Chapter Text
There are some games—Percy had learned the hard way, at a very young age—that he couldn’t win with his powers. Lupa had warned him— that the sea does not like to be restrained, and the blood of the oceans has to be kept under control, lest they drown out the entire world in its rage. It was the curse of being a demigod, having the powers of a god, and being made to live as a human.
He stood in front of the Mayor’s assistant, hands behind his back, fist hardened into a stone. It was easy to forget that there were higher forces at play, turning into marionettes that simply ignored the strings that pulled on them. Water hated being stopped, it lashed out at any force that dared to control it. But, Percy was far from what supposedly ran through his veins. The man in front of him smirked and tugged on his leash.
“Really, Praetor Jackson. If word hadn’t reached the Mayor’s office in time, only God knows what that vermin would have done to our soldiers during the War Games. This oversight would have cost you your praetorship if it wasn’t for the generosity of the people of New Rome. You should be thankful.”
Percy stared at the man. The blood in his body bellowed to his call– from the drop that started flowing from his heart to the ones settling in his feet. The drone of his heart was mechanical, a toy with an irritating sputter, one he had to power to turn on and off. For a moment, he let himself imagine the consequences of giving himself away to his strength and running away with Frank, Hazel, and Annabeth. His life force was a putrid stench, and Percy’s face twisted. It wouldn’t be any different, he told himself, a slave to authority or a slave to his divine instincts.
“So, what? We’re just gonna ignore a Goddess’ orders?” It hit the way he meant it to, and was aided by the thunderous boom above them. The man scowled. He’s a pawn, too. Percy reminded himself, painfully. Just someone else’s.
“The augur asked us to hold off. He said… there might be some use for the girl. But, regardless, the people cannot know. The Mayor will not have New Rome be intimidated by teenage demigods.” Percy held the waves back. “We’ve switched to Gladiator Games for the same reason: If she’s a threat, she will be dealt with. And if not, she’ll know not to mess with us.”
He walked away, not having bothered to ask for permission or an opinion. Percy knew he could not drown, but would the ocean kill him for defying it?
He was frozen from head to toe, pure emerald when he walked into the Dining Hall. He wanted to find Annabeth— but what then? Warnings? Sharing tips? He thought about the way she was drawn to bronze, exactly like him, the way they haunted each other for days. Whatever she might be to the camp, whatever her arrival meant, she had become his responsibility. He wasn’t sure she’d like that, but then again, it wasn’t like he was doing a good job.
The assortment of feelings in the room brushed past him until he heard what he was looking for: fear and anxiety. He found a few members of the Fifth Cohort huddled near the back wall, all wearing sullen faces, except one. He turned away quickly, to stand at the dais, offering the facade that was his leadership.
“Legionnaires! There has been a change of plans. We will not be having War Games.” No one spoke a word, except for the whispers of the First Cohort. “The Mayor’s office has graciously funded tonight’s Gladiator Fights.” The silent crowd broke into cheers, happy to sit back and enjoy a bloody fight and Percy’s knuckles turned white.
Octavian stepped up beside him to announce the Cohorts participating. It was easy to tune him out, standing as lifeless as he felt in the moment. To him, Camp was just a giant feeding house—soldiers, raised with the burden of duty, and then picked up and thrown into battle; commoners unaware that they were pawns, sold and sacrificed in the name of governance.
“Daughter of Minerva, then.” Octavian started, after the ending of the announcements. “She looks… not like I’d expected her to.”
“I’m not in the mood. Go Away.” Percy wasn't sure he'd be able to control his fist,
“Do tell, Percy.” He rolled his eyes, as Octavian turned to face him, body radiating glee. “Is that why you’ve been so protective of her? I have to say, I wondered if she was going to replace Reyna. But, Minerva and Neptune… that’s more interesting.”
What?
Percy remained silent, shock replacing fury and disdain. Octavian eyed Percy's face and then smiled, both of them knew that any explanation would be like moving in quicksand. It was too late.
He took his storm out of the Mess Hall when Octavian announced the end of dinner, unable to bear the pretense of control and authority. His gaze ignored the Field of Mars, the hell that loomed over his head like the Fates.
Octavian and all the others had spotted the parasitic worm—made the connection he hoped they would miss—prepared to use it to infect the entire city. Blood felt like stagnant water in his brain, clogging and rotting. He inhaled deeply, trying to get his rhythm back. Reyna, where are you?
“Percy.” Annabeth’s voice stopped him. He put his hands in his pockets and gripped the pen tightly.
“Looking for tips?” He tried to joke, but the lack of humor was crystal clear. She walked up to stand beside him.
“I can manage on my own, thanks.” He scoffed, unable to tell her that monsters worse than the ones in Tartarus were at play here, in the haven of Demigods. She continued after a few moments, having received only his silence.
“I assume my secret is out. Octavian said something weird to me.”
“Fucking hell—” his hands rushed out to aggressively rub his face, unfortunately not rough enough to wake himself up from this nightmare.
“‘One must be wary of children of Neptune, especially if one is a daughter of Minerva.’” His body stilled, inspired by his lack of words, and waited for her reaction.
“Who the fuck talks like that?” she seethes, and Percy's breath, tense and controlled for so long, finally relaxed. Unexpected laughter rises in his chest, sudden joy tainted with blots of absurdity and exasperation.
“What?” She asks. They both look at each other. Laughter liked to make itself home on his face, eyes sparkling long after the moment had passed. Annabeth averted her eyes.
“It’s not just that. Hazel and Frank volunteered too,” she grumbled, and he couldn't help the turn of his lips.
“Yeah, I assumed they would. How many from the Cohort in total?”
She didn’t answer, choosing to instead look towards the Mess Hall, face shrouded in anxiety. Her whole body was restless, he noticed.
“Are you nervous? I think you’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know.” She did not meet his gaze and began to walk away. He turned around and saw the rest of the Legion and people from New Rome walk towards the Field. There was a subtle tightness around her back, that must have been a trick of the light, but he wondered if she had taken more weapons from the armory. To new legionnaires, the armory looked packed to the brim with blades and gold, and soon the awe of the shine turns into indifference with routine; Gold begins to look like glitter when you look at it every day. What most people didn’t know is that when had Percy come to New Rome, the armory was nearly empty. A gleaming Imperial gold sword was a rarity; procured only with power or wealth. Most kids on probatio didn’t have weapons— except for Percy.
“Annabeth!” he called out. She turned around, her posture tight, the muscles already readying themselves for battle.
“They’re good people," he emphasized. "They know goodness. It’s not pity, I promise.” Bathed in darkness, it was hard to gauge her expression, but the slow beat of her heart looked like a shade of sunflower yellow to him.
“Promises shouldn’t be made lightly, Praetor,” she said softly and walked away.
“This is going to be good, Percy.” His mom says, the warmest honey set in her eyes.
He looks out the window, a frown permanently creasing his face. No answer.
His mother’s fingers tapped incessantly on the wheel. She sighs.“Mijo, just think of it as another Boarding school… just different. You’re twelve now, it’s time.”
He scoffs, still not meeting her eyes. She takes one hand off the steering wheel and grabs his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut when she kisses his knuckles. He looks at her, eyes pleading.
“But, it’s not just a Boarding school, is it? Ma, I really don’t wanna go. I promise I’ll…I’ll behave. What happened the other day… It wasn’t my fault! Ask Grover—” He jumps forward, taking her hand in both of his.
“Percy. This place…it’s going to be good for you. They’re good people, they’ll know your goodness.” And they drive on, brown and black hair melting against the setting sun of New York.
Percy stepped into the Field of Mars, and the world ran away underneath him. From a barren and empty field, it was transformed into a battleground with thick forests, creeks, bombs, and demons of the darkness. Walls taller than trees surrounded the field, and he could hear people make easy conversation about the next day’s events, complain about the increasing prices at the local bakeries, and bet on who was going to die. He looked around, grasping for a familiar face from the Fifth, for a buzzcut, a mop of brown hair, for a head of princess curls. His hand clenched again, as he walked away from the main ground, and towards the waterfall of seats.
Percy didn’t blink an eye as all the world in front of him is wiped away clean, the field back to being plain and empty, as soon as he stepped into the Seating Area. Children of Trivia stood in a circle, holding hands, eyes blindfolded, weaving their magic into the fabric of the air. Drops of sweat formed on their foreheads, and fingers were gripped tightly in pain. He looked at the people on the top row, lounging with paper fans.
The earth was pitted with explosion craters and scarred with trenches from canceled games. The engineers had built a stone fortress with an iron portcullis, guard towers, scorpion ballistae, and water cannons, for the games, but they lay useless, overlooked.
He chided himself, for not warning her, for being stupid enough to have overlooked the consequences of lying. Should he have not protected her? Was this his idea of protection? A knife won’t be enough for Gladiator fights, he thought. She needed more. He wondered if someone explained the rules to her. What about Frank and Hazel? What would happen to Frank, who was still on Probatio, and Hazel, who wasn’t comfortable using her powers? A horn sounded and Percy was forced into reality. He walked towards the corner of the stadium, to Blackjack.
Gladiator fights used to be one-on-one matches, with a class of students watching, and a teacher who offered advice. There were only two rules—fight with respect, and remember who your enemy is.
Percy watched as the crowd roared with excitement, as Octavian announced the legionnaires fighting today. Two cohorts are picked, and the augur announces the two members who must fight the others. Others can volunteer, but an equal number of people from both parties must enter the field. The only way to win is to defeat the opposite team or be the last one standing. Enemies are assassinated, profits are churned out, and deterrents are eliminated. There was nothing to learn here, only the ones who make it out learn that blood here bleeds green, not gold.
A second horn blew, and Percy climbed onto his pegasus and soared into the navy sky. They hovered over the field, and Percy pulled his sword out. The bronze blade calmed him down, letting all the chaos around him center itself on a single stroke, a single focal point.
The members of the First Cohort entered the arena from the left side, covered in armor from head to toe, armed with long blades, and sharp spears. He recognized two sons of Mars and a son of Bellona. Another girl he didn't recognize struggled to catch up with them, weighed down by the heavy metal she was carrying. He flew over to the other side when he heard the crowd boo, and asked Blackjack to glide downwards. Annabeth and Gwen walked in first, followed by Hazel and Frank. Frank carried his bow and quiver, Hazel held her calvary sword, and Gwen had a long blade. He squinted, confused when Annabeth walked in with a… was that a polearm? The knife was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, the dread in him turned into confusion. Should he have told her about the blade’s history? Can a cursed blade ever become divine again?
The third and final horn blew, and Percy tensed, as the fight finally began.
The team from the First Cohort immediately split up, and Percy frowned. Frank and the others stayed together, with Hazel and Gwen in the front handling the monsters that could turn up at any moment. Most of them were pesky and not capable of much harm, their main aim was to distract the players, leaving them more prone to surprise attacks and mistakes. The more drama in a single game, the more money, and revenue made. Percy looked back at the First Cohort team, who were slashing and lacerating the battleground, covering as much of it as possible. Time was a luxury they couldn’t afford; to let the other team get ahead meant looking up to find clouds of loss, ready to rain down.
Percy glid down. They all looked at each other and nodded. Hazel and Gwen split up, running towards the West Entrance, leaving Frank and Annabeth to deal with the other part of the game. She still hadn’t moved her weapon yet, but nothing major approached them, monsters or opponents. There was the smoke of anxiety around them, of not being attacked, the air filled with apprehension of the ambushes.
Suddenly, Annabeth hit the ground with her staff, hard, three times. The crowd slapped into silence, and the sound reverberated around the field with ease. Frank shot up a flaming arrow towards the West Entry. Nothing happened for a few minutes, and then the earth raged. The ground shook for a couple of seconds, but Percy felt the land being hollowed—he knew their song deep in his bones. He’d always had an easy relationship with Hazel, even with Nico, but he had always felt uncomfortable with her powers. He applauded her strength, but what he felt wasn’t insecurity, it was possessiveness.
The sea does not like to be restrained, boy. But here, you need to be a Wolf.
Growls and exposed fangs. He closed his eyes for a moment and forced his muscles to loosen.
At that moment, monsters pounced on the duo from both sides. Percy almost charged down, before Frank pushed Annabeth behind. She spun her staff around and clubbed a few harpies. Frank’s hand raced to his back and he swiftly rained arrows of destruction, producing showers of golden dust that floated in the air. Percy scowled, he only hoped that Frank knew this was a trap.
“Run! I’ll take them!” He yelled, not waiting for a response. Annabeth remained still for a second, possibly not expecting the dirty move pulled by the First Cohort, but then slide past and ran for the other wall. Percy lingered for a few minutes, Annabeth’s blonde head being tracked by his pupils. He knew they had to split up, but he didn’t want to leave either alone. The girl, he told Blackjack.
Annabeth was a cheetah, slicing past the trees, weapon snaked around one arm. Her head whipped around to check out every turn, every block, eyes scrutinizing every snap of a twig. If Hazel had to reach the enemy lines, Annabeth had to look for prey. She slowed down near a creek and scanned her surroundings. Leaving Frank alone wasn’t the right decision; if the attack turned out to be a trap, then there was no point in Annabeth escaping. The First Cohort didn’t care much for victory, they’d consider humiliating the other opponent into submission much better than a laurel crown. Percy tensed. This was probably what the other team had been planning, and they played right into it. Just as he was about to turn away to look for Frank’s arrows, the clang of metals clashing with rocks reached him.
His head whipped around, and he saw the girl from the other team point her sword at Annabeth.
Annabeth didn’t get into a defensive stance— her arms were snaked around her weapon, holding it casually. The other girl didn’t charge either, and instead, said something that made Annabeth’s eyebrows shoot up. Percy tried to get closer, straining to catch their conversation.
“— being too nice to me?” Annabeth narrowed her eyes.
The other girl sighed and stepped forward arduously, but her weapon relaxed. “I just want you to know, I’m… not like the rest of the Cohort. I saw what happened to you during dinner. I’m sorry about that.”
Percy looked at the stadium, irritation, and restlessness setting in.
Annabeth considered the other girl for a minute.“Thanks. Now, are we gonna fight?” Her stance lowered, feet spreading apart. As her chin dipped, she let the staff slide from her arms, palm grasping the center firmly.
Percy blinked, and in that minuscule moment, Annabeth advanced, faster than the Nyx, faster than one falling asleep. Percy’s jaw dropped, and as mere mortals caught on to her sacred speed, silence fell across the stadium, words bowed in prayer.
The air whipped strands from her ponytail as she spun her staff, hard. Punishing blows were delivered to the poor girl's torso, who gritted her teeth in pain. Weapons clashed, toughened wood against a sword. Annabeth kept pushing her back, her distance the advantage, her swiftness kept the opponent busy with defense. If she’d yielded a sword and not a staff, Percy was sure the other girl would have died already. The staff danced on her command like a spear, sometimes a sword.
The fighting style was complete chaos, her arms and legs were deadly as her staff, and her weapon was an extension of her body. It reminded Percy of the way waves crash against any and everything in their path when the sea is angry; listening to no one, other than tunes of destruction. But, Annabeth didn’t look angry. She looked eager; her eyes narrowed, hurricanes aiming to conquer everything in their path. And that made his blood run faster— not in fear, but in excitement.
The girl neared the ebb of a low-tide creek, and Annabeth’s feet kicked at her stomach, pushing her back into the war. Annabeth jumped in after her, water cascading down her shoulders, droplets on her face captured the light around them and shone like diamonds.
Her opponent leaped back a couple of feet and drew another sword, one that didn’t gleam like the sun. Annabeth stood still, eyes wide, as a light golden hue encircled the girl and her rugged weapon. With that, Percy recognized her.
A child of Bellona, with a mighty sword, the envy of many. Her family was blessed by the goddess, an honor bestowed on very few people. Unfortunately, different kinds of gods had started to gain strength, the ones whose tongue only spoke the language of money and power. False rumors and tainted reputations later, the eldest granddaughter had to take over. She wasn’t famous, and neither was her skill, but he had heard stories of the bone sword. A technique that would counter all enemies within a radius of 2 meters, until both feet leave the original set point of attack.
Annabeth didn’t move an inch, but he couldn’t sense any fear in her veins. He grits his teeth. He wanted her to lose this battle, it would be far better than to suffer the abhorrent humiliation the others must have planned for her.
A rotting sensation entered his gut, as he realized that she was used to having no information in fights. She wasn’t fighting for blood, she was a survivor.
After no one made a move for a couple of minutes, Annabeth straightened, “In that case…” abandoning her defense posture. Percy’s jaw almost dropped for the second time that evening, when Annabeth lifted her only visible weapon, held it against her raised knee, and broke it in half. Within a second, she threw one piece like one would throw a sharp knife, at the other girl. As it hurled forward, Annabeth dashed behind like wind.
The girl used her sword to strike the wood. The piece of wood was tossed aside, and the other part that stored her treasure was opened: her knife. Screams of the crowd failed to reach his ears, as Annabeth charged through the creek, water rising around her like a shield. Wood against sword, the sheer force of her attack made the other girl move. Just as she tried to overpower Annabeth, the gray-eyed storm grabbed her wrist and violently flipped her body over. Was that Judo? She rolled through the water but managed to get up. However, when her hands went to grab her sword, they returned empty, for the weapon was firmly gripped in Annabeth’s hand.
Silence washed through the field.
“Your sword isn’t too bad.” Annabeth pointed it at her and grinned.
And then, the crowd erupted.
The other girl tried to raise her arm, and move for her sword.
"Do you yield?"
"Well…" Her hand floated awkwardly in the air.
Annabeth sighed. "Julie, you have no weapon. Do you yield?"
Julie nodded softly and ducked her head. Annabeth looked to the sky, the sun shining heavily. She could hear the crowd barking like hungry dogs, salivating at the sight of split blood. This wasn’t a training exercise, this was entertainment. A glint of black flittered in and out of her vision. She took a deep breath and looked at Julie, the girl who fought with the weight of her family on her back. What… What is she fighting for?
“You see that tree? When you reach the trunk, I’m gonna throw this sword in the creek. Agreed?”
“It was a fair fight, Annabeth. I’m not gonna—I won’t attack you again.” Julie dusted herself off, and despite her words, made her way to the tree. For some reason, Annabeth didn’t wait, setting the sword down as soon as the other girl turned away.
She stepped into the water gingerly and fished her knife out. There was no need for her to fight that way, to go all in, especially with a weaker opponent, she thought. But it wasn’t worthless, as long as people would be afraid to fight her.
She rolled her shoulders once, twice, and then set off to find Frank.
Naturally, finding Frank, as it turned out, was much harder than getting away from him. The second time around, Annabeth felt more anxious, the blood in her veins ached to leap out at the crunch of a leaf, the snap of a twig. She was wary of the wind, apprehensive of its calmness; of the stillness of the earth below, worried about Hazel. Her steps slowed down when the open and empty space around her crowded itself with tress, abandoned scaffolding, and used traps. On her left, meters from the boundary barrier stood a smaller wall, and atop it was a massive metal tank, connected to a cannon-like machine, and a rotor. Annabeth’s eyes raked over the mess of wires that surrounded the system, a project presumably abandoned in haste.
Traps.
A woosh in the air and Annabeth lept forward. Half a second later, a spear penetrated the hard ground where she had been standing.
“Damn, Chase.” A whistle that cut harder. “She’s fast.”
When she turned, she was met with the same three smiles that had intruded on her dinner. Frank was kneeling at the corner, gagged with his hands bound.
Annabeth tried to steady her breath. She put her hand on the leather over her hip, and subtly put her knife behind her back. “And what’s your name, again?”
Zach’s eyes narrowed, while Annabeth’s remained fixed on Frank. Her fingers dug into the hardness of her knife, looking at Frank struggle against the thick ropes. “Shut up. We know you’re alone here. And that this guy—” He pointed to Frank, “—is your only hope.”
Her head lowered, and a steady stream of lethal arrows left her eyes. With the sharpest voice she could manage, she barked, “What do you want?”
He stepped forward, but Annabeth did not retreat.
"If only you weren't such a bitch back at dinner, it wouldn't have come to this."
Annabeth risked a peek at Frank. Was he trying to use the spokes on his shield to tear at the rope? Suddenly, she realized he was unharmed. Not a scratch on him. They just wanted to fight her. Annabeth's rage found solace in the cold hardness of the hilt. Why did they hate her? If she was a bitch, what did that make them? Slave dogs for clearly doing someone else's bidding?
She forced her frown to melt, putting a blank face forward. Looking at the other two boys at Zach’s periphery, she said, "Let's make a deal. I know what you want. Release Frank, and I'll fight you. You can humiliate me, as much as you want."
She relaxed her shoulders and held her knife loosely between her fingers as an amateur would. Like the blade, Zach teetered on the edge of the offer.
"Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" He wasn’t, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have other vices.
Still not looking at him, "Yes. But, does it matter? Hazel is going to reach your gates—" Her voice boasted, "—and one of your members already yielded to me. You've taken Frank as a prisoner. I know you didn't fight him. So, unless you fight me, you'll lose."
She rolled her eyes, waiting for them to set the stage. Like a marionette at her command, one of the boys stepped forward, just barely, but Annabeth visibly flinched backward and brought her knife forward.
Annabeth looked at Zach and raised a sly eyebrow. His face turned redder than the flames that lined the walls of the armory. His jaw clenched tightly, while she waited for anger to take over his senses.
“You—”
“What? Are you gonna fight me or let your minions do the work?” The final nail in the coffin, as all logic went out the window.
“Cut his ropes, Rick,” Zach ordered. Annabeth glanced at Frank, who had been desperately trying to catch her eye. The absurdity of her impulsiveness hit her all at once when she saw the panic in his eyes; the sounds of rope coming undone, the shuffle of their feet, and all other sounds paled in comparison to the pound of her heart, and the mumble of her brain. She inhaled deeply and took ahold of Frank’s eyes and refused to let go, pouring in all the intensity she had left. The chances of her winning… or even leaving the field uninjured would be slim at best if she can’t communicate with Frank. She blinked slowly, and then looked towards the cannons, the whirring noises of the rotor blending into the noises of the forest.
The plan was nonsensical, reckless, and hasty at its best, but Annabeth knew one thing: she needed to change the rules of the game they were playing, to one that would favor her strengths. And one didn’t need to look at the other team for too long to understand they were all brawn and had no brains.
As the final slash cut him out of his bounds, Frank rose from his knees, and Annabeth’s knife prepared itself for a flight. His hands were up in the air, and his feet, slow as a snail, made his way to her side.
For a second, everything made sense to her, the world quickly going from scrolls of undeciphered ancient words to a mother tongue that laid gently on her tongue; her body slipped on the adrenaline of the unpredictable like a cardigan, nerve endings sparking with electricity from the clouds. And in that second, she angled her body to the side, loosened her grip on the hilt, and threw her knife at the tree behind Frank. She didn’t know if it had lodged itself into the bark or if it hit Frank— because before her knife could reach its home she broke into a run in the other direction after crying out her last message for Frank: “Free the water, Frank!”
Her lungs burned, for the second time that day, she realized. Was that only today morning? Was she in the right place, if all she found here was the same trouble of the outside world? She heard a whorl of screams and hoped that Frank ran the other way, hoped that both the boys would follow her, and hoped that she was where she had to be.
She didn’t look back, ignoring the burn inside her, not until the screech of furious gears reached her. Her head whipped around as her feet skidded to a stop.
Frank was holding his quiver. She looked up. The machine groaned in pain, and the audience stayed motionless. Her knife with his arrow had lodged into the heart of the exposed motor. It sputtered, then burst into violent ruby flames. Three things happened in succession: First, the cannons exploded in a starburst of blue, green, and white. Then, the entire eastern wall shuddered as the explosion backed up through the pipelines.
When gallons and gallons of water rained upon them, Annabeth turned around, unsheathed the two knives from her back, and charged toward the other team. She angled her spine when water cascaded on her, used the shield on her back, and manipulated the momentum to roll forward. She heaved, heavy and frozen. Her eyes rose, brushing a bush of hair out of her eyes. Zach was washed away by the sheer force, as was the other one, who was lying still a few feet away, both of them overwhelmed by the sudden weight, in addition to their heavy armor. For the second time that day, she was soaked. And finally, it seemed, the exhaustion reached her bones.
A crunch of gravel broke through the symphony of flowing water, and her head snapped. One of the boys got up slowly; his eyes fumed. She swallowed. Annabeth’s fingers gripped the hilt once again, ready to charge, tear him into pieces; weariness had wiped away clean strategy and wit, leaving behind an animal.
Before Annabeth could move a muscle, Frank tackled him, like a massive metal bowling ball. Overwhelmed by the shock of the water and then the weight, he collapsed like a pin. Annabeth exhaled, loose limbs hiding both her knives into place. Clothes clung to her limbs, forcing her to submit to gravity. Annabeth stood still, watching them fight. Frank rolled them around and held his gladius to his throat. He spoke like fire, breath escaping like steam.
“Yield!” He growled, and then, in a lower voice: “And don’t you dare talk shit about our Praetor, ever again.”
The thrum of a motorcycle made its way into the air. It mimicked the old dreg of her heart, firing parts of her that lost themselves in old pages. She didn’t know where to turn her head, unable to mark the omnipresent sound. As the noise grew, it sparked annoyance in her that blew into a rage. She felt her energy return, the steady flow of adrenaline called by instinct.
Percy shimmered into view, gliding down out of nowhere with his pegasus. His face was tense, and his hand burned into his sword’s hilt.
Annabeth took a step back. Every nerve ending in her body was burning with a single message: to attack. Something burned, and it wasn’t the exhaust of the bike. Percy’s hard eyes shone in the dark canopy of the woods— like a wolf’s last warning. But it wasn’t for her.
Out of the darkness, an old woman walked toward them. Annabeth could make out the leather jacket and the boots, and a steady yet strong stride. Curls that flew like embers. Her wrinkly skin was covered in tattoos, the most prominent one— a pair of guns surrounded by fire right in the middle of her chest. The magic around them wore off like perfume, and Annabeth found herself standing in the middle of a field, surrounded by more people than she saw at dinner, with—
“Mars,” said Percy, as he bent down on one knee, hand still fisted around his sword.
“Where’s your fire, young man?” She sneered, placed her helmet under her arm, and pushed her sunglasses to her face. Percy didn’t look up.
“Oh, that’s right. You must be the son of Neptune.”
Percy stayed still as ice, a perfect soldier. “Yes, ma’am.” His answer carried no emotions, no rage, just eternal coldness. It made Mars’ eye glow redder, like coal.
A crowd of people came running down from the seating area, some in suits and some carrying boxes of weapons. “Your Grace, we are so honored to have you here. Please accept our—”
“You can take your knee off his chest, son.”
She didn’t take her eyes off Percy, and neither did Percy move an inch. No one did.
Frank slowly moved away from the boy, who seemed to be frozen in fear.
“Sibling rivalry is very important, but so is loyalty. I just hate to see my children quarreling like infants. There are many more important fights to instigate.”
All blood seemed to rush out of Frank’s body, and the glowing red cross of swords above his head made him appear even whiter.
“Good fight, by the way. I was thoroughly entertained.”
“Your Grace—” One of the men started when Mars started making her way toward Annabeth but stopped when he looked at Percy. Percy, whose head was no longer bowed, had his piercing emerald eyes glued to Mars and Annabeth.
“Daughter of Athena,” she said, as cool as fire could try to be. Her eyes swept over Annabeth’s body and Annabeth felt blood rushing to her extremities, adrenaline begging to be released. It was too much— the leather, the red lipstick that clashed with the hair, the tattoos, the energy that fed off of hers. It made Annabeth’s head pound, the exhaustion hindering thought and overpowering her sense.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” her hand snaked into her jacket pocket and fished out a piece of paper. As soon as Mars let go of it, it glid in the air like a jet and flew to Annabeth, who hesitantly caught the bird.
“Out loud,” said Mars, who had already turned away from Annabeth, and made her way to Percy. The keys to her bike were dangling from her fingers, sparks flying whenever the two smiley faces of the keychain clashed against each other.
Annabeth opened the note, eyes laid on a language she couldn’t name, but could understand. It felt like an old jacket that you once abandoned, and when you wore it again— the fabric fit you like home. The squiggly lines went from the paper to the tip of her tongue, leaving Annabeth feeling like a sentient machine.
“Go to Alaska. Find Thanatos and free him. Come back by sundown on June twenty-fourth or die.” Annabeth read out in one breath.
“Got it?” Mars grinned at Percy, who still didn’t let any emotion show on his face. He stood like a rock, with half the politicians of the Camp cowering behind him.
“Take Frank with you, you both make a good team.” Frank, who still hadn’t recovered from the events of the evening, rose to his feet and thrust his weapon forward.
“I don’t understand,” said Annabeth, softly. Her eyes were still glued to the piece of paper, unable to look up. For the first time this evening, a different feeling entered her bloodstream. It wasn’t the fear of dying, the one she felt around the boys or the fear of losing. She felt the fear that a lone wolf separated from its pack feels when the realization of being alone in a foreign world hits. She had been yearning to go home since the day this all began, but all that time she had assumed she had a place to call home, a group to call her people. What if she didn’t?
“There, now. You had been so good, don’t let the facade break.” Annabeth finally looked up. Mars stood opposite Percy, with glee growing on her face, while anger seemed to be rising like a tsunami on Percy.
He took a deep breath. “Is that an official quest?” The flames around Mars’ hair grew bigger, louder, and redder. Annabeth had never seen a fire like that. Fire that bent to someone’s will. The people behind Percy scrambled away, afraid of being burnt, but he didn’t break a sweat.
“I didn’t think you were stupid enough to try your dumb luck the second time, Jackson. I’m not gonna be fair this time.” Annabeth felt hotter, the heat sinking into her skin. Mars waited for Percy, to throw oil on her flames.
The flames seemed to melt the hardness in his eyes, and he looked at Frank. “No, I’m not,” he backed down. Annabeth saw Octavian come running along with a few men in suits. Unlike the others, they had guns.
Percy signaled to Frank with his chin, “That’s not his weapon. He needs a new one if he’s going to be heading a quest,” Mars’ image flickered, and the flames felt weaker. Percy stepped away and bowed his head. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence.”
Mars tightened her fist around her keychain. The sky thundered, and lightning flashed across the dark cover of the night. She sighed. She pulled one of the smiley face spheres from her keychain free and tossed it to Frank. The ball changed in midair, becoming bigger and thinner, and morphed into a beautiful weapon. When Frank caught it, it was a spear. It had a shaft of Imperial gold and a strange point like a white bone, flickering with ghostly light.
The loud drone of the motorcycle returned. “Well, that’s me. Don’t be a fucking disappointment!” she yelled into the air, and burst into flames.
Percy turned back, looking at Octavian and the men behind him. His shoulders drooped down, but a smile made its way to his face. He raised his arm in a Roman salute. “Ave, Frank Zhang, son of Mars.”
The whole legion followed his lead, looking at Frank. But Percy looked at Annabeth, who turned her head. His eyes turned soft, and he mouthed, I’m sorry.
Annabeth frowned. Her fist subconsciously crushed the note, and she shoved it into her back pocket. Octavian rushed into the middle of the field, and the men with rifles had them surrounded quickly. As soon as Octavian began, Percy walked away, not looking back once. It began drizzling, slightly.
“Annabeth Chase, Daughter of Athena,” As Octavian’s boom carried around the empty field, Annabeth watched as the men with rifles pointed their guns at her, and Percy’s back become smaller and smaller in the distance. The fear she felt earlier felt like a deep pit, consuming all possible thought and feeling.
“You are hereby arrested under the authority of the New Rome Congress, in view of the perjury and fraud committed by your person on this day. You will be detained and will wait for your sentencing.”