Archive of Our Own ^beta

Percy trudges along the dusty road, his sandals kicking up small clouds with each step. The quest that had seemed so urgent days ago now feels like a distant memory, fading with each aimless mile he covers. The weight of his mission hangs heavy on his shoulders, but the lack of direction makes it impossible to shake off.

The sun beats down mercilessly, and Percy seeks refuge under the sprawling branches of an olive tree. He leans against its trunk, closing his eyes for a moment. The faint jingle of goat bells drifts on the breeze, and he wonders about the lives that continue around him while he wanders without purpose.

As dusk approaches, Percy finds himself in a small village. The smell of fresh bread wafts from a nearby house, making his stomach growl. He approaches cautiously, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword.

An old woman emerges from the doorway, her face etched with wrinkles that speaks of a life well-lived. She eyes him warily at first, then her expression softens.

"You look like you could use a meal, young man."

Percy nods, grateful for the kindness of strangers. As he eats, the woman's grandchildren gather around, peppering him with questions about his travels. For a brief moment, he feels a pang of longing for the mother he left behind.

The old woman's cooking is good, but it isn't his mother's. The thought of her fish stew makes his chest ache. He remembers how she'd hum softly while stirring the pot, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled at him.

Percy chews slowly, lost in memories. He wonders how she is faring without him. Is she worried? Does she miss him as much as he misses her? He imagines her standing by the window, gazing out at the sea, waiting for his return. How many more nights will he spend far from home, in the company of strangers? How many more meals will pass before he tastes his mother's cooking again?

With the first light of dawn, Percy sets out again. He passes by terraced hillsides where farmers tend their vines, their songs of labor carrying across the valley. In the distance, he can make out the glimmer of the sea.

As he crests a hill, Percy spots a small shrine nestled among a cluster of cypress trees. He approaches, noting the offerings of honey and oil left by previous travelers. Without thinking, he reaches into his pouch and pulls out the seashell from Naxos, placing it carefully among the other gifts.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he murmurs to the silent deity. "Or where I'm going."

The breeze picks up, rustling the leaves overhead. Percy sighs, shoulders his pack, and continues on his way, no closer to his goal but somehow feeling a little less lost.

The road ahead is long and winding, and Percy is in a foul mood. His sandals are worn, the rough stones biting at his feet with every step. The midday sun beats down on him, relentless, and the breeze that follows him offers no relief.

“Stupid Aphrodite,” Percy grumbles under his breath. “Couldn’t just let me have a quiet day for once, could you? No, you had to send me on some wild goose chase across half of Hellas.” He kicks a rock, which skitters away and clinks against the edge of a bronze shield half-buried in the dirt. “As if I didn’t have enough to deal with already.”

His stomach growls, and he chews on a tough bit of dried figs. He curses again, this time in Poseidon’s name, which feels a bit more satisfying, though he half-expects a wave to come crashing down on him for his trouble. But there’s no sea here to summon, just endless dusty roads and hills that seem to go on forever.

He’s so wrapped up in his cursing that he nearly misses the turn in the road—a narrow path leading up to a dark forest. He squints, trying to make out what’s hidden in the shadows beyond the trees. A shortcut, maybe? Or, perhaps, a trap.

But Percy isn't in the mood to care. The forest promises shade, at least, which is good enough for him. He ploughs forward, grumbling as he goes.

The trees close in around him, the canopy above thick enough to blot out the sun. It’s quieter here, the only sound the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle in the underbrush. Percy’s hand drifts to the hilt of his sword, more out of habit than anything else. He’s had enough run-ins with monsters to know that quiet places can be the most dangerous.

After what feels like hours, the trees thin out, and Percy finds himself standing before an ancient castle. Ivy crawls up the stone walls, and the windows are dark, as if the place hasn’t seen a visitor in centuries.

He approaches the gate cautiously, half-expecting it to swing open on its own, but it doesn’t. He has to push it open with a creak that echoes through the empty courtyard. The place is eerily silent, the air thick with something Percy can’t quite place. Not danger, exactly. But not safety, either.

He steps inside, hand on his sword, eyes darting around for any sign of movement. The castle is grand, but in a cold, unwelcoming way. The walls are lined with tapestries that seem to watch him as he passes, and the furniture, though luxurious, is coated with a fine layer of dust.

He’s halfway across the room when a voice, smooth and lilting, cuts through the silence. “What’s this? A trespasser?”

Percy spins around, his sword half-drawn before he even knows what he’s doing. The voice had come from the shadows, and as he stares into the darkness, something shifts—a massive figure, more beast than man, steps into the light.

The creature is unlike anything Percy has ever seen. It stands on two legs, but its body is a strange mix of lion and serpent, with gleaming eyes that seem to pierce right through him. Its voice is elegant, almost musical, but there’s a sharpness to it, an arrogance that sets Percy on edge.

“Well, well,” the beast says, circling him with a lazy grace. “What brings a young hero to my door? Did you lose your way, Perseus?”

Percy stiffens at the use of his full name. Most people call him Percy, if they call him anything at all, and the way this creature says “Perseus” feels too familiar, too knowing. “I didn’t come looking for trouble,” he says, though his grip on his sword tightens. “Just passing through.”

The beast snorts, a sound halfway between a laugh and a growl. “Passing through? You expect me to believe that?” It eyes Percy up and down, its gaze lingering on the sword at his side. “You’re no ordinary traveler. What are you, a demigod on a quest? A fool chasing glory?”

Percy bristles at the beast’s tone. “What’s it to you?” he snaps. “If you’re looking for a fight, I’m not backing down.”

But the beast doesn’t take the bait. It just tilts its head, regarding him with something like amusement. “A fight? How tiresome. If I wanted to crush you, I would have done it already.” It turns away with a dismissive flick of its tail, sauntering over to a grand chair that might have once been a throne. “No, Perseus, I have no interest in you. Your little quest is of no consequence to me.”

Percy scowls, lowering his sword but not sheathing it. He doesn’t trust this creature—not one bit—but there’s something about it that makes him hesitate. It’s too calm, too collected. Not like the monsters he’s fought before.

“What are you?” Percy asks, the question slipping out before he can stop it. He’s traveled enough to know most of the creatures in the world, but this one is new. Dangerous, yes, but also. . . different.

The beast settles into its chair, its eyes half-lidded as if it’s already bored with him. “I am what I am,” it says cryptically. “You may call me Phoebus.”

“Phoebus?” Percy echoes. The name is familiar, but not the way this creature says it.

“Yes, Perseus,” the beast replies, its voice dripping with something between sarcasm and sadness. “Phoebus. But what I am matters little to you. Continue your quest, if you must. But do not expect me to be your guide nor your friend.”

Percy frowns, unsure whether to be relieved or more worried. The beast’s attitude is unsettling, but it’s not attacking him. That’s something. Still, he’s not about to turn his back on it.

“What’s in this castle?” Percy asks, glancing around. “Is there something here I should know about?”

The beast gives him a look that might almost be a smile, if it weren’t so full of teeth. “Curiosity killed the cat, Perseus. And it might just kill you too, if you’re not careful. Now, unless you have more foolish questions, I suggest you leave before I change my mind about sparing you.”

Percy narrows his eyes but nods slowly. “Fine. But if you’re lying—”

“Lying?” the beast interrupts with a chuckle. “I have no need to lie, Perseus. I am above such petty things. Now go, before I decide you’re not worth the trouble of letting live.”

Percy hesitates a moment longer, then turns and heads for the door. He’s not sure what to make of this Phoebus, but he knows better than to push his luck.

There is a stillness in the forest that sets his teeth on edge. The trees loom overhead, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that blocks out most of the sky. Shadows dance at the corners of his vision, never quite resolving into anything solid when he turns to look.

Percy's hand never strays far from his sword hilt. The weight of it is comforting, a reminder of battles won and monsters vanquished. But this forest—it's different. The threat here is intangible, a creeping unease that settles in his bones.

"Some hero I am," he mutters, pushing aside a low-hanging branch. "Can't even find my way out of a forest."

As if in response, a branch creaks ominously from his left. Percy jumps, sword half-drawn, only to find more trees and shadows. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

The feeling of being watch persists, an itch between his shoulder blades he can't shake. Percy finds himself constantly glancing over his shoulder, searching for eyes in the gloom. But there is never anything there, just more trees and more shadows.

He presses on, each step feeling heavier than the last. The forest seems to stretch endlessly in every direction, and Percy isn't even sure he is going in the right direction anymore.

He is about to give up and retrace his steps when a voice cuts through the silence.

"Lost again, Perseus?"

Percy's heart leaps to his throat. He whirls, sword flashing in a sliver of moonlight, only to find himself face-to-face with a familiar figure.

The beast lounges on a fallen log as if it were a throne, golden eyes stark against the dark of his fur.

"You," Percy breathes, his grip on the sword hilt tightening until his knuckles turn white. "What are you doing here?"

Phoebus tilts his head, the gesture oddly graceful for a creature of his size. "I could ask you the same question." His voice carries that same unsettling melody, beauty wrapped in thorns. "This is my forest, after all."

"Your forest?" The sword point dips, just slightly. "But I thought—"

"You thought what?" Phoebus interrupts, his tail swishing with languid grace. There's a glint in those eyes that makes Percy's stomach twist. "That I was confined to that dusty old castle? Oh, Perseus. You have so much to learn."

A chill skitters down Percy's spine, raising goosebumps along his arms. He's been here before, caught in this dance with Phoebus, and yet everything feels different. The forest seems to shift around them, shadows lengthening and retreating as if alive.

"It seems fate—or perhaps your own stubbornness—has brought you here once again," Phoebus continues, maintaining eye contact.

Percy's jaw clenches, frustration warring with a growing sense of unease. "I've been walking for hours. I should be miles away from that castle."

The beast chuckles, the sound low and almost mocking. “And yet, here you are,” he says, his tone suggesting he finds Percy’s plight more amusing than concerning. “The paths you tread are not as straightforward as you might think.”

Percy's fingers tighten around the sword hilt, the leather grip cool against his palm. The forest seems to hold its breath, waiting. "What do you want, Phoebus?" His voice comes out steadier than he feels.

Phoebus stands from the log, rising to his full, imposing height. Shadows cling to his fur like reluctant lovers. "Want? I want nothing from you, Perseus." His eyes glint with something unreadable. "You're the one who stumbled into my domain. Again."

Percy's breath catches. He's been wandering for hours, days maybe, and yet here he is, right back where he started. A laugh bubbles up in his throat, bitter and sharp. "Your domain. Right."

Phoebus tilts his head, regarding Percy with an unsettling intensity. "You seem lost, little hero. Both in body and. . . purpose, perhaps?"

Percy opens his mouth to argue, but the words die on his tongue. He is lost, in more ways than one. The realization settles heavy in his gut.

"I'm on a quest," he says finally, the words tasting stale on his tongue. "Aphrodite sent me to retrieve something."

The beast's lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl. "Ah, the ever-fickle Aphrodite. Always sending mortals on fool's errands." He takes a step closer, and Percy fights the urge to back away. "And what has she sent you to fetch this time? A trinket? A bauble? Something shiny and worthless, no doubt."

The disdain in his voice makes Percy bristle. "It's not worthless," he snaps, even though he isn't entirely sure what "it" is. "Aphrodite wouldn't send me if it wasn't important."

Phoebus circles Percy slowly, his paws silent on the forest floor. His eyes never leave Percy's face. "Wouldn't she?" The beast's voice is tinged with something that might be pity. "Gods have sent heroes on fool's errands since time immemorial. What makes you so sure you're different?"

Percy isn't sure, is the thing. And that uncertainty tugs at him, as persistent as the feeling of being watched in this strange, shifting forest.

"I'm not some pawn in the gods' games," he finally manages, hating how defensive he sounds. "I know what I'm doing." The words ring hollow even to his own ears, and he sees the flicker of something—amusement? understanding?—in Phoebus's eyes.

"Do you?" Phoebus's voice softens, losing some of its earlier mockery. "You wander these woods, lost in more ways than one. The path you seek eludes you, just as the purpose you crave slips through your fingers."

Percy swallows thickly, unable to respond. Is he really so transparent?

Phoebus tilts his head, eyes boring into him with an intensity that makes his skin prickle. There's something in that gaze—ancient and knowing—that strips away Percy's defenses, leaving him feeling exposed.

"You're lost, Perseus," Phoebus murmurs. "Not just in this forest, but within yourself. Adrift in a sea of expectations and half-formed dreams."

The words knock the air from his lungs. He wants to argue, to deny it, but the truth of it settles heavy in his chest. His grip on the sword hilt loosens, the fight draining out of him.

"I—" Percy starts, then falters. He swallows hard, tasting the bitterness of honesty on his tongue. "I don't know what I'm doing," he admits.

The confession hangs in the air between them, fragile and raw. Percy waits for mockery, for Phoebus to use this vulnerability against him, but it doesn't come.

"I know what it's like," Phoebus says, weighed with a weariness that speaks of centuries. "To wander without purpose, to be cursed to a path not of your choosing."

Percy blinks, caught off guard by the unexpected empathy. There's something in Phoebus's words—a depth of understanding that goes beyond their brief encounters. For the first time, Percy truly looks at the beast before him, seeing past the fur and fangs to something—more.

"Can you—" Percy hesitates, then pushes on. "Can you help me find my way through the forest?"

The question hangs in the air between them. Phoebus regards him for a long moment, gaze unreadable. Then he shakes his head, the motion slow and unexpectedly sorrowful.

"I cannot guide you on your path, Perseus. That journey is yours alone."

Percy's shoulders slump. Of course he couldn't be that easy. Nothing ever is. He feels a little foolish for having asked, for having hoped.

But then Phoebus speaks again, his voice carrying an unexpected warmth that seems to soften the edges of his beastly form. It's a gentleness that catches Percy off guard. "However, I can offer you shelter for the night. My castle stands open to you, should you wish it. It's certainly more comfortable than wandering these woods for hours on end."

Oh.

Percy weighs his options, hesitating. His eyes dart between the beast and the dark forest behind him. The offer of shelter is tempting, but caution has kept him alive this long. Still, bone-deep exhaustion tugs at his limbs, his feet aching from endless walking, and the thought of another night huddled beneath a tree makes his muscles protest. Is it much of a choice, really?

"Alright," he finally says, the words slipping out before he can second-guess himself. "Lead the way."

They set off for the forest, and Percy can't help but marvel at how easily Phoebus navigates the twisting paths. The beast moves with a surprising grace, gliding through the underbrush without disturbing so much as a leaf. Percy, on the other hand, feels more like a bull, stumbling over roots and snagging his cloak on low-hanging branches.

He studies the beast's profile, noting the way the moonlight catches on his fur, turning it from inky black to a deep, midnight blue. There is something almost regal about Phoebus, and it stirs a memory in him—a half-forgotten tale of a god brought low by his own pride. The thought slips away before he can fully grasp it, lost in the shadows of the forest.

"You know," Percy says, breaking the silence, "when I set out on this quest, I didn't exactly picture myself following a talking beast through an enchanted forest."

Phoebus glances back at him, amused. "And I never imagined I'd be playing host to a lost hero. Life has a way of surprising us both, it seems."

The forest seems to shift around them, paths appearing and disappearing like smoke. Percy tries to keep track of their route, but soon gives up, his mind hazy with fatigue. He focuses instead on putting one foot in front of the other, following the shadowy form of his unlikely guide.

"How much further?" he asks after what feels like hours, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Phoebus glances back, golden eyes gleaming in the gloom. "Not far now," he says. "The trees thin ahead."

True to his word, the forest begins to open up. Moonlight filters through gaps in the canopy, casting silver patterns on the forest floor. Percy's steps quicken, hope giving him a second wind.

Then, suddenly, they're free of the trees. Percy blinks, momentarily dazzled by the open sky above. When his vision clears, he finds himself staring up at a sight that steals his breath away.

The castle looms before them, its spires reaching towards the star-strewn sky like grasping fingers. Moonlight bathes the stone walls, lending them an otherworldly glow. It's beautiful and haunting all at once.

"Welcome," Phoebus says, with a wry smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "to my home."

The castle is not what he expects.

It's vast and imposing, yes, but there's a warmth to it that catches him off guard. Thick tapestries line the walls, depicting scenes of hunts and feasts that seem to shimmer in the flickering torchlight. The stone floors are covered with plush rugs that muffle his footsteps, making him feel like he's walking on clouds.

Once, he had passed a mirror and caught a glimpse of himself, and for a moment, hardly recognized the young man reflected there. His black hair was tousled, a little wild, and his green eyes seemed too bright in the dim light. The cloak he was wearing frayed at the edges, and his clothes travel-worn, a far cry from the finery he imagined should be worn in such a place.

And then there’s Phoebus.

The beast, if he can even be called that, is a study in contradictions. When Percy catches sight of him, it’s like looking at a storm contained in a single figure—dark and brooding, yet somehow radiant, as if the sun itself is caught in those golden eyes. He’s large, yes, and powerful, but there’s something almost regal about him, like a king who’s lost his kingdom.

They cross paths often, in ways that feel too coincidental to be chance. Phoebus, for all his beastly appearance, proves to be an unexpectedly gracious host. He doesn't hover, but he's always there when Perseus needs something, materializing out of shadows with a grace that shouldn’t belong to something so big, as if the air parts for him, bowing in deference.

"The library's down that hall," Phoebus says one evening, catching Percy wandering the corridors. "If you're looking for something to occupy your time."

Percy raises an eyebrow. "You have a library?"

Phoebus snorts, a sound caught between amusement and offense. "I'm cursed, not illiterate."

The library, as it turns out, is Percy's favorite discovery. Rows upon rows of scrolls and leather-bound tomes, some so old the titles have faded from their spines. He loses himself for hours, poring over histories and myths, searching for any clue about the relic he's meant to retrieve.

Phoebus finds him there more often than not, curled up in a window seat or sprawled across a table, surrounded by stacks of books.

"You know," Phoebus drawls one day, leaning against a bookshelf, "most guests spend their time exploring the grounds or pestering the kitchen staff for treats."

Percy looks up, blinking owlishly. "Is that a hint?"

"Merely an observation." Phoebus's eyes shine with something that might be amusement. "Though if you're interested, the gardens are quite spectacular this time of year."

Percy stretches, his back popping. "I could use some fresh air," he admits.

The gardens are indeed spectacular, a riot of color and scent that makes Percy's head spin. He finds himself returning day after day, sometimes alone, sometimes with Phoebus lumbering silently beside him.

It's on one of these walks that Perseus realizes he's stopped thinking of Phoebus as "the beast." He's just. . . Phoebus. Grumpy and sarcastic, yes, but also unexpectedly kind in his own prickly way.

He finds himself settling into an unexpected routine at the castle. Days blur together, marked by quiet mornings in the library, afternoons exploring the gardens, and evenings spent in companionable silence with Phoebus.

One night, as they sit before the fire, Percy notices a chessboard that seems to have materialized out of nowhere. Phoebus raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. "Care for a game?"

Their matches become a nightly ritual, filled with good-natured ribbing and moments of intense concentration. Percy finds himself studying Phoebus's face more than the board, fascinated by the play of emotions across his features.

"Checkmate," Phoebus announces one evening, his voice warm with satisfaction.

Percy groans dramatically, flopping back in his chair. "I demand a rematch."

Phoebus chuckles. "Tomorrow, perhaps. It's getting late."

As they rise, Percy catches a glimpse of movement in the shadows. A woman in a flowing gown, her eyes twinkling with mischief. But when he blinks, she's gone.

One particularly balmy afternoon, Percy sprawls beneath an ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches providing welcome shade. He's brought a scroll from the library, but it lies forgotten beside him as he watches clouds drift lazily across the sky.

"Slacking off again, I see." Phoebus's smooth voice startles him from his reverie.

Percy props himself up on his elbows, squinting at the looming figure. "I prefer to think of it as strategic relaxation."

Phoebus snorts, gracefully lowering himself to the grass. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"You should try it sometime," Percy quips. "Might do wonders for that sunny disposition of yours."

A lilting laugh escapes Phoebus. "Careful, hero. I might start to think you're enjoying your stay."

Percy feels a strange twist in his gut at those words. He is enjoying his stay, far more than he's ever anticipated. The realization unsettles him.

"I should be moving on soon," he says, more to himself than to Phoebus. "The relic won't find itself."

Phoebus's eyes fixes on him, unreadable. "And yet, you linger."

Percy has no answer for that. He turns his gaze back to the sky, acutely aware of Phoebus's presence beside him. The silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable, but charged with something Percy can't quite name.

Later that evening, Percy finds himself in the castle's impressive kitchen, rummaging through cupboards in search of a midnight snack. He's just unearthed a jar of honey when a shadow fell across the doorway.

"Caught red-handed," Phoebus drawls.

Percy grins, unabashed. "I was going to share."

"How magnanimous of you."

They end up sharing the honey and a loaf of crusty bread, perched on stools at the kitchen's massive wooden table. Percy watches, fascinated, as Phoebus delicately licked honey from his claws.

"You know," Percy says, breaking the comfortable silence, "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to miss this place when I leave."

Phoebus stills, fixing his eyes on Percy with an intensity that makes his breath catch. "Then perhaps," Phoebus says softly, "you don't have to go just yet."

Percy feels his heart skip a beat at Phoebus's words. The idea of staying, of prolonging this unexpected respite, is more tempting than he cares to admit. He looks around the cozy kitchen, warm and inviting in the flickering firelight, and for a moment, he can almost see himself making a life here.

"I—" His voice catches in his throat. He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "I want to. Gods help me, I really do."

Phoebus leans forward, his eyes searching Percy's face. There is a vulnerability there that Percy has never seen before, a flicker of hope quickly covered by a mask of indifference.

But, tempting as it is, reality crashes back like a cold wave. His thoughts turn back to his mother, her kind eyes creased with worry. How long has he been gone? Weeks? Months? Time seems to move differently in this enchanted place.

"I can't," Percy's voice breaks, and the words taste bitter on his tongue. "My mother. . . she's waiting for me. I don't even know how long I've been away."

Phoebus's shoulders slump, almost imperceptibly. "Of course," he murmurs, his voice carefully neutral. "Family comes first."

Percy reaches out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand on Phoebus's. "I'll come back," he promises. "Once I've seen her, once I've completed my quest, I'll return."

But even as the words leave his mouth, Percy knows it isn't that simple. The look in Phoebus's eyes tell him that he understands this too. This castle isn't a place one can just pop in and out of on a whim.

Later that night, Percy can't sleep. He tosses and turns, the weight of his impending departure pressing down on his chest. Finally, he gives up and walks barefoot through the castle's silent corridors.

He finds Phoebus in the library, a large silhouette against the moonlit windows. Without a word, Percy settles into his favorite armchair. Phoebus doesn't acknowledge him, but his posture relaxes slightly.

They spend the night in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional turning of a page or the soft crackle of the dying fire. As dawn's first light creeps through the windows, Percy feels a lump forming in his throat.

"I guess it's time," he says hoarsely, wishing it weren’t so.

Phoebus nods, his eyes guarded. "I suppose it is."

They walk together to the castle gates, their footsteps echoing in the empty courtyard. Percy adjusts his pack, acutely aware of how light it feels compared to the heaviness in his heart.

"I meant what I said," he says, turning to face Phoebus. "I will come back."

Phoebus remains silent for a long moment, his form silhouetted against the rising sun. Finally, he speaks, and the melancholy in his voice makes Percy’s heart ache. "Safe travels, Perseus."

Percy opens his mouth, then closes it. What more is there to say? He nods, swallowing hard, and turns away. Each step feels like lead as he walks down the winding path away from the castle.

He doesn't look back until he reaches the edge of the forest. When he does, the castle is gone, hidden by mist or magic. Only the lonely figure of Phoebus remains, a dark shape against the dim light of dawn.

Percy blinks back the sudden sting of tears and plunges into the forest, leaving behind a piece of himself he hadn't known was missing until now.

He had not wanted to leave, not really. The thought nestles in the back of his mind, a persistent whisper he tries to ignore. But as the days stretch into weeks, the weight of the quest presses heavier upon his shoulders. He is a hero, isn't he? Heroes don't linger in enchanted castles, playing chess and tending gardens.

So he left. Or, at least, he thinks he did.

The forest seems different now. Shadows still stretch, and leaves whisper unfamiliar songs. Percy goes on, his pack feeling heavier with each step. He tells himself it was the right thing to do, even as his heart aches with each backward glance.

He comes across a clearing bathed in sunlight. Wildflowers dot the grass, their petals blooming in impossible colors—purples deeper than the night sky, blues that seem to ripple like water. Percy kneels, running his hands over the delicate blooms. For a moment, he thinks he catches a whiff of Phoebus's scent—sandalwood and starlight—but when he looks up, he is alone.

A stream gurgles nearby, its clear waters inviting. Percy cups his hands, drinking deeply. The water tastes sweeter than any he's ever known, and he wonders if it is simply his imagination. He splashes his face, hoping to wash away the lingering doubt.

The trees seem to part for him as he walks on, creating a path he isn't entirely sure existed moments before. Percy shakes his head, trying to clear it of fanciful notions. He is moving forward. That is what matters.

He spends the night beneath an ancient oak, its branches spreading wide like protective arms. Sleep comes fitfully, filled with dreams of golden eyes and gentle laughter. When he wakes, Percy finds a blanket of soft moss has somehow grown around him during the night.

Days blur together. Percy forages for berries, their tartness a sharp contrast to the rich meals he's grown accustomed to. He bathes in streams that seem to sing, the water caressing his skin like a gentle breeze. At night, he stares up at unfamiliar constellations, wondering if Phoebus is doing the same.

Percy goes on.

The path twists and turns, leading him past towering trees with bark that glows faintly in the shadows. The air shimmers with an otherworldly quality he tries desperately to ignore. He's not lost, he tells himself. Heroes don't get lost.

He comes across a clearing where time seems to stand still. Butterflies with wings like stained glass flit between crystalline flowers that chime softly in the breeze. Percy pauses, mesmerized. For a moment, he forgets why he is walking away at all.

Nights bring their own magic. The stars above seem to rearrange themselves into unfamiliar patterns. Percy finds himself tracing new constellations with his finger, wondering if they have stories he's never heard. He tries not to think about sharing these discoveries, about golden eyes widening in delight at each new wonder.

Days are marked only by the changing light filtering through the canopy. Percy's certainty wavers with each step. Is he moving forward, or simply wandering in circles?

Then, just as the weight of his choices threatens to overwhelm him, Percy sees it—a break in the endless green. His heart leaps. This must be it, the edge of the forest. Freedom. A chance to see his mother again, to reunite with his camp.

Percy breaks into a run, his pack bouncing against his back. He bursts through the treeline, ready to embrace the world beyond.

But as the light clears from his eyes, his steps falter, and his breath catches in his throat. Before him, rising against the sky, stands the familiar silhouette of Phoebus's castle—silent, patient, as if it had been waiting for him all along.

"You've returned,"

Phoebus's voice, low and disbelieving, startles Percy from his thoughts. He turns to find Phoebus standing in the shadows of the grand foyer, and the sight of him eases something in Percy’s heart.

"I. . . I'm not sure how I got here," Percy admits, running a hand through his hair. "The forest kept leading me in circles."

There is something almost vulnerable in Phoebus's expression when he nods, a gentle tilt of his horned head. "Well," he says, "I suppose you might as well come in, then."

The castle welcomes him back with its warm glow and comforting scents. He catches glimpses of movement at the corners of his vision—the castle's elusive staff, he presumes—but whenever he turns to look, there is nothing there.

They fall into a familiar routine as if Percy had never left. In the library, Percy pores over ancient tomes while Phoebus reclines by the fire, his claws absently tracing patterns in the rug. Their conversations flow easily, punctuated by comfortable silences.

One evening, as they sit before the crackling fire in the great hall, Phoebus turns to Percy with an almost shy expression. "I have something to show you," he says, leading Percy to a room he's never seen before.

Inside, a grand piano stands bathed in moonlight. Percy watches, transfixed, as Phoebus settles onto the bench, and his claws ghost over the keys. The melody that fills the air is hauntingly beautiful, speaking of loneliness, of hope rekindled, of beauty found in unexpected places. As the last notes fade, Perseus realizes he's been holding his breath.

"That was. . . incredible," he breathes out, afraid to break the spell that lingers in the room.

Phoebus turns, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Music has always been my solace," he says softly. "Even in my darkest moments, it remained when all else was lost."

Percy nods, understanding. "I've never been much for playing myself, but there's something about a good song that can lift your spirits, even when everything seems hopeless."

"Do you have a favorite?" Phoebus asks, his paw patting the bench beside him in invitation.

Percy hesitates for a moment before joining him. "There was this lullaby my mother used to sing," he says, his voice taking on a wistful tone. "I can't remember all the words now, but the melody. . . it always made me feel safe, you know?"

Phoebus's eyes soften. "Would you hum it for me?"

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Percy clears his throat and begins to hum. The tune is simple, a bit rough around the edges, but heartfelt. To his surprise, Phoebus's paws move to the keys, effortlessly finding the right notes to accompany him.

As the familiar melody fills the room, Percy feels a lump form in his throat. He trails off, overcome by memories.

"It's beautiful," Phoebus says gently. "The love in it is palpable."

Percy nods, not trusting himself to speak. After a moment, he manages, "How do you do that? Just—hear something and play it perfectly?"

Phoebus's lips quirk in a small smile. "It's a gift I've always had. Music speaks to me in a way nothing else does. It's pure, untainted by the complexities of words or the limits of physical form."

Percy thinks of long, lonely nights spent on the road, the weight of expectations pressing down on him. His voice is wistful when he speaks. "It must be a comfort, having that to return to."

Phoebus's paws still on the keys. "It was. Is." He pauses, seeming to wrestle with himself. "There were times when it was all that kept me from giving in to despair."

The admission makes something in Percy want to reach out, offer some kind of comfort, but he hesitates. Instead, he asks, "Will you teach me? I mean, I know I'll never be as good as you, but—"

A low chuckle rumbles from Phoebus's chest. "I'd be honored." He shifts on the bench, making more room. "Here, let's start with something simple."

Percy shifts closer to him, hyperaware of the warmth radiating from his body. Gently, Phoebus guides Percy's hands to the keys, the massive paws dwarfing Percy's human hands.

"Like this," Phoebus murmurs, pressing down on Percy's fingers to play a simple chord.

They spend the next hour lost in the world of music. Percy fumbles and laughs at his own mistakes, while Phoebus shows infinite patience. By the end, Percy can play a simple tune, his chest swelling with pride at Phoebus's approving nod.

Percy smiles at him, soft and lopsided. He doesn't know how to give name to this quiet feeling in his chest. "Thank you," he finally says. "For sharing this with me."

Phoebus meets his gaze. His eyes remind Percy of sunlight. "Thank you for listening."

It is a wondrous thing, Percy thinks, to witness Phoebus's gruff exterior slowly crack, revealing glimpses of the man beneath the beast.

Mornings often start with Phoebus's grumbling, his large form curled in an oversized armchair. Percy learns to have a steaming cup of tea ready—it seems to soften his mood considerably. They share breakfast in a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment about the day ahead.

Phoebus, as it turns out, is an avid reader. At the castle's library, without the pressing need for research, Percy finds himself drawn to tales of adventure, while Phoebus favors philosophical texts. They debate the merits of their choices, conversations stretching long into the afternoon.

They spend more time in the music room. The grand piano stands silent, but he swears he can still hear echoes of Phoebus's haunting melodies lingering in the air. He traces his fingers along the ivory keys, hesitant to disturb the instrument's quiet dignity.

"You could play, you know," Phoebus's voice drifts from the doorway, startling Percy. "It won't bite."

Percy chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm afraid my musical talents are limited to off-key tavern songs."

Phoebus's eyes glint with amusement. "I'm sure the piano has suffered worse indignities."

As if on cue, a gentle breeze wafts through the room, carrying the faint scent of lilacs. The sheet music on the stand rustles, pages turning of their own accord until they settle on a simple tune.

Percy raises an eyebrow. "Your castle seems to have opinions on the matter."

Phoebus huffs, a sound caught between exasperation and fondness. "It often does."

Emboldened, Percy sits at the bench, Phoebus a warm presence behind him. He picks out the melody, clumsy at first, barely remembering their first music lesson, but growing more confident with each note. Phoebus hums along, his voice a soothing counterpoint to the piano's bright tones.

His fumbling attempts at the piano gradually improves, though he doubts he'll ever match Phoebus's effortless grace. Still, there's a warmth in Phoebus's eyes when Percy manages a simple melody without stumbling.

It's not all peaceful, of course. Phoebus has his moods—days when the weight of his curse seems too heavy to bear. On those days, Percy gives him space, busying himself in the gardens or exploring the castle's many rooms. He always leaves a cup of tea outside Phoebus's door, though, a small gesture of understanding.

Percy finds himself looking more and more forward to their shared meals, their debates, their quiet moments by the fire. He catches Phoebus watching him sometimes, an unreadable expression in those golden eyes. There's something unspoken growing between them, fragile and new.

He is nineteen, and Phoebus is—well, Percy's not entirely sure. Phoebus keeps his true age close to his chest, along with many other secrets. But Percy finds he doesn't mind. There is time to unravel those mysteries, one day at a time.

The castle itself seems to approve. Rooms rearrange themselves to create cozy nooks perfect for long talks. The kitchen always has their favorite treats ready. Even the gardens bloom with new vigor, as if reflecting the growing warmth between them.

One afternoon, as they're strolling through the gardens, Percy notices a bench beneath a blooming cherry tree that he could have sworn wasn't there before. Phoebus raises an eyebrow but says nothing as they settle onto it.

"Tell me about your life from before," Percy says, plucking a fallen petal from Phoebus's fur. "If you want to, I mean."

Phoebus is quiet for a long moment, eyes distant. "It feels like a dream now," he finally murmurs. "I was. . . different. Arrogant. Cruel, even."

Percy leans closer, drawn in. "And now?"

"Now?" Phoebus's laugh is low and bitter. "Now I'm a monster trapped in a castle."

"You're not a monster," Percy says fiercely, surprising himself with the intensity of his words. He places a hand on Phoebus's arm, feeling the coarse fur beneath his fingers. "You're—you're my friend."

Phoebus's eyes widen, and he quickly looks away. "You're a strange one, Perseus," he says gruffly, but there is a warmth in his voice.

As they walk back to the castle, Percy catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. A glimpse of a woman disappearing from a corner, leaving behind the faint scent of myrrh. When he turns to ask Phoebus about it, he finds him looking thoughtful.

"The Sisters are restless," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"The Sisters?"

Phoebus shakes his head, as if coming out of a trance. "It's nothing. Come, I believe dinner is ready."

That night, as they sit before a fire, Percy finds himself studying Phoebus's profile. The firelight softens his beastly features, highlighting the intelligence in his eyes and the gentle curve of his mouth. Percy feels a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and touch him.

Before he can act on the impulse, a servant materializes beside them, offering a tray of steaming tea. Percy blinks, startled. He swears the woman's eyes are glowing faintly in the firelight, but when he looks again, she's gone.

He watches the servant vanish, a faint trace of myrrh lingering in the air. He turns back to Phoebus, finding those golden eyes fixed on him with an intensity that makes his breath catch.

"You seem distracted," Phoebus observes.

Percy shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. "It's nothing. Just thought I saw—never mind." He reaches for his cup, grateful for the warmth seeping into his hands. "Tell me more about your life here. What do you do when you're not playing reluctant host to wayward heroes?"

A ghost of a smile flickers across Phoebus's face. "Reluctant? I assure you, your company is far from unwelcome." He pauses, considering. "I read, mostly. Compose music when the mood strikes. And on clear nights, I watch the stars."

"Stars?" Percy perks up. "I used to do that with my mother, back home. She taught me all the constellations."

Phoebus's eyes light up with interest. "Perhaps. . . you'd care to join me tonight? The view from the western tower is unparalleled."

Later, as they climb the winding stairs, Percy wonders about how the castle seems to have a life of its own. Torches flicker to life as they pass, casting a warm glow that softens Phoebus's features.

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of distant pines. Percy's breath catches as he takes in the vast expanse of stars above them. "It's beautiful," he murmurs.

Phoebus nods, his gaze fixed on the heavens. "It reminds me that there's a world beyond these walls. That beauty still exists, even in darkness."

Percy turns, studying Phoebus's profile. The starlight catches on his fur, giving him an almost ethereal glow. Without thinking, he reaches out, brushing his fingers against Phoebus's arm.

Phoebus stiffens for a moment, then slowly relaxes into the touch. They stand there, lost in the vastness of the night sky, with the constellations he once knew so well now seeming like old friends. He points out patterns to Phoebus, voice soft with wonder and nostalgia.

"And that one here," he says, tracing a line of stars with his finger, "that's Orion's belt."

Phoebus leans closer, his warmth a welcome break from the cool night air. "I've always thought it looked more like a sash," he muses, breath tickling Percy's ear.

Percy turns, surprised by their sudden proximity. In the starlight, Phoebus's eyes gleam like twin moons, full of an emotion Percy can't quite name. He swallows hard, his heart suddenly racing.

A shooting star streaks across the sky, breaking the moment. Percy makes a silent wish, then immediately feels foolish. He's not a child anymore, pinning hopes on falling stars.

"What did you wish for?" Phoebus asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Percy shakes his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Can't tell. It won't come true if I do."

Phoebus huffs, a sound that might be a laugh. "Superstitious nonsense."

"Says the cursed beast in an enchanted castle," Percy retorts, bumping Phoebus's shoulder with his own.

The routine is oddly domestic.

They develop a silent language of their own. A raised eyebrow from Phoebus means he's about to say something sarcastic. A half-smile from Percy is an invitation for a debate. They move around each other with an ease that surprises them both.

Percy finds out that Phoebus is hopeless when it comes to practical matters. He can quote ancient philosophers and play complex sonatas, but ask him to mend a torn shirt and he's utterly lost. Percy takes on most of these tasks, not minding the work. It gives him a sense of purpose, a way to repay Phoebus's hospitality.

In return, Phoebus opens up his world. He shows Percy his favorite parts of the castle. It happens on the most unexpected moments sometimes, and Phoebus moves so silently that Percy thinks he ought to be adorned with a bell to announce his presence.

There is one such morning where Percy is in the library, the shelves stretching impossibly high and filled with scrolls and tomes from every corner of the known world. He runs his fingers along the spines, marveling at the variety.

Phoebus appears in the doorway, a wry smile on his face. "Found anything interesting?"

Percy jumps, nearly knocking over a stack of papyri. "Gods, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I'd hardly call it sneaking," Phoebus retorts, amusement dancing in his eyes. "It's not my fault you're as observant as a rock."

Percy rolls his eyes, but can't quite suppress a grin. "At least rocks don't shed all over the place."

Phoebus huffs, mock-offended. "I'll have you know my coat is immaculate."

"Sure, sure," Percy says, patting Phoebus's arm. The touch lingers, and he finds himself marveling at the softness of the fur beneath his fingers.

Phoebus clears his throat, looking away. "I thought we might take a walk in the olive grove. If you'd like."

Percy nods, warmth blooming in his chest at the invitation.

The afternoon sun filters through the silver-green leaves, casting shadows on the ground. Percy breathes in the scent of sun-warmed earth and ripe olives. Phoebus walks beside him, their shoulders occasionally brushing.

"Tell me about your home," Phoebus says softly.

Percy's brow furrows. "It's nothing special. Just a small village by the sea."

"And yet, you miss it."

Percy nods, surprised by the lump in his throat. "I do. The sound of the waves, the taste of salt in the air. My mother's garden. . . "

Phoebus's expression softens. "It sounds beautiful."

"It is," Percy says. Then, impulsively, "I wish you could see it."

He thinks he sees a flash of fierce longing across Phoebus's face, along with something like regret, but before he can puzzle it out, Phoebus is smiling again, gesturing to a nearby tree. "Care to try your hand at climbing?"

Percy grins, already reaching for a low-hanging branch. "Race you to the top!"

They spend the rest of the afternoon like children, laughing and competing to see who can climb the highest. When they finally descend, breathless and disheveled, Percy notices a smudge of dirt on Phoebus's muzzle. Without thinking, he reaches up to brush it away.

Phoebus goes very still under his touch. Percy's hand lingers, cupping Phoebus's cheek. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of them, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Then a dove coos nearby, startling them both. Percy pulls back, his cheeks burning. Phoebus clears his throat, looking anywhere but at Percy.

"We should head back," he says gruffly. "It's nearly time for dinner."

As they walk, Percy can't help but steal glances at Phoebus, wondering at the strange fluttering in his chest. He doesn't have a name for this feeling, but it's warm and bright and terrifying all at once.

The first leaves begin to turn gold and red in the garden, and Percy notices the castle changing with the seasons. What was once cold and dusty now blooms with life, as if the very stones are awakening from a long slumber. He can't help but wonder if it's responding to Phoebus' presence, or perhaps his own.

Their days are filled with quiet companionship, punctuated by moments of unexpected joy. He catches Phoebus humming under his breath as he tends to the flowers, his large paws surprisingly delicate as he prunes the thorny stems.

The sound wraps around him like a warm blanket, soothing and familiar. He closes his eyes, letting the gentle vibrations wash over him. When he opens them again, he catches Phoebus looking at him, those otherworldly eyes filled with an emotion Percy can't name.

His chest tightens, a swirl of conflicting feelings threatening to overwhelm him. He's drawn to Phoebus in a way he can't explain, a pull stronger than any he's felt before. Yet beneath it all, a nagging voice reminds him of his quest, of the world beyond these castle walls.

Percy takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of late-blooming oleanders. He pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the peace of this moment, on the strange beauty of Phoebus among the flowers. For now, he tells himself, this is enough.

There is one afternoon when Percy stumbles upon Phoebus in the library, surrounded by discarded books and crumpled parchment. Frustration radiates from his hunched form.

"What's wrong?" Percy asks, approaching cautiously.

Phoebus growls, low in his throat. "Nothing. It's foolish."

Percy raises an eyebrow, waiting.

"I can't—I can't write anymore," Phoebus admits, shame coloring his words. "These paws aren't made for quills."

Percy's heart twists at the self-loathing in Phoebus's voice. Without thinking, he reaches out, placing a hand on Phoebus's arm. "Then I'll be your scribe," he says firmly. "Tell me what you want to say."

Phoebus looks up, surprise and gratitude warring in his golden eyes. For a moment, Percy thinks he might refuse. Then, slowly, Phoebus begins to dictate, his words painting vivid pictures of far-off lands and long-forgotten myths.

It's these new facets of Phoebus that Percy discovers that leave him in awe. There is the lovely way his golden eyes spark with passion, and the way his tail flicks in excitement as he discusses a new idea, and how his fearsome maw can curl into a gentle smile when Percy makes a particularly clever observation.

One can probably forgive Percy for being unable to tear his eyes away when the sun glints off Phoebus's fur as he tends to the castle's overgrown gardens, creating a halo of light around him. Percy finds himself mesmerized by the gentle way Phoebus handles the delicate flowers, claws carefully avoiding the fragile petals.

Lost in reverie, Percy doesn't notice when Phoebus looks up, catching him staring. His ears flatten slightly, and he hunches his shoulders, as if trying to make himself smaller.

"Is something wrong?" Phoebus asks, uncomfortable.

Percy blinks, realizing he's been caught. His mouth moves before his brain catches up. "You're so bright and radiant," he says dazedly. Then he realizes what he just said and blushes. "I. . . I mean, your name suits you, is all."

Phoebus freezes, his eyes widening in shock. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words. The pruning shears slips from his paw, landing with a soft thud in the grass.

"I—what?" Phoebus finally manages.

Percy feels a little too warm, and he knows he must be red all over. He lets out a small cough. "Your name," he repeats. "Phoebus. The bright one. It's perfect for you," he swallows hard, stealing a quick glance before shyly looking away. "Especially now, with the sun making you glow like that."

There is a beat of silence. Phoebus remains motionless, tail twitching nervously, and Percy can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath his fur. He fidgets with the hem of his tunic, unable to meet his eyes. The garden suddenly feels too small, too intimate.

Phoebus's voice, when it finally comes, is rough with emotion. "You can't mean that. I'm a beast, Perseus. A monster."

The words make Percy's head snap up, embarrassment forgotten in an instant. He gapes at Phoebus for a moment before he strides forward, closing the distance between them.

"No," he says vehemently, eyes blazing. "You don't get to talk about yourself like that. You're not a monster, Phoebus. I've seen monsters. I've fought monsters." He runs a hand through his hair, angry. "You're. . . you're selfless, and wonderful, and. . . " He trails off, struggling to find the right words. "You're the most human person I've ever met."

Phoebus flinches, his large form seeming to shrink. "Look at me, Perseus. These claws, these fangs—"

"I am looking at you," Percy interrupts. He reaches out, hesitating for just a moment before placing a hand on Phoebus's arm. The fur is soft under his fingers. "I see someone who tends to flowers with more gentleness than I've seen in most humans. I see someone who can spend hours discussing philosophy and art. I see someone who. . . " He swallows hard, feeling raw. "Someone who makes me feel more at home than I have in years."

Phoebus stares at him, lost and searching and disbelieving. "How can you say that? After everything I've done, everything I am—"

"Because I know you," Percy insists. "Whatever you were before, whatever curse brought you to this—it doesn't define you. Your actions do. And everything I've seen tells me you're no monster, Phoebus."

Percy holds Phoebus's gaze, his heart pounding. The air between them feels charged, heavy with unspoken emotions. Phoebus's eyes searches his face, as if looking for any sign of deceit or pity. But Percy knows his words are true, feels them deep in his bones.

Phoebus's breath hitches, a sound caught between a growl and a whimper. He trembles slightly under Percy's touch. "Perseus, I—" he starts, then stops, struggling to find words.

Percy waits, his hand still resting on Phoebus's arm. He can feel the warmth of Phoebus's skin through his fur, the rapid pulse beneath. The garden around them seems to fade away, leaving only this moment between them.

"No one has ever—" Phoebus tries again. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opens them again, they shimmer with unshed tears. "Thank you," he whispers.

The words are heavy with the weight of years of loneliness, and Percy feels his own eyes burn in response. Without thinking, he steps closer, wrapping his arms around Phoebus's broad chest in a fierce hug.

For a moment, Phoebus stiffens, clearly unused to such contact. Then, slowly, carefully, he returns the embrace. His large paws are gentle as they settle on Percy's back, mindful of his claws.

They stay like that for a long moment, the silence broken only by the soft sound of rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds. Percy breathes in Phoebus's scent and feels a sense of rightness settle through him.

When they finally pull apart, Phoebus's eyes are bright, a small, hesitant smile tugging at his mouth. Percy finds himself grinning back, his heart light.

"Come on," he says, nodding towards the castle. "I think we could both use some tea after that."

Phoebus chuckles. "You and your tea," he teases, but there is unmistakable fondness in his voice.

They walk back together, their shoulders occasionally brushing, and Percy feels a warmth that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun.

Later that night, as they sit together, Phoebus absently reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from Percy's forehead. The touch is feather-light, almost reverent. Percy's breath catches, and for a moment, the world stands still. Then Phoebus pulls back, something like fear flashing across his face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" Phoebus begins, but Percy catches his paw, holding it gently. It feels warm in his hand, and he marvels at how natural it feels.

"It's okay," Percy says softly. "I don't mind."

Phoebus looks at him, wonder and disbelief in his eyes. Percy meets his gaze steadily, his heart thundering in his chest, trying to convey everything he can't find the words to say.

The next morning, Percy wakes with the dawn, his mind already racing before his feet hit the cold stone floor. He paces the length of his room, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair, unable to shake the strange fluttering in his chest.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and pauses, frowning at his reflection. Has he always looked so. . . flushed? He shakes his head, trying to clear his nerves.

As he makes his way to the dining hall, Percy finds himself distracted by every little reminder of Phoebus. The way the morning light catches on the polished brass fixtures reminds him of Phoebus's eyes. The soft padding of his own feet on the carpet echoes the gentle way Phoebus moves, despite his size.

He's so lost in thought that he nearly collides with Phoebus as he rounds a corner.

"Oh!" Percy proclaims, stumbling back. "I'm sorry, I wasn't—" He looks up and promptly loses his train of thought. Has Phoebus always looked so incandescent in the morning light?

Phoebus smiles, and Percy's strange little heart does a strange little flip. "No harm done," Phoebus says, his voice sending an inexplicable shiver down Percy's spine. "I was actually looking for you. I thought we might take breakfast in the garden today."

Percy nods, not trusting his voice. As they walk, he can't help but steal glances at Phoebus, marveling at the way his fur catches the sunlight. He's so distracted that he nearly trips over his own feet.

In the garden, Phoebus has laid out a veritable feast. There are fresh fruits, warm pastries, and a pot of fragrant tea. Percy's favorites, he realizes with a start. When did Phoebus learn his preferences?

Phoebus regales him with stories as they eat, asking about his interests and hanging on Percy's every word. Percy finds himself flustered, unused to such focused attention. He fumbles with his cup, nearly spilling tea down his front.

"Are you alright?" Phoebus asks, concern evident in his voice.

Percy feels his cheeks heat up. "I'm fine," he stammers. "Just. . . didn't sleep well, I suppose."

Phoebus nods, though he doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, perhaps this will cheer you up," he says, producing a small, wrapped package from behind his back. "I found this in the library and thought you might enjoy it."

Percy unwraps the gift with trembling fingers, revealing a beautifully bound book of ancient myths. His heart feels full with an emotion he can't put a name to. "Phoebus this is. . . thank you," he breathes, running his fingers over the embossed cover.

Phoebus beams, and Percy finds himself momentarily dazzled. Has Phoebus's smile always been so bright? So warm?

The morning after that, Percy wakes to find a bouquet of wild hyacinths on his nightstand, their delicate purple blooms filling the room with a sweet fragrance. His heart gives a strange flutter as he traces the petals with gentle fingers. He knows, without being told, that they're from Phoebus.

At breakfast, Phoebus casually mentions plans to visit the olive grove. "The fruit is ripening," he says, not quite meeting Percy's eyes. "I thought we might harvest some together."

Percy agrees, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickens at the invitation. As they work side by side beneath the silver-leafed boughs, he finds himself hyperaware of Phoebus's presence, growing more and more flustered. Every kind gesture, every gentle touch from Phoebus sends his heart racing. He's never felt this way before, and he doesn't know what to make of it.

"You're distracted today," Phoebus notes, looking torn between concern and amusement. "Did you have trouble sleeping again?"

Percy feels heat rush to his cheeks. "No! No, I slept well, it was nice." He answers too quickly. "I'm just. . . admiring the scenery," he lies poorly.

That evening, as they sit by the fire, Phoebus produces a lyre. His claws coax out beautiful melodies from its string, and as he plays a particularly moving piece, Percy finds himself entranced.

Phoebus looks up, catching Percy's gaze, but then he looks away, and his fingers falter on the strings.

"I'm afraid I'm out of practice," he mutters, setting the lyre aside.

Percy wants to protest, to tell him how beautiful it was, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he finds himself staring at Phoebus's paws, wondering at how such powerful hands can produce such delicate sounds.

"You play beautifully," Percy finally manages. "I've never heard anything like it."

Phoebus looks up, surprised. Percy doesn't know how he can be so unaware of his own talents. "It's been years since I've played for anyone."

Percy feels a sudden urge to reach out, and before he can second-guess himself, he moves closer, closing the distance between them on the settee. "Well, I'd love to hear more, if you're willing to play."

Their eyes meet, and Percy feels his breath catch on his throat. There is a vulnerability in Phoebus's eyes that makes his chest tighten. For a moment, neither of them move.

Phoebus breaks the silence first, clearing his throat. "Perhaps. . . perhaps another time," he says softly. "It's getting late."

Percy nods, feeling torn between disappointment and relief. As they stand to retire for the night, their hands brush accidentally. The brief contact sends a jolt through Percy, and he quickly pulls away, mumbling a hasty good night before retreating to his room.

Once alone, he leans against his closed door, heart pounding. He is a mess of confusion and butterflies. He takes a moment to compose himself before collapsing on his bed with a groan. What is happening to him?

Percy wakes to the sound of birdsong filtering through his window. He stretches languidly, feeling more rested than he has in days. As he dresses, he catches sight of the hyacinths on his nightstand and feels a warmth bloom in his chest.

Breakfast is a quiet affair, but Percy finds himself stealing glances at Phoebus over his teacup. His fur gleams in the morning light, and Percy has to constantly remind himself not to stare.

"I thought we might take a walk in the woods today," Phoebus suggests. "There's a lovely clearing not far from here."

Percy nods, grateful for the distraction. "That sounds nice."

As they walk, Percy finds himself relaxing. The forest is peaceful, and Phoebus's presence beside him is comforting. He listens intently as Phoebus points out various plants and their uses, amazed at the depth of his knowledge.

"And this," Phoebus says, gesturing to a small purple flower, "is wolfsbane. Beautiful, but deadly."

Percy leans in to examine it, fascinated. "It's amazing how something so lovely can be so dangerous."

Phoebus chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down Percy's spine. "Indeed. Nature is full of such contradictions."

Their eyes meet, and Percy feels that now-familiar flutter in his stomach. He clears his throat, looking away. "We should, uh, keep moving."

As they continue their walk, Percy finds himself growing more at ease. He tells Phoebus about his adventures, gesturing wildly as he recounts a particularly harrowing encounter with a hydra. Phoebus listens attentively, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You're quite the hero, aren't you?" Phoebus teases, and Percy feels his cheeks warm.

"Hardly," he scoffs. "Just doing what needs to be done."

Phoebus's expression softens. "That's what makes you a hero, Perseus."

The sincerity in his voice makes Percy's heart skip a beat. He fumbles for a response, but Phoebus has already moved on, pointing out a rare bird perched high in the trees.

As they make their way back to the castle, Percy finds himself walking closer to Phoebus, their arms occasionally brushing. The contact sends sparks through him, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he finds himself leaning into the touch, savoring the warmth of Phoebus's presence.

The day after that, Phoebus takes him to an old observatory in the eastern wing, and on the way there Percy finds himself staring more at Phoebus than the tapestries he is excitedly gesturing about.

The observatory is breathtaking, all polished brass and intricate gears. Percy loses himself in examining the various instruments, asking questions that Phoebus answers with obvious delight. Their hands brush as they both reach for the same astrolabe, and Percy feels a jolt of electricity run through him. He pulls back, flustered, but manages to cover it with a cough.

"This is incredible," he says, voice steadier than he feels. "Thank you for showing me."

Phoebus beams at him, and Percy feels something warm unfurl in his chest. It's not the frantic flutter from before, but something softer, more tender. He finds himself smiling back, genuinely and without reserve.

That evening, as they sit by the fire discussing ancient myths, Percy realizes with a start that he's never felt so at ease with anyone before. He watches Phoebus gesticulate animatedly, eyes alight with passion, and feels a wave of affection wash over him.

"You know," he says softly, interrupting Phoebus mid-sentence, "I'm really glad I came back."

Phoebus pauses, looking at Percy with an expression he can't quite place. "As am I," he replies, his voice equally soft.

Percy finds himself lingering in the library more often these days, fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes as he pretends to search for something specific. In truth, he's waiting for Phoebus, anticipation fluttering in his chest like a caged bird.

"Trying to absorb knowledge through osmosis?" Phoebus's amused voice comes from behind.

Percy whirls around, nearly knocking over a stack of scrolls. "I'll have you know I was deep in thought about, um, the migratory patterns of Theban geese."

Phoebus quirks an eyebrow, eyes dancing. "Is that so? And what have you learned about these fascinating birds?"

"That they're. . . very. . . migratory?" Percy offers weakly.

Phoebus's laughter fills the room, rich and melodious. "Truly, your wisdom knows no bounds."

Percy rolls his eyes, but can't help the grin tugging at his lips. "Alright, smartypants. What brings you to my humble realm of fabricated ornithology?"

"I thought we might take a walk in the olive grove," Phoebus says, his voice softer now. "The trees are heavy with fruit."

As they stroll beneath the silver-leafed boughs, Percy admires the way the castle grounds have transformed. Wildflowers dot the grass in vibrant purples and golds, their sweet scent carried on the warm breeze.

"It's beautiful here," he murmurs, more to himself than to Phoebus.

"It is," Phoebus agrees, his gaze fixed on Percy rather than the scenery.

Percy reaches up, plucking a ripe olive from a low-hanging branch. He pops it into his mouth without thinking, then immediately grimaces at the bitter taste.

Phoebus snorts, a sound that Percy have been finding increasingly endearing. "You're supposed to cure them first, you know."

"Now you tell me," Percy grumbles, spitting out the offending fruit. "Some host you are."

"My deepest apologies," Phoebus says, eyes twinkling. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

There's something in his tone that makes Percy's breath catch. He looks up, meeting Phoebus's gaze, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of them.

A dove fluttering its wings nearby startles them both. Percy clears his throat, suddenly aware of how close they're standing. "Well, you could start by showing me how to actually prepare these things properly."

Phoebus nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I think that can be arranged."

As they head back to the kitchen, Percy finds himself hyperaware of Phoebus's presence beside him. Their hands brush as they walk, and Percy feels a jolt of—something—at each fleeting touch. He steals glances at Phoebus, noticing how the sunlight catches in his fur, turning it to burnished gold.

In the kitchen, Phoebus patiently demonstrates the art of curing olives, his large paws surprisingly deft as he works. Percy watches, fascinated by the gentle care Phoebus takes with each step of the process.

"You're good at this," Percy says softly.

Phoebus looks up, surprised. "I. . . thank you. It's been a long time since I've had anyone to share this with."

There's a vulnerability in his voice that makes Percy's heart ache. Without thinking, he reaches out, placing his hand on Phoebus's arm. "Well, you have me now."

Percy has never intended to fall in love, especially not with a beast. Yet as he watches Phoebus move through the sun-dappled olive grove, he can't help but marvel at how radiant he looks. The way the sunlight crowns him, as if naming him its king. Percy's heart gives a traitorous flutter, and he quickly looks away, focusing on the task at hand.

They're harvesting olives, filling woven baskets with the ripe fruit. Phoebus reaches up, his powerful form stretching as he plucks olives from a high branch. Percy finds himself staring, mesmerized by the play of muscles beneath that soft fur.

"You're staring again," Phoebus rumbles, amusement dancing in his golden eyes.

Percy feels heat rush to his cheeks. "I was just. . . admiring your technique."

Phoebus chuckles, a warm sound that sends shivers down Percy's spine. "Of course you were."

They work in companionable silence, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant song of cicadas. As the sun climbs higher, Percy sheds his chiton, letting the warm breeze caress his skin. He catches Phoebus watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Perhaps we should take a break," Phoebus suggests, his voice unusually rough. "There's a stream nearby where we can cool off."

Percy nods, grateful for the reprieve. They make their way through the grove, shoulders brushing occasionally. At the stream, Percy splashes cool water on his face, sighing with relief. When he looks up, he finds Phoebus watching him intently.

"What?" Percy asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Phoebus shakes his head, as if clearing away a thought. "Nothing. You just. . . you look like something out of a myth, standing there."

Percy's breath catches at the compliment. He wants to say something clever, something to match the intensity of Phoebus's gaze, but words fail him. Instead, he splashes water at Phoebus, grinning as he sputters in mock outrage.

They spend the afternoon by the stream, talking and laughing. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Percy realizes he's never felt so at peace.

Love, he muses, is a peculiar thing. He's heard tales of it since childhood—stories of heroes and gods swept away by passion. But he never imagined it would creep up on him like this, quiet and unassuming.

He thinks of his life, of the weight of prophecies and quests. How often had he dreamed of a simple life? Of finding someone who saw beyond his lineage, who valued him for more than his strength or name?

Now, watching Phoebus shake water from his fur, Percy feels a warmth blossoming in his chest that has nothing to do with the setting sun. It's unexpected, and yet he can't deny the way his heart quickens when Phoebus laughs, or how he longs to run his fingers through that soft fur.

Percy wonders what his mother would think. Medusa, cursed by his father's betrayal, might scoff at the idea of love. But then again, she had loved once, hadn't she? Perhaps she's understand this unexpected tenderness.

He remembers the loneliness of his youth—always set apart, always different. Even among other demigods, he'd felt like an outsider. But here, with Phoebus, he feels seen. Understood. Accepted for who he is, and not what he can do or who his father might be.

It's terrifying, Percy realizes. To open yourself up to love is to risk pain, to make yourself vulnerable. But as he watches Phoebus stretch lazily in the fading light, he thinks it might be worth the risk.

Winter arrives, bringing with it a restlessness Percy can't quite shake. He finds himself drawn to the windows more often, gazing out at the world beyond the castle walls. Phoebus notices, of course. He always does.

"You're not a prisoner here, you know," Phoebus says one evening. "If you wish to leave. . . "

Percy turns from the window, surprised by the vulnerability in Phoebus's eyes. "I don't," he says, realizing the truth of it as he speaks. "I just. . . I wonder sometimes."

His gaze drifts back to the white landscape, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the frosted glass. The silence stretches between them, comfortable yet charged with unspoken words.

"It's the quest, isn't it?" Phoebus's voice breaks the quiet. "The one Aphrodite set you on."

Percy's shoulders tense. He'd been avoiding this topic, torn between his growing feelings for Phoebus and the duty that pulled him homeward. "I can't go back until it's done," he admits softly. "And I miss my mother, my home. But I—" He swallows hard, unable to voice the rest.

Phoebus moves closer, his presence warm and solid. "What is it you need to find?"

Percy shakes his head, frustrated. "That's just it. I don't know. All I have is this vague prophecy."

Phoebus's ears flatten slightly, but his voice remains steady. "Will you share it with me?"

Percy swallows thickly. His eyes dart between Phoebus and the window, his heart pounding. "I. . . " he begins, then falters. He runs a hand through his hair, buying time. "It's not that I don't trust you," he says, meeting Phoebus's eyes. "It's just—I've never shared it with anyone before."

Phoebus nods, his expression softening. "I understand," he says. "Prophecies are tricky things. Sometimes speaking them aloud can make them feel more real, more urgent."

Percy blinks, surprised at Phoebus's insight. "Yes, exactly," he breathes. "And I'm. . . I'm afraid of what that might mean." He doesn't add the unspoken fear: that voicing the prophecy might shatter the peace he's found here, with Phoebus.

Silence falls between them. Percy finds himself studying Phoebus's face, noting the way his eyes reflect the firelight, the gentle curve of his horns. There is something in Phoebus's eyes—a depth of understanding that both comforts and unsettles him.

Phoebus takes a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost pained. "Perseus, I won't pressure you. But if you choose to share it. . . perhaps I could help. I have some—experience—with prophecies."

Percy's eyebrows shoot up. "You do?"

A shadow passes over Phoebus's face, there and gone in an instant. "Let's just say I've had my fair share of encounters with the cryptic and divine."

Percy hesitates, weighing his options. Part of him—a larger part than he cares to admit—wants to keep the prophecy to himself, to let it fade into irreverence in the face of what he's found here. But as he looks at Phoebus and sees the genuine concern and desire to help, he feels his resolve crumbling.

"Alright," Percy says softly. He closes his eyes, recalling the words that has haunted him for so long. "The prophecy goes like this. . . "

In shadows deep, a blossom lies, to bloom when love is sacrificed. Pluck it, and you’ll find your way, but lose what’s dear, a heavy sway. The path home through its petals goes, yet forsake it, and truth will grow.

As the last word falls from Percy's lips, he notices Phoebus has gone very still. Percy watches Phoebus's face, seeing a storm of emotions play across his features. Phoebus's eyes widen, then narrow, his paws clenching and unclenching.

"Phoebus?" Percy asks, concerned. "What is it?"

Phoebus's expression shifts between shock and what looked like—recognition? His eyes dart around the room, never quite meeting Percy's gaze.

"Phoebus?" Percy repeats, taking a step closer. "What's wrong?"

Phoebus shakes his head, his mane rippling with the movement. "I. . . I need to go," he says, sounding strained.

"Go? But—" Percy reaches out, his hand hovering in the air between them, but Phoebus backs away, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.

"I'm sorry, Perseus. I just. . . I need some time to think."

Before Percy can say another word, Phoebus turns and lumbers out of the room, claws clicking against the stone floor. The sound echoes in the sudden silence, growing fainter as Phoebus disappears down the hallway.

Percy stands frozen, hand still outstretched. The warmth that had filled the room moments ago seems to have vanished with Phoebus, leaving behind a chill that has nothing to do with the winter air outside.

He lowers his arm slowly, mind racing. What just happened? What about the prophecy affected Phoebus so strongly? Percy replays the words in his head, searching for some hidden meaning he might have missed.

The crackling of the fire seems too loud in the empty room. Percy turns back to the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. Outside, snow has begun to fall, tiny flakes swirling in the wind. He watches them, breath fogging the pane, as he tries to make sense of Phoebus's reaction.

Percy wanders the castle halls, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. The once-comforting stone walls now feel oppressive, closing in around him. He pauses at a window, watching snowflakes dance in the bitter wind outside. The world beyond the glass seems as cold and distant as Phoebus has become.

It has been days since their conversation, and Phoebus is. . . gone. Not physically, perhaps, but might as well be for all Percy sees of him. The absence leaves a gaping hole in Percy's days, one he hadn't realized was there until now.

He finds himself in the library at their usual hour, half-hoping to see Phoebus hunched over a book or tinkering with some magical contraption. But the room is silent, the fire unlit. Percy's hand hovers over the spines of books they'd explored together, remembering Phoebus's enthusiastic explanations and the warmth of his voice.

He tries to distract himself, picking up a book of poetry they'd been discussing. But the words blur on the page, his mind wandering to Phoebus's reaction to the prophecy. What had he seen in those words that Percy couldn't? The uncertainty gnaws at him, worse than any monster he's faced.

As night falls, Percy finds himself in the music room, staring at the grand piano. His fingers ghost over the keys, remembering the melody Phoebus had taught him. The notes hang in the air, unfinished and melancholy. Percy closes the lid, unable to bear the silence that follows.

He wanders the castle aimlessly, feeling like a stranger in a place that had become home. Every corner holds a memory of Phoebus—his laughter, his gentle teasing, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Percy hadn't realized how much he'd come to depend on that companionship until its absence left him hollow.

He is curled up in his favorite armchair, watching snowflakes drift lazily past, when he hears footsteps behind him, familiar yet different. He jumps to his feet, heart leaping, to find Phoebus looming in the doorway.

"Phoebus," Percy breathes, relief and confusion warring in his chest. "Where have you—"

"Here," Phoebus interrupts, eyes cold and distant. He thrusts something towards Percy—a delicate flower, its petals a shimmering, otherworldly blue. "This is the blossom from your prophecy," he states flatly. "Take it and go. Your quest is complete."

Percy blinks, taken aback by Phoebus's brusque manner. "I don't understand. How did you—"

"It doesn't matter," Phoebus sharply cuts him off. "You have what you came for. There's no reason for you to stay any longer."

A pang of hurt slices through him, leaving him stunned and disoriented. He stares at the flower in his hand, then back at Phoebus, searching for any hint of the person he's come to know. But Phoebus's face is a mask, his eyes shuttered.

"But I—" Percy starts, his voice small.

"You should leave," Phoebus says, turning away. "Your path home lies through that blossom's bloom, does it not?"

Percy feels his world tilting, everything he thought he'd known crumbling around him. "Phoebus, please. What's happening? I don't want to—"

But Phoebus is already walking away. Percy can only watch, rooted to the spot, with the delicate flower clutched in his trembling hand.

Percy searches every nook and cranny, places they'd explored together and hidden corners he'd never noticed before. The library stays empty, dust gathering on books they'd pored over side by side. In the music room, the piano sits silent, its keys untouched since their last duet.

The gardens, usually Phoebus's sanctuary, yield no sign of him. Snow blankets the grounds, erasing any tracks that might have led Percy to his friend. He calls out, voice cracking, but only the winter wind answers.

The ache in Percy's chest grows with each empty room and each silent corridor. The stone walls that once felt like home now loom cold and unfamiliar, mocking him with memories of warmer days. The flower on his bedside table haunts him.

He wants to shake Phoebus, to demand answers, to understand what went wrong. But more than that, he wants to see those golden eyes light up with warmth again, to hear that lilting laughter that had become as familiar as his own heartbeat.

The castle feels vast and empty without Phoebus's presence. Percy finds himself pausing at windows, searching the snowy landscape for any sign of movement. But the world outside is as still and lifeless as the halls within.

Eventually, Percy returns to his room, exhausted and heartsick. The flower sits innocently on his nightstand, its petals glowing faintly in the darkness. He stares at it, torn between the urge to crush it and the fear of losing his only link to Phoebus.

Sleep eludes him that night.

The next day, he continues wandering, his heart heavy with longing and confusion. He pauses, leaning against a cool stone wall, and closes his eyes.

A faint melody drifts through the air, so soft he almost believes he imagined it. But there it is again, a tinkling sound like distant wind chimes. Percy's eyes snap open, his pulse quickening. He folows the sound, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

The music leads him down unfamiliar passages, through rooms he's never seen before. He catches glimpses of movement at the edge of his vision—a flash of gossamer fabric, a wisp of golden hair. But when he turns, there's nothing there.

The castle seems to shift around him, corridors arranging themselves to guide his path. Percy realizes with a start that the castle itself is helping him, leading him to Phoebus.

He rounds a corner and there, in a small alcove bathed in sunlight, stands Phoebus. His back is turned, and Percy's breath catches in his throat.

"Phoebus," Percy says softly, his heart aching with the weight of the moment.

Phoebus’s ears twitch at the sound of his name, but he doesn't turn. His large frame is outlined against the window, the snow-covered landscape outside casting a cold, pale light into the room. "Why are you still here, Perseus?" His voice is low, almost resigned. "You have what you came for. Your quest is complete."

Percy takes a tentative step forward, his hand outstretched as if reaching for something just beyond his grasp. "I don’t understand. Why are you pushing me away?"

Phoebus’s shoulders tense, his muscles coiled tight beneath his fur. Slowly, he turns to face Percy, his eyes meeting Percy's. They’re guarded, hiding something deep within. "Why haven’t you left?" Phoebus asks.

Percy swallows hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Because. . . " he begins, then falters. How can he explain the warmth that blooms in his heart when Phoebus is near? The way Phoebus's laughter makes him feel more at home than he's ever felt before?

The words tangle on his tongue, and the silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. He's never been good at this—expressing the tumult of emotions that churn inside him. But he has to try. For Phoebus. For himself.

He thinks of the warmth that floods his chest when Phoebus laughs, of the peace he feels in their shared silence. He takes a deep breath, pushing through the fear that threatens to choke him.

"I don’t want to leave," he says, the words rushing out. "This place, it’s. . . it’s become more than just a stop on some quest. It’s—" He gestures helplessly, trying to encompass everything—the castle, their conversations, the way Phoebus makes him feel seen.

But Phoebus’s expression remains closed off, and doubt creeps in, twisting Percy’s stomach into knots. Had he misread everything? The shared meals, the laughter, the quiet moments—did they mean nothing to Phoebus?

"I thought. . . " Percy’s voice falters, shrinking into a whisper. He feels like a child again, lost and unsure of his place. "I thought you wanted me here. Was I wrong?"

The fear hits him then, a crushing wave that threatens to pull him under. What if Phoebus had just been tolerating him this whole time? What if every moment Percy treasured was just a burden to him? Maybe he'd been so desperate for connection, for understanding, that he'd seen what he wanted to see.

His breath comes faster, panic rising. He feels foolish, exposed, thinking he could find a home here, thinking he was wanted. Of course Phoebus doesn't want him around. Why would he? Percy is just a lost demigod, stumbling through quests he barely understands, always out of place.

The silence between them stretches unbearably, each heartbeat an eternity. Percy wants to run, to hide, to take back every word. But he stands there, frozen, waiting for Phoebus to shatter the fragile hope he’s been nurturing.

Phoebus watches him, and for a moment, something shifts in his gaze. The hard lines around his eyes ease, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight presses down on him.

"Perseus," Phoebus says gently, the pain in his voice raw and unmistakable. Percy braces himself for rejection. "You are wanted here. More than you could ever know. But—you want to go home. I know how much you love your mother, how much she means to you."

Percy reels back, stunned. He had spoken of his mother often during their time together, sharing stories of her kindness and strength. But now, hearing Phoebus use those words as a reason for him to leave feels wrong, twisted somehow.

"That’s not—" Percy starts, then stops, struggling to collect his thoughts. He’s trembling, he realizes. "Yes, I love my mother. But that doesn’t mean I want to leave here. To leave you."

Phoebus’s gaze drops, his large paws fidgeting—a gesture so uncharacteristically nervous that it gives Percy pause.

"How did you even know how to find the blossom?" Percy asks suddenly, the thought occurring to him. "I’ve been searching for so long, and you just. . . produced it out of nowhere."

Phoebus’s eyes flick up to meet Percy’s, only to dart away again. He looks guilty, almost fearful.

"I. . . " Phoebus begins, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I’ve known about the blossom for a long time. It’s. . . part of my story, you could say."

Percy’s mind races, trying to piece together the implications of Phoebus’s words. "Your story? What do you mean?"

Phoebus turns away, staring out the window again. His voice is heavy, laden with years of hidden pain. "It’s complicated, Perseus. There are things about me, about this place, that you don’t understand."

Percy feels his heart constrict at the sorrow in Phoebus’s voice. He steps closer, his hand trembling as he reaches out to touch Phoebus’s arm. "Please," he pleads softly. "Help me understand. What aren’t you telling me?"

Phoebus sighs, his shoulders slumping further as if the weight of the world rests upon them. "The blossom—it’s tied to my curse," he admits reluctantly. "I’ve known about it all along."

Percy’s eyes widen. "Your curse?"

Phoebus turns, and the bitterness in his voice cuts deep. "I’m just a beast, Perseus. At least this way, I can do something good for you. You can go home, be with your mother. Live the life you deserve."

"What?" Percy shakes his head, hurt and confusion clouding his thoughts. "Phoebus, you’re not just a beast. You’re my friend. You’re. . . " He falters, struggling to find the words to convey what he feels.

But Phoebus remains silent, his back turned to Percy once more. The distance between them feels insurmountable, a chasm that Percy fears he might never cross.

"Please," Percy says again, his voice breaking. "Tell me what’s really going on."

Phoebus turns slowly, his eyes filled with a sadness so deep it makes Percy’s heart ache. "The blossom. . . it’s the key to breaking my curse," Phoebus confesses. "But using it means I'll become a true beast, and stay that way forever."

Percy feels as though the ground has dropped out from under him. "What? No, that can’t be right. There has to be another way."

Phoebus shakes his head, the movement slow and resigned. "There isn’t. This is how it has to be. I’ve accepted it."

"But I haven’t!" Percy cries out, his hand reaching for Phoebus’s paw, desperate to bridge the chasm between them. "I won’t accept it. You’re not just a beast, Phoebus. You are so much more than that, and—" He swallows hard, tears stinging his eyes. "And I care about you. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself like this."

Phoebus’s gaze softens, his eyes reflecting the same pain Percy feels. "Perseus, you don’t understand. This is my fate. It’s fine. I’m just a beast anyway."

Percy feels something shatter inside him, a dam of emotions breaking loose. His voice rises, raw and desperate. "No! You’re not just a beast, Phoebus! Can’t you see that? You’re so much more!" His words tumble out, frantic and uncontrolled. "You’re kind, and brilliant, and funny, and, and. . . and I love you!"

The confession startles them both. But Percy can't stop now, his heart laid bare.

"I love you," Percy repeats, softer this time, tears welling in his eyes. "I won’t do it. I won’t use that blossom. You deserve so much more than this curse, this. . . this sacrifice."

His heart races, each beat a painful reminder of what he stands to lose. The world narrows down to his moment, to the warmth of Phoebus beneath his trembling hands. He can't bear the thought of Phoebus, in all his brilliance, being reduced to a literal beast and losing all that makes him who he is. The idea twists in his gut, a visceral pain that threatens to overwhelm him. He sees Phoebus—the gentle soul who taught him to play the piano, who shared stories of far-off lands, who looked at him and seen him for who he is—and the thought of all that fading away, leaving only an animal behind, fills him with a profound horror. He can't imagine a world without Phoebus's laughter, his insightful observations, the way his eyes light up when he talks about the stars.

"Please," he begs through his tears. The words scrape his throat raw, but he has to make Phoebus understand. "Please don't ask me to do this. I can't lose you. I love you."

The admission hangs in the air between them, fragile and terrifying. The tears spill over, blurring his vision, and his shoulders shake as he cries, clutching Phoebus’s paw with trembling hands.

"You. . . " Phoebus breathes, barely audible. His eyes are wide, searching Percy’s face as if trying to understand.

Percy wants to explain, to pour out every thought and feeling that's been building within him. But the words stick in his throat, overwhelmed by the tide of emotion threatening to drown him. His legs give way, and he braces for impact.

But Phoebus is there, strong arms catching him, holding him close. The familiar scent of sun-warmed fur envelops him, and something inside him shatters. He clings to Phoebus, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. All the fear, the longing, the confusion of the past days pour out of him in a torrent he can no longer contain.

"Please," he gasps between ragged breaths, face pressed into Phoebus's chest. His fingers curl into the soft fur, desperate to hold on. "Please understand. I can't lose you. I won't."

Phoebus stands still for a moment, overwhelmed by the raw emotion pouring out of Percy. Then, slowly, his arms tighten around Percy, pulling him closer, offering what comfort he can.

"Shh," Phoebus murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m here. I’m right here."

He feels Phoebus trembling, as if he’s fighting back tears of his own. He presses his face deeper into Phoebus’s fur, the warmth of his body seeping into Percy’s very soul.

"I love you," Percy repeats, his voice muffled but fervent. "All of you. Not just the parts you think are worthy. Everything."

Percy is clinging to Phoebus, his face buried in his fur, when he feels a strange warmth begin to pulse between them. At first, he thinks it is just the heat of their bodies pressed together, but it grew stronger, more insistent, until it feels as though the sun itself is nestled between their bodies. A soft golden glow seeps through his closed eyelids, and he feels Phoebus stiffen in his arms.

The light wraps around them like a cocoon of pure sunlight. It feels as though they stand at the heart of a star, bathed in its radiance. Percy's skin tingles, every nerve alight with a strange, thrumming energy. He wants to look, to understand what is happening, but fear keeps his eyes squeezed shut.

Instead, he focuses on Phoebus's heartbeat, strong and steady against his ear. The rhythm seems to sync with the pulsing light, growing faster, more intense. Percy feels warmth flooding through him, as if liquid sunlight flows in his veins.

Percy feels a shift when the light reaches its zenith. The fur beneath his hands seem to melt away, replaced by smooth, warm skin. The body in his arms changes, becoming leaner, more defined. Still, he holds on, afraid that if he lets go, Phoebus might disappear entirely.

When the light finally fades, leaving spots dancing behind his eyelids, Percy slowly opens his eyes. He gasps softly, his heart skipping a beat as he finds himself looking up into a face that is both achingly familiar and breathtakingly new.

Gone is the beastly visage, and in its place is a man of otherworldly beauty. His hair is spun gold, falling in soft waves around a face that could have been carved by the finest sculptors of Athens. His skin is bronzed as if kissed by the sun itself, glowing with a light that steals Percy's breath away.

But it is the eyes that truly captures him. They are the same golden eyes he's come to know so well, still holding that same sorrow and wisdom. Yet now they glow faintly, as if lit from within by the same radiance that had enveloped them moments before.

This is Phoebus, he knows it in his very soul, and yet—

"Phoebus?" His hand, trembling slightly, reaches up to touch the face before him, half-expecting it to dissolve beneath his fingers. But the skin is warm and solid, radiating a gentle heat that seems to pulse.

Tears stream down Phoebus's lovely face, his golden eyes wide with shock and wonder. He looks at his hands, turning them over as if seeing them for the first time. A sob escapes his lips.

"How—?" he whispers disbelievingly. "Perseus, you. . . you broke the curse."

Percy can't take his eyes off the man before him. He's breathtakingly beautiful, yet those eyes—those are the eyes he's come to know and love. The eyes that have looked at him with kindness, with understanding, shining with a hope so bright it's almost blinding.

"Phoebus," Percy breathes, his own eyes filling with more tears. "It's really you."

Phoebus reaches out, his hands cupping Percy's face with a tenderness that makes his heart ache anew. "You saw me," he says, filled with wonder. "You saw past the beast, past the ugliness I thought was all that was left of me. I never dared to hope—" His voice catches in his throat. "You were too good to be true, too good to be here. I thought. . . I thought I'd have to let you go."

He takes in the way Phoebus's brows furrow slightly, and thinks of the way those eyes would light up when they discussed ancient texts or debated the merits of different olive varieties. He traces the curve of Phoebus's jaw, remembering how it looked covered in fur, how it felt beneath his fingertips. He thinks of Phoebus's laughter, lilting and wonderful, and recalls the tenderness in Phoebus's eyes when tending to the flowers in his garden, the life in his voice when sharing a new discovery from the library.

He places his hands over Phoebus's, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin. "I don't understand how anyone can ever see you as anything but utterly, incomparably lovely."

Phoebus's lips part, but no words come out. His gaze flickers between Percy's eyes and their joined hands, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing or seeing.

"Lovely," Phoebus repeats, as if it were a strange and foreign word. "I was. . . I was a monster. How can that be—?"

Percy shakes his head vehemently, taking Phoebus's face in his hands. He brushes away the tears that have started to fall. "No, never a monster. Always you. Always beautiful."

Phoebus leans into Percy's touch, eyes closing as he absorbs the words. Percy marvels at the way the sunlight seems to dance across his features, highlighting every perfect curve and angle. His lips, pink and soft, part slightly as he breathes. Golden lashes flutter against his cheeks, and his skin glows with an otherworldly radiance, smooth and warm beneath Percy's touch.

Percy startles when music begins to play, soft and ethereal. It seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if the very stones are singing. It is only then that he realizes the castle has changed around them. His eyes widen as he takes in their surroundings, the stone walls having given way to polished marble, intricate mosaics depicting scenes of sunlight and music. Ornate columns stretch toward a ceiling that seems to open up to the heavens themselves, their capitals adorned with intricate carvings of laurel leaves and sunbursts.

"Phoebus," Percy gasps, awestruck. "The castle—it's changed. It's like. . . like the sun itself has taken residence here."

The music flows around them, a celebration of joy and rebirth. Percy looks back at Phoebus, transformed yet achingly familiar, a vision of sunlight made flesh. His smile is radiant, warm as the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon, and Percy finds himself drawn closer, unable to resist the pull.

His heart races, a wild stampede beneath his ribs. Phoebus's eyes, once set in a beast's face, now shine from features sculpted by the gods themselves. His fingers itch to trace every new line, to map the terrain of this face he thought he knew.

"Perseus," Phoebus breathes, and oh, how his name sounds different on those lips now. "You've given me back the sun."

Percy's heart aches with an affection so profound it steals his breath away. How can his heart contain so much? It feels as though it might burst, spilling over with a love so fierce it terrifies him.

Phoebus's gaze drops, settling on Percy's lips with an intensity that sends lightning crackling through his veins. The air between them grows thick, heavy with possibility. Percy can barely breath, every nerve ending alight with anticipation. He can feel how close Phoebus is standing, can feel the slight tremors in the hands that now cup his face.

"Perseus," Phoebus murmurs, his voice a low, resonant warmth that Percy feels in his very bones. "May I. . . I've wanted to for so long—"

Percy's mind goes blank, overwhelmed by the naked longing in Phoebus's voice. He doesn't wait to hear the rest. His body moves of its own accord, surging forward to close the agonizing distance between them. Their lips meet in a kiss that's all eagerness and desperation, clumsy in its intensity.

His world narrows to the press of Phoebus's lips against his own. The initial clash of teeth and noses give way to something softer, more exploratory. Percy's heart pounds, a wild rhythm that threatens to burst from his chest. He's never understood the appeal of kissing before, always finding the idea somewhat strange, but now—oh, now he gets it.

Phoebus takes the lead, gently guiding Percy with a hand cradling his jaw. His touch is so tender, so reverent, that Percy feels like he might melt on the spot. He sighs into the kiss, his lips parting slightly, and Phoebus takes the invitation, deepening the kiss with a skill that makes Percy's knees weak.

Percy's hands flutter uncertainly before settling on Phoebus's shoulders, feeling the warmth of the skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. He marvels at the difference—no longer fur beneath his fingertips, but smooth, sun-warmed skin. Yet the comfort, the rightness of being in Phoebus's arms remains unchanged.

He feels a jolt of electricity race down his spine as Phoebus's tongue traces the seam of his lips. He gasps, lightheaded and overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation. His fingers tighten on Phoebus's shoulders, an anchor in the storm.

Is this what he's been missing all this time? This heady rush, this all-consuming heat that seems to radiate from every point of contact between them? He feels dizzy with it, drunk on the taste of Phoebus's lips, the scent of sunshine that seems to cling to his skin.

When they finally part for air, Percy's breath comes in short, ragged gasps. He blinks up at Phoebus, dazed and wonderstruck. Phoebus's eyes are molten gold, burning with an intensity that makes Percy shiver.

"Oh," Percy breathes, words deserting him entirely. His lips tingle, and he can still taste Phoebus on his tongue. He licks his lips unconsciously watching as Phoebus's eyes track the movement.

Before he can compose himself, Phoebus leans in again, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. Percy melts into it, his heart thumping in his chest.

Phoebus's hands cradle Percy's face, his touch sweet and reverent. Between kisses, he murmurs words that make Percy's heart soar.

"You're so precious," Phoebus breathes out against Percy's lips. "So beautiful, so wonderful."

Percy has never felt so cherished, so seen. Every word, every kiss, feels like a balm to wounds he didn't even know he had. His hands tremble as they clutch at Phoebus's shoulders, afraid that if he lets go, this dream might shatter.

"I've always thought so," Phoebus continues, pressing soft kisses along Percy's jaw. "From the moment you stumbled into my life."

He can hardly believe what he's hearing. He, beautiful? He, wonderful? He's always been the odd one out, the misfit who never quite belonged. But in Phoebus's arms, under his adoring gaze, Percy feels like he might just be something special after all.

"I love you," Phoebus whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much, Perseus, I can't believe—" His voice breaks, and he presses his forehead against Percy's. "I can't believe I can have this. Have you."

Percy's heart swells with a love too big for his chest. He wants to say something, anything, but words fail him. Instead, he surges forward, pouring everything he feels into another kiss.

Percy finds himself living in a dream. The days following Phoebus's transformation blur together in a haze of stolen kisses and whispered confessions. Sometimes he catches himself staring, unable to believe that this is real and half-afraid he'll wake to find it all gone, but he wakes each morning to find Phoebus beside him, radiant and warm as the sun itself.

They spend their days exploring the transformed castle, now a palace of marble and light. Percy marvels at the way the halls seem to sing with joy, as if the very stones are celebrating Phoebus's return to his true form. In quiet moments, he finds himself tracing the lines of Phoebus's face with reverent fingers, memorizing every curve and plane.

One afternoon, as they sit in the garden among blooming hyacinths, Phoebus grows uncharacteristically quiet. His golden eyes, usually so bright, are clouded with uncertainty. Percy's heart clenches, worry gnawing at his insides.

"Perseus," Phoebus begins, low and hesitant. "There's something I need to tell you."

Percy takes Phoebus's hand, offering silent encouragement. "What is it?"

Phoebus takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. "I'm not just any man. I'm. . . I'm Phoebus Apollon. The sun god."

Percy blinks, his mind whirling. Apollon. The lost Olympian. The stories he'd heard as a child, whispered around campfires and in marketplaces. He remembers tales of a god who vanished, leaving the world bereft of his light and music.

"Oh," Percy breathes, pieces falling into place. The radiance, the otherworldly beauty, the way the very air seems to sing around Phoebus. "That. . . actually makes a lot of sense."

Phoebus looks up, surprised. "You're not upset?"

Percy can't help but laugh, a short, incredulous sound. "Upset? Phoebus, have you seen yourself? You're literally glowing half the time. If anything, I'm wondering how I didn't figure it out sooner."

A small smile tugs at Phoebus's lips, but uncertainty still lingers in his eyes. "I was afraid," he admits. "I thought perhaps you wouldn't want me, knowing what I am."

Percy's heart fills with tenderness at Phoebus's admission. He reaches out, holding Phoebus's face in his hands. "Phoebus," he says softly, "I fell in love with you when you were a beast. Learning you're a god doesn't change that. If anything, it just makes more sense."

Relief washes over Phoebus's features, but a shadow of worry still lingers in his eyes. "There's more," he says in a low voice. "I. . . I need to return to Olympus soon. To let them know of my return."

"You don't sound happy about it," Percy observes, studying Phoebus's face. He lets his hands slide gently from Phoebus's face, taking one of his hands in his own instead.

Phoebus sighs, his eyes clouded with uncertainty. "It's been so long, Perseus. I've been away for centuries. I'm. . . I'm not sure how they'll receive me."

Percy's thumb traces soothing circles on Phoebus's hand. He can feel the apprehension rolling off him in waves. He notes the way worry creases his brow, and he wants nothing more than to soothe away that tension, to see Phoebus smile again.

"I could tell you about Olympus," Percy offers softly. "If you'd like."

Phoebus's head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise. "You've been to Olympus?"

Percy shrugs nonchalantly. "A few times. It's, well, it's something else."

He watches Phoebus process this information, sees the curiosity warring with apprehension in those luminous eyes. Percy's heart aches at the vulnerability he sees there.

"I could. . . I could go with you," Percy suggests, his voice catching slightly. "If you want, that is. Or not. Whatever you prefer. I just—I want to help, if I can."

Phoebus's expression softens, looking at Percy with wonder in his eyes. "You'd do that for me?"

Percy feels his cheeks warm under that intense gaze. "Of course. Anything you want, Phoebus. If you'd rather go alone, that's fine too. I just. . . I thought it might help."

"Besides," he continues. "I'll have to face the world again soon. See my mother, my father. . . "

Phoebus tilts his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Your father? You've never mentioned him before."

He pauses, realizing he's never mentioned his own divine parentage before. He shrugs, the corner of his lips tugging into a small smile as he thinks of his father. "My father is Poseidon. I probably should have mentioned that earlier."

Phoebus's eyes widen, and he leans in closer, studying Percy's face with newfound intensity. "I should have known," he breathes, his voice filled with awe. "Your eyes—they're like the sea itself. How did I not see it before?"

Percy feels his cheeks warm under Phoebus's scrutiny. He's never thought much about his eyes, but hearing Phoebus describe them makes his heart flutter.

"My father is probably worried," Percy admits. "He's been there for me, in his own way. More than most gods are for their children, I suppose."

Phoebus nods, a sudden longing in his eyes. "And the other gods? How. . . how are they?"

Percy can't help but chuckle. "Oh, Zeus is a pain as always. But the others—they'd be happy to have you back, Phoebus. They've missed you."

Relief washes over Phoebus's face, and Percy feels a surge of protectiveness. He squeezes Phoebus's hand, knowing he is ready to fight Zeus himself if he makes Phoebus feel unwelcome.

"The Muses," Phoebus says suddenly, his eyes lighting up. "They would love to meet you, Perseus."

Percy blinks, surprised. "The Muses? Me?"

Phoebus nods. "You've met shadows of them already. The Sisters—they were echoes, fragments of the Muses' essence. Left to guide and protect."

Percy's eyes widen, remembering the mysterious presences that guided him through the castle. "So that's what they were," he says. "It all adds up now."

Phoebus squeezes his hand. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I know it's a lot to take in."

Percy looks at Phoebus, at the god he's come to love, and feels a surge of determination. "No," he says firmly. "I want to. I want to be part of your world, Phoebus. All of it."

Phoebus laughs, a joyful sound, and Percy feels like he could bask in that sound forever.

As they prepare for the journey to Olympus, Percy finds himself lost in thought. He plucks figs from the garden, their sticky sweetness a reminder of home. His mother's face flashes in his mind, and he wonders what she'd think of all this. Of Phoebus. Of him.

Phoebus finds him there, surrounded by the scent of ripe fruit and the earth. His touch is tender as he cups Percy's face, concern etched in the furrow of his brow.

"What troubles you, my heart?" he asks, and Percy melts at the endearment.

Percy leans into the touch, closing his eyes. "Just thinking of home," he admits. "Of my mother. It's been so long. . . "

Phoebus nods, understanding. "We'll visit her," he promises. "After Olympus. I'd like to meet the woman who raised such a remarkable son."

He presses a kiss to Phoebus's palm, overwhelmed by the casual way he includes himself in Percy's future, as if he truly means to stay.

Percy finds himself lost in thought as they pack. He imagines introducing Phoebus to his mother, pictures her smile as she welcomes them home. His fingers tap out a rhythm against his thigh, an old lullaby she used to sing.

The night before they leave, Percy can't sleep. He stands at the window, watching the stars wheel overhead. Phoebus joins him, wrapping strong arms around his waist.

"Are you ready?" Phoebus murmurs against his neck.

Percy leans back into the embrace, feeling the steady thump of Phoebus's heart against his back. "As I'll ever be," he replies.