haven't, gotten any.” 

He stares at her. Then he squints his eyes. He opens his mouth to retort, but with the look on her face, he knew better to push it. There are things he knows that Ata won't tell him. She may never, but he doesn't mind. It's okay. It's healthy even, for them to not know every single thing about each other, siblings and twins aside, it would be kind of weird. And though he doesn't have anything hidden from her now, Percy knows that there will likely come a time in the future, in his life, where she won't know everything about him. And that's okay. 

Instead of commenting, he looks over at the clock, which reads out in red: 3:09. 

“We should go back to bed—”

“But if you want to tell me about your dreams—”

They both stop at the same time. And then they start laughing. Well, Percy laughs, Ata giggles. 

“I'm serious,” Ata says, calming down. She leans over and clasps his hand and squeezes. “I'll listen, no matter what, Percy, I'll be there and listen to anything you have to say. Be it dreams, concerns, or even your unfortunate opinions on Marvel.”

Of course, she just had to make a dig at his thoughts about the MCU. “You’re just mad I was right about Wanda and Multiverse of Madness.” 

Naturally, Ata shoves his shoulder in response, so Percy lets himself collapse onto his side like dead weight. 

“Bullying,” he tells her with feigned pain. “My own sister is bullying me.” 

She flicks his forehead. “What a strong big brother.”

“Abuse!” He repeats again as he lays his hand over his forehead. 

She grins, the kind that tells him that she's going to say something out of the blue. Again, people always say he's the reckless loudmouth. Clearly, his sister has blinded them with her smarts because she is the one who says the craziest things. “Elder abuse, then, old man.”

“Say what now?” His jar drops. Percy sits right up. “Old man? Old?”

“Hey, you said it first.”

“Older by nine minutes! Nine Ata!” 

“As I said, old man.” 

Before he can retort, he hears the sound of footsteps from the hallway. 

“Children,” comes their mom sleepily through the door as she turns the knob. “Is something wrong?” 

Oops. They definitely were too loud. His bad. 

“Sorry, Mom,” replies Percy. 

Ata scrambles back to her bed as she says, “Everything's okay! Sorry for waking you.” 

Percy doesn't have another vivid dream like that for the rest of spring break. But he does experience something just as odd. 

Now, before anyone calls him a hater of boomers and old folk, Percy doesn't hate them. It's just, the experience he had with these three was really not normal. 

He’d gone with his Ata and Mom to the farmer's market, and somehow, and entirely not his fault, may have gotten separated from them. Again, not his fault that the bread stand was giving out free samples and tasted as good as it smelled. 

Nevertheless, as he goes searching for his family, he finds himself before a singular, out-of-the-way fruit stand.  

There is just something about it that draws him in, like he needs to be there, as though his footsteps aren't entirely his own.

The stand has no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree. The other weird part with the whole scene, however, is that they were knitting the biggest pair of socks he'd ever seen. Like the size of sweaters and then some, yet they are clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle holds an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn. And it's a big role of yarn. Larger than any he's seen, and this is New York, he's seen some pretty big ones while riding the subway. 

All three women look ancient, with pale faces wrinkled and worn, silver hair tied back in bandannas, with thin, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses of gray and dark blue. 

Despite that, it isn't what stuck out to Percy. No, the weirdest thing is, they seem to be looking right at him. As if he’s meant to be there, watching them, seeing…whatever this is. 

Again, sounds really fucking weird. 

Naturally, Percy tries to leave only to catch the old lady in the middle pull out a large pair of gold and silver scissors, which also looked as old and antique as they did. They are more like garden shears than anything. They did fit right in with those enormous socks. 

The middle one raises the scissors and swiftly cuts the yarn. The sound echoes through his ears, ringing through them long after the deed had been done.

He doesn't tell his mom. Or Ata. The experience is the first time he's kept something from his family. He didn't need them to worry about it. He just knows it has to do with Dad and his side of the family. It wasn't like those really cryptic, ancient-looking ladies were important…

Yeah, so Percy files that experience away as to why he doesn't ever want to go into geriatric care 

Anyhow, back to Mrs. Dodds. 

She's weird. Very weird. Unsettling too. And he's pretty sure she hates his guts, too. Ever since they all returned from Christmas break and Mrs. Dodds took over as math teacher, he's had detention nearly every day because of her. 

Why, Percy, is getting detention while already in detention. It's not fair. Atalanta doesn't get nearly as many detentions as he does. Basically, apparently, when she corrects teachers at Yancy and debates them, it's seen as endearing. Percy tries it? Seen as causing trouble. No, it's also not because it sometimes goes hand in hand with his not-clumsy clumsy mishaps. Again, Dad's fault. Not his. 

So now Ata and Grover get to hang out nearly every day after class, while he's stuck with Mrs. Dodds giving him the stink eye for what seems like nearly every hour of the day. At the very least, Mrs. Dodds hasn't done anything weird or out of place, despite being a Kindly One. 

Which means, now that he put that out into the universe, it is about to backfire on him. It always does. Huzzah. 

“You smell strange, Mr. Jackson,” Mrs. Dodds tells Percy during yet another one of his detentions. This one is because he'd told Nancy to shut up during an assembly, and Mrs. Dodds, of course, overheard. But he'll take this detention over having to miss next week's field trip to the museum with Mr. Brunner. It's one of the few classes and field trips Percy has actually been looking forward to this semester. 

“Thanks, it's from the ashes of my sister's enemies,” Percy jokes on reflex whenever someone comments on the smell. 

“Now, honey–” 

“Hey, you asked,” he says immediately before realizing he really shouldn't have said anything. 

“You’ve been giving us problems,” Mrs. Dodds continues, taking a step closer to his desk with her arms crossed. 

Okay weird. But she is a very weird geriatric woman, or whatever she is. What is wrong with old women? Is it in the waters? The lead paint? Maybe he should've paid more attention to what his sister had told him. 

He looks around. Hadn't she also told him not to be alone with Mrs. Dodds, too? The classroom is entirely empty. He hears nothing from the hall either. Or outside the windows. 

Uh oh. 

Atalanta is going to be very angry that he hadn't listened to and followed her wishes. Worse, if their mom finds out? Percy is categorically fucked. 

“If this is about the candy, I'll stop selling it, okay?” He says quickly, trying to buy himself time. His eyes scan over the classroom and tries to figure out what items he could use as both a weapon as well as a means of escape. Maybe if he got to a populated area? No, he wouldn't risk the other students. “And I swear I didn't use ChatGPT in my essay. I used Quizlet and SparkNotes like a normal person. Fuck AI.” 

“We are not fools, Percy Jackson,” Mrs Dodds repeats again. “It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Found you and that sister, too. Confess, and you both will suffer less pain.” 

He has absolutely zero idea of what she's going on about. Seriously, is he about to get in trouble for something he didn't even do? Should he just swear on the River Sticks…Styx and hope for the best? Ata always says it's the most powerful way to make an oath and make others believe you. 

“I still don't know what you're talking about–”

“Your time is up,” she hisses. Then her eyes begin to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretch, turning into talons as her jacket melts into large, leathery wings. 

Oh fuck. She really is a fury. 

He drops out of his seat and rolls away from his desk as Mrs. Dodds sails at him, narrowly missing his shoulder. 

His hands fly to his pockets as he finds his mom's bronze earring. Which is very ugly. Again, what was Dad thinking by giving Mom something so atrocious? 

Percy holds it between his fingers like Ata does. Huh. It does kinda look like Wolverine claws. 

Think, Percy, think, he tells himself as he tries to remember everything he knew about furies from his mom, Ata, and that unit Mr. Brunner did at the beginning of the year. 

Furies, punishers and torturers of Hades, who's the king of Greek hell basically. Great, really helpful. Oh, and they fly and have whips. 

Before he can figure out what else he can do, Mrs. Dodds gets back up and snarls, “Die, honey!” And she flies straight at him. 

He's pretty certain that his hands are shaking. Absolute terror courses through him. Is this how Ata felt when she faced that Empousa? Then it hits. She could've died then. He should've been there for her. Instead, he made jokes about it. Had Ata really been okay afterwards? 

And now all Percy wants to do is hug his sister. Ask her how she is. Apologize. Instead, he's going to be made into minced meat by an old lady who had to rebrand due to the copyright being too closely related to furries. 

This is so fucked up. 

Mrs. Dodds makes a swipe with her taloned hands at his neck. Percy swivels his head as he does the only thing that comes somewhat naturally: he swings his hand with the earring upward. The bronze digs into the side of her neck, passing cleanly through as if she were made of water. 

HISSS

She becomes a sand castle in a power fan till all that remains is the same gold dust that his sister collected, sits in a Mrs. Dodds-shaped pile in front of him. 

Did he just vaporize his pre-algebra teacher? Damn it, they are definitely getting expelled again. What will Atalanta do? What will their mom say? Fuck, what is going to happen to Grover if they aren't there for him? 

He's Percy’s best and only friend, minus Ata, of course, but also saying your twin is your only friend is sad, even to him. Grover wouldn't last one day without them. Percy has seen how Nancy looks at him like she's just waiting to pulverize him, even after Ata talked her down. Maybe that camp, the one Ata and their mom mentioned with halfbloods like them, would take him. After all, Grover feels familiar, similar to Percy and Ata. He's got to be related to Dad's side of the family. 

Percy gazes down at the tiny earring in his hands. It really is like a magical shank. What if he just vacuums up the dust? No one would know, and–

“Oh come on,” Atalanta says, barging into the room with Mr. Brunner and Grover behind her, looking ready to fight. Her face is red from running, and between her fingers is her own magical shank. 

“It's not what it looks like!” Percy exclaims as he shakes his head and points to where Mrs. Dodds had been. “She was like that when I came in. Wicked Witch of the West style?”

“Mr. Jackson,” asks Mr. Brunner, who Percy is really starting to think isn't just a normal teacher in a wheelchair. And no, it wasn't just because he's holding a bronze sword in his hand either. “Are you saying that you did not defeat a Kindly One with an earring?”

Right, okay, so it does look like that. Plausible deniability has failed. He looks down at his mom's earring with newfound awe and annoyance. How dare it betray him like this? “It was an...accident?” 

Atalanta crosses her arms and shoots Grover a telling look. “Told you he'd be fine. 

Chapter Text

They don't get expelled. 

Mr. Brunner doesn't report Percy’s involvement with Mrs. Dodds’s ‘untimely’ exit. Thanks to the Mist, it is as though she was never there. 

Instead, however, he locks Atalanta, Percy, and Grover in his office as he calls their mom to come. 

Percy huffs. “Why didn't you tell me you were a goat man?” 

“Satyr,” she corrects. 

“I thought you knew!” replies Grover with a belt. “Atalanta knew!” 

Percy whips around and glares at her. “Really?!”

She holds her hands up in defense. “I was totally under the impression you figured it out.” 

“I thought he was a half-blood, like us!” 

Grover’s eyes widen. “Y-you thought I was a halfblood?” 

Percy nods. “You’re not normal, G Man,” he corrects himself immediately after, upon realizing how it sounded, “You felt like Ata, like home. I just figured you were a half-blood. I didn't consider satyrs, nymphs, or naiads because why would you willingly go to middle school? What, next you'll tell me you aren't really twelve and you're part of a family that sends you out to repeat school over and over again until someone special comes along like some knock off Twilight bullsh—” Percy blinks when he realizes neither she nor Grover is correcting him. “Oh my gods. How long have you been twelve?” 

Grover sheepishly answers, “I-I’m twenty-eight.” 

Percy gapes. He shoots her a look, a mix of betrayal, shock, and annoyance at the revelation. “And you didn't tell me?” 

“I thought you knew!” She points at him before gesturing to the door with her thumb. “I mean, you knew that Mr. Brunner is Chiron.” 

Percy gives her a blank look. 

She groans. “Percy…” 

“He’s the horse guy?!”

“Mr. Jackson,” comes Chiron, rolling into his office, “your way with words is always entertaining.” 

Behind him, their mom steps in. She's still in her work uniform, and her hair is loose. Immediately, she is to them, pulling Atalanta and Percy into a firm hug and kissing both of their foreheads. 

“Percy, Ata,” she says, pulling back to search their faces. “Anything hurt? Injuries at all? Have you eaten yet?” 

Atalanta looks over to Percy, who shakes his head. “I'm fine, Mom. I promise.” He gives her a small smile. “You should see the other guy, uh, woman…furry–fury?” 

Their mom's eyes widen, and she stands up and glares at Chiron. “A Kindly One? Here? And you didn't see fit to tell me?” 

Chiron looks down. “A mistake on my part, my sincerest apologies, Ms. Jackson. Because she hadn't acted, we hadn't wished to raise an alarm. Now I see that was an error.” 

Their Mom crosses her arms. “Seems it was, and we were lucky with the outcome.” 

“So uh, you two know each other?” asks Percy, breaking the tension as he shoots glances between Mom and Chiron. 

“I was aware of Chiron, just as he was aware of me, and of you both. Though it seems he never saw fit to contact me despite having my number…” She stops talking as her frown morphs into confusion. “Are those my earrings?” Their Mom looks Atalanta directly in the eye. Somehow, she always knew it was her idea. “Atalanta Jackson.” 

“We're half-bloods, Mom, if we hadn't taken them, then Percy could've been injured or worse,” Atalanta says, holding her head up. “And I had to get the dust somehow.” 

“I'd thought you used your father's abilities.”

Atalanta blinks. “Oh.”

Percy bursts out in laughter. “You mean we could've been waterbending instead?”

She closes her eyes and groans into her hands. How could she have forgotten? All this time, she could've been using water. She feels so stupid. All this time, she'd been so focused on celestial bronze weapons and getting Percy Riptide that she'd forgotten. 

Chiron saves her from more embarrassment when he sets a certain black ballpoint pen onto his desk. 

“I had planned on waiting, but I've learned that it's better not to, especially with you two, Perseus and Atalanta Jackson,” he says as he gestures to the pen. “This was left in my care, and I believe it will be of better use to one of you.” 

“That is a pen,” says Percy, looking back and forth. “That is a pen.” 

“Take it Percy,” Atalanta tells him. “You should uncap it too.” 

He gives her a confused look, but at the nod from Chiron and their mom, Percy grabs it and pops the cap off. 

Before their very eyes, the pen transforms into a bronze sword–Anaklusmos. 

Riptide

“Wow,” exclaims Percy in awe, staring at the sword and turning it in his hand. “It's a sword!” 

Then he surprises her and tries to pass it to her. 

“What are you doing?” She questions. 

“Uh, it's a sword? I don't know how to use one; you're the one who does kendo.” 

“Yeah, and that's kendo, it's a completely different form and style of fighting, plus a totally different type of sword too,” she explains, waving her hands away from Riptide. “And I'm not even that good with it either. You take it. I think it's the right weight for you anyway.” 

Percy frowns. “But–”

“Really, I think I'll be better with something like knives or try out the water thing. I don't want a sword.” 

He doesn't seem to believe her, but keeps holding Riptide as it turns back into the pen. 

“Now then, Ms. Jackson, you've likely gathered why else I've called you here,” continues Chiron.

“I believe so,” their mom replies with a deep sigh. “Tonight then?” 

Chiron nods solemnly. “It would be for the best.” 

“Best for what?” asks Percy, looking around. 

“Camp,” answers Grover, speaking for the first time since Chiron and their mom had gotten there. “It's where I work and live: Camp Half-Blood.” 

“The camp for half-bloods,” Percy glances at Atalanta's way. “The one Dad wanted us to attend. The one that you killed an Empousa for all by yourself, without backup, so we wouldn't have to go. That one?” 

Grover bleats out a yes. “That one.”

He frowns deeply. “Mom? Ata?”

She waits for their Mom to speak, but when she doesn't, Atalanta does for her. “If they are sending out a Kindly One, it means we've pissed off someone enough to kill us. Which means it's only a matter of time before they start sending more powerful and dangerous monsters after us.” 

“Because of our dad?”

“Because of our dad.”

“It's always his fault.” 

In more ways than one, she thinks but doesn't voice. Instead, she adds, “At camp, we'll be able to learn how to defend ourselves.” Chiron nods as does Grover in agreement, “So once we're able to get better control over our powers, we can leave. And I'm pretty sure we can also be part-time campers, too.” 

Chiron takes over for her, explaining it a bit more as Grover pipes up here and there with a bit more reassurance, even though he sounds far too anxious. Once they are done and with nothing to object to, they all agree to go to camp with varying degrees of acceptance. 

“Then it's settled. I shall follow shortly,” says Chiron. “I must first get affairs set here, but Grover can escort your children to camp with you, Ms. Jackson.”

“Thank you,” their mom says with a strained smile. “We'll head back home and collect their things and then make our way to camp.”

They leave Chiron’s office and head back to the dorms to collect their things. Thankfully they don't have too much and most of their stuff has already been packed for summer break so it takes only thirty minutes for them to clear out and get situated in the car. 

Atalanta calls shotgun as Percy and Grover load into the back with relative quietness. A certain tension fills the car. She flips on the radio, switching over to a more upbeat song to break the silence. It sort of works. Sort of. 

They arrive at their apartment and take their things up. Grover follows behind, sniffing the air, but shakes his head in the end. 

“Sorry, G Man,” Atlanta apologizes, “the whole monster dust doesn't help us right now, does it? Would it be better if we wash it off now?” 

“No, I think you both should keep wearing it till we get to camp,” he answers as he looks around the room. His eyes roam around Percy's side first. The blue bedsheets and curtains. The basketball and mini hoop are hanging on the wall. Then he looks over to Atalanta's. The green bed sheets and pink wallpaper to the stack of books on the bookcase and nightstand. “I think you'll be great friends with a friend of mine. She's probably read these books front and back, likely has them in Greek, too.” 

“You think so?” she asks as a wave of excitement and nervousness washes over her. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been looking forward to meeting Annabeth. 

Grover smiles. I do.” Then he looks over to the bag with her sodas sticking out. “Do you mind?” 

She grins. “Go right ahead.”

He dives for the bag. “When I get nervous, I get hungry.” 

“I know.” 

Atalanta dumps her things onto her bed and starts refilling it with the things she'll need for camp. The essentials come first, and soon she's filled her duffel. She takes out her backpack and starts packing the rest when she stops and frowns. 

Where is Percy? 

She walks over to the door and puts her hand on the knob to open it when she overhears him and their mom in the hall. They're speaking in hushed tones. 

“I'm sorry,” Percy says.  

“Oh, Percy, it's not your fault. It's mine. I was selfish in keeping you, both of you, close to me. I knew I should've taken you to camp, but I couldn't, not yet.” 

“Mom.”

“I wanted more time, but for the time we did have, I wouldn't trade it for the world.” She thinks her mom stifles a cry, “And it isn't goodbye forever. Just think of it like boarding school, you'll be back.” 

“Of course,” Percy agrees immediately. “Ata and I will be back for the school year, I promise.” 

“I know you will.” 

Atalanta closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before going and grabbing her backpack and duffel bag, throwing them over her shoulders and opening the door. 

“I'm ready,” she says, coming out with Grover behind her. 

Her mom and brother pull apart and smile at her. There is a misting of tears in their eyes, and she is filled with the urge to join them, but keeps a strong face. 

Grover clears his throat. “If we leave now, we'll make it in time for dinner.”

“Right,” says their mom. “We should head out then.” 

As they step outside of their apartment and make their way to the parking garage, Atalanta can't help but watch as gray clouds start rolling in above. 

Chapter Text

They make it out of the city before nightfall. But it doesn't seem to matter to the brewing storm above. Thick grey, near black clouds fill the skies, following them intently like a predator on the hunt. 

Panic surges through Atalanta. Everyone feels it too, rocked with the same heavy emotions as the car speeds down the road.  

It's not even the same as it was in the books or the show, or even the movies! They are earlier. It's only May. They hadn't even finished this school year yet. Hadn't it been in June? 

But…Alecto had attacked Percy early. A whole week early, in fact. The timeline isn't the same, yet despite the changes, fate has corrected itself. She wonders, if that's the case, can she truly change things? Or would no matter what she does, the end result be the same? 

Atalanta's mind races as she watches the trees zoom by around them and the skies grow darker and darker. There are the strawberry fields, and she hopes it is a sign they are close.

“Grover is that…?” She doesn't finish her question. Slamming her mouth shut as if acknowledging it, it would manifest it into reality. 

The gods wouldn't be so cruel. Surely, it is just the shadows. There is nothing out there. The storm above is merely a coincidence. Zeus wouldn't try to kill them because he thinks they took his bolt, right? 

....yeah, he absolutely fucking would. 

“Mom!” She shouts just as Percy does, too, “Step on the gas now.” 

The car accelerates as the smell of burning tires fills the car. 

It's a split-second thought, but she prays. It's the first prayer she'd ever made in this life. 

Lady Hestia and Lord Hermes, please–

It's a half prayer, all broken and tangled, and she's not even able to finish it when the car, the very ground beneath the tires, seems to shake and disappear. 

BANG

Her vision goes white. 

The world spins, and she's pretty sure she screamed a lot. Her head thunks against the windows, and the seatbelt chokes her as she is ragdolled. When the spinning stops, everything goes quiet for a brief second. 

“Fuck!” Percy screams from the passenger seat. 

Fuck is right. Everything hurts, and Atalanta's vision is going in and out. She definitely slammed her head into the window on impact. 

She reaches up to her forehead and, yep, there's a giant bump right in the center, and when she pulls back her hand, she spies a little blood. Fantastic, brain damage is just what she needs. 

“–lanta?” 

“S-sorry, here,” she gets out as she feels Percy grab hold of her hands and help her out of the upside-down car. 

Once she's out, her mom's arms are around her. “Oh, Atalanta, my baby.” 

“I'm okay, Mom,” she reassures, rubbing the blood off as it cakes down her face. “It looks worse than it is. I think.” 

They both go to help Percy get Grover out of the car. They're able to grab their backpacks before another bolt of white comes down. 

“Run!” Percy shouts, grabbing Grover’s shoulder as Atalanta takes the other. 

They run, as their mom takes the lead, guiding them toward the camp boundaries. Something great and terrible roars behind them, and Atalanta knows it didn't come from the Minotaur. Percy tries to slow down and turn, but she makes him keep moving. 

“Don't,” she warns, “once we make it to camp, then we can consider turning around and seeing what's after us. But right now we’re too exposed.” He opens his mouth, but she shuts him down again. “Percy, I know Chiron gave you Riptide, Anaklusmos, but we have to focus on getting Grover and Mom to safety.” She can see his throat bob as he swallows hard. Percy doesn't stop again. 

Thalia’s tree comes into view. Relief floods through her. They are going to make it. They just need to make it up the hill and–

ROAR

–that would be too easy, wouldn't it? 

“Ata, take Grover and go with Mom.” Percy is already heading back toward the treeline. 

“I swear to the gods don't you dare–” she can't even finish it as her brother is already gone. Through the pounding rain, she sees him uncap Riptide, blazing gold under the cracks of lightning that run across the clouds above. 

He's going to be okay, Atalanta repeats in her mind like a mantra. He will make it, she thinks, trying to make herself believe it. 

Her brother is Percy Jackson. He is the chosen one. He defeated the Minotaur with no training and just his bare fists in the books. He can do it. He will do it. 

She pulls Grover up Half-Blood Hill, making it just partway when she hears her mom say something with horror in her voice. 

“A hellhound,” repeats her mom. 

Atalanta turns just in time to see it jump out from the encroaching dark. She ducks. Rolling herself and Grover out of the way. She watches the hellhound disappear back into the treeline, hiding among the shadows, though its eyes linger just for a few moments. 

“Mom!” Atalanta cries out as their mom slides down to them. “Take Grover to the boundary line and stay with him.” 

“Ata–” 

“Mom, please go. Percy and I can handle it. Please. Trust us. We have weapons. We'll be fine. See if you can alert any of the scouts or camp members up there.”

Her mom looks like she wants to do anything but that, yet now is not the time for that rebellious streak to show up. Instead, her mom grabs Grover and pulls him back up the hill. 

Atalanta turns just in time to see the Minotaur come out and charge at Percy. All seven feet tall with razor-sharp horns and black beady eyes. He holds his ground, jumping out of the way at the last moment, swinging Riptide. 

It misses—Percy had missed. 

Snarling trickles up to her ears as she looks back to the shadows and sees three hellhounds stalking closer. Their eyes watch her as their snouts curl up to the air. 

She holds the earrings in either hand. She really needed to get a better weapon and fast. 

The first hellhound leaps, and she spins out of the way. The second and third go together, and she swings her hands up, nicking one in the belly, tearing through it as it yelps and falls to the ground. It's not dead through, slinking back to the shadows before reappearing further away. 

Her victory is short-lived when the first hellhound catches her off guard, going for her throat. 

Atalanta rolls sideways, but it gets her still, if barely. 

“Fuck!” She cries out as the hellhound’s sharp claws graze her arm. She feels the blood starting to pool down it, making her arm feel all hot and sticky. 

“Ata!” Percy shouts, distracted for a single moment. His outburst is enough for the Minotaur to locate him as it rears its foul head back and charges again. 

“Percy, look out!” 

All of a sudden, she sees the flash of her mom speeding past her and toward Percy. When had—?

No! Atalanta thinks or maybe screams. No. This isn't supposed to happen. 

The next thing Atalanta knows, their mom is being hoisted into the air by her neck. There is nothing she can do as their mom becomes a shower of gold, fading away. 

Even though she knows that their mom isn't dead. That she is still alive and with Hades, she's still pissed. Her blood boils within her, and she feels hot with anger, and the need for vengeance rings in her body. 

She waves her hand, and the falling rain around her freezes. She shoves it out, away from her as far as it can go. 

The two hellhounds let out a howl before falling down dead. 

Her vision goes in and out again. In hindsight, she should've realized using her powers while bleeding from her head is dangerous and could lead to side effects. One second she's standing, and the next she's seeing the world sideways. A volley of arrows flies over her in a dozen well-shot arches, likely hitting their mark—the final hellhound. A group of blurry running kids in orange shirts and dark armor storms down the hill. She tries to focus, but her eyes refuse her as the black spots return.  

“Ata!” She hears Percy scream, but he sounds far away. “Atalanta!” 

Then everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

Atalanta is still asleep. 

She hasn’t moved in days. 

Everyone keeps saying that she needs more time, more rest, because she overexerted herself whilst injured. 

Percy thinks it's his fault. No–it is his fault. He's why she is like this, all still and silent. If he'd just listened to her, if he hadn't gotten distracted, she would be awake. 

“Hey Percy,” Grover says, interrupting his vigil beside his sister. “Chiron wants to see you in the Big House.” He looks down. Ever since Percy had woken up and Ata hadn’t, Grover hadn't been able to look him in the eyes. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Percy reasons. 

“Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you. Both of you. And I failed.”

“Did our mother ask you to protect me?”

“No. But that’s my job. I’m a keeper. At least… I was.” 

“Right,” he begins, trying to find the words to comfort his friend. “We both made it, didn't we? Ata and I are a buy one get one free promo, you know? You didn't fail.” 

"But every time I try, a half-blood ends up-" Grover looks away, face bright red and eyes welling with tears. “We—I, um, should go see Chiron.” 

Percy nods. He rises to his feet and gives his sister one last look before gesturing to Grover to lead the way. 

People point as they make their way. Some whisper, others like Clarisse glare, no doubt still angry over the bathroom incident from the day before. A few wave at him, like the girl stoking the big fire pit in the center of the camp, a couple of the other kids from Hermes’s cabin, and, of course, Luke, who offers Percy an assuring smile before turning back to teaching the other campers. 

Outside the Big House, down at the end of the porch, two men, Chiron and Mr. D, sit across from each other at a card table. Annabeth is leaning on the porch rail, watching. 

“Sup,” Percy greets them. Which seems to be the wrong thing to have said when they all give him rather unimpressed and even annoyed looks. “You called?”

“Ah, Percy,” says Chiron, standing from the table. “I was hoping to check in on how you've been settling in.” 

He raises his brows. “It's been good?”

“Settling in Cabin 11 well?” 

Percy nods with a slight wince. There's nothing wrong with Cabin 11. He's grateful that they made him a space on the floor for him and all, and that most have treated him with either indifference or friendly-ish relations. Truthfully, the only one who really made him feel welcome has been Luke, and he's pretty busy as it is, being one of the oldest and senior in the camp. 

“It's fine,” Percy says. “It's just, well, why can't I be in my dad's cabin?” 

Chiron bows his head. “I'm afraid that if you have not been claimed, it would be ill-advised to place you in that cabin.” 

“But, I mean, we all know who Ata and my Dad is,” Percy says with furrowed brows. “Who else has waterbending abilities?” 

“Waterbend?” 

“You know? Avatar: The Last Airbender?” Percy is met with blank, unknowing looks. “Right, you guys only have one TV and it's VHS. I meant the moving and manipulating water, who else can do that?” 

“Some minor god or goddess. Like a river spirit,” Annabeth cuts in from across him. She looks at him like she's assessing how to take him down, only to stop as her face falls into one of pure annoyance. “Could even be like a naiad or a nereid." 

What did Percy ever do to make her so mad at him? If anything, he should be the one annoyed at her; after all, she tried to make him choke on pudding a few days ago. Other than the mediocre camp tour, they hadn't interacted since! She wasn't even a part of the fiasco of when he blew up the girls' bathroom. Not like that, mind you, like actually blew up the pipes and water, the whole works. 

…was that her favorite bathroom? Had he inadvertently destroyed her go-to bathroom stall, perhaps? 

Percy puts his hands on his hips. “Are you saying the gods would send both a Kindly One and the Minotaur—”

“Percy! Names have power, remember —”

“—for the kids of naiads and nymphs?” 

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “It could be likely, the chances might be low, but never zero.” 

“And do you really believe that?” 

She doesn't respond, least verbally, as she turns her head away from him. Seriously, she must've been emotionally attached to that bathroom if he's got her this annoyed. 

“Anyways,” he begins again, addressing Chiron. “I can't be moved to Dad's cabin because he technically hasn't claimed me.” 

“Unfortunately, inferring and being claimed are two different matters. If it were to turn out that you are not his son, it could lead to offending him and starting a war,” answers Chiron. 

“The gods would really start a war because they're offended over some kids?” He asks, offended. “Wow, they would not last a day in public school. They wouldn't even last a day on Twitter without being rage baited.” Percy shakes his head. “That's so embarrassing.” 

“Er, Percy—” Grover quietly squeaks out, trying not to point at Mr. D, but he's too obvious with it. “We shouldn't refer to or imply the gods to be embarrassed, or use the C-word, or erm, any not not negative descriptions but uh, not offending words.” 

Percy shoots a glance at Mr. D, who is sitting at the table with a handful of cards. He's rather short and porky, with a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it is nearly purple. Percy likens him to one of those babies with wings in all those old paintings. What do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That’s it. He looks like a cherub that's middle-aged in a trailer park, Hawaiian tiger-pattern shirt and all. 

The craziest thing is that Mr. D is a god, one of the Olympians, and son of the Big Sky Daddy. Greek one at least. And he doesn't seem to care about what Percy says. If anything, he just looks annoyed that Chiron has paused the game to talk to him. 

“Right, so anyways, it would be embarrassing if my Dad were to blow up on a kid and start a war over something like that,” Percy continues right back on track. “And if he did do that, then damn. He really does suck more than I thought.” 

Grover looks ready to pass out at his words. Chiron appears to be sending a prayer or an apology in his mind as he gazes in the direction of the lake. And Mr. D? 

Honestly seems pretty amused as he nurses a Diet Pepsi in his hand. He almost looks like he's smirking. 

“You know, Peter Johnson is right,” drawls Mr. D, as everyone looks his way, “he does look like my uncle.” 

“See,” Percy gestures, “Mr. D confirmed it!”

Chiron shakes his head, unwavering. “Not without your father's claim, from his own hand, can I accept it. Even if I, too, am certain of your parentage, Percy.” 

Percy lets out a sigh and tries not to slam his head against the porch railing. He shuts his eyes, regaining his thoughts. Yeah. No. Screw that. 

“Even though we all know who my no-good deadbeat dad is, I can't be placed into his cabin because he hasn't claimed me? I just have to wait until he remembers he dropped his sperm in someone? You heard Mr. D, he said I look just like that guy. And trust me, I know, I met my older brother Triton. We look alike,” Percy angrily says, though at this point it's more of a rant toward his dad than at Chiron or the camp logic. Honestly, it's all the gods' fault. 

“You've met your brother?” Annabeth asks, shocked. “Are you sure it wasn't another half-blood?” 

Percy glares at her. “I think I have a pretty good grasp on knowing who my siblings are and whether they are a half-blood. But thanks for your vote of confidence.” 

“It's not my fault you don't seem all that smart,” she shoots back. 

This girl is really getting on his last nerve. And mind you, Percy has lost his mom, his sister is basically in a Greek magical coma, and his dad won't pick up the metaphorical phone and show up for the one time he needs him to. His emotions are a bit haywire. He shouldn't be blamed entirely for his outburst, hopefully. 

“Gee, sorry, ‘Miss Wisegirl’, not all of us can have a jealous, prideful owl for a mom,” he looks her up and down, “not that it seems you're much different.” 

She goes all red and stomps her foot. “Take that back! How dare you insult my mother!” 

“Why should I? It's true.” 

“No, it's not!”

“Uh, yes, it is. Your mom killed my niece, Pallas,” he shoots back. “Or what about Arachne? The blinding of Tireseas? Even some versions of Medusa’s myths—”

“That's a lie. Whoever told you that is a filthy liar!” 

Percy glares at Annabeth. “Don't you dare call my sister a liar.” 

Annabeth crosses over the porch toward him. “As if Poseidon is any better! In fact, he is one of the worst Olympians! Look at Odysseus! Caenis or Tyro! The founding of Athens and—” 

“Like I care about him. He doesn't care about me, or Ata, or our mom. Why should I care if you insult him? I'm not going to defend him or his shitty past. That would be the truth too—”

“Uh,” stutters out Grover, drawing his attention, interrupting him. Percy frowns at his friend and finds that he is pointing at Percy. Or more so above him. 

Percy looks up and sees a fork above his head. It's a shimmery blue, lighting up like a really ugly halo above him. He knows it's a trident, but wow. Dad's symbol truly is just a long fork. 

“That's not good,” whispers Annabeth with her mouth ajar. “That's really not good.”

Gee, Percy thinks, way to make your disappointment and horror known.

Just then, an older boy shouts from the bottom of the hill where the Big House is. 

“Chiron!” Shouts the boy, Percy recalls, is named Lee Fletcher. He comes to a stop, and sucks in a deep breath before saying, “Atalanta Jackson, she's been claimed and—” he pauses upon looking at Percy, or more so the pitchfork—trident above his head. 

Chiron nods his head. “Yes, thank you, Lee.” 

Lee goes a tad pink. “I, er, thought you'd like to know, just in case. I'll uh, head back to the infirmary now.” 

“Whoopdy do,” Mr. D drawls out, throwing his hands up to the sky. “Congradudolences, old Barnacles is the father. Thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

Every cabin treats Percy with a mix of wonder and fear. 

He goes to collect his things from Cabin 11, and by the time he gets there, everyone in camp already knows he's been claimed. 

It's not a surprise, to Percy at the very least. He's known who his dad has been for years, but the way it's being treated makes him regret pushing so hard to be claimed. 

Everyone seemed to have an idea about who his dad is. Even Chiron and Mr. D basically confirmed it.

Honestly, Percy is trash at archery, can't garden, sing, dance, run fast, or forge anything. It probably didn't help that he asked the big guy there, Charles, if he could make demi-god friendly iPhones. They don't even let him near the infirmary to attempt to heal, Cabin 5 rejected the idea that Percy could be their brother, and though Cabin 10 said he and Ata could be children of Aphrodite, the chances weren't even in full percentage numbers. He doesn't know if he should be offended or feel complimented. 

The only thing Percy excels at is canoeing, tending the horses, which, surprise, he can communicate with them and understand them—huh, who could his dad be—and is pretty good with a sword. Really, it was like an open secret. One that everyone played along with, giving him the benefit of the doubt, but the moment it was confirmed, all that warm welcome and helpful people who he'd thought they were or could've been friends vanished. 

Only Grover and Luke seem to treat him the same. Though the campers in charge of the infirmary, mostly Cabin 7, do give Percy kind greetings when he visits his sister, but that's about it. Small mercies, he supposes. 

After his dad's big fork popped over his head, Chiron had dismissed himself to go up to the Big House’s attic while Mr. D popped away in a flutter of grape leaves. He hasn't seen either since. 

And now that Percy is in charge of his own cabin, which really he should not have such power, he’s seen next to no one.

The others won't train with him, not after he had defeated Luke in that practice duel the one time. Percy has to eat all his meals at the table all by himself, and when he goes to any of the recreational areas, everyone else all of a sudden decides they no longer want to be there. 

He ends up spending most of his time by the water where the naiads are, and they do say hi to him every time, at the horse stables, and to his sister. Which, he knows, sounds bad. Like, what, he talks to people made of water, horses, and his magically induced coma sister. What great conversations he's having. 

He knows that once Ata wakes, it will be different. She will be there with him. He won't be alone. But right now, it's all he's feeling. He'd thought, well, he supposed it would be different. That being in a place where everyone is like you—a half-blood—things would be better. Yet, that's the furthest from the truth. It's as though he's the carrier of a contagious illness. 

He resents his dad for this. It is, technically, he's Dad's fault still. 

Percy ends up voicing his frustrations to Luke after sword practice a few days later. 

“It sucks,” he tells Luke, drinking a can of Coca-Cola he isn't sure Luke acquired legally. “I mean, I thought it would all be different. But once again, my dad just has to fuck it up.” Percy tosses his hands up. “I don’t belong here. I don't even care about my Dad and his problems. Why'd he have to make them mine now, too?” 

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “It’s how we all started. Once you find out that they're real, that your godly parent is out there, it's just that they've forgotten about you or they simply don't care, well, it doesn’t get any easier.” There's a deep seeded bitterness in his voice as he crushes his empty soda can in his hands. 

“Your dad is Hermes,” Percy says. 

Luke pulls out a small switchblade from his back pocket, and for a second, he thinks he is going to shank him, but he just scrapes some of the mud from the fields off the sole of his sandal. “Yep, that's him, father dearest. Hermes, winged messenger of the gods. God of travellers, merchants, thieves. Anybody who uses the roads.” 

Briefly, Percy wonders if that means Hermes would also be the god of email, texting, and Discord. He decides now is not the time to ask though. 

Luke picks at one of the clumps of grass before scattering it away. “It's why every other unclaimed camper is put in Cabin 11. Hermes isn’t picky about who he sponsors.”

He frowns at his choice of words and tone. Maybe he's got a lot on his plate right now. Percy heard Luke is headed to college next year. He's got a lot to do. 

Luke looks up and manages a smile, though with the deep scar that traces down his face, it makes it look almost crooked over his attractive features. “The gods aren't the best, I won't lie. They don’t show up when it matters most, but Percy, the campers here, they’re mostly good people. If you can't rely on the gods, on our parents, we should be able to rely on each other.” 

He'd like to agree with him. But after how camp has been treating him, Percy kind of doesn't believe it. Yet the way Luke says it, the conviction and affirmation in his voice, he is willing to try to believe him. 

Maybe camp won't be so bad. Once Ata wakes up, it'll be better. 

“Not sure if you're the person to ask, but,” Percy begins, “After I was claimed, Annabeth had mentioned that I needed to talk to the Oracle. What was that all about? I mean, I know who, or er, what the Oracle is—Delphi—that is. But more so, why should I now that dad's claimed me?”

Luke folds his knife up. “I hate prophecies as much as the gods disappoint me.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Let’s just say I messed things up after I had my last quest. And ever since my trip to the Garden of the Hesperides went bad, Chiron hasn’t permitted any more quests. Annabeth’s been dying to get out into the world. She pestered Chiron so much that he finally told her he already knew her fate. He’d had a prophecy from the Oracle. He wouldn’t tell her the whole thing, but he said Annabeth wasn’t destined to go on a quest yet. She had to wait until… somebody special came to the camp.” 

Percy frowns. Someone special? That sounded ominous. Or a white lie you tell someone instead of blowing them off in their face. 

“I wouldn't put too much stock into it,” continues Luke. “Annie—Annabeth—thinks anyone who comes to camp since is her ticket out, only to realize they aren't. I doubt you'll be any different.” 

Great vote of confidence, Luke, thinks Percy, but ultimately agrees. He can't go on a quest, not yet, at least. His training is complete, and with Ata still asleep, he can't go anywhere. 

“Maybe Ata will be,” Percy says quietly to himself, though Luke hears him anyway. 

“Your sister?” 

“Yeah, she's the best,” he gushes with a grin. “Stands up for what she believes in, man, the amount of times she's gotten detention or sent to the principal's office for arguing with teachers exceeds the amount of fingers and toes we have combined. She always knows what to do, or at least has an idea of what's happening. She's the one who figured out who our dad is.” 

“She does sound quite clever,” says Luke with a smile. 

Percy nods. “She is. It's like she knows things before they even happen. Not like prophecy or anything, or maybe? She'd mention things about Dad having that domain previously, but she disagreed.”

Luke mulls over his words and then offers up another can of soda. “I hope she wakes soon, both for your sake and for my own. I'd like to talk with her.” 

Percy nods. “I think she'd like that too.” 

When Percy is left all alone to deal with whatever comes out of the woods, he blames Dad. 

After the claiming, everyone had pretty much avoided him or treated him like he was carrying the plague. So when he is told to handle an entire section of the woods alone, he takes it at face value as having to do with being the son of Poseidon. 

Which is why it comes as a shock when, after he defeats Clarisse and her siblings, the trumpet goes off and out comes Luke and the rest of Hermes’ cabin. 

A trick. A distraction. And he was the bait. He shoves that irritation down and tries not to dwell on any of it. 

Percy is about to join the celebration when Annabeth’s voice beside him says, “Not bad, hero. Where the heck did you learn to fight like that?” 

The air shimmers, and she materializes, holding a Yankees baseball cap as if she’d just taken it off her head.

Okay. Cool. Sure. He’s definitely annoyed now. “You set me up. Had you been there the entire time?” 

Annabeth shrugs. “I told you. Athena always, always has a plan.”

He rolls his eyes. “A plan to get me pulverized.”

“I came as fast as I could. I was about to jump in, but…” She shrugs again. “You didn’t need help.”

That annoys him even more. His sister would've never considered doing anything like that. She would've told him. “If you're going to use me for a plan, I’d rather you clue me in.” 

“I couldn’t take that risk. You don’t seem good at acting,” Annabeth crosses her arms. “Besides, it all worked out in the end.”

“Yeah, but what if it hadn’t? What then? For being the daughter of Athena, that was an entirely risky ploy.” His hand tightens around his sword. “Ata would’ve never–”

“Honestly, is that all you ever talk about? Is your brain actually filled with seaweed or something? Your sister isn’t here right now. She can’t help you. You can’t help her. So–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Percy threatens. He’s glaring, and the water from the river near them starts to ripple. 

Annabeth looks down, switching her gaze back and forth. “I–”

Just then, he hears that canine growl again. He recognizes it as identical to the monsters that had attacked them when they first arrived. A howl rips through the forest. The campers’ cheering died instantly. Chiron shouts something in Ancient Greek. 

Percy turns in the direction of the noise. There on the rocks just above is a black hound the size of a rhino, with lava-red eyes and fangs like daggers. Its eyes are on him.

He raises Riptide up in front of him just as it leaps over Annabeth and straight at his throat. He swings, and it cuts through the monster’s head as a volley of arrows sinks into the hellhound’s back. It falls dead at his feet, slinking into the shadows, and its body disappears. 

Well, one thing is for sure: someone really seemed to fucking hate his guts. 

“I don’t like her,” Percy says to Grover angrily afterward. He's spent the rest of the day moving the bunk beds around, trying to get the feel of the room just right. 

Grover winces and hugs himself closer to the door of Cabin 3. “Annabeth can be blunt, but I promise she means well. Like your sister.”

It is the wrong thing to say as Percy turns around, horrified and angry. “Ata is nothing like her.”

Grover, despite his sheepish demeanor, doesn't back down. “I mean, I’ll be honest, I had considered she was a child of Athena after finding out about the use of the monster dust. And you have to admit, she knows a lot, like a child of Athena would.” 

He stares at his friend in shock. All his life, he and Ata had been told how alike they looked. Same black hair, green eyes—though hers are a bit more blue—tan skin, even their smiles match. Maybe Grover is suffering from the same issue Triton has. “Do you need glasses, G Man?” 

“Hey, all I’m saying is to give Annabeth a chance. She’s been through a lot. We all have,” Grover adds quietly.

"It's just," Percy huffs. "Everyone keeps looking at me, like I'm the answer when I'm not." 

Grover closes his eyes. "I don't know if anyone told you yet, Percy, but being a child of the Big Three is a big deal. Dangerous too, not just because of who your godly parent is, but because they had sworn an oath after WWII. They agreed they wouldn’t sire any more heroes because their kids kept affecting the course of human events too much, causing too much carnage. In the end, Zeus and Poseidon made Hades swear an oath with them: no more affairs with mortal women. They all swore on the River Styx."

At his words, thunder boomed above, shaking the cabin. 

Percy frowns. "That's the most serious oath anyone can take, right?"

Grover nods.

"Let me guess," he adds with a sigh, "they all totally kept their oath right. No kids at all?" Minus himself. And Ata. And as the sinking suspicion fills his guts, Percy is pretty sure there is another child of the Big Three out there. 

Grover’s face darkens. Water wells in his eyes. "Seventeen years ago, Zeus fell off the wagon. He just couldn’t help himself, people said. When their child was born, a little girl named Thalia… well, the River Styx is serious about promises. Zeus himself got off easy because he’s immortal, but he brought a terrible fate on his daughter."

"But that isn’t fair! It wasn’t her fault. It's not our fault either."

Grover hesitates again before saying, "Percy, children of the Big Three have powers greater than other half-bloods. You've noticed it too, right?  The stronger aura, a scent that attracts monsters. When Hades found out about Thalia, he wasn’t happy that Zeus had broken his oath. He let the worst monsters out of Tartarus to torment Thalia. A satyr was assigned to be her keeper, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to escort her here with a couple of other half-bloods she’d befriended." His voice hitches, and he can't look Percy in the eyes. "They almost made it. They got all the way to the top of that hill, the one you have to climb to get inside the camp. All three Kindly Ones were after them, along with a hoard of hellhounds. When they were about to be overrun, Thalia told her satyr to take the other two half-bloods to safety while she held off the monsters. S-She was wounded and tired. But...but she didn’t want to live like a hunted animal. And the satyr, he....he didn’t want to leave her, but...he couldn’t change her mind, and he had to protect the others. So Thalia made her final stand alone."

Percy hung his head low. He hadn't met a girl named Thalia. Never heard a whisper of her name. Cabin 1 is empty. Untouched for years. "She didn't make it, did she?" 

Grover shakes his head. "As she lay dying, Zeus took pity on her, transformed her into the pine tree there. Now her spirit protects the camp." 

"You were the satyr who tried to rescue Thalia, the daughter of Zeus."

He nodded glumly. 

Percy's shoulders sag. The anger he felt toward Annabeth simmered down. "Annabeth was one of the other half-bloods, wasn't she?" 

Grover nodded again. 

“I’m sorry." Percy deflates even more. "I’ll try to be better. But if Annabeth says anything about Ata again, I’m not going to let it slide."

“I’ll talk with her. Luke can too.” 

“Thanks.” Percy nods. He appreciates it, even if he doesn’t believe it should be Grover and Luke’s job to handle it. And from what he’s seen of the older boy, Luke has enough on his plate already if the deep purple bags under his eyes are any indication. He doesn’t want to add more on, especially something so small and minor. 

He smiles at the thought of the older boy. Percy likes Luke. He's a good guy. Almost like the older brother to everyone in camp. Percy can understand the reverence the campers have for him. Tall, handsome, kind, funny too, and helpful—the perfect package, really. 

After all, he's one of the only ones who treated him normally after he was claimed. He makes time for Percy, talks with him, lets him vent and rant, and asks for nothing in return. 

Ata would like him, Percy thinks. They'd get along for sure. 

“You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.

You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned.

You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.

And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.”

The tail of the mist snake disappears into the mummy’s mouth. She reclines back against the wall. Her mouth closes tight, as if it hadn’t been open in a hundred years. The attic is silent again, abandoned, nothing but a room full of mementos. Not quite forgotten, yet not quite remembered either. 

Gee wow. What great news, and not disconcerting at all. Percy feels so much better now after having an audience with the Oracle. No wonder there were so many temples built in ancient Greece. Who wouldn’t want to receive such wonderful and positive news? 

Maybe the whole green mist and uh corpseness is why their Dad gave up Delphi. Honestly, he doesn’t blame him for that. Percy would totally do the same thing. Just don't tell anyone that, though. Wouldn't want anyone to think he agrees with his Dad on something. 

When he comes back down, everyone is waiting. All standing about with their eyes on him. 

“Well?” Chiron asks.

Percy slumps into a chair at the pinochle table. “She said I would retrieve what was stolen.”

Grover sits up, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. “That’s great! Incredible even!”

“What did the Oracle say exactly?” Chiron presses and gives Percy a look that tells him that he shouldn’t skip out on anything. So naturally, Percy retells the entire prophecy, minus the bad stuff. 

“I knew it,” Grover says.

Chiron doesn’t look satisfied. He definitely doesn’t believe him. “Anything else?”

Percy doesn’t want to tell him. After all, who wants to think that a friend would betray them? He knows he has very few, and every day, it seems he has fewer. 

And the last line – that he would fail to save what mattered most. What kind of Oracle would send him on a quest and tell him, ‘Oh, by the way, you’ll fail.’ 

Kind of a dick move if he’s being honest. Which kind of tracks for the gods.

“No,” Percy says. “That’s about it.”

Chiron looks at him, as if knowing he's not telling the whole truth, but doesn't push it. “Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle’s words often have double meanings. Don’t dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass.” 

Oh yeah, Chiron definitely knew he wasn't telling the whole truth. 

“Okay,” Percy says, anxious to change topics. “So, where do I go? Who’s this god in the west?”

“Ah, think, Percy,” Chiron says. “If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?”

“Somebody else who wants to take over?” he guesses, frowning. His mind runs through the dozen or so names of the Greek gods, and if he's being fair, he can't think of one that would fit the bill. 

Sure, Hades is his other uncle, and sure, he did send Mrs. Dodds—a Kindly One, after him, but from everything Ata has told him about the king of the underworld, it doesn't seem like his MO. Maybe it's Ares or some other war god. Possibly even a minor god. Seriously, what would be the chances that Zeus misplaced his bolt? 

You know how many times Percy has misplaced his things? Like pencils and notebooks. Legos and basketballs. Or this one time when he was literally holding Ata’s lunchbox and, in the span of two minutes, vanished, never to be seen again. 

But maybe labeling the big guy in the sky as scatterbrained might not win him any points. Pretty sure that's already in the negative. 

Chiron continues, “The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility.”

A scrap of aluminium dribbles out of Grover’s mouth and hits the floor with a loud clang. “Whoa, wait. Wh-what?”

“A Fury came after Percy,” Chiron reminds everyone. “She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades.” 

“Yes, but – but Hades hates all heroes,” Grover protests, picking up his can and all but swallowing it whole. “Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon…”

“Exactly. Even more reason as to why the Lord of the Dead would want to see him perish and not make it on this quest.”

“But a quest to…” Grover swallows. “I mean, couldn’t the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine’s very nice this time of year.”

“Great. Absolutely fantastic,” mutters Percy under his breath. “That's two major gods who want to kill me.” 

Chiron shakes his head, solemnly. “It is not just you who the gods are after. Your sister, Atalanta, is unfortunately not immune.” 

A strange fire burns inside Percy. Not out of fear or worry, no. This fire burns brightly, stoked by anticipation. It is the desire for revenge, forged by anger. If it truly is Hades, if he has his mom, and he is the cause of Ata’s sleep, he will go to his uncle. Percy is ready to take him on. 

“But, because we know it’s Hades,” Percy asks Chiron with a pause, “why can’t we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and kick ass and take names.” 

“Suspecting and knowing are not the same,” Chiron says. “Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades – and I imagine Poseidon does – they couldn’t retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other’s territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they’re bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero’s actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?”

He mulls over the words and sighs. Really, their dad is seriously a deadbeat. Why's it Percy's job to clean up his mess? He's just a kid. “You’re saying I’m being used.”

“I’m saying it’s no accident Poseidon has claimed you both now. Admittedly, it's a risky gamble, but he’s in a desperate situation. He needs you. And as your sister is incapacitated, you are his only option.”

Percy scoffs. “Yeah, right.” 

His dad hasn't contacted, hasn't helped, hasn't done all of jack shit for him, Ata, or their mom. He doesn't care. Not really. He really is a deadbeat. They were better off without him. 

It's his fault he's here at camp. It's his fault Ata hasn't woken. It's his fault that their mom is in the underworld, and why the Minotaur and hellhounds were after them. 

No call. No gifts. The number of birthdays and holidays that have passed. Nothing at all. As if they never existed. But now that a stupid LED light gets misplaced, daddy dearest cares. And now suddenly he needs Percy. 

What a dick. 

“So let me get this straight,’ Percy begins, crossing his arms. “I’m supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead.”

“Check,” Chiron agrees. 

“Find the most powerful weapon in the universe.” 

“Check.”

“Right, and get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in what a month?”

“Three weeks.”

Percy stares at Chiron.

“Otherwise, that’s about right.” 

He looks at Grover, who gulps down the ace of hearts. “Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?” he repeats again weakly. 

“You don’t have to go,” Percy tells him. "I can’t ask that of you.”

“Oh…” He shifts his hooves and finds a very plain-looking spot on the ground to stare at. “No… it’s just satyrs and underground places… well… You saved my life. You and Ata both. If… if you’re serious about wanting me along, I won’t let you down. Not again, I promise.”

Percy could kiss him as relief floods through his veins. Grover is his best friend, and he trusts him with his life. He may not be the strongest pick for a quest, but he's never let him down. And for Percy, that means the world. 

“So what? We just take a plane over to the—”

“No!” Shouts multiple voices. 

Percy stares before it clicks. “Right, big sky man.” One would think he'd make an exception, you know, with the whole ‘maybe to get my lightning bolt faster I should make sure to make it easier’, but hey, what does Percy know? “Guess we'll be traveling overland then.” 

“Correct,” answers Chiron. “Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered, if you will accept her help.”

Percy lowers his head. “Guessing my sister didn't conveniently wake up and volunteer, huh?” 

Chiron shakes his head as the air behind him shimmers, revealing Annabeth. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for a quest, Seaweed Brain,” says Annabeth, stuffing her hat back into her pocket. She crosses her arms and gives him an assessing look. “As we know, Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you’re going to save the world, I’m the best person to keep you from messing up.” 

“And neither is Posideon of Athena,” he mutters, once more recalling Athens and Pallas. “I suppose you have some half-baked plan, Wise Girl?”

Her cheeks go red. “Do you want my help or not?”

Truthfully, he does. He needs all the help he can get. While he would like Luke, maybe Michael, or even Clarisse when she's not trying to kill him, Percy would and does appreciate Annabeth for wanting to join him on this suicide mission. Though, will he admit that? Absolutely not.  

“A trio,” replies Percy. “I suppose that’ll work.”

Just then, lightning flashes and thunder rolls through the air. Rain pours onto the meadows that Percy was told are never supposed to have violent weather. 

“No time to waste,” Chiron says, glancing up at the brewing storm. “Gather your things, and I'll have Argus pull the car around.”

Luke pulls him aside afterward. 

In his hands is a cardboard box that, when opened, reveals a pair of basketball sneakers a few sizes too big. Percy stares at them. They look pretty normal. They even smell kind of normal, too. 

“Thanks?” he says. Did Luke think his kicks weren’t good enough for the quest? Maybe he wants Percy to look good as he goes toward a violent and likely death. Die in style, or something. 

Luke shakes his head with a smile. “Maia!”

White bird’s wings sprout out of the heels, startling him so much, he drops them. The shoes flap around on the ground until the wings fold up and disappear again. They go limp, reverting back to normal sneakers. 

Okay, cool. That’s cool. Still, the gods can have magical flying shoes, but they forbid them from making touch-screen cellphones. One does not comprehend how embarrassing it is to have to whip out a Blackberry flip phone from 2010, until you are in sixth grade and everyone has the newest iPhone, Galaxy, and Google Pixel. Percy lost a lot of street cred that day. 

“Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don’t use them much these days…” Luke’s expression saddens. 

Percy flounders a bit. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s cool enough that Luke had pulled him aside to say goodbye. Honestly, he’d been afraid Luke might resent him for getting so much attention the last few days. And the fact that Percy hadn’t chosen him to accompany him on the quest, too. But here he is giving him a magic gift… 

It made Percy blush almost as much as Annabeth usually did when Luke was around. He is starting to understand the ‘Luke’ effect, as the other campers would say. 

“Hey, man,” Percy says. “I appreciate it, thanks.”

“Listen, Percy…’ Luke looks a tad uncomfortable. “A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just… kill some monsters for me, okay?” 

“I promise,” he replies with no hesitation. 

Luke nods. “I’ll make sure your sister is looked after. When she wakes up, we’ll make sure to give the full camp experience,” he pauses, “uh, not like what Clarisse gave you.” 

Percy laughs. “I’d like to see her try. Ata is even worse than me. She holds a grudge, you know. May forgive, but never forget.” 

Luke’s brows narrow slightly before curling back up. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Just then, one of the children of Aphrodite, Percy is pretty sure, is called Silena, appears, popping out from around the corner. “There you are, Percy. Been looking for you everywhere. Chiron says Argus is bringing the car around and to give you,” she looks down at the pastel pink watch on her wrist, “a twenty-minute heads up before it's time to go.” 

Oh shit. Percy turns to Luke and thanks him, grabbing the box of shoes and then thanking Silena for telling him. He still has things to do before he is ready for this stupid quest. Like raid the cafeteria. Oh, and pack, that's probably important. 

When Percy returns to the infirmary to say goodbye, he notices that Ata isn’t alone. 

“What are..?” He starts to say, but halts when he notices Mr. D isn’t hurting Ata. No, it looks like he’s saying something under his breath. His eyes are shut, and his hand is placed upon her forehead. 

He waits there in the doorway, unsure if he should leave or...

Mr. D saves him from having to decide, turning around with a glare. “Her mind is the issue.” 

Percy blinks. “Are you calling my sister dumb?” 

Mr. D rolls his eyes. He picks up his Diet Coke from the bedside stand. “As Chiron and the others have already mentioned, her body is completely healed. Your sister’s mind is what has been keeping her from waking.” 

Percy’s mind races as he tries to remember what he knows about Dionysus. God of wine, sick parties, and leopard print…he thinks? Born out of his dad’s leg, kind of gross, and–Oh! Right. God of madness or something. 

“Is she going to be okay now?” 

Percy thinks his question is a valid one, but Mr. D seems to believe otherwise. As he looks ready to smite him. “She will be.” 

“Right,” he replies. “When will she wake then?” 

“That’s for her to decide. But soon, likely.” Mr. D walks up to Percy, “What will help is if everyone leaves her alone and lets her rest.” 

Percy blinks. Did he mean him, too? “Can I just go and say–”

“Everyone. You are everyone.” 

“Yes, but as you know, I’m going on that world-ending quest and could die. So I’d like to say goodbye.” Mr. D doesn’t move, so Percy just slips around him. “Right, so I’m just, yeah, going to go do that now.” 

Percy makes it up to Ata’s bedside. She hasn’t changed. Still as, well, still as before. But he feels a surge of hope coursing through him. 

“Atalanta Jackson will not succumb to her mind.” 

Percy turns and gives a nod of thanks. Maybe the gods aren’t so bad after all. At least Mr. D seems okay–

“Don’t die, Peter Johnson,” adds Mr. D. “Or do, it would be an exciting bit of entertainment, honestly.” 

–never mind. The gods are jack asses, the lot of them. 

Chiron is waiting under Thalia’s tree for him when he arrives. 

“Relax,” Chiron tells him. “Keep a clear head. And remember, you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history.”

Right, very reassuring, Chiron. Great prep talk, no wonder so many heroes died in battle if this is how he sent everyone off. “I’m very relaxed.”

He gives him a knowing look. “Atalanta will be well taken care of, that I swear to you.” 

Percy’s shoulders sag. “I know. I just…”

He feels a hand on his shoulders. “Worrying for those you care about is a good trait, Percy. None can blame you for it.” He smiles warmly. “I have no doubt that she shall be awake and moving by the time you return.” He leans down slightly, “And I have no doubt that she will be running circles around us all by then.”

That makes him smile a bit. “Sounds like Ata. She’ll probably terrify Cabin 6 with all her questions. Give them a run for their money, er, drachmas.” 

Chiron chuckles. “Indeed. Some of her questions and knowledge even surprised me when teaching her. She’s a smart child, as are you.”

Percy doesn’t think he is. Not when Ata had always been the brains out of them both. Sometimes it is almost as though she already knows what is going to happen, figuring things out before they even do. A sixth sense that he wonders if it has to do with Dad. Maybe relating to the whole Delphi thing? He doesn’t know, and when he’s tried to research it, most of the information that came back revolved around guesses. 

“Ah, there are Annabeth and Grover,” Chiron interrupts his train of thought, gesturing to the two as they make their way down the hill toward Argus. “Best you head out while the roads are clear, Percy.” 

He nods. Time to save the world. When he reaches the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, Percy looks back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron is now standing in full horseman form, holding his bow high in salute. 

Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur, he thinks. Seriously, this is all his Dad’s fault, and in his inability to keep it in his pants, uh, toga. 

Chapter Text

There's a darkness before her

It's as long as it is wide. Endless. Unshaken. 

No matter where she sets her gaze upon, the darkness is there. She can't avoid it. Yet she isn't afraid. There is no fear. No pain. No despair. Simply...existing...

She doesn't know how long she's been there. Nor can she decipher where there or here is. 

It's not so bad, she thinks. Perhaps she should stay, too. It's quiet and calm. Yet, for some strange reason, she also thinks there is something important she is meant to do. But every time she tries to remember, to bring forth any sort of memory, she is met with the darkness once more. 

Then, within the dark, a light appears. Warm and cold at the same time. It grows brighter, yet terrifying, all wrapped up in one. 

And everything falls into the light. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Atalanta wakes smelling her mom’s cookies and parched throat. 

It takes her three minutes to realize she is, in fact, not at home. And she realizes immediately that she is at camp, if the neon orange t-shirts were enough proof of it. 

She scrunches up her face at the sight. They really are bright and so in your face. Honestly, monsters could probably take a 50/50 gamble on anyone wearing that shade of orange and likely be correct that they are a half-blood. 

“You’re awake!” exclaims a sandy blonde-haired boy with a scattering of freckles. He comes to her side and begins checking her over. “How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Here, drink this,” he says, handing her the mug that is emanating the scent of her mom’s cookies. 

Atalanta thinks she is forgetting something. But she doesn’t get much time to dwell on it, nor answer the boy’s question when her mouth is filled with a spoonful of nectar. Immediately, her body feels awake. The haze over her mind clears, and she feels ready to fight. 

“Thank you,” she tells him with a smile as she pulls back from the mug. Best not to drink too much. Not only is nectar the drink of the gods, but she knows it could very well be addictive. She's already become a soda fiend. Best not add another one to her plate. 

The older boy puts the mug onto the nightstand by the bed she's on as he goes back to looking over her vitals.

“I'm Michael, by the way,” he introduces himself. “I'm in charge of the infirmary here at camp.” 

“Son of Apollo, I take it?” She asks, knowing already.

He confirms her question with a nod. “I am. Our cabin is number 7, and we pretty much run the infirmary, being the kids of the god of healing, kind of makes it a shoe-horn in for it.” 

“I'm Atalanta Jackson. It's nice to meet you, Michael. And, uh, thank you for the nectar and for helping me,” she tells with a smile. 

“I can't take all the credit, Mr. D helped a fair bit too.” 

That gave her pause. “Why would he? Not that I'm opposed, but what was the issue?” 

Michael gives her a sort of assessing look, and she realizes her mistake. She shouldn't know who Mr. D is or why she should question his help. Michaels, however, doesn't ask her about it; instead, he tells her, “You've been asleep for a week.”

“I'm sorry. What?” 

He gives her a sympathetic look. “Your body was mostly healed, and there were no other issues. We'd originally thought you had a concussion from the fight and from the car accident, but once that was healed and taken care of, you still wouldn't wake. I even consulted with some of my older siblings, who are brain surgeons and professional doctors. But no one could figure it out until Mr. D came in to check on you and said you'd wake up in a day or two. Now here you are, awake.” 

“Here I am,” she repeats, frowning. Why didn't she wake up? Had it really been a concussion? Had she suffered brain damage? Or was it something more? 

Michael seems to notice her sour look and adds, “We’ll monitor you, but so far I think you've made a full recovery.” He pulls over a chair. “I'm not sure if you have any questions, but I may have answers, if you like. Be it about healing or even camp, and all of this. Though, from what I've gathered, you seem pretty aware, or simply very convincing.” 

Atalanta  frowns. “Would you believe me if I said it was both? That I pieced most of what is happening and where I am from my surroundings, but I am also nervous as fuck.” 

“Not surprising. Percy had said you'd be like this.” 

She perks up at the mention of her brother's name. “Where is my brother—”

Another boy, likely another son of Apollo, given the band around his arm and resemblance to Michael, comes into the infirmary. Behind him is Chiron, whose face brightens upon meeting her face. 

“Hey,” Atalanta says, waving at them both in greeting. 

“Atalanta, I am glad to see you awake,” says Chiron, approaching her bed. “You had us worried.” 

“Sorry about that. I promise I’m not usually the dramatic twin,” her eyes roam around the room. “Speaking of which, where is Percy?” 

The infirmary goes silent. She looks over to Michael and his brother, who both have find very interesting spots on the ceiling and floor to stare at. 

“He's not here,” Chiron says slowly and carefully. 

“I must've misheard you,” she says immediately. “I could've sworn you said he's not here. Which I know can not be true, because Percy wouldn't leave without telling me. He was terrified when he got lost at the Farmer's Market this one time.” 

Atalanta thinks she hears Michael's brother mutter that, technically, Percy had informed her, just that she'd been asleep for it. She elects to ignore it, staring instead into Chiron's eyes. 

“As I said, your brother Percy left a day ago on a quest.”

A sinking feeling fills her stomach, and she thinks the world has slowed down for her. 

“A quest.” 

Chiron nods. “Yes, along with Grover and another half-blood, Annabeth Chase. I assure you, he is in good hands, though I know you didn't get the chance to meet Annabeth, I will vouch that she will make sure of the quest’s success.” 

She stares at Chiron. She blinks. Then blinks again.

What. The. Fuck?

All those plans, all those ideas, and backup and even more backup plans for this quest, foiled. The conversations she had planned, both with Ares and with Hades, all down the drain. The whole idea of how to deal with the Water Park and not triggering the trap is obsolete. How she'd planned on, uh, borrowing multiple credit cards from the Lotus hotel, didn't matter at all. And she can kiss her plans of trying to meet Bianca and Nico early goodbye, too. That had been part of her grand scheme leverage when meeting with Hades. 

“Fucking damn it,” Atalanta cries out in frustration. It had to be fate or the Fates' fault. “This is some bull fucking–”

“ –shit!” exclaims Percy as he shoves his head into his hands. 

Grover bleats beside him. “It’s not…so bad?” 

He gives his best friend a blank look. “Gee, really good comforting G Man.” 

Annabeth has her arms crossed and is sending glares their way. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you didn’t get in the way.” 

“The way?” Percy raises his brows. “If I didn’t do anything, you would have been shishkabobed!” 

“You don’t know that!” 

“Really? Fine then! Next time three furries–”

“ –furies–”

“ –monsters, try to kill you, I’ll let you handle it!” 

Annabeth huffs. “Oh, please, I'd be just fine without your help. And do you even know where you're heading?”

Percy can't believe her. “Do you? Because right now, Wisegirl, we are lost in the woods, somewhere in New Jersey, and all of our shit is gone!” 

“You shouldn't use that word.”

“Lost?” 

“The other one.”

He stares at her incredulously. “...shit?”

Annabeth nods once and looks away toward the trees. 

Percy glances over to Grover. “She's not serious, is she?” His best friend’s response only upholds what she said. “Oh my gods, you don't like cuss words?” 

“Not everyone needs to use such foul language. Many other eloquent words in both the English and Greek vocabulary can be used.” 

While Percy, and Ata likely too, agree that Annabeth’s not wrong, he also is in the firm belief that sometimes, a few curse words get the point across better and faster than some far more fancy and convoluted word.  

They slosh across mushy ground over the next, seemingly few hours. Through nasty twisted trees that smell like sour laundry and curve up into the sky like giant thorn bushes, as the rain continues to pelt down on them. 

After a few minutes, Annabeth falls into line next to Percy. 

“Look, I…” Her voice falters slightly before she clears her throat and starts again. “I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave.”

“We’re a team, aren't we?”

She is silent for a few more steps. Then she sighs. “It’s just that if you died… aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world.”

And the real world uses cuss words like it's a lifeline. Especially in New York. But that didn't seem like the appropriate thing to say, so Percy restrains himself. 

“You haven’t left Camp Half-Blood since you were, what, seven?” Percy asks, choosing to linger on her last sentence. 

“No… only short field trips. My dad…it didn't work out. Camp is my home. It's the only real home I've ever had. And there are no monsters there, no real experience where I can prove myself to camp, and my mother. That's why I need to go on a quest. I have to prove myself.” 

“You’re pretty good with that knife,” he tells her. 

“Really?”

“For sure, anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay with me.” Percy thinks she smiles at that. 

“Look, I know we've both said some things that, well, haven't been the best. For either of us. And I just, well,” she starts to say, “and so maybe I should tell you… Something funny back on the bus…the Kindly One, she had mentioned that…” 

Whatever she wants to say is interrupted by a shrill sound, like the sound of an owl being tortured. He winces. He and Annabeth turn to the origin of the noise. 

“Hey, my reed pipes still work!” Grover cries out in relief, “If I could just remember a “find path” song, we could get out of these woods!” 

He plays a few notes, which sounds more like a Sabrina Carpenter song than whatever a 'find path' song is. At least it isn't Hillary Duff again, Percy can't listen to 'So This is What Dreams are Made of' again.

“Think it can get us out of New Jersey, too?” Percy asks, recovering a glare from Annabeth. So much for a bonding moment, he thinks to himself. 

Atalanta knows she had said she was the less dramatic twin. That is true. But she never swore she couldn't rise to the occasion either. 

She sneaks out of the Infirmary when everyone leaves at the sound of the dinner bell. She follows the curve of the cabins and takes to the surrounding woods as she keeps the direction of where Thalia’s tree is. If she can make it out onto the main road, she could get on a bus. Atalanta knows the PIN on her mom's credit card, meaning she can buy herself a train ticket too. She might even be able to beat Percy and the others to the Arch. 

She steps out into the clearing, looking behind herself to make sure she isn't being followed. However, upon looking forward again, she stops dead in her tracks. 

“Lady Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos,” Atalanta addresses to each one. 

They stand before her in a crescent moon shape. Though they appear as nothing more than three old women, their auras ring full of power—ancient and foreboding. At first, she wonders if they are here to cut yarn like they had for Percy in the books, but upon further inspection, she notices that they have neither yarn nor cutting shears. 

“Atalanta Jackson,” says Lachesis. “Twice born.” 

“Wise, it would be, not to leave the camp,” continues Atropos. 

Atalanta holds her ground. She holds her head up, replying as calmly as she can. “My brother is out there. He just left for his quest, I can still make it to him.” 

“Perseus Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Annabeth Chase are fated to undergo the quest for the bolt,” says Atropos. “You are not to interfere.” 

"Three is a powerful number that is true, but not a set rule for quests," she argues back. Her mind goes straight to the four seasons of the world, the four elements, and even the cardinal directions. "Four can hold just as much sway." 

Lachesis shakes her head, slowly. “You can not change fate.” 

Atalanta shakes her head. She thinks of how Percy did not accept godhood, using his gift to change the fate of half-bloods and gods alike. “I don't believe that's true. Fate can be changed, rewritten. It has been done before, it will be done.” 

“Destiny and Fate are not the same,” answers Clotho. 

“Then how can I exist?” She argues. She'd already changed things, hadn't she? Gabe isn't in their life. They've met Triton. That has to count for something. “Percy was never meant to have a sister, let alone a twin. What is my fate in your so-called plans?” 

"A mistake," comes Atropos. "A decided error in the fabric of the universe." 

"Isn't that proof enough? Fate is not set in stone..." Atalanta shakes her head in disbelief. She thinks of future quests that lie ahead, the people who die that don't have to. "You can not expect me to sit back and watch everything unfold and not do anything. Many will get hurt...People will die, children will die. I can't just stand aside and-"

"You will not interfere, Atalanta Jackson."

She balks. She refuses. What is the point then? What is the point of her existence-her second life, if she can't make a difference? She can't accept this. Won't accept it. She'll fight it. Fight fate and everything else if she has to. "No, I will-"

"Remember," starts Atropos.

"Fate will find a way," continues Clotho.

"Do not allow your destiny to follow the road once taken by Troy's princess," adds Lachesis. 

She takes a step forward in protest to their words again when the rustling of leaves grips her attention. 

“Atalanta!” calls out an older boy's voice. From the dark of the trees steps a tall blonde teen whom she recognizes immediately. He's tall and broad-shouldered. He's blonde and rather handsome with symmetrical features. Well. Almost symmetrical. If it wasn't for the scar that ran straight down his face. 

Luke Castellan. 

The boy who'd help Kronos nearly ascend. A boy who, though she loathes to admit it, is rightfully bitter toward the gods, follows a path that will cost the lives of dozens of his own family. Misguided, some may say. Used and thrown away, too. 

Except he's not just a boy. He's nearly an adult, legally. And even bitter and spiteful, feelings she understands all too well, he ends up choosing an even worse option than the one he currently has. 

Luke Castellan, to Atalanta Jackson, is not a hero. Death is not a redemption. 

“You,” she states as his eyes land on her. 

A look of relief floods his face. “There you are!” He announces, stepping over the overgrown strawberry patch that reaches up to his knees. “Whole camp has been looking for you.” 

When she looks back in the direction of where the Moirai had just been, they are gone. Vanished into the air like ghosts. She lets out an annoyed scoff. Played, she had been. Seems the Moirai’s intervention was not solely to dissuade her from joining Percy, but to buy enough time for the camp to drag her back. 

Luke turns his head and shouts behind him, “Found her, guys! She's over here!” Atalanta hears the footsteps of others draw closer following his words. He then eyes her and the area around them both, “I know you haven't been here long, but the first lesson of camp is not to wander off on your own. It's not safe.” 

“Because there are monsters in the woods?” 

“There are. Among other things.” Luke pauses, “I'm Luke, by the way. Your brother, Percy, told me to look out for you, you know?” 

“That makes me feel real welcomed,” she mutters just as Michael appears from behind Luke. He's accompanied by a very worried-looking Chiron.

Shit. 

“What is the meaning of this, Atalanta Jackson?" Chiron demands rather calmly all things considered. Though his stern glare makes her waver just slightly. 

Atalanta clears her throat. She says the first thing that comes to mind, regretting it immediately upon hearing it for herself. Percy is rubbing off on her. "I was looking for the bathroom."

Chapter Text

Cabin 3 is big. 

There are multiple bunk beds along the main room’s walls, which are all blue and green. All are empty save for the one second furthest from the door, where she finds the Minotaur horn and the sheets laid out. She finds her own backpack on the bunk across from it, only then realizing her brother has set the layout to be the same as their room back home. There's a large window along the back, facing the water. In the center is a fountain with flowing water that shifts between shades of green and blue. It smells of Montauk, too, she finds. 

It brings her annoyance more than comfort. 

She shouldn't be here. She should be out there, on the quest with Percy. Instead, the Fates have, quite literally, decided differently for her. They are trying to get her out of the way so that canon should still occur. 

It frustrates her, too. 

Because they are wrong, she has changed things. She has moved the game pieces on the board just enough. 

It's the butterfly effect, isn't it? 

There is no Gabe in their life. Percy likes acting and musicals now. His grades aren't failing, sure, C’s mostly, but those do, in fact, get degrees. Their mother isn't working to the bone either, and has had free time to write again. 

And then there are the other changes, the ones that may not have been for the better.

Mrs. Dodds attacked and was vaporized earlier. Percy still faced the Minotaur, this time with Riptide, yet had been more injured than the books reported. Percy is also more aware of the Greek world and the mythology surrounding it, yet he is just as sassy and brash, according to the numerous accounts she'd received about the arguments he'd had with multiple people at camp. She has begun wondering if the Moirai had shown up somewhere along the way, and she never registered it. 

A knock at her cabin door breaks her train of thought. 

Outside stands a collection of five people. 

She surmises who each of them is immediately.

Inside herself, she can feel that sinking feeling bubbling back up because she knows that in five years, if the Moirai and fate itself are to be believed, all but two will be dead and shall reside in Elysium. 

“Hi, my name is Silena. I'm the head of cabin 10, the one over that way,” Silena introduces herself with a bright smile. She points at the giant grey-walled cabin with blue and white checked porch flooring. She is beautiful, Atalanta notes, only to recall how she’ll die. Silena turns to the others with her. “This is Clarisse, she's from Cabin 5—Ares.” 

Clarisse looks very much like she wants to be anywhere else but there, arms crossed and a sneer on her face. “If that's all, I'm going,” she says, not even waiting for a response, as she has already hopped off the porch and starts marching back to the bright red cabin. 

“Don't mind her, she's a bit rough around the edges, but she's really great once you get to know her,” says the tallest of the boys. He offers Atalanta a warm smile. “I'm Charles. Cabin 9. It's the big one with the forge outside. If you ever need a weapon or help with finding a good weight for them, head my way. My siblings and I would be happy to assist.”

She thanks him, trying not to look at him like he’s on death’s door. Her eyes move along to the boy beside him. 

“I’m Pollux, son of Dionysus," he introduces and then points to the identical blonde boy beside him. 

“And I'm Castor,” the other one says with a smile. He will die too. “Nice to have another set of twins here.” 

Atalanta smiles, only to falter when she remembers that her own twin is nowhere nearby, likely lost in the woods in New Jersey or sending a very unusual gift to Mount Olympus. Which had she been a part of the quest would've cautioned her brother against but now? They deserve it. He should also send it straight to the Moirai, too. 

“I'm happy to make your acquaintance. Unfortunately, my brother isn't here to amp up the twin hijinks,” she replies. 

They give her an understanding look. 

“You're doing better than I would,” says Pollux, looking at Castor. “I would be a mess if my twin left without me. On a quest no less too.” 

Castor smiles at his brother. “Agreed. Though I don't think Percy had much of a choice after he got that prophecy from the Oracle.” 

Atalanta takes a step back. She comes to the very apparent conclusion that they came to introduce themselves because, after last night, she is basically seen as a flight risk. Fantastic. “Would you like to come in?” 

Everyone exchanges looks with one another before Silena agrees with another beautiful smile and crosses over the threshold. After that, the others follow suit. 

Charles lets out a whistle upon seeing the fountain and the ceiling molding. “Very nice work.” He takes a closer look. “We don't get to see the inside of any of the Cabins of 1-3.” 

“Sorry, it's not much to see. Haven't gotten around to decorating, and I guess neither did Percy,” Atalanta says, realizing how bare everything is. 

“I can help if you'd like!” offers Silena, eyes already planning things out in her mind. 

Castor, who'd gone to sit on one of the spare hunks, pipes up, “Not sure if you know how to sew, but there's a bunch of fabric supplies in the Rec room if you want to make curtains or add a bunk curtain.” 

Silena agrees. “Everyone in our cabin has a bunk curtain for privacy and personalization. It's a lot of fun. What are your favorite colors?” 

“Green and Pink,” Atalanta replies easily. 

Instead of the usual faces people make upon hearing her favorite colors, Silena's happy expression grows. “Like Wicked?”

“Like Wicked.” 

Silena all but squeals and embraces her. “Oh, you must visit Cabin 10 when you get the chance! My siblings and I have been begging Apollo’s cabin to do that musical with us all year.” 

“One thing at a time, let's let Atalanta get a feel for camp first before we start throwing her into all the extracurricular things. She's got training to do, on top of being the de facto head counselor now,” chimes Charles, pulling back from studying the engravings on the fountain and the details on the spout. 

Silena waves him off. “You're just saying that because you don't want to engineer Glinda’s bubble for me and Drew.” 

Charles shakes his head. "I don't think Chiron wants us to engineer the bubble." 

The two go back and forth for a bit as Atalanta makes her way over to Pollux and Castor. They make space for her, scooting to either side as they make the middle open for her to sit. She does so with a small smile. 

“Overwhelmed yet?” asks Castor as his gaze leaves Silena and Charles's conversation. 

“Admittedly, only a little,” she confesses. 

Pollux chuckles, amused, but not rudely. “Wish I could say it gets better, but it just gets even crazier as the years go on.” 

Atalanta eyes the beads on his necklace. Crazy indeed, if half of what is depicted on them is anything to go off of. 

“If you don't want Silena and the rest of her cabin to take over the decor of your cabin, you should let her know. Children of Aphrodite tend to go overboard sometimes,” Pollux adds.

“And the other halfbloods of the gods don't?” She asks. 

Castor shrugs with a grin. “That is true, brother.” 

“Guess so,” he admits. He shifts his gaze around the open cabin. “If you need anything from the camp store, get one of the Hermes kids to do it.” 

“The Stoll brothers would definitely do it,” then Castor clarifies, “they are full blooded brothers, look like twins but aren't. There's a one-year age gap.” 

“Be wild if there were three sets of twins at camp at the same time,” says Pollux. 

“Be quite the handful, too,” replies Atalanta. “It's a rather powerful number.” Not to mention twins already are said to be unique and sometimes divine. She could only imagine what three sets of half-blood twins in one place could do. 

“Not sure what you've heard, but we can assure you that Castor and I are always on our best behavior. It is Connor and Travis who are the handful.” 

“What's this about my brothers?” comes a voice from the open cabin door, followed by a knock. 

Atalanta looks up. Her smile falls as her lips press into a firm, straight line. 

“Luke!” Welcomes Silena with a partial smile. “This is Atalanta. Atalanta, Luke, and the camp counselor of Cabin 11.” 

She gets up and heads over to the door to greet him, begrudgingly. “We’ve met.” 

Luke holds his hand out to shake hers. “Glad to be able to properly make your acquaintance.” He has the audacity to flash her a grin and soften his gaze. “I know we didn't have much time last night, but I just wanted to reiterate that if you need anything at all, I’ll be there. As I said, I’ve heard so much about you from Percy, it feels like I already know you myself.” 

Atalanta makes a mental note to call her brother an idiot. 

“And if I said you are impertinent,” warns Grover to Percy with a look, “then what?” 

“Then I'd still do it,” answers Percy as he slaps the label on and drops the drachma in the bag. It disappears with a ding. Godly magic is cool. “Because I am impertinent.”

Annabeth shoots him a look of exasperation. “We need a new plan now that someone has messed everything up, again.” 

Percy rolls his eyes. “You know I had it handled.” 

“Oh, really? Cause it definitely looked like you were about to join the others in the garden. 'Just one photo, Annabeth, what would it hurt?' What were you thinking?” 

“Xenia,” he says, recalling the ancient rules of guest rites. “I thought xenia would've—”

“You thought wrong.” Annabeth crosses her arms. “Xenia doesn't apply to monsters.” 

“Why not?” Percy shoots back. 

“Because they aren't like us!” she sputters back. “All the rules get thrown out when we are dealing with monsters. They don't have the same human emotions as us, because, newsflash, they aren't human. Xenia doesn't work.” 

He frowns. “What about the gods then? They aren't human either. Does xenia not apply to them?” 

Annabeth huffs. “That's different.”

“Gee, that's a lot of exclusions to xenia,” he mutters.

"As if you know anything about it, Seaweed Brain."

"I do, actually," he refrains from adding a 'fuck you' at the end. "Ata and mom talked about it." 

His gaze shifts across Medusa's lair. The statues of those who wandered in look at him with faces of horror. Mortals who had no idea what they would come across, satyrs like Grover's uncle, a couple of unlucky centaurs, and even a few teens, like him and Annabeth, who'd been heroes and half-bloods too. Maybe Annabeth is right that xenia wouldn't have been acknowledged. Yet, he can't shake Medusa's words to him:

"Do you really want to help the gods? Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. Cursed you will be. You and your sister will be nothing but weapons of the gods and fate....handsome-faced and pretty heroes like you both shall only attract the cruelest and darkest of monsters. Better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain."

Percy averts his eyes, looking at the food still cooking. Seeing Annabeth's face, he knows this conversation will not go anywhere. With a deep breath, he tries to let it go. “In other news, should we uh, raid what else Medusa has about?” Maybe she has some spare backpacks, too, that they can use, seeing as how theirs are dust and ash.

Annabeth makes a face. "It'll smell like monster. We should not clog up Grover's nose."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" he argues back. "Get others off our scent?" 

She grumbles under her breath. "No good seaweed head. You don't care about how Grover feels, then huh? You just want to make him uncomfortable this entire quest, then?"

Percy freezes up and glares. "I don't care? You’re fucking impossible."

"You’re insufferable."

"And you're being-"

"Hey!" Grover interrupts. "I'm standing right here? You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs can't get migraines." 

"Sorry," says Annabeth. 

"Our bad," replies Percy. 

Grover crosses his arms. "I appreciate the concern, Annabeth, I do, but I've gotten pretty used to the smell of monsters, having spent nearly a year with Percy and Atalanta. However," he looks at Percy, "If I am constantly smelling us, I might be able to assess if there are others nearby." He holds up his hand before Annabeth can reply, "But Percy is also right in the fact that we do need supplies. And we also need to work together, as a team, okay? So what do we have to say to each other?" 

Percy moves first. He turns his head and holds out his hand. "I'm sorry, Annabeth."

She takes his his, albeit with a bit of a strained face. "I'm sorry, Percy." 

Grover lets out a sigh of relief. "Good, now who wants to get the rest of the drachmas in the fountain?"

Despite asking for volunteers, both Annabeth and Grover are looking at Percy expectantly. Once again, being the child of the dude who controls water really has him taking L's. He sighs and raises his hand. "I guess I've always wanted to go fishing for money." 

“Why are you here?” Atalanta utters the moment the others are out of earshot. She has to look up to meet his face. Annoying. 

Luke only laughs her off. “Ouch, Ata," he says, clutching his chest before adding, "Can we talk for a moment? I promise to return you to your decorating party in one piece.”

Atalanta turns back around to see that Charles, Pollux, and Castor are waving them off. Only Silena blinks for a second before nodding. "By the time you get back, HGTV will wish it could film this!"

Luke then, all but drags Atalanta down to the big rock, Zeus's Fist. She notices it immediately, how covered the area is. Despite being on the walking path, it's partially obscured by the trees and the dense foliage. They come to a stop, and Luke is frowning at her. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks finally. 

Other than by the cause of her brother on a quest? The whole of Olympus is out for blood, and the world is teetering on a world war. Nothing at all, she thinks to herself. "What makes you think that?" 

"I know it's a lot," he begins. "Camp, the people, the gods being parents, all of it can be overwhelming. It's just, I feel like we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Almost as if we are enemies for some reason."

She tries not to frown. "I don't know what you mean."

"You are much more open with the others, but with me, I can't help but assume I've somehow wronged you, except I don't know what I've done."

"I don't trust you," she states. 

"Why?"

Atalanta doesn't respond. But that is enough for Luke.

"You think I stole the bolt, don't you?" He drops his hands to his side. Open and friendly. Unassuming even. "Percy mentioned that you know things. I knew someone who knew too much, too. His name was Hal." Luke meets her eyes. "I'm guessing you believe that it's someone at camp who took the bolt." 

Percy is a fucking idiot. She remains silent. Is he trying to give her an out? Reasonable doubt? By his wording, she has to assume he knows that she knows, or at least suspects him. 

"I don't blame you, you know? I am the head of Cabin 11 and his son. And I was there on Olympus when the bolt was allegedly taken," he supplies with a casualness that catches her off guard. "You won't be the only one to think that. Chiron and Mr. D had personally questioned all of us after that night, and I know I was at the top of the list." 

So the gods did suspect Luke at some point then, yet with him standing before her, Atalanta knows they didn't find anything to prove it. "Wouldn't it make the most sense? Either a child of Hermes or Ares, I'd imagine."

He shrugs. "You aren't wrong, Ata."

"It's Atalanta." Her glares deepen. Only her family can call her Ata. And Luke certainly isn't her family. 

"Atalanta," he reiterates. "From what Percy had spoken about you, I didn't take you as one to side with the gods." 

"I don't side with them or the fates. But that doesn't mean I won't stand for what is right." 

"And what is right about the gods? The quest your brother is on? The blame Zeus and the others are placing on you? I don't know about you, but that doesn't seem too fair." 

Atalanta hates the fact that he isn't wrong. It isn't fair. None of this is fair. The gods, Moirai, fate, Camp, Luke, even her own second life...none of it is fair. It fills her with anger, bitterness, and frustration. "It's not fair. But neither is it when someone steals and places the blame on someone else. Especially onto my brother." 

He raises his hand, and for a moment, she feels a spark of fear course through her. She steadies her footing and prepares for an attack. Except nothing comes. 

“Then, if it puts you at ease, I swear on the River Styx that I do not have the lightning bolt or any other godly object on me. And I do not know where the missing bolt is,” says Luke firmly. 

Atalanta stares and waits.

Nothing happens, and she concedes his words are not wrong. He is smart, knowing how to word things when making the most dangerous of oaths. She doubts that any would point out his wording as suspicious at camp, blinded by his demeanor and charm. 

But to Atalanta, his oath is just proof of his guilt. 

Yet, no one would believe her if she accused him now. She'd need proof of his involvement, and if that doesn't work...Her gaze roams over toward the camp. If Luke had charmed many to join his army, she could win them back. After all, they're all kids and teens; it shouldn't be too hard, right?

Camped out in the woods, a hundred metres from the main road, in a marshy clearing that local kids had obviously been using for parties, Percy huddles close to Grover and Annabeth. The ground is littered with flattened soda cans and fast-food wrappers, among some other questionable things. 

As Percy suggested, they did end up taking some food and blankets from Aunty Em’s, because it isn't like she is needing it or eating it any time soon. Percy had managed to dry off his clothes, small dad W for once, but upon trying to do the same for Grover and Annabeth, the results were less than stellar. Nevertheless, they didn’t dare light a fire to warm up. They didn’t want to attract anything else. None of them is too keen on waking up to being a monster's next breakfast, thank you very much. 

Sleeping in shifts, Percy volunteered for the first watch. He tries to make sense of the last few days, and really, the only thing that he is left with is wondering how many old ladies are secretly monsters. Mrs. Dodds, those strange ladies with the yarn, now Medusa, what next?

He hears shifting from the blankets. He glances over to see Ananbeth caught in what seems to be a nightmare. 

"Hey..." Percy begins, reaching over to lightly touch her shoulder. Should he be waking her up? Maybe not, think he heard somewhere to let the person continue sleeping....unless that advice is actually for sleep walking...maybe. He shakes her shoulder gently, "Annabeth, wake up, it's just a dream." 

She jolts up and immediately lunges forward, hand wrapped around her knife. He moves on instinct, grabbing her wrist before he is stabbed in the face. 

"Bad dream?" he asks once she has gathered herself and calmed her breathing. He hands her one of their bottles of water. 

Annabeth twists open the cap and chugs it down. "Half-blood dreams are-"

"Bad. Not good. 0/10 won't do again."

She gives him a puzzled look. Right, she doesn't really know internet lingo. They really need to let go of dial-up at camp. At least one other person has to know how to code or engineer working Wi-Fi at camp.

"They suck, a lot."

"Yeah, a lot. You had them before?" 

Percy nods, recalling the first one he'd had. It really had been an omen for his future. "Twice. Ata explained them to me. Just another thing to blame my dad for," he pauses, "our parents for."

"Atalanta knew about a lot of stuff before you even came to camp, you said..." Annabeth sets the empty bottle of water down on the ground. "You know you shouldn't be tossing blame onto the gods like that. It's not safe. One of them will take offense sooner then later." 

"Is it wrong to lie?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then what I'm saying is the truth. All of this is Dad's fault." 

Annabeth scrunches up her face, brows knitting together. "Do you...Do you really think that, Percy?"

"I mean, yeah? It is his fault."

She shakes her head. "No, I meant," she pauses. "You make it sound like you don't want to be here, that it's your dad's fault you're alive."

Percy opens his mouth to agree, only to stop, registering what Ananbeth is saying. "I-I," He doesn't know how to respond. Or if he should. His dad, their dad, nearly everything that goes wrong can track back to him and his actions, or lack thereof. But Percy has to also acknowledge that if it hadn't been for his dad, he and Ata wouldn't be here. Thus, he couldn't begrudge him for that.  In the end, Percy lowers his head. "It's his fault that I'm alive, that's true, but I guess I do have to give him credit, because without him, I or Ata wouldn't be here. And I couldn't imagine a world where she isn't there with me." 

“Your sister,” Annabeth mutters more things under her breath. 

Percy whips around, frowning already, “My sister what?” 

“You know that Posiedon once had Delphi...I was just wondering since she'd known so much about us… like you said...I just figured that...”

“That she can see the future?" 

Annabeth nods. "It's dangerous, you know? Knowing the future and stuff. It's not a normal skill that half-bloods have, and even rarer when normal mortals have it. You know the story of the Trojan Princess Cassandra?" 

"The one who was cursed by Apollo." 

She nods, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "It became a curse rather than a gift. But she hadn't been the only one to receive it." 

Percy nods. "Tiresias." 

"Among others." 

"Ata wasn't given it as a gift or a curse." At least he didn't believe so. "And she isn't a seer anyway."

"Did she tell you that?" He nods. "Did she swear it on the River Styx?"

"Why would she need to do that? I'm her brother. She'd have told me."

"Are you sure? Can you be certain she'd tell you the truth?"

"Absolutely." Percy scoots away from Annabeth. "Atalanta would never lie to me."

"Do you really tell each other everything then?"

He closes his mouth. The meeting with the old ladies cutting the yarn flashes in his mind. It's not like he was hiding it from Ata or his mom, but maybe Annabeth is right. He should tell them. The thought made his frown deepen. Because if he is hiding omitting things, what if Atalanta is too? 

Such a thought...Percy refuses to believe it. His sister wouldn't. She'd never do that. What it does, however, makes him question Annabeth. He looks at her, recalling what the Oracle had said:

 "You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend"

Could it be? That Annabeth will be the one to betray him? Percy had tried not to think about the meaning behind what the Oracle had said in regards to that line. But now...it isn't as though he had many friends after all.

Grover, Annabeth...mostly, Luke....

And then, in the back of his mind, it's as if there's a voice there, whispering Atalanta. 

Ata...she is Percy's friend too...technically

No. He dismisses the voice and his own creeping doubts. It's too late for this. And he hasn't had nearly enough soda to handle whatever his brain is trying to spook him with. No wonder people see therapists, maybe he needs to after all this shit. 

"Go to bed," Annabeth says, breaking his train of thought. "I'll take over. Get some rest. You need it." 

Percy nods. "Okay." She's right, sleep would be good for him. All of this, the Furies and Medusa, it's been a lot. He should get some shut-eye. After all, what is the worst that can happen in his dreams...

Chapter Text

“Hi there,” Atalanta introduces herself with a smile as she holds out her hand. 

Ethan Nakumura looks at her hand before meeting her eyes. He appears both disgusted and confused. “What do you want?” 

“I wanted to say hi and–”

“Well, you have so, bye.” 

She feels her brow twitch. “I was wondering if you knew how to work the hose for an Iris Message?”

“You don’t know how to use a hose?”

This little– “I know how to use a hose. I just don’t know exactly how to start the message. I’ve never done one before.”

“You’ve never sent a video call before?”

She feels her smile strain. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Ethan sits up before pointing toward where Pollux and Castor are. They are by the strawberry fields with Katie and the Stoll brothers. “Why don’t you go ask your friends? You’re pretty close with them anyway.” 

There’s resentment in his voice and gaze that Atalanta recognizes. Her shoulders drop. She tries a different approach. “Truthfully, I thought you looked lonely.”

“What do you know about being lonely?” 

“Everyone can be lonely, you know. Just because you have friends or people who care about you doesn’t mean you can’t be lonely.” 

He glares at her. “You’ve been claimed. You have a twin and you’ve got friends.” 

“Well, want to be my friend?” 

“Yeah, right, who dared you to ask me that? Bet it was one of the Stolls.” 

She shakes her head. “No one did.”
He assesses her again. He finds no deception on her face. Slowly, his frown deepens. “Fine. I’ll help you with the hose. But that doesn’t mean we are friends. Understand?” 

Atalanta grins. “Loud and clear. Lead the way.”

They make it to the yard of the Big House. Atalanta grabs the hose and pulls out some change. Ethan instructs her on what to say before standing back with his arms crossed, as if she had dragged him there and forced him to do so.

Turning on the hose, she holds out the hose as the water arches into the path of the sunlight. She tosses out her change. 

“Oh, Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering,” she calls out. 

She waits. As does Ethan. Yet nothing happens. There is no image in the rainbow or the water.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Atalanta turns to Ethan. 

He appears just as confused as she. “That is definitely not normal.” He takes the hose from her. “You sure you know how to use a hose?” 

She stares at him. “You did just see me use it.” 

Ethan inspects the hose as it continues to run. “You think your powers are causing issues?” 

“Wouldn’t it have the opposite effect?” 

He shrugs. “How should I know? Not all of us got fancy powers from our godly parents, you know. Try it again.” 

She does as he says, repeating the words for nothing to happen. 

“I think,” Ethan says at last, stumped as much as herself. “Someone is trying to keep you from contacting your brother.” 

She sighs. Those meddling Moirai. “I have gathered as much.” 

For the first time that afternoon, Ethan drops the sarcasm and the sass. In fact, he gives her an almost sympathetic look. “Sorry about this. It's not right of them, the gods or whoever is keeping you from doing it. Really, it sucks.” 

“Me too,” she replies, shutting off the water. Just then, a thought pops up in her mind. “I may not be able to contact Percy, but what about you?” 

Ethan points to himself. “Me?”

The Amtrak speeds through Ohio as it makes its way to the Arch. 

Percy is leaning on his elbow as he stares out the glossy window, humming one of the songs from Ata's favorite musicals to himself as Annabeth and Grover sleep beside him, when a strange mist fills their compartment. 

He uncaps Riptide, eyeing the area for monsters when the mist reforms into an oval shape. Almost like a mirror or screen with a translucent haze over the top. He leans forward, frowning. 

“What the fuck–?”

Just then, the image of a dark-haired boy in an orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt appears in the mist. Percy finds the boy is familiar, likely having crossed paths or seen him at camp, he figures. The boy is glaring at the mist, no, he’s glaring at something further away from the mist. Someone else is with him, just off to the side and out of view.
“Hello?” Percy asks, confused. 

The boy tilts his head, rolling his eyes at whoever is beyond the mist before facing Percy. “Your sister wanted to talk to you.”

Percy nearly falls out of his seat. “Ata?! Ata, are you there?” 

He hears her then. Through the mist, like it's some sort of video message, yet no matter how he tries, he can’t see her anywhere. “Percy? Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately. “I can hear you. Are you okay? When did you wake up? Is something wrong?” 

“I’m fine, really,” she says as her voice carries over the mist. He feels himself relax, the stress he hadn't realized he had vanished from his chest. He really had missed her. “I don’t have much time, so listen carefully, Percy, this is important.” 

“Okay,” he replies quickly in wait. 

“You’re on the Amtrak train now, right? Heading toward the Arch? Not the Parthenon in Texas, I’m guessing…”

Wasn't the Parthenon in Athens…why Texas? Wait, how did Ata know? “How did you know–”

“Be careful, Percy. I mean it. Be wary of the gods and their gifts,” she tells him. “If you can help it, don’t enter the hotel. It’s a trap. And the water bed store. Don’t enter it either, it's a trap. Both are. Make sure to save your drachmas. You’ll need them when you get to DOA.” 

He listens with growing confusion that builds up within him, replacing the relief at hearing her voice. How did Ata know all this? Had she gone to the Oracle mummy herself? As likely as it sounded, deep within, Percy thinks it’s something else. Something more. It’s as though she is speaking like the Oracle had, in riddles and future events not yet occurred. Events she definitely shouldn’t know either. 

“Ata, how do you know any of this?” 

There’s a buzzing sound over the mist, and Percy has to strain his ears to listen. 

The boy whose face fills the mist mirrors what Percy is feeling. The boy phases in and out as his voice blends with the sounds of the train. “You have foresight?” 

“No, not what you think,” Atalanta says, though her voice grows more muffled.

“You’re breaking up on me,” Percy responds with a deep frown as panic surges. 

“Meddling fates,” he hears her mutter again. “Percy, I swear that once you come back, I will tell you everything. But you need to be careful. Don’t worry about me. Or mom, we’ll be fine. She’s alive, just trapped in the Underworld. When you get to our uncle’s domain, you have to–”

There is that buzzing again, and then Ata’s voice is gone. 

The misty screen zips in and out. Simmering like steam as it begins to quickly evaporate. 

No! He thinks, not yet. He still has more questions. “Ata, what do you mean–” 

Nothing else comes as the mist disappears completely, as if it had never been there. Percy can only stare at where it had been with wide eyes and his heart strumming loudly. He slumps back in his seat, more confused than he had been before. Just what the fuck was that? His thoughts jumbled, he starts to wonder if Annabeth had been right.  And then, deep in the back of his mind, a voice whispers. 

Atalanta arrives at the fire pit. As the de facto head of her cabin, she gets to decide what activities she is allowed to do. And, given her ‘flight risk status,’ she’s pretty much been relegated to areas that are within view of the others. Being in the center of camp, no one bats an eye when she heads over there after dinner. 

“Lady Hestia,” she greets with a bow of her head.

The goddess, in the form of a girl not older than ten, looks up, still tenderly stroking the flames. “Atalanta Jackson. Not many at camp stop to talk with me. Though your brother always waved my way in the mornings."

Atalanta smiles at that knowledge. "He's always been one who sees things that others miss. Even when he doesn't realize it himself." 

Hestia nods before telling her sincerely, "I have little to offer in the way of helping your brother in his quest.” 

“I know,” Atalanta replies. “I didn’t come for that, though I do wish I could have joined him, if the fates had allowed it.” 

Hestia closes her eyes with a tender hum of her voice. “It is understandable to be separated from family; it is a hardship that must always be faced, yet the pain never quells. Twins, too, a heavier burden.” 

“Lady Hestia,” Atalanta begins, “I come seeking advice from you.” 

The goddess nods her on, though there is a firmness that suggests that she will not have the answers Atalanta seeks. “Gods are forbidden from interfering on quests, and my domains do not allow me much sway to help you or your brother, I fear.” 

“Forgive me, but you are the goddess of the hearth, home, and family. Do my asks, my concerns, not fall within those domains?"

“Then,” begins Hestia with a pause of thought, “I ask that you remember that Percy is not the only family you have.”

Atalanta stills, processing what she believes is what the goddess is hinting at. She is right. Her family here is not solely Percy and Sally. But everyone at camp is family…as well as their godly parents. “Thank you, my lady. I shall take your advice.” 

Percy stares at the older woman before releasing a scream of irritation at the turn of events. “Another old lady? Am I cursed?” 

“Old?” screeches Echidna. “I AM NOT OLD!” 

He replies without holding his tongue. “Sounds like something an old lady would say.” 

“Curse you, Perseus Jackson–”

“I know! I already said I’m cursed, keep up with the program,” he says, knowing damn well he really needs to stop talking as he tries to find something that could give him the upper hand. 

The Chimera charges, its lion teeth gnashing terribly so that its maw nearly unhinges. Percy manages to leap aside and dodge the bite just in the nick of time. In the process, he ends up next to the family from earlier and the park ranger, who are all screaming their heads off, trying to pry open the emergency exit doors. Which, fair. If he didn’t know about the gods and stuff, he likely would be too. 

Percy redirects his attention. He couldn’t let them get hurt. Uncapping Riptide, he runs to the other side of the deck and yells out, “Hey, Chihuahua!”

The Chimera turns faster than he would’ve thought possible. Like a flash, switching gears in less than a second. 

Great. What next? 

Before Percy could swing his sword, it opens its ghastly mouth, emitting a stench like the world’s largest fire pit, and shot a column of flame straight at his face.

He dives through the explosion just as the carpet bursts into flames; the heat is so intense, he’s pretty sure it has seared off his eyebrows. Good thing Ata isn't here, else she’d be laughing at his expense. 

When he glances at the carpet, where he had been standing a moment before is a ragged hole in the side of the Arch, with melted metal steaming around the edges.

Great, he thinks with a wince. He’d just blowtorched a national monument. If he survives this, Annabeth may just kill him herself. 

Riptide is now a shining bronze blade in his hands, and as the Chimera turns once more, Percy slashes at its neck. 

However, that has been his fatal mistake. 

The blade sparks harmlessly off the collar, and when he tries to regain balance, he’s completely forgotten about the serpent tail until it whips around and sinks its fangs deep into his calf through his jeans. 

Instantly, his whole leg is on fire. Burning. As though he is being roasted from the inside out. 

He lets out a hiss through gritted teeth as Percy tries again to jab Riptide into the Chimera’s mouth, but the tail wraps around his ankles and pulls me off balance. Riptide goes flying out of his hand and spins out of the hole in the Arch and down towards the Mississippi River.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He doesn’t have the time to wait for it to return to his pocket. He needs it now. 

In pain, still burning as the fire crawls up to his chest, he manages to get to his feet. Yet, he knows as clear as the ocean of Montauk that he has just lost the battle. 

Weaponless and injured. Percy realizes that he is going to die. To an old lady and her rabies-infected chihuahua. 

A dark thought crosses his mind. Doubt plagues him. Has Ata known of this? If she had, why hadn’t she warned him of this, too? It leaves as quickly as it comes, as he shoves that thought away. 

Why is he doubting his sister? That isn't like him at all. Ata would never do that. Never. 

Percy backs into the hole in the wall, limping as he drags his burning leg. The Chimera advances again, slowly and leisurely, knowing that it’s got him cornered. The Chimaera growls, smoke curling from its lips. 

Echidna cackles again. “They don’t make heroes like they used to, eh, son?”

There is no other place to go, so Percy steps to the edge of the hole. Far, far below, the river glitters–welcoming as if it is trying to spread upward to clasp him in a hug. 

If he dies, he wonders, would the monsters go away? Would they leave the humans alone? Would everything be okay if he just let go? 

Percy never considered that he might be suicidal, not before Annabeth had pointed it out, but now? He wonders if it would be better. 

“If you are the son of Poseidon,” Echidna hisses, tempting him, “You would never fear water. Jump, Perseus Jackson. Show me that water will not harm you. Jump and retrieve your sword. Prove your bloodline. Prove the worth of your father, should you truly believe.” She throws her head back and laughs. “You have no faith. I can see it as do the gods. They know you do not trust them. I cannot blame you, coward. Better you die now. The gods are faithless and vain. They care not for you and your ilk. The poison courses through your veins.” 

She is right. Percy knows he is dying. He can feel it within himself. His vision blurs and tilts. Is this what Thalia Grace had felt? Is this what Ata experienced on Half-Blood Hill? Did all the half-bloods who came before him feel as he felt? Is this their fate? Is this the destiny of half-bloods? 

Nobody could save him. Not his mom. Not Ata. 

In the burning end, Percy has no one, nothing to rely on. He is truly on his own now. 

Strangely, through the pain and haze of the poison, he thinks of his dad. He recalls a smile, a glow kind and gentle from so long ago, he isn’t sure it really happened. But it brings him a piece of comfort despite everything. Like the sea—like home. 

The moment is ripped away from him a second later. This isn’t the sea. This isn’t Montauk. 

This is the Mississippi, dead center in the USA. There was no sea god here. 

“Die, faithless one,” Echidna rasps, and the Chimera sends a column of flame towards his face.

“Father, help me,” he whispers to himself as he plunges to his death. 

Atalanta jolts to her feet. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, and fear sprawled across her face. Beside her, Pollux and Castor stand to join her in confusion and worry. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Castor, moving over to take her hands. He nods at Pollux to get Lee or Michael from the infirmary. 

She doesn’t respond, only moving her gaze toward the water with a hand on her chest. 

“Atalanta?” he asks again. 

“Sorry,” she slowly says, “I thought…I thought I heard Percy…” 

Castor opens his mouth slightly but doesn’t dissuade her. If anything, he looks like he believes her. “Twins have a divine connection, right? Pollux and I, we’ve experienced something similar I think, before. In times of strong emotions, we’ve heard each other. Is that what you are experiencing?” 

Atalanta nods slowly, trying to focus on Percy, but finds there is nothing but herself once more. The silence beckons her, and she realizes what has to be done. Fate be damned. “I need to do something.” 

She runs off, leaving Castor floundering, stumbling to his feet to try to go after her.  “Atalanta, wait!”

She’s on the sands of the beach a minute later. She strips off her shoes and socks, tossing them aside. Atalanta runs a hand through her hair before collecting her breath as she enters the water. 

“Pater,” she says into the dark waters that surround her like an embrace. “Father. Hear my prayers, please.” 

Her prayers are answered, but not by whom she expects. When her eyes open, with her prayer complete, she finds a man standing on the shoreline behind her. 

At first, she thinks it’s Percy. 

It couldn’t be. Yet this man has his hair and parts of his face. But it isn’t him. 

“Triton,” Atalanta addresses, wading back out of the water slowly. “Or shall I call you Trenton still?” 

A feeling flashes over her godly brother’s face. Maybe it’s annoyance and exasperation, maybe it's anger, but she also thought he looked sad, too. 

“You pray to Father, why?” he asks her, ignoring her question. “For your brother?”

“Our brother,” she corrects. “Percy is our brother, just as I am your sister.” 

His lips curl back, and a sneer forms at her wording. “My father may be your father, but you and your brother are not my siblings.”

“Sharing the same parent makes us siblings, half sure, but siblings nonetheless.” 

“You have our father’s tongue, that is clear.” 

“Where is he? Our father?” 

“He has more important things to deal with than the worries of a half-blood. War is brewing. He doesn’t have time to deal with you.” 

“And you do?”

His gaze hardens. “He sent me to assess your state. You’ve never prayed to him before, nor I.” Triton pauses. “He was concerned something had happened to you.” 

Atalanta takes three steps toward her godly brother. “Well, something has happened to Percy. He is in the Mississippi River. Under the Arch, or adjacent to it…I…I am not sure. I should’ve warned him when I had the chance. I had been so focused on the other things that I had made a mistake.” 

She has been punching herself for the last few hours since the Iris Message. She should’ve warned Percy about the Arch. She'd even asked about it in case they had ended up in Nashville on the off chance things had changed. And yet despite that, her mind had jumped over it, racing to the endgame of the quest. Her own foolishness, she realizes now. And, despite having both Ethan and, later, Pollux and Castor try to call Percy back, no one had been able to get back in contact with him. It seems that fate has once again stopped her. 

“It’s dangerous,” Triton states, chiding her almost as if he has the right to do so. “Playing with fate and the Moirai’s design. You should be more wary, Atalanta Jackson.” 

“I’m not frightened by them.”

“You’ve got the hubris of a hero and of your namesake,” he shoots back with distaste. “Everyone is frightened by them. Even the gods.” 

“Why do you care? You’ve known us for a while. I see that you clearly do not care what happens to Percy or I.” He says nothing. Not for a while. Moments pass as she feels the water wash over her ankles, steady and calm. A grounding force, even. “I will not allow my brother to face this world alone, the path of his destiny, and whatever fate has ordained. He and everyone else, it doesn't have to be.” 

“You speak heavy words, Atalanta. The gods will not take kindly to your decree, however endearing some may see it. The god of prophecy, I doubt, shall be swayed by your interference. He has cursed many others for less, even those of his own lineage.” 

Cassandra and Halcyon come to the forefront of her mind. She thinks back to what Thanatos had said in the museum years ago, that the gods are best to leave their old selves behind, for if they don't. She wonders if she should be scared then, yet when she tries to muster up such emotions, there is nothing to bolster. 

Triton’s gaze softens as he looks upon her, brows furrowed. “Where does this conviction come from? Why force the fabric of fate when the consequences will outweigh the reward? If you are not cursed by Phoebus, you will be dead regardless.” 

“If I do not act when I know there are things that can be changed, when lives, even if it is just one that could be saved, how could I not?” She reaches out her hand to his and, surprisingly, he lets her take it. He's cool to the touch, like the waves themselves. She squeezes his hand. “If you knew what would happen to one you cared for, would you not do everything to change it? Would you try to save them? Even when the world says it’s impossible, could you truly sit back and allow it to happen?” 

Triton’s hand stills in hers. Atalanta thinks he’s going to pull away, yell at her for being stupid or selfish or full of arrogance, but none of that comes. Instead, he holds her hand tighter, squeezing back this time. His blue churning eyes turn to the water, a look passing across his features, hazy and damp before he returns his attention to her. 

“If I had known what the fates had in store for her, I would’ve done everything in my godly power to have changed it. Not even an oath would've kept me from it.” 

Atalanta doesn’t ask who he is referring to. She doesn’t have to. Only one name comes to mind: Pallas. 

Does she remind him of her? Did she or Percy look like Pallas? She wonders, then, as cruel as it is, with this knowledge could she use it? “Then you understand why I must go against them.”

Triton pulls his hand back, carefully and slowly. “What do you need from me, Atalanta? Your brother–our brother– resides now in our father’s domain; he is as safe as he can be whilst on his quest. As you are safe here, surely you are not asking to join him?” 

“It would not be possible, would it?”

He shakes his head. “Gods are unable to interfere with quests as the king has demanded.” 

“I figured as much,” she pauses. “Then, if you can not grant me that request, could you have a message delivered instead?” 

Chapter Text

Percy is floating in a void. 

If that void is a river. And if that void is also full of silt and disgusting garbage – beer bottles, old shoes, plastic bags. They swirl around him as he spins around. 

The next realization hits him harder than his falling into the water. 

His dad had saved him. Not Ata and not himself. But their dad. 

Why had Poseidon saved him? The more he lingered on the thought, the more ashamed he became. Percy never stood a chance against the Chimera. He’d been a coward in the end. Jumping out of the Arch to save himself. Percy is no hero. 

Just then, he hears a woman’s voice: 

“Percy, take the sword. Your father believes in you. And your sister calls for you”

He knows that voice isn’t one in his head. He isn’t imagining it. Her words circle him from everywhere, rippling through the water like dolphin sonar.

“Where are you?” he calls out aloud. “Who are you?”

Then, through the gloom, he spots something– a woman the color of the water, a ghost-like silhouette in the current, floating just above Riptide. She has long, billowing hair, like how Ata wears it, but her eyes, barely visible, are bright like his mom's.

A lump gathers in his throat as he speaks, knowing it isn't true, “Mom?”

“No, child, forgive me. I am only a messenger. Go to the beach in Santa Monica. There he will see you and bring you news”

“What?”

“It is the will of your father and brother both. Before you descend into the Underworld, you must go to Santa Monica. Go to the waters of the ocean. Please, Percy, I cannot stay long. The river here is too foul for my presence. I shall fade if I remain longer, dearest brave one.” 

She reaches out, and Percy feels the current brush his face in a caress, so much like his mom would do. “You must go to Santa Monica! And, Percy, do not trust the gifts…”

Her voice fades with the currents as the garbage floats over her form, obscuring her from view. 

“Gifts?” he asks, trying to swim toward her. It is the same thing Ata had warned him too earlier. But what gifts did they mean? “Wait! Please!”

She makes one final attempt to speak, but the sound is gone. Her image melts away like ice in a puddle. And once again, Percy loses the visage of his mother before his very eyes. All that surrounds him now is garbage and silt. 

Atalanta spends the day with Pollux and Castor. 

Her bond with them had been accidental. She hadn’t planned on and yet she almost never goes anywhere without them. So much so that she’s heard a few campers call her an honorary triplet. 

Even Mr. D, who famously hates half-bloods, at least if they are not his kids, gives her an approving look when he sees her with them. Though he still messed up her name, just without the added snark. 

When she’s not with them, she is either with Silena and her siblings or practicing her water powers with the nereids. After all, there are not any half-bloods who have control of water to train her. She thinks she's making good progress with it, but upon Chiron, as well as Pollux and Castor’s words, they have to try different weapons. She understands that she does and should have a normal weapon just in case her powers fail. 

So that afternoon, Castor and Pollux led her over to the training areas. 

It goes, well, not great. Nothing seems to fit. 

She isn’t a prodigy with swords like her brother, and even when she utilizes what she knows about kendo, it’s all for naught. Doesn’t work too well with the Greek-style swords they use at camp. 

Javelins and spears are an immediate no, and Clarisse all but kicks her ass when Atalanta attempts to pick one up on the grounds that her brother had already destroyed one spear and that she will not allow another one to break on her watch. 

Atalanta doesn’t have enough body strength for hammers or axes, though she manages to make Charles and his siblings laugh upon her attempt. Made her feel like she was trying to pick up Mjörnir and being rejected by it. 

And when she walked up to the archery stands, everyone immediately gave her the widest berth she’d ever seen. 

Even Michael, who’d been nothing but kind and helpful to her, had come out to show her how to string a bow covered head to toe in armor, and before he let her take aim and fire, he ran all the way behind a makeshift wall the other Apollo and Athena kids had fashioned.

Percy must’ve really done a number if this is how they’re reacting to her. 

She brushes it off. Surely, she can’t be that bad? The bow in her hand feels right. Like she’s held one before, possibly in her previous life, perhaps? 

She pulls back the string and releases. 

The arrow zooms, and though it flies straight. It’s going to hit the target. It will–

Fwip

Atalanta tilts her head in shock and confusion. What the fuck is this? 

Michael comes back out with an equally confused Lee, as does Malcolm, son of Athena. They stare at the arrow, which had dropped to the ground in mid-flight. 

“Try again?” asks Michael, frowning. 

“Might’ve been the wind,” suggests Lee, gazing up at the sky and holding his hand out in the direction the winds are blowing. 

Malcolm shakes his head. “Not the right direction or strength to do something like that.” He eyes her hand positions on the bow and then her face. “Did you offend a wind god by chance?”

“Not to my knowledge,” she replies. Though given that every other god at the moment wants her and her brother dead, the chances aren’t zero. 

“Why don’t you give it a go again?” suggests Michael. “I’ll stay with you this time.” 

She grabs another arrow and notches it. “Are you sure? You don’t want to join the others?” Atalanta gestures to where Lee, Malcolm, and Ethan, along with both Pollux and Castor, and a handful of other half-bloods, are. She also spies a few nymphs behind the makeshift wall. They wave at her. 

“I’ll be fine,” Michael says, though a tad uneasy as he taps the chest plate he’s got strapped on. 

“Okay.” Not entirely convinced, but she still draws back the string and takes aim. 

Like before, it sails perfectly in the air, not flying in different directions or twisting about. And like before, when it gets just a yard away from the target, it plummets immediately down. 

“That’s not normal,” Michael finally says, as he steps over toward the arrow and picks it up. He examines it between his fingers. He holds out his hand, and Atalanta gives him the bow. Then he notches the arrow and releases. 

It hits the target dead in the center. 

“Am I cursed?” She finds herself asking when Lee comes out and tries to hit the target himself with the same arrow and bow. Again, it hits the target just fine. Even Pollux and Castor approach with curiosity in their eyes as they, too, pick at the arrow. 

It is Malcolm who answers her question bluntly. “Yes. You are cursed, Jackson.” 

“Thanks for agreeing.”

“You know the story of Orion?” 

Atalanta follows what he means. “Orion was a great hunter alongside Lady Artemis,” she pauses, “and was also the son of Poseidon, my half-brother.” 

Malcolm nods. “And you know how he died then?” 

She holds her hand up and does and replies so-so. “Hesiod's and Homer's differ a bit from Virgil's and other Latin authors.” 

“Well, I guess that is true,” he mutters. “But most believe he was tricked by Apollo and the children of Poseidon are cursed from ever hunting with a bow again.”

At his words, Michael and Lee offer her heartfelt condolences and look almost embarrassed over their father's actions.

“Ata, I am so sorry–” 

She stops Michael from continuing. “It’s not your fault. And really, you should not have to apologize for the actions of your dad from like two thousand years ago.” 

“More like three thou–”

Atalanta shoots Malcolm a look, and he closes his mouth. 

“Well,” begins Ethan to break the tension, “At least we know why Percy sucked ass.”

The man standing before them is large and wide, dressed in leather like a biker out of a sports magazine or YouTube video. His motorcycle, the size of a baby elephant, all black and red, leans on the curb as he comes toward Percy, Grover, and Annabeth. 

“Finally found you three,” the man says, giving them a wicked grin as he lowers his shades. Anger, hate, resentment, and danger swirl within the fire where irises should’ve been. “So you’re old seabeard’s kid, huh? Shame your other half isn’t here.”

“Lord Ares,” Percy addresses, being a tad more respectful than he usually would’ve been. He eyes him with suspicion. After what both the water spirits had said and Ata’s warning, Percy has decided to take no chances. 

Ares takes a seat in their booth. He pulls out a knife, playing with it between his fingers. A threat if Percy had ever seen one. 

“What do you want?” he asks when neither Annabeth nor Grover speaks up. “We are on a quest, and time’s a bit tight.” 

Ares waves him off, dismissing his concerns. “You’ve what? Three weeks left? You have loads of time to make it to California. In fact, you could make quite a few more pit stops and be completely fine. Live a little. Not many can say they’ve road tripped the states by themselves at age twelve, you know.” He leans forward. “Which is exactly why I need you to do me a favor.”

Percy doesn’t like it. Warning bells blaring in his mind. “What favour could I do for a god?”

“Something a god doesn’t have time to do himself. It’s nothing much. I left my shield at an abandoned water park here in town. I was going on a little… date with my girl. We were interrupted. I left my shield behind. I want you to fetch it for me.”

He makes a face. Really, he thinks, all this for a shield and an affair that’s been public knowledge for millennia. “We’re not interested.”

“Hold your horses, kid,” Ares replies. “I know all about your quest. When that item was first stolen, Zeus sent his best out looking for it: Apollo, Athena, Artemis, and me, naturally. If I couldn’t sniff out a weapon that powerful…Well… if I couldn’t find it, you've got no hope. Nevertheless, I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your dad and I go way back. After all, I’m the one who told him my suspicions about old Corpse Breath.”

“You told him Hades stole the bolt?”

“Sure. Framing somebody to start a war. Oldest trick in the book. I recognized it immediately. In a way, you got me to thank for your little quest.” 

Percy can’t help but glare. He had figured Ares would be much like what his domains are. War and bloodlust. Yet hadn’t he also been the patron and father to the Amazons? Percy decides he doesn’t care for the god either way. 

“Do my little job, and I’ll help you on your way. I’ll arrange a ride west for you and your friends.”

“No thanks. We’re doing fine on our own.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve got barely any money. No wheels. No clue what you’re up against. Help me out, and I’ll tell you something you need to know. Something about your mom.”

“As I said, no thanks.” At his words, both Annabeth and Grover turn to face him with surprise. “I already know that she’s alive and our uncle has her in the Underworld.” 

Percy sends a mental thank you to Ata for that bit of knowledge, even though he still has no idea how she knew it. 

Ares doesn’t seem to like what he’d said. The fire in his eyes grows hotter, and his grin turns into a sneer. Then it disappears from his face, the frown relaxing. “That sister of yours tell you that? Figures, sisters always have to get in the way of business. I should know, I have to deal with that one’s mother.” He jabs his thumb in the direction of Annabeth, who is looking rather pale. “No matter, then. How about this for an incentive? You do this favor for me, and I won’t hunt down and kill your sister. Sound like a deal?” 

“What?” Percy hisses, lunging forward just as Annabeth grips his shoulder in time, urging him to stop. 

The god laughs. “Sure, not my usual MO, but a god’s got to do what a god’s got to do. Besides, when you ultimately fail to return daddy dearest bolt you and your sister will be the first ones to die. Anything I would do to her would be a mercy compared to the wrath of my father. Course, if she is a pretty thing, then she would be better off in my hands than his.” He leans back as he picks at his nails with the knife. “If there’s one thing those myths got right, it's his appetite for pretty and handsome things.” He looks Percy up and down. “And if she is anything like you, bet she’ll be a real looker in a few years. You likely would be too, I reckon.” 

A shiver spikes through the anger coursing through Percy’s veins. Deep down, he’s pretty sure this is what Ares wants. His wrath, his anger, his bloodlust. “Don’t you dare threaten my sister.” 

“Not a threat if it’s a promise. You know what, I’ll clue you in on some of the Olympus gossip. My girl loves that stuff, so it wasn’t hard to find out that sister of yours has been causing quite the buzz, almost as much as you three have, what with sending us Medusa’s head.” He’s got Percy right where he wants him to be and knows it, too. Ares smiles. “What I’ll say is she’s got Apollo riled up. Haven’t seen him like this since Achilles and before that Cassandra…huh…guess the common factor would be Troy then.” He whistles. “What a time to be alive that had been, makes me miss it.”  

Percy doesn’t understand, at least he doesn’t know if what the god is saying is what he’s implying, but when he checks the expression on Annabeth’s face, he figures he’s not too far off. Fuck. 

“Fine,” replies Percy. “We’ll go do your detour, but you have to swear on the River Styx you will not touch my sister.” 

Ares rises. “Fine by me. Though word of advice, you punk, next time a god asks you things, best agree right away. You’re lucky I’m more forgiving than the other gods.” 

And just like that, he leaves the diner, the bell dinging as he exits. Once he’s out of sight, Percy looks at Annabeth and Grover. Their expressions aren’t much better than how he is feeling. 

“How fucked are we, gang?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Very,” says Ananbeth.

“Fucked,” bleats Grover. 

“Which one do you like more?” 

“Who?”

Drew rolls her eyes as her brother Arthur asks again. “Castor or Pollux?”

Atalanta stares at them both. “What? What do you mean, which one do I like more? I like them both just fine.” 

Arthur lets out a sigh and turns to Drew. “She is hopeless.” 

“Utterly so.” Drew shakes her head as if mournful. “What about Luke? Do you like him then?” 

Atalanta's face pulls into one of disgust. “Absolutely not!”

Despite pretending to get along with the older boy, Atalanta still utterly dislikes him. She’s pretty sure he realizes it too, but says nothing, treating her like any other camper, smile and all. She hates him. But she’ll continue to pretend, waiting for when he slips up. 

Drew uncrosses her arms and smirks. “Sounds like you do like him.” 

“As they say, denial is a river in Egypt,” adds Arthur. 

Atalanta pauses, “I thought you guys didn’t have internet access here?” 

“Yeah, we don’t.”

“Then how did you know that reference?” 

“What reference?” asks Drew, confused. 

Atalanta closes her mouth. “Never mind. Not important.” 

Arthur swings an arm around her shoulder, making her flop her face onto the bed as Drew laughs at her expense. “Come on, Jackson. No one is immune to the Luke effect. Even your twin.”

Her grimace deepens. “One, I do not care whether Percy finds him attractive or not. That said, Luke is so much older than both of us. Two, he is not my type, even if we were the same age. And third, did I mention that I’m twelve?”

“Yes, and? One can admire beauty no matter the age,” argues Drew. 

“But that is not the same thing as having a crush.” 

“But it could be,” shoots Arthur. 

“But not always.” 

Just then, Silena comes to Atalanta’s rescue. “Atalanta! Come see the new fabrics that Argus has brought; I think you’ll find that it’s that exact shade of green you like.” 

Atalanta is on her feet, untangling herself from the bed and both Arthur and Drew. “See you both later.” She waves as she hurries out the door, and Silena follows closely. 

“So how about Ethan then?” asks Silena once they are away from Cabin 10. 

Atalanta turns to her. “Not you too. Games or not, I’m not much interested in romance at this age.” 

Silena offers her a smile, one that reaches her eyes in a way that some of her other picture-perfect ones don’t have. “Though some of my siblings would protest it, and likely our mother, I’m glad you feel that way.” Then she lowers her voice, serious and firm. “We might be family here, but that doesn’t mean they are much different.”
“They?” Atalanta pauses.

“Men,” Silena grasps her hand, “Can be even worse than monsters. And as half-bloods, we can be more like our godly parents than some would have you think.” 

“Silena,” Atalanta begins slowly, trying to find the right words. “Are you, are you okay? Is there something–someone–that has hurt you? Someone here at camp?”

Her mind wanders straight to Luke. When had he recruited Silena, and when did he blackmail her? Atalanta tries to recall the details only to realize it was never told to Percy, or he never mentioned it in his pov. 

“Nothing like that,” Silena quickly says, waving off her concerns, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. “I just, you’re young, and pretty, and there are a lot of beings out there who would capitalize on that. As the counselor of Cabin 10, it’s my job to talk to campers about these things, and as a daughter of Aphrodite, I just, well, I understand these things a bit more, I suppose.” 

Atalanta doesn’t push it. She won’t force Silena to say anything if she isn’t ready. But what she can do is support her. “If anyone comes to you, tries to force you to do anything, tell me. And I will help you, no questions asked. That I swear.” 

Silena takes two blurry-looking blinks before rubbing her eye and looking away. “You know it’s my job to say that sort of stuff. Not to mention I’m older than you.”  

“Doesn’t mean I can’t say it too,” replies Atalanta. 

Silena squeezes her hand again before starting to walk toward the Big House. “Now, let’s go see about that fabric.”

On one hand, it isn’t an old woman who wants to kill Percy this time. 

Just a war god and his love affair with a married woman whose husband thinks mechanical spiders are the correct response. Upgrades people, upgrades. 

Percy sighs as he bows to the cameras. 

“Show’s over!” He yells. “Thank you! Goodnight!”

The cupids turn back to their original positions, and the lights shut off. The park falls silent and dark again, except for the gentle trickle of water into the Thrill Ride of Love’s exit pool. He does wonder if Olympus has gone to a commercial break, or if the ratings had been any good.

Again, the gods can make this, but not touch-screen cellphones? Or what about hotspots wherever you go? 

It's kind of cheap if you ask him. 

Percy hefts the shield onto his arm and turns to his friends. “We need to have a little talk with the dick named Ares.” 

Grover mutters under his breath at his words before saying, “We should not be using the d word when describing the gods either.” 

“I feel like that's a lot of words we can't be using for the gods.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “That's because there is a lot.” 

“It's not like I'm lying. He is a dick. A piece of shit, if you will. A bastard, actually,” argues Percy. “Are you going to look at me and tell me that I'm wrong? Am I wrong?”

“Percy…” 

“Am I wrong?” The two don’t answer him, and he sighs. 

“Percy, we know you’re stressed about your mom and Atalanta. Especially now…” Annabeth trails off. “I’m sorry. I really am.” 

He looks down at Ares’s shield. Briefly, he contemplates flinging the shield back into the ride, but refrains. “Whatever happens,” he begins, “we will not be accepting any gifts from him, other than what he promised before. Just the ride, understand?” 

Grover and Annabeth nod in agreement. 

There’s a knock on the cabin door as Atalanta finishes changing for bed. 

“Just a moment,” she calls out, adjusting the curtain overhead her bunk. She wonders who would be needing her right now. Maybe Castor or Pollux? Possibly Ethan, as she ponders if it would be allowed to let him sleep in her basically empty cabin–

“You’re not one of mine.”

Atalanta freezes in her place. Slowly looks toward the voice of the intruder. He’s tall, blonde, and there’s a look in his eyes that, despite the warm glow he exudes, is cold as ice. 

He takes an approaching step. “And you’re not my Oracle or even another's.” His eyes flash a golden hue. “I’d thought, perhaps it had been a remnant of your father’s once possession of Delphi. Yet I sense not an ounce of prophecy in your veins. In fact, I can hardly sense anything else at all. Why would that be?” 

Atalanta, for the first time, is filled with immense fear in the presence of a god.

This isn’t anything like when she had met with Thanatos, Triton, Mr. D, or the Moirai. “L-Lord Apollo.” 

The god runs a hand through sun colored hair, and though he smiles, it is not a sweet one. His white teeth gleam as he continues, “Enlighten me, Atalanta Jackson, what exactly are you?”