Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Percy doesn't know how he's found himself on the bank of a lake instead of curled up in his bunk bed, deep past midnight and into the witching hour.

Earlier, in that very bed, listless thoughts had crowded his brain as he stared exhaustedly at the Minotaur's Horn still hung up on the wall from before his first year at the camp, his eyes heavy and stinging from the restlessness. The whispers were worse than normal, and the only helpful suggestion that emerged from the bombardment of overthinking in his head was the proposal of taking a walk outside—yes, that's right… just a short stroll is all.

Once Percy slipped out and approached the beach that all the windows of his cabin overlooked, the voice's sibilant tone whispered, a little bit further, perhaps? We wouldn't want to run into another night-time wanderer, now would we…?

His feet carried him farther away from camp than he'd usually ever go alone so late at night, and it didn't help that his mind kept wandering, kept being distracted by even something as commonplace as the faint shine of the waxing crescent moon hanging up above.

But the night sky itself wasn't by any means clear.

Dark, broiling storm clouds—Zeus's doing—were gathering over Camp Half-Blood, as well as the entirety of the East Coast of the United States.

The gods were fighting, and not amongst each other, for once. They were united against a much stronger, formidable evil: Typhon, who had escaped Mount Saint Helens… because of Percy weakening his prison's seal.

Well… at least Zeus was fighting, along with several of his children. Hades was unwilling to lift a finger, and Poseidon was occupied with defending his own kingdom against Oceanus, an unending struggle to come out on top.

Ambling down the shoreline of the lake, Percy squints fruitlessly as he approaches the edge.

It's no use.

The overhead darkness of the oncoming violent storm has completely obscured whether the lake water is crystal clear or murky and dirty.

He winces as a large thunderbolt strikes overhead, omitting a deafening crack that resounds in his ribcage and leaving him blinking away the afterimage of white static clinging to his vision.

Percy knows better than anyone else that he has his own role to play in the middle of this war.

What he should be doing is getting proper rest or helping Annabeth and Chiron plan their next move instead of sneaking off in the middle of the night. Someone of rational and sound mind wouldn't have given in to the impulsivity.

Too bad he's overwhelmed and tired and stupid.

Too bad he's half-human.

Percy's mindless trek to the lake clears all but one voice in his head, the same one that previously made brief appearances in his dreams, trying to turn him against the gods. The same one Luke succumbed to before Percy ever even got to know him.

It's obvious in hindsight, that heavy, ancient, and powerful voice.

"Why did you make me come here?" An icy chill creeps over the nape of Percy's neck when he finally acknowledges the immortal presence currently shadowing him.

I don't recall making you do anything.

"Okay, then." If that's how the Titan Lord wants to play it. "Why did you suggest I come out here? You're never going to sway me to change allegiances."

Can't I? I wouldn't be too confident with the state of things. It isn't too late to rethink your choices, Son of Poseidon.

"Don't call me that," Percy involuntarily snaps.

Bit of a sore spot, have we? How fares your grasp over water?

"My… what?"

The fact that Percy is even entertaining any of this is a good sign that he should retrace his steps and get back to camp.

Right now.

Whatever greater good you're acting for… whatever prewritten fate, whatever intertwined threads of destiny—isn't it meaningless when demigod children like you are left floundering? Unclaimed, unwanted, undesirable to those who have sired far too many of you to even cast a glance when you need it most.

"Stop speaking in riddles!" Percy immediately swats down the prickling temptation of Kronos's words. "What are you getting at?"

I merely want to show you your insignificance, young half-blood. How ruthless your Olympian gods can be. How a mere demigod will never be prioritized over war, duty, glory, and above all else, pride, a cold voice scrapes down Percy's spine. Even if it is a son in mortal peril, on the verge of death.

"Maybe your old age has finally gotten to your head, but I'm not dying any time soon," Percy says boldly, ignoring the creeping vines of doubt snagging at his ankles.

Colder still at Percy's mouthiness, Kronos presses unrelentingly. Do you not want to know? If you called your father for help to occlude my sight and ward my presence away, would he answer?

"There's no way I can up and ask for his help while he's defending his kingdom just because you're trying to lure me to the dark side. My dad's dealing with something really important!"

And I, Lord of the Titans, am not? Kronos thunders.

Oh, boy. Percy really pissed him off with that one.

"S-So your point is that you want me to test the gods in desperate times so I'll lose faith in them?" He blurts before Kronos grows furious enough to manifest a physical body at Percy's sheer disrespect. "Fine! I'll do it. Whatever it is. Then you'll leave me alone so I can go to sleep, right?"

Percy shivers when the scoff in response feels like it's right beside his ear, a tangible shadow.

I will do no such thing.

"What's the point of all this, then?" Percy mumbles under his breath, kicking an innocent pebble across the dark biome floor. "It's a lose-lose situation for me."

Is your head truly filled with kelp, sea spawn?

"Hey!" Percy protests, unexpectedly offended. But he also takes it as an indicator to pay closer attention to the environment around him. Not only is he isolated, but he's by a lake and Kronos even mentioned something about his water powers earlier. Whether they were working well or not. And it's not as though Kronos himself can strike Percy down in combat right now, so that leaves…

Does the Titan want Percy to… attempt to kill himself? In the lake?

Incredulous at the conclusion he's arrived at, Percy exclaims, "I'm the son of Poseidon! I can't drown even if I wanted to!"

Nonsense, Kronos dismisses. A form of death can come for anyone, mortal or immortal. Especially you. Death comes easily to demigods. Moreso the children of those damned three. Or were you not informed of this…?

"Shut up," Percy grumbles, far too tired to play Kronos's vile mind games.

The Titan only chuckles lowly, as though he already knows the outcome of how this will turn out. He can't possibly, though.

Percy's lips press into a frown.

The same exact brooding expression as your father, Kronos murmurs. Yet so different. Pitiful. How adorable.

Brows furrowing, Percy opens his mouth to ask what in Hades that's supposed to mean, but he's cut off by the Titan's tone turning dark and heavy-handed.

If you're fairly certain you won't perish at the hands of your father's domain, you shouldn't have any trouble proving me wrong, little demigod.

Percy eyes the still water warily.

He should refuse. This is definitely a trap. There's something in the lake waiting to pounce on him.

… But if Percy refuses to play Kronos's game and should Poseidon find out, will the god take it as a slight against him? That Percy didn't trust or believe in him? Will it wound Poseidon's pride in a way Percy won't be able to easily apologize for?

Faltering, Percy inhales shakily.

"Swear it," he says. "Swear that you aren't going to kill me."

Kronos acquiesces far too quickly for Percy to be comfortable with. "I swear on the River Styx I will not kill you during this encounter."

Can Kronos even be controlled by the fates?

… More importantly, Percy's powers can't be lost that easily, can they?

Swallowing the hesitant lump in his throat, Percy closes the distance to the water's edge. Being careful instead of jumping right in will give him some time to react if it turns out to be a trap after all.

Dipping in until the lakewater is up to his knees, Percy thinks of all the previous times he's had no issues breathing underwater, confidence abound. He's going to need that same confidence and self-assurance if he's going to make Kronos eat his words.

The lake is icy cold the moment it hits his skin.

Percy shivers as soon as he's waded in far enough for the water to splash against his cheeks as his movements cause ripples around him.

Now, Perseus Jackson, the Titan croons into his head, far too gleeful for Percy's liking. Drown yourself in the lake.

Percy takes one large breath—and then he dunks his head underwater, allowing himself to descend down to the floor.

Closing his eyes, he attempts to relax and concentrate the way he usually does when thinking underwater. Honing in on his senses, he feels the way his hair sways above him as he sinks and what is supposed to be a sensation of a lightened body, except—is it just him or do his limbs feel heavier than normal?

Lord Poseidon, Earthshaker, Stormbringer, God of the Great Seas, Ruler of the Ocean, Percy prays as he nears the lake bed. Please, father. Don't let him be right.

Not even a minute passes before his lungs begin to tighten. A short and vigorous minute of struggling.

That's not normal. That's…

Does this mean he can't breathe underwater anymore? Is Kronos telling the truth?

Thick-headed and stubborn, Percy knows he can't just let it end here. He'll hold his breath as long as possible until he hits his limit. Then he'll inhale underwater closer to the surface and shore of the lake. If his powers really aren't working, he'll hop out as soon as he begins to choke.

Doesn't it burn? Kronos whispers.

Percy would normally shoot a sarcastic quip back at the Titan, but he's too occupied with holding his breath. In ordinary circumstances, he'd be able to breathe despite being underwater, but as of now, he can feel his lungs heaving, his need for air growing.

Is something the matter, little demigod? Where's that faith of yours? Don't you believe in a father's love for his son? Kronos's words are mocking, crooked as the day he was conceived.

I don't want to hear that coming from someone who ate five of his children and a rock, Percy thinks indignantly, squeezing his fists by his sides and shaking his head.

The water immediately drops to frigid temperatures as soon as the thought leaves his mind, a clear indication of the Titan Lord's ire, foul temper abound.

The longest two minutes of your life, Jackson? Kronos's cold voice grates at the back of Percy's skull like sharp knives scraping against stone.

Longer than a normal human could hold their breath, but not long enough to satisfy the part of Percy that doesn't want to believe his dad would abandon him at a time like this.

His head has started to pound, and the thick sound of blood pumping through his ears is just as unpleasant a sensation, every cell in his body beginning to scream for oxygen. He keeps fighting against his self-preservation instincts even though it feels as though his cranium is on the verge of imploding in on itself at any moment.

What a stubborn boy. Another scathingly icy remark.

In fact, as Percy notices that everything else besides the voice is burning painfully, a hot wave of desperation washes over him. He finds himself trying to use the voice as an anchor, grasping for the glacial sensation clinging to those words in comparison to the rest of his protesting body, lungs catching fire as the hot ache radiates from his chest.

He's going to drown.

Okay, Percy gasps for air in his mind, I'm wrong, my dad won't help me, and I need some fucking oxygen right now…!

At this point, Percy's already begun to do the smart thing, swimming upward. He continues kicking with whatever energy is left in his body, but it feels as though the distance to the surface is remaining the same no matter how much effort he exerts.

In a stroke of delusion, he stretches his right hand upward, extending his reach, hoping somehow there's someone on the surface—Annabeth, Poseidon, anyone—waiting for him, ready to meet his desperation halfway.

No one is there, of course.

Percy proceeds to sink back down like a weighted rock, the same terrifying sensation plummeting in his gut.

Oh, the irony of it all. The Son of Poseidon is drowning.

The dizziness overcomes him, followed by a sense of anguish. Percy, in his final moments of rationality, begs, Dad… Please… Please, hear me!

Blue and black speckles flicker across Percy's vision as his hands curl toward his chest to claw at his collapsing lungs.

It's a bit strange.

Crying underwater, that is.

The tears shed from the corner of his eyes mix with the brine of the saltwater lake, dissipating immediately. He can't feel anything dripping down his cheeks, so if not for the faint stinging behind his eyes, Percy wouldn't even realize he's begun to weep.

Are the tears from the encroaching pain? Or from the fact that Poseidon really can't tell what's happening to his son?

Poseidon is too busy.

Of course he's too busy.

The water won't listen to Percy as long as his father needs all of its strength to fight. He should have known that already.

No one knows Percy is gone from camp.

He hopes he won't bump into someone he knows down in the underworld. Boy, that would be embarrassing.

The last of Percy's focus floats away from his grasp as he stills, numb in all his extremities.

He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't—he can't…!

Give in, Perseus Jackson. A much calmer voice breaks through the internal flailing. Losing to me is nothing to be ashamed of. Greater men have tried and failed.

Is it really okay?

Breathe.

The voice's composure is a stark difference from Percy's writhing panic.

Breathe in, Perseus Jackson.

And so, the Son of Poseidon opens his mouth and takes a deep breath.

Percy drinks in all that he can against his will, lakewater eagerly spilling into his lungs. What was once his greatest ally is now the thing that will kill him.

Why did he listen to Kronos instead of walking away back into the safety of camp?

Because, Percy answers his own question, his inner voice chiding himself. I didn't think water would kill me given my heritage. And I just wanted to prove Kronos wrong for my father's sake, which didn't turn out all that smart. Idiot.

There's no breathable air in all the water he's just allowed to rush down into his lungs. Instead, his throat becomes taut and blocked off, and when he attempts to cough the water out on instinct, he only finds himself sucking more right back in and making the situation worse.

His body is shutting down.

Small bubbles escape his mouth in his struggle and drift to the surface, the only sign of Percy's presence in the lake.

That's it. There's a good little demigod.

Some vague part of Percy understands he's no longer awake, only barely conscious of the nothingness around him. His shock has started rising like a spike in blipping heartbeats on a spazzing cardiac monitor now that the aching in his lungs has subsided into a weak and watery memory.

He's dying.

And nobody will know.

His father won't find out until Nico spots his soul wandering in the Underworld or someone finds his body rotting at the bottom of his lake, eroded by the waves and eaten by bottom feeders, the scent of his bones long washed away by the lakewater.

Will Poseidon mourn him? Or, as Kronos had said earlier, would Percy's father be too preoccupied with fighting?

It's unfair. Immortals not having any time for their children.

Percy recalls all the moments he's ever prayed for help or guidance from Poseidon and received no answer in response. Perched on the edges of the lakes and ocean by Camp Half-Blood, he would submerge his legs underwater often, up to his thigh. Sometimes he would skip stones on the undisturbed surfaces and count all the ripples, albeit clumsily. Sometimes he would merely stare into the water, all the lingering colors of the evening horizon reflected onto its upper layers. Sometimes he'd sit at the bottom and let time pass seamlessly.

The only constant through it all was his one-way conversations between himself and Poseidon. He'd always end them by asking for a sign that his father was listening.

There never was one.

Shortly after discovering he had a cyclops half-brother, Percy and Annabeth went after the Princess Andromeda. Tyson had asked their father for transportation and Poseidon had immediately sent a hippocampus to help them. At the time, Percy couldn't stop the twinges of jealousy that lanced sharply through him, doing his best to squash them.

Poseidon said that Percy was his favorite son. Those were his direct words.

You'd be foolish to trust the words of an Olympian god, Kronos says, his voice amused. Capricious and prideful immortals, the lot of them.

Like you're any better, Percy shoots back.

This isn't good. His thoughts are all leaking into one another.

He's a sitting duck full of memories to pluck.

How are you so sure there is any truth to Poseidon's words? That he hasn't uttered the same sickly sweet fish bait to all his children? Do you not know of Triton? Of Polyphemus? Of the glorious tales of Theseus and all the honor he's wrought?

This honor system of yours is what's wrong in the first place! Percy argues.

Perhaps, Kronos muses. I, too, had to earn the regard of my immortal parents, for I was born youngest and disregarded.

We're nothing alike, Percy snarls. My mom loves me.

Blessed as you are to have that parental agape, is it really enough when you cannot even be by her side? And what of all the times Poseidon has assisted his other sons?

Despite his resistance, Percy knows that the words Kronos speaks ring faintly with truth.

Tyson had been invited to Poseidon's underwater palace, and Triton had already been living there with his mother—Poseidon's current wife. Neither Triton nor his mother liked Percy very much, evident from when he was being patched up in his father's domain after the Princess Andromeda blew up.

Because Percy is the only current demigod half-blood son of Poseidon, he's the only one Poseidon wasn't ever allowed contact with. No secret visits in his childhood, and no extra favor that should seemingly come with the words "favorite son."

The sea god could visit and talk and bond with any of his children, all except for Percy.

Percy thought he'd gotten over it, but…

Where do you think all your misery comes from? Kronos laughs. Even an Olympian god cannot break an oath sworn on the Styx without consequences.

One of the first things Poseidon said to him was that he felt sorry Percy was ever even born.

Was Percy truly cursed from birth?

He tries to shake off his doubts and insecurities the moment he detects the uncomfortable sensation of Kronos probing through his thoughts and memories, the feeling not unlike someone running their cold fingers up and down the bare skin of his body, dipping from his navel up across his chest and into the vulnerable divots of his throat, invasive exploration that would normally make Percy quiver in his conscious body.

Ah, the daughter of Athena, Kronos plucks from Percy's thoughts. Annabeth Chase?

The encroachment of his privacy sends a shock of uncertainty and annoyance racing through him.

Trying to provoke Percy, the Titan continues murmuring, Not very bright when it comes to people close to her. After a handful of years of separation, she still holds out hope that Luke will return to her. Even now, when she lays eyes on my mortal vessel, she cries his name, blinded to the world around her.

Percy doesn't know what Kronos looks like, but he can imagine the Titan's eyes gleaming as he speaks.

Different beings as we are, you should be able to distinguish between a pitiable mortal and… Kronos grits out, temper flaring once more as he leaves his sentence hanging.

And a Titan Lord, Percy finishes. Kronos's prickliness about Annbeth's actions feels very incongruent with his weighty title. It isn't surprising to conclude that the flaws of pride, anger, hunger, and others so often found in humans are only multiplied when they occur in an immortal being.

But down in that labyrinth, all that crossed her mind was Luke, Luke, Luke. Even though you'd nearly been torn to bits.

An exaggeration.

Laying on the sarcasm thick, Kronos laughs, So much concern for Olympus's fated savior. Didn't she argue with you right afterward, claiming you wanted Luke to be guilty? But we both know… the girl is the one who wants Luke to be innocent. You will always be backstabbed when you least expect it, Jackson.

Leave her out of this! Percy demands, mood immediately souring. He still doesn't know where he stands with Annabeth. Between saving the world and pissing Athena off, his pinpricks of jealousy toward a powerful relationship Annabeth and Luke had forged before Percy was ever in the picture is the least of his worries.

More importantly, how is this conversation still happening? Why isn't he standing in a line full of dead and damned souls waiting to be judged by Minos yet?

Slyness coats Kronos's voice. But it seems to have such an interesting effect on you…

Overwhelmed and frustrated with all his conflicting emotions, a strong urge to punch a wall overcomes him as he clenches a fist in discontent.

Wait.

Percy blinks slowly, once, twice, and sees water for a split second.

If he's supposed to be unconscious and nearly dead, how is he still able to do anything, let alone think thoughts?

He vaguely recalls this sensation of stiffness, the sluggishness of his limbs, almost as though everything is frozen in time and moving in slow motion.

His eyes shoot open in an instant, breaking the spell as they widen at his sudden drawn conclusion. Of course! The Titan Lord of Time is right here inside his head—why couldn't Percy figure it out earlier?

… This is exactly why he could never be a child of Athena.

Percy has grown resolute in his deductions—no one is coming to save him, he's stuck in time, and he's trapped underwater with Kronos somehow poking around in his head.

You can burn all the food you want, beg and pray sun-up until sun-down, until your knees are bruised. They will never truly hear you or answer your pleas. No one will help you. You are on your own. They cannot interfere, Kronos speaks as though pulling from his own personal experiences and observations. The only one you can rely on is yourself. All that time would be better spent bowing down at my feet.

The sensation of being alive but still on the verge of death, awake and free but still frozen in time is beginning to grate on Percy's last nerves, discomfort pulsing through him in irregular waves. Nausea and lightheadedness and that horrible feeling of cold dread just through Kronos's meager presence alone are only compounding the longer he spends stuck in limbo.

This isn't how life is supposed to work.

Percy hopes Kronos will either grow bored or let him die soon.

Let's have a proper conversation, Perseus Jackson, Kronos purrs. Just the two of us.

Chapter Text

For the second time in his life, Percy is tired of water.

He wants to get out of this lake and mark it down on a map so he'll never go anywhere near it ever again. Unable to move, unable to escape, trapped in the vulnerability of suspended animation with a haughty Titan Lord watching his every move.

Even the previously comforting smell of saltwater and the rhythmic pulse of sea life grate on his senses, turning foul and repulsive against his will.

Fine, Percy admits, reluctantly giving in. It's like pulling teeth as he gnashes his thoughts out. You may be right about some things, but that doesn't mean I'm helping you destroy the world.

He braces himself after, in preparation for Kronos to release his hold on time, but the spell doesn't break.

An air of slyness sits lazily on the surface of his mind.

Percy's confusion quickly turns to irritated understanding.

The Titan Lord wants to hear him say it out loud.

A noise of frustration bubbles out of Percy's mouth. He wriggles his fingers. It's clear he still has control of a limited range of motion, but he won't be able to escape the vicinity of Kronos's powers on his own.

Even as he bites down on his lower lip to buy himself some time, the Titan makes no move to speak first. "Will you just let me down in peace already?"

"Drown?"

Percy's head snaps around so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. Freefalling behind him is the familiar visage of the Son of Hermes, sandy hair and glittering golden eyes… except, no—Luke had blue eyes.

There’s nothing about the person standing in front of him that feels human at all.

"Why, I was thinking more along the lines of begging for your life." Smugness comes off Luke's features in waves. "Offering to serve me for the rest of your short, mortal lifespan in exchange for being allowed to live."

The voice doesn't belong to Luke, either. Not that cold and evil voice sending chills up Percy's spine, not the iciness coming off him in droves…

The person before him has the same drachma golden eyes Percy remembers from the labyrinth, after he saw Luke's body in the coffin. He still regrets not bringing Riptide down onto Kronos when he had the chance.

Kronos… is here, then?

… Kronos is really here. He's physically in front of Percy.

All the blood drains from Percy's face as he pales at the sudden realization.

To physically get to the lake so quickly… Kronos was prepared for this.

Kronos purposefully lured Percy outside of Camp Half-Blood's magical borders.

Alone.

To… kill him?

Has Percy just doomed all of Olympus and the mortal world?

Overcome with panic, Percy kicks his feet, hoping to make use of the lakebed to swim away from Kronos. Instead, he's unable to produce any large movements, barely even creating ripples in the water with his weak flapping.

With an expression of amusement, Kronos places a hand on Percy's shoulder, radiating a bone-chilling aura of sinister divinity beneath his vessel's mortal flesh, pulsing with unnaturalness.

Though Percy itches to swat the hand away, he's aware that if he makes one wrong move, he may be turned to seafoam faster than he can even blink.

"Had a change of heart yet, young half-blood?" Luke's expression twists into a leer.

Before he can control himself, Percy blurts, "Can you just—don't talk like that in Luke's body? Or at least stop calling me by my full name? It's weird. Can't you just, I don't know, call me by my first name like a normal person?"

Regret immediately hits him like a two-ton minotaur. Kronos is the furthest thing from a normal person, and judging by how quickly he seems to anger, he probably won't appreciate Percy's rudeness.

Crap.

"Making demands, are we?" Krono narrows his eyes at Percy.

It wasn't even a demand! Percy asked very nicely!

"If you'd been speaking to Zeus, he would have your head rolling and charred for your disrespect. However, I think such boldness can be a useful quality, Percy Jackson. Is that right? Percy?" Percy's name rolls off Kronos's tongue in what can only be described as a soft, teasing lilt. Semi-threatening, yet intrigued at the same time, turning Percy's spur-of-the-moment word vomit into a sharpened weapon.

Coaxing, almost seductive.

Seductive?! Percy flushes deeply as his eyes flicker unsurely from Kronos's piercing gaze to the pale Greek chiton slung over his shoulder and bunched at his waist to the lake's rocky, sediment-covered floor. That's it. I've gone crazy. Batshit insane.

"T-Thanks, I guess?" This is one of the first times any immortal has actually abided by Percy's request to call him by the shortened version of his name and compliment him in the same breath.

Kronos tightens his hold on Percy's shoulder, squeezing until he cries out in pain, trying to writhe away from the vise grip.

"And of my initial question?" That same dubious smile is still plastered on Kronos's face.

"Your…" Percy tenses when Kronos's fingers flex. "Your question… I… I can't just change my mind like that. Even if you torture me or put me on the verge of death, my core beliefs will stay the same."

Kronos scoffs, fingers drifting away from Percy's shoulder to trail toward his neck. The Titan digs his fingers into Percy's shirt collar, grabbing a fistful of the fabric. "What are these so-called core beliefs of yours? You're willing to abide by the selfishness of the gods? How they never show any interest in their demigod children unless they plan to use them like pawns?"

"That's not—!"

"—Why do you think so many demigods have joined me? On a whim? Teenage flights of fancy?" Kronos berates. "No. They claim to be sick of being used only when the gods need pawns for their personal benefit. These demigod children don't need to like me. Oh, no, they don't like me. They fear me. Luke fears me. And yet—they hate the gods more than they fear me."

"...!"

"Are you willing to die a hero's death at an early age, Percy?"

Percy yelps when he's lifted by his collar, Kronos's inhuman strength clearly holding him up. He already knows the Titan is absurdly strong, but this is just ridiculous!

"Are you willing to be used by the gods and then thrown away once they've grown bored? Once you've disappointed them enough?" Kronos smiles crookedly at the way Percy has been rendered frozen by the vocal onslaught.

Kronos has been in the minds of many, many demigods.

He's been in Luke's head.

No matter how much Percy wishes the words coming out of the Titan's mouth are lies, the horrible feeling in his gut tells him Kronos has plucked those very lines from the pained thoughts of all the demigods who have turned away from Olympus.

"There's that look of horror I've been waiting for!" Kronos laughs, leaning in closer to Percy's face. "Delicious... I could just eat you up."

"You're no better," Percy whispers, glaring directly into Kronos's eerily glowing eyes. "Where do you think all the gods got their daddy issues from?"

"Such insolence!" Kronos's free hand claws around Percy's neck and he immediately begins to choke from the sheer pressure of the Titan's clenched fingers. "You think my sons and daughters can use you better than I?"

Use!?

"You're just as bad—probably even worse!" The words are coughed out from Percy's throat, still crushed under the force of Kronos's wrath.

“I have cast my gaze upon you more often than even the God of the Sea has, Percy Jackson.” The brutal, golden eyes of the Titan Lord sweep over Percy’s figure with mocking vigor. “The least you could do is bow down at my feet.”

Percy's collar is released and he immediately slumps over, hacking as he curls into himself. "C-Can we… I don't know… please, just talk about all this above water…?"

"You lack respect, little demigod." Kronos sighs. "It's a wonder I'm tolerating it."

Percy scowls. "You're the one choosing to be here right now."

"Hold still."

As if Percy could go anywhere else.

Percy immediately stiffens as Kronos closes the distance between them. He feels two hands on his chest, pushing him down until he's lying flat on the bottom of the lake, back just scraping against the floor.

The ephemeral view of Kronos floating above Percy—outlined by the glow of the moon, gilded, citrine gaze peering mildly down at him—strikes him as oddly mesmerizing. How many other living beings have ever laid eyes on this sight?

Kronos snaps his fingers.

Nothing happens.

A flash of irritation crosses the Titan's face. "You've swallowed too much water."

"Oh, wow, I wonder why." Sarcasm drips from Percy's tone, but beneath his bravado, he's begun to gnaw on his lower lip nervously.

"Mouthy," Kronos says, staring at… Percy's lips? "This calls for one shot to take care of two doves."

Percy blinks when he realizes the slow-moving water all around them has stopped flowing altogether, as though Kronos has created his own little pocket of time. "Hey, wait… That isn't how the saying goes—mmph!"

And then lightning quick, Kronos pulls away faster than Percy can realize what's just happened.

Furiously scrubbing his mouth, Percy yelps, "W-What the…?! What was that? You're like my grandfather!"

"I'm not 'like' your grandfather." Kronos strokes his chin thoughtfully. "I am your grandfather."

"Even worse! That makes it even worse!"

"Seas and lakes aren't of my domain," Kronos bulldozes onward, completely ignoring Percy's slack-jawed shock, "so perhaps we should take a page from you mortals. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation. All that lake water is still in your lungs, after all. Merely frozen in time."

"And whose fault is that?!" Percy nearly shrieks. He's raised both his arms protectively above him, ready to push Kronos away as needed. "I don't need CPR! I need to drown!"

"Are you truly that eager to find yourself in Hades's domain, you foolish little demigod?" Kronos snaps. His annoyance is evident, but he's neither bloodthirsty nor furious. More as though he's scolding a misbehaving child.

"If being there means getting away from you, yeah! Send me to the underworld already!"

"This is Olympus's hero? The fates truly make a mockery of me."

"I didn't ask for this." Percy's voice is weak. "I didn't ask for any of this."

Kronos's gaze mellows, ever so slightly. "Poor Percy Jackson. Why don't you take a turn being my plaything instead?"

It absolutely infuriates Percy.

Kronos isn't even trying to hide the fact that he doesn't care for the cause of the demigods following him. He isn't fighting for their sake. It's just that he's convinced them all that their backs are up against a wall and there's nowhere to turn to except for him. All the minor gods with no real place in camp, all the unclaimed demigods packed into Hermes's cabin… Kronos's honeyed words and promises of the destruction of Olympus are their only respite.

Percy could have been them.

He could have been like Luke.

He still could be.

After all, how could he blindly believe in the love of a father he's only met a handful of times?

But what makes Percy different is that he still wants to believe.

He still hopes.

All Kronos wants to do is raze everything to the ground.

It's not a solution.

It's not even a bandaid.

"I'll never join you," Percy says, quietly.

"Truly stubborn," Kronos mutters, shaking his head. As he thinks to himself, his eyes seem to glaze over at his next words. "Insolent little… I wish I could take my time tearing you limb from limb. How would your flesh taste on my tongue, I wonder? Supple and sweet? Tough and bitter? I could pick my teeth with your bones… suck the soft organs out of you from a torn hole in your belly…"

Percy stares at the Titan in abject horror. He's heard the myths—of course he's read up on everything he can get his hands on about their enemy, but… didn't Kronos swallow his immortal children whole?

"What the fuck." The situation certainly warrants the reaction.

"I forget myself," Kronos says. "None of that today."

None of that, ever!

Kronos's palms are back on Percy's torso, pressing down as though searching for the location of the water trapped in and around his lungs. All Percy can do is flail helplessly.

When satisfied with accosting Percy's chest, Kronos's hands drift toward Percy's head again, the intimate movement startling Percy into squeaking in protest. Calloused fingers grip his chin.

"Please, don't…" Percy shakes his head vehemently. "Just kill me instead."

Kronos is close enough for Percy to feel the Titan's breath fan across his cheek as he murmurs, "I swore on the River Styx, didn't I? You'll survive."

And then Titan Lord's mouth is on his, and there are fingers intertwined in Percy’s hair to tug his head back. In turn, his lungs pulse hotly, heat flaring up as though he's breathing in the infernal fires of the Underworld.

The rest of his body begins to warm up as well, in contrast to the freezing waters of the lake, no longer numb to sensation.

The Titan’s actions are initially chaste and experimental, teasing even, but before long, there's a small lick at Percy's lips followed by nipping teeth, playful at first. But then they suddenly bite down, hard, and he immediately knows he's bleeding when Krono's tongue begins to press against the bloody mess, wet, hungry laps that make Percy shudder at the electrifying sensation zipping down his spine and pooling low in his belly, heady and completely inappropriate given the situation.

Taut as a board, Percy finds himself retreating into the racing flurry of his dizzying thoughts, wild panicking inevitable. Is he going to be eaten? Is Kronos going to break his oath, after all?

Pieces of the moon are scattered as reflections in the water, dispersed beams of light, the only thing he can concentrate on besides those drachma-colored eyes.

After what feels like an eternity, the searing heat on Percy's lips pulls away.

"Just a small taste," Kronos murmurs. "Even though I want to drain your lifeblood from your throat."

The Titan slowly presses his fingers against Percy's bruised lips, a stinging buzz of soreness arising as Kronos strokes the cut he's split open over and over again.

Percy whimpers, mouth slightly parted as Kronos's other hand drifts below his ear, fingers lightly caressing Percy's reddening cheek as though coaxing the reluctant flush to the surface.

Kronos chuckles, staring down in satisfaction. "My, what a sight."

"What… are you… doing…?" Percy gasps, finding himself involuntarily leaning into the gentle petting. When Kronos's fingers trace the shell of one ear, Percy shudders at the sensual touch, arching his back with increasingly shaky, quivering breaths.

The cut on Percy's mouth burns once more when Kronos follows it with a thumb, rubbing the scarlet blood into his lips.

Percy opens his mouth to express his disbelief, to complain, to scream, but Kronos takes the opportunity to slide two fingers inside—up to the second knuckle—and grip the nape of Percy's neck with a solid hold, not allowing him to twist his head out of the way and escape.

Percy immediately tastes copper, the same metallic flavor that flooded his senses the first time he'd been attacked by Clarisse in Capture the Flag, followed by how Kronos's calloused fingers are slightly salty on Percy's tongue. The way they roughly press down on the muscular organ prevents Percy from shouting anything intelligible or coherent, forceful and oppressive as they stroke in pseudo-affection.

As though impatient to see Percy choke, the Titan forces his fingers deeper, curling against Percy's upper palate until the tips graze the back of his throat—and that's when Percy has had just about enough, forcing his jaw to clamp down, his teeth viciously biting on the two digits hard enough to pierce flesh.

Where Percy expects the tang of blood to flood his mouth is instead an alarming nothing—he's done no damage to Kronos's mortal vessel.

Percy's fearful eyes lift to meet Kronos's golden ones, and he's disturbed to see a half-lidded gaze laser-focused on the twitching fingers in his mouth.

When a noise of protest finally rips from Percy's lungs, the Titan responds by smiling ominously and thrusting his fingers past clenched teeth, turning his attention to exploring every inch of Percy's mouth, every nook and cranny, taking his sweet time to rub at molars and glide past pink gums, purposefully snagging his fingertips against Percy's helpless tongue whenever he has the opportunity to.

Percy's face has grown hot and ashamed, unable to stop the immortal from violating his mouth despite gripping the hem of Kronos's sleeve and tugging with all his might.

His increasingly spit-drenched chin forces him to finally swallow, a natural human reflex in light of the sensation of his throat beginning to close up, saliva wetly leaking from his mouth.

At what must be the sudden bob of Percy's Adam's apple beneath him, Kronos groans, deep and baritone, a sound that reverberates in Percy's chest and causes him to shudder as a jolt of what he can only describe in horror as pleasure races up his spine.

Whimpering, Percy squeezes his eyes shut and makes a last-ditch effort to raise a knee toward his chest, just barely kicking Kronos in the thigh.

Kronos clicks his tongue, completely unaffected. "Don't close your eyes, little demigod. Where has all your bravado gone?"

The fingers suddenly disappear from his mouth, but Percy still refuses to comply, shaking his head vehemently. The hand at the back of his neck never abates its threatening presence.

Fingers tenderly cup Percy's face, methodically tracing down his jawline until they slip under his jaw, gripping his chin. His head is forcibly tilted to the side, but he doesn't have much time to guess what's going on before lips brush past a burning ear, whispering, "Open your eyes."

This is all just one bad nightmare.

He has to wake up soon, right?

Wetness slides against the sensitive skin of Percy's earlobe, startling a yelp out of him as he goes completely still.

"Still with us, Percy Jackson?" His name is unfairly breathy and sensual on Kronos's tongue, silky smooth. "Open up for me, won't you?"

Percy's throat makes a noise, familiar to that of someone being strangled. He's nearing some sort of limit—a threshold for how hot his face can flush, how much of his dignity he can walk away with still intact, and how much longer he can resist the urge to go completely slack under Kronos's salacious ministrations.

Lips drop to the base of Percy's throat, mouthing at his skin with thoughtful consideration.

Percy stiffens to brace himself for a potential attack, a second-nature instinct trained into him by camp.

"Here," Kronos says, teeth purposefully grazing by as he murmurs, "I can feel the blood pumping. Your heartbeat is elevated."

Percy’s mortality.

"And here, where your blood pulses the loudest," Kronos's voice drops to a raspy croon. "is where your carotid artery is. Do you know what that is? Since you're merely a demigod, your blood will spurt from here when I tear your throat out."

He imagines sharp teeth sinking into his flesh, ripping past tender skin and sinewy muscle to expose a hot gush of blood, the chunk of him missing in the shape of Kronos's brutality sliding down the Titan's throat, wet, scalding, and chewed up.

Half-hysterically, against Percy's will, he moans brokenly, breath hitching and wires crossing as a thrill of arousal tremors through him at the thinly veiled potential of violence, eyes finally fluttering open in fear.

Upon realizing that Percy's gaze has been coaxed back open, Kronos's mouth curls into a wicked grin as he presses their bodies even closer, one knee wedged firmly between Percy's trembling thighs, nearly straddling him. "Come now, Percy. Don't make this any more difficult for yourself! Lakewater still resides in your lungs."

Percy lets out a noise of confusion when Kronos leans in again, but the sound is immediately swallowed up by the Titan's lips pressing against his insistently, unexpected pressure, tongue tasting his plush lower lip.

Growing boneless and shivering at the contact, the highs of his cheekbones stained crimson, Percy is helpless against Kronos's onslaught, head spinning when the tongue at his mouth delicately traces the seam of his lips before forcing itself in easily, kiss turning open-mouthed, messy, and loud in an emphatic instant.

The invasive slide of hot tongue laps deep into his mouth with no hesitation or shame, soft grunts barely reaching Percy's ears as Kronos deepens the cloying kiss like a man starved, far too warm, far too intimate, far too pleasurable for what's being done against his will.

An increasingly thick and hazy fog of hormones penetrates his mind, one that overshadows the muffled voice in Percy's head screaming, he's your fucking grandfather!

Resistance crumbling away like a collapsing sandcastle overtaken by the unrelenting waves of a rising tide, Percy whimpers, mouth parting wider to give Kronos unhindered access. At this, Kronos groans deeply in satisfaction, a hand settling possessively in the divot of Percy's hip and squeezing, Percy clumsily returning the searing kiss, pliant, weightless, and growing progressively dizzy with pleasure, swelling sensation coiling dangerously in his gut like an unwound spring.

"Look at you," Kronos purrs smugly, insufferable in his mocking, a brief respite nonetheless. "It's just as I thought—writhing so beautifully under me suits you best. Imagine the privilege of being on your knees for me at the foot of my throne on Mount Othrys… Won't you reconsider joining me, my darling little demigod?"

Percy can't help but shiver at the illicit thrill of the Titan's uncharacteristic honey-sweet words. Dazed and unable to properly react, he arches his back with a strangled cry when Kronos immediately slips back into his mouth and sucks harshly on his tongue as though it's the most normal thing he's ever done, head tingling as a shock of scorching electricity runs through every nerve in his body, not unlike how he imagines being struck by a stray thunderbolt would feel, Zeus's ire.

It's incomparable to anything he's ever experienced, and yet, Kronos has barely even laid his hands on Percy.

Percy gasps in unexpected dismay when the Titan finally pulls away, Kronos's golden eyes flaring as he slowly and deliberately licks his own lips with a crooked smile, the pads of his fingers lightly caressing Percy's hip bone one final time before retreating altogether.

Swollen lips, mouth slightly parted in exhilaration, and hands unconsciously grasping onto Kronos for more—he must make for a pathetic sight. Percy finds himself even whining at the loss of contact, his rationality having taken Apollo's Sun Bus and gone on a trip far, far away.

What little reason he has left stops him from begging for more—more of what? Percy doesn't even know.

"Your water problem is taken care of," the Titan says next, as though discussing the weather.

"N-None of that was CPR," Percy gasps stupidly, bright red in the face and unable to come up with anything else to say, fingers still weakly gripping handfuls of the fabric of Kronos's shirt.

"Of course it wasn't," Kronos replies. "I maim. I don't heal."

He's telling the truth.

In the distance, a submerged lake weed sways at a normal speed, and Percy's lungs are no longer tight from strain.

Percy is breathing underwater just fine.

Did… Did Kronos really just kiss all the water out of his lungs? How does that even make any sense…?!

Percy shouts in alarm when Kronos hooks an arm under both of his legs, the other placed firmly just over at the small of his back; he continues to clutch onto Kronos like the Titan is Percy's lifeline as he's hauled up and out of the water, hearing wet splashes as darkness swarms the corner of his vision from being oriented upright so suddenly.

A cold gust of wind is all Percy needs for his rationality to return to him like the snapping recoil of a rubber band, and he immediately falls out of Kronos's arms, shoving the Titan away as he stumbles backward, dampening the soil beneath him, breathing uneven and ragged.

Blinking rapidly to regain his sense of propriety, Percy shakes off the remaining droplets of the euphoric haze that had seized him wholly.

He slowly stands up, bracing himself against a nearby tree.

Kronos continues to smile languidly, looking as though he's just won a war.

Percy feels his facial features contorting into an expression of horror as his brain finishes processing what's just happened. He's soaked down to the skin, freezing in the nighttime chill, and reluctantly missing the warmth of another body pressing against his. He's also incredibly winded, chest heaving in shallow breaths, like he's just competed in a marathon or done… other questionable activities.

He's sure he doesn't look any better, either.

When Percy accidentally makes eye contact with those golden irises, his gaze immediately darts back down to the ground, more embarrassed and shaken than any other time that he can recall as of late.

This has to be in his top three horrifying moments of all time, even.

Percy can feel a small strain against his shorts, and he's painfully aware of the reason as to why.

He swallows dryly, clearly remembering the sensations of Kronos's tongue in his mouth.

That was a kiss.

A real one.

Percy gnaws on his lower lip, cheeks flushing with shame at the memory.

"Your move, little hero." Contrary to Percy's audible panting, Kronos doesn't sound out of breath at all. casually leaning against a tree, blasely examining his scythe.

A string of curses leaves Percy's mouth as he slips a hand into his back pocket. When his fingers brush past the metal cap of Anaklusmos, he whips the pen out of his pocket. Riptide expands to its full form, its usual weight a needed comfort in his hands.

Kronos's eyebrows shoot up a millimeter at Percy's brashness.

They both know Percy isn't going to win this fight.

And yet Percy charges toward the Titan, swinging the Celestial Bronze at Kronos, anyway.

Kronos exerts his power over time once more, slowing Percy down and stepping out of Riptide's path.

Percy immediately redirects the path of his sword's trajectory, blade sweeping right with a whistling sound followed by a familiar disappointing clang, because just like last time, it clatters as it makes contact with Kronos's temporary body, and—just like last time—the sword of Poseidon reflects off said Titan's impenetrable body, failing to properly connect.

I messed up again!

Kronos swings Backbiter around with the practiced ease of an immortal, wielding it as if it were a stick, or rather, a child's toy instead, forcing Percy to leap away.

Giving Percy one final smirk, haughty in its derision, Kronos coos, "You may want to get rid of your… little problem before heading back. Demigods do love asking so many questions, after all."

The Titan's eyes drop to the crotch of Percy's pants, licking his lips.

Percy squirms uncomfortably where he stands.

"I'd offer to lend a helping hand, but I don't suppose we have very much—how should I say this—time?" Kronos murmurs, sultry tone not lost on Percy. "We've a war to win, after all."

Percy has completely and utterly come out as the loser.

Hot in the face, Percy turns tail and flees as fast as he can, hobbling toward Camp Half-Blood with his head hung low, making a short pit-stop into the icy cold ocean to douse his humiliation, not daring to look back.

Chapter Text

When Percy stumbles his way back into the safety of camp at four in the morning shouting bloody murder, covered in dirt, and utterly mortified, no one really bats an eye. A few campers woken up from their beauty sleep even glare at him from their cabin windows as he makes his way toward camp headquarters.

"What's happened now, Seaweed Brain? Can't sleep?" Annabeth inquired, nose buried deep into a tattered-looking book as she continues to scrawl nearly illegible annotations into the margins of an old document. Chiron is tucked further inside the study, pausing in his sifting through some old Greek books at Percy's arrival.

"It's—It's Kronos!" Percy manages to huff out between heaving breaths, gesturing wildly toward the direction he came from. "There's a lake not too far from camp and…"

Annabeth's head shoots up at the mention of the Titan Lord. "Luke?"

"That's not what I said," Percy blurts, fighting down his annoyance. "Let me finish talking!"

"Why were you so far from camp at this hour? You know the fleece's protection doesn't go that far." Annabeth crosses her arms. "What was Luke doing here? Don't tell me he thinks he can convert more demigods to his cause…"

"Slow down a second—I said Kronos, not Luke. He was the same as back in the Labyrinth. With those creepy golden eyes instead of Luke's blue eyes."

Annabeth's shoulders slump in obvious disappointment. Finally scanning Percy head to toe and looking at him properly, her next words are perplexed, "You look… out of breath."

Unlike Annabeth, Chiron is much more alarmed by Percy's information. "Kronos this close to camp? Do you know why? Did you see what he was doing?"

Remembering the events of earlier that night, Percy fights down the heat that threatens to flood his face with color, shaking his head jerkily.

"The Titan Lord shouldn't be able to harm us with the Golden Fleece protecting camp. He must be after something specific, although as to what, I'm unsure… I think the gods should know about this. I shall prepare an Iris Message. Will you two…?" Chiron trails off, looking at both Percy and Annabeth.

Annabeth stands up, putting down whatever ancient text she'd been reading, and nods at Chiron. Grabbing Percy's hand, she drags him out of the building.

Staring miserably at Annabeth's back and their conjoined hands, Percy wonders if the previous electricity between them is just something that he imagined or if one stupid encounter with an immortal Titan Lord has altered his brain chemistry in some way.

"So what really happened?" Annabeth turns back to look at Percy, dropping his hand.

"You guys… misunderstood something. I didn't just see him from far away, we fought. And talked." Percy hurriedly adds, half-lying through his teeth, "But it was pretty one-sided. For him, I mean. I mostly just… stood there."

It's technically true, right?

He's just omitting a few small, unnecessary details.

"And what did he say?" Annabeth urges Percy on.

"The usual. 'Join me or die, world domination' type of stuff. Swinging his scythe at me," Percy mumbles.

Annabeth shoots him a look of incredulity as they pass Canoe Lake.

Nervously running a hand through his hair, Percy hopes he doesn't look too disheveled as he defends himself from her accusing gaze, staring back unwaveringly, "I didn't listen to him and I didn't get my soul shredded to pieces, all right?"

Easily giving up on their little staring contest first, Annabeth absentmindedly grabs a lock of her blond hair, chewing on her lower lip, expression downcast. "Did… Did Luke ever say anything? Or was he…"

Percy's heart begins to throb uncomfortably. "Luke didn't take over at any point. It was just Kronos the entire time, if that's what you mean to ask."

"... Are you sure? Did you try to call out to Luke? Get him to break Kronos's control? You know, like back in the Labyrinth?"

Percy's ribcage begins to feel cramped, each inhale waterlogged and difficult.

"If you could bring Luke back for even a second, I'm sure that—"

"—Can you just stop!" Percy snaps. "It's not about him! He's gone—buried away and thrown into a corner of his own mind because he let some crazy immortal Titan Lord take over his body to spite the gods! Luke is our enemy, and he's tried to kill me multiple times already."

Flinching at Percy's outburst, Annabeth quickens her footsteps ahead of him, unable to look him in the eyes.

Pinpricks of guilt immediately swarm him, warring with his sudden surge of anger. Strange flashes of gold linger in his vision, reminding him far too much of the color of Kronos's eyes, the creeping sensation Percy gets when looking at that icy cold inhumanness beneath the Titan's mortal vessel weighing heavily in his mind.

Suddenly, all the anger subsides as waves of dizziness overtake him, turning his knees to jelly.

"W-Wait…" Percy staggers forward with an aborted groan, cut off when all that comes out is a gurgle.

The last thing he remembers is how much his lungs hurt when the ground rapidly rushes up to him.

***

When Percy comes to, he's lying in a wet puddle, clothes soaked and covered in gritty grains of sand. After wrenching his eyes open, he realizes the blurred outlines of Chiron and a very colorful figure are hovering over him.

Opening his mouth to speak proves to be a failure when he begins to cough violently, curling over to hack out his lungs, body trembling all the while. He vaguely notices someone gently patting his back in what's supposed to be a soothing manner.

Barely able to breathe, Percy hauls himself to his knees.

"Percy?" A man wearing khaki Bermuda shorts and a gaudy Bahama shirt decorated with misshapen bird caricatures and fuzzy brown coconuts leans over Percy's shoulder.

With Percy's blurry vision beginning to let up, the origin of his own sea-green eyes becomes clearer by the minute, the very same pair staring right back at him like a mirror.

It can only be one person.

Or, rather, one god.

"Dad?" Percy croaks out as he immediately attempts to stand to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

Poseidon helps him up, gripping both of his shoulders tightly as though unsure if he should give Percy a hug or back away, wracked with indecision.

After several beats of awkwardness, the sea god backs off and pretends to cough to mask his embarrassment.

Percy's voice is still weak when he asks, "What happened?"

Chiron's expression is severe. "You were drowning."

"There was water in your lungs, and you weren't getting enough oxygen to your brain," Poseidon tacks on. "Chiron brought you here, to the ocean, but it didn't seem to have its usual healing properties."

"That's when Lord Poseidon arrived," Chiron explains.

"Oceanus's aggression seems to have receded significantly. Chiron has already told me of your encounter with Kronos. Did he… do anything to you?" The level of concern on Poseidon's face is, frankly, a really weird thing to see, even though his voice soothes Percy the same way the sound of the gentle rolling of ocean waves usually puts him to sleep at night.

There's no way Oceanus would back off of his own volition; it's clear Kronos has some hand in what's happened.

Is this what Kronos meant when he said Percy's water problem was taken care of? Suspending each individual water molecule in time, pulling Oceanus's forces back, and ultimately ushering in Poseidon to save Percy as a result?

Percy shudders at the degree of Kronos's intricate machinations. The fact that he can even manipulate a visit from Poseidon for Percy, something that's typically few and far between…

This is who they're all up against.

Percy dazedly replies, "I was supposed to drown earlier. Your water, it—it wouldn't help me."

Looking just as confused as Percy, Poseidon echoes, "My water… didn't help you? Do you mean you couldn't control it?"

"I couldn't breathe underwater, and my body was heavy like a normal person's. I had a hard time swimming away from K—" Percy abruptly cuts his own words off, nearly biting his tongue in the process. "The current."

"The current," Poseidon repeats, staring dumbly back at Percy. The god stands there under his fishing hat, a dumbfounded and confused expression still plastered on his face.

"This doesn't make any sense," Chiron mutters. "The showers and toilets by the cabins practically exploded with water when you passed out."

"Not only that, but I lost you for a few moments concurrent to your encounter with Kronos," Poseidon confesses. "Your presence disappeared—not alive nor dead, just dropped out of my range of senses. Completely gone."

Percy's eyes widen to the size of saucers, his turn to be bewildered. "You… You can keep track of me like that?"

He doesn't know if he should be feeling glad that Poseidon knows where Percy is at all times or disappointed because his father doesn't think he can take care of himself. Worse yet, that Poseidon has been silently watching and listening to his pleas all along, unwilling to respond.

Poseidon turns toward the sea in affirmation. "What occurred must have been Kronos's interference. I doubt anyone can encounter him and get away unscathed."

Percy mumbles, "Kronos said you needed all your strength to fight Oceanus… which makes sense."

Understanding dawns on Poseidon's face, but all Percy wants to do is get swallowed up by the ground. "You nearly died because Oceanus and my own control over the seas were clashing, and the water didn't know who to listen to. I'm very sorry, Percy…"

"It's fine," Percy says, slightly turning away, not wanting to see the genuine guilt in his father's eyes. "It's not like it's your fault or anything. I'm just lucky Kronos didn't kill me. Honestly, I'm fine now."

Uncertainty is written all over Poseidon's face.

"Lord Poseidon," Percy dares to ask, quietly, "if you're always listening to me, why do you never respond?"

The sunrise is imminent behind them, the sky beginning to brighten in shades of blue. He can almost hear Kronos's taunts riling him up, bolstered by his own racing nervousness.

A lump swells up in his throat.

Is your love unconditional? Percy can't help but wonder. Did you call me your favorite son only because of my achievements? Because I was able to bestow honor upon your name? Am I cursed from birth, like Kronos said?

Poseidon looks at Percy with a tinge of sorrow before shaking his head. "Kronos can twist your thoughts, turn you against that of which you love and trust. Don't let yourself be manipulated, Percy."

Percy's face bursts into flames as he stares at the sandy ground, head hung low in horror. Is it too late for him to go back in time and beg Kronos to kill him for real?

Poseidon sighs. "I sense the deep waters stirring once more. Oceanus is returning. Farewell, Percy."

The next time he raises his head to properly look at Poseidon, the god of the sea is already gone.

… Fine.

Percy didn't really want to hear the answer anyway.

"You still have another very worried visitor," Chiron says, gesturing in the direction of the mess hall.

No comment from him, either. It's to be expected.

At Poseidon's departure, Annabeth rushes over to him from where she’d been waiting but slows before reaching them, the tips of her shoes digging into the sand, as though unsure of herself.

"I'm sorry for taking out my frustration on you," Percy blurts before she can think about returning to her cabin instead.

The silence between them is quickly replaced by warm arms wrapping around him.

Annabeth is hugging him.

"I forgive you, Seaweed Brain," she whispers back. Her voice is slightly muffled where her face is buried into the shoulder of his soggy shirt. "I'm sorry, too."

They stay like that for a few moments longer. Her concern is a gentle, welcomed thing.

"I didn't know you almost died!" She pulls away from the hug with a flash of frustration crossing her face. "I mean, I know you can handle yourself, but—"

"Hey, it's all right. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Just… barely held together.

"Mhm!" Annabeth's face lights up with a grin at his reassurance, the kind of grin that Percy has grown to like so much. "By the way, you slept through all the preparations for the camp activity today."

"The…" Percy wracks his brain, "marathon…?"

Annabelle shakes her head, sighing. "Are you sure your skull isn't just filled with water? Would it sound hollow in there if I knocked on your head?"

"Hey!" Percy protests. "Then is it a pentathlon? Triathlon?"

"No, silly!" Annabeth beams. Percy silently groans, berating himself for giving her an opening to go off on a tangent. "The triathlon was invented in 1920 by the French, with the three most common sporting events as running, swimming, and cycling. As you should know, tri means three, whereas penta means five, warranting five events—running, jumping, discus throwing, wrestling, and an equestrian event!"

They near the rowdy cabins, early risers already beginning to scuttle around camp, towels in hand and off to the showers and toilets or already fully dressed, opting to partake in some morning training. Thinking back on Chiron's words, Percy is glad he didn't destroy camp facilities that badly.

He's a little confused as to how they managed to fix things up so quickly, though.

At the expression of perplexion on Percy's face, Annabeth quickly continues explaining, "Oh! By an equestrian event, I mean horse riding. Real horses. On that note, did you know that Hercules—or as we call him, Heracles—devised the running sport…"

"Sorry to rain on your parade, but can I borrow Percy for a second?"

Annabeth turns toward the voice, wide-eyed. "Thalia! You made it!"

Percy blinks at Thalia's sudden appearance, or rather—he quickly realizes—the appearance of the many familiar faces of Artemis's Hunters hanging around the entrance of the Artemis Cabin. "You really went all out for the sake of morale, huh?"

"Yup," Annabeth says, a bit of pride in her tone. "I tried to get as many demigods to participate as possible. It's difficult for all of us to be in the same place at once, but this is a good time to train… and even talk strategy for what may happen soon."

"Hope it helps for the better," Thalia mutters. "It's pretty obvious there's some bad tension in the air. People are scared, and you can't really blame them."

"I've still got some last-minute planning to do, but the pentathlon won't begin until a little later, so try to squeeze in some sleep, all right?" Annabeth shoots Percy a smile. "We won't start without you, anyway. Because I'm in charge, obviously."

"I'll definitely enjoy my two hour nap," Percy laughs, waving as she leisurely jogs toward the Big House.

"Two hours sounds better than nothing," Thalia adds, leading them toward the dining area. "I heard about your little brush with death last night. I mean, drowning? Really, of all things?"

Groaning, Percy buries his face into his hands. "Already?"

"The news spread faster than the Hermes Express's delivery times."

"Unsurprising." Great. More ammo for Clarisse and those in the Ares cabin to shoot at Percy.

Suddenly serious, Thalia's voice turns more severe. Almost hushed, she says, "To cut to the chase, I asked Artemis if she would ever accept another man as a Hunter."

"... Okay?" Percy rubs the back of his neck as Thalia sits on the nearest wooden table, resting her feet on the attached bench.

She props her chin up so it rests on her palm, her expression intense. "For the sake of negating the prophecy, the Goddess of the Hunt said yes. And your sixteenth birthday is in less than a week, isn't it?"

"Oh." Realization strikes Percy like a bolt of lightning.

A solution to over half of his struggles has just been presented to him on a silver platter.

Could he really circumvent the prophecy the way Thalia did? Would that be considered cheating?

What would Annabeth think? She'd probably have a clearcut answer for him.

… What would Posiedon think? Would he consider a coward's solution? A shameful resolution?

"You'd just have to swear to celibacy," Thalia says. "That's all. A lot of the other hunters probably won't be comfortable with you around, so it's more of an unofficial thing than anything else. You can negotiate with Artemis if you… fall in love or want to leave."

There's no such thing as an easy way out, but the option of joining Artemis's Hunters would certainly put a stop to Percy's involvement in the prophecy, with very few strings attached.

Percy can't believe he's actually considering it.

"I need to think about it," he says, gnawing on his lower lip. "There's still a few days before I turn sixteen. Maybe things will turn for the better?"

He won't be surprised if it becomes an eleventh hour choice, as all his important decision-making has ever been relegated to.

"Fat chance of that happening," Thalia scoffs, hopping off the table with a solid thump. While brushing wood dust off her palms, she suddenly grins up at the blocked sunrise, just as clouded and gloomy as the sky from last night. Despite the sight of foreboding, stray beams of scattered golden rays escape the clouded skies and drift down to Earth. "Where's that optimism coming from? I don't think it's really like you."

"It's not optimism," Percy mutters, catching the warm beam of light in his palms. "It's hope."

Chapter Text

A striking, older man with curly streaks of silver through his dark hair sits on the edge of a regally presented bed decorated from its headpiece to its base with gold adornments and half-reliefs chiseled from marble and a colorful variety of fine, precious stones.

His head is buried in his palms, agitated fingers pressing against his temples and knuckles strained pale with tension, but there's an air of agelessness to him that Percy can't quite dismiss.

Oddly weightless, Percy watches on in curiosity from the other side of the grand bedroom, standing unnoticed by what must be one of several inner support columns holding up the ceiling, intricately designed fluting running up and down the material.

"How many moons has it been?" the slumped figure mutters. "How many moons have passed, and not one of them has come to visit me? I honored our promises. I stayed my hand. And for what?”

Percy had heard from somewhere that the faces appearing in dreams all belong to people he's seen before, but despite the man's unique looks, Percy doesn't recognize him.

Slung over one of the stranger's shoulders is loose-fitting fabric, dark black cloth draping down across his lap and flowing toward his ankles, semi-transparent and leaving little to the imagination with its elegant simplicity.

It reminds Percy of a less exposed version of the chiton a certain Titan Lord had taken a liking to in Luke's body.

Or maybe it had been the only thing available, some random, loose fabric pinned into wearable clothing.

To Percy's knowledge, even the likes of Zeus and his own father, Poseidon, often adorned modern clothing rather than the ancient styles of days past.

“Fearful wretches,” the figure snarls, shaking his head all the while. Head still hanging low, his voice dips back into a weak whisper. “What can I do? What would it take for my siblings to come visit me?”

Suffice to say, Percy thinks the man is pitifully miserable as he rises to his feet.

No.

Not a man.

"Have you heard of the saying?" The figure, now standing with an aura completely different from that of the commiseration before, slowly turns his head in Percy's direction, golden eyes gleaming in amusement as they lock gazes. "Misery simply loves company."

The temperature of the room drops.

"Kronos," Percy says, less surprised than he thought he'd be at the revelation. "I'm dreaming, aren't I? Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?"

Kronos strokes his salt-and-pepper bearded chin. "Have I succeeded?"

"Not one bit," Percy lies through his teeth, taking a cautious half-step back. His heart had twinged a little bit. But only a little. Had the Lord of the Titans merely been putting on a show? "Did you interrupt my beauty sleep just for another failed attempt at convincing me to join you? I think there's not a single bone in your body worth feeling sorry for."

"Oh?" A cold and distant smile. "You do think of me, then?"

"No!" Percy blurts, eyes widening at the Titan's unpredictable sense of humor, shuffling even further away as Kronos advances toward him.

"I wonder…" In a handful of paces, Kronos leans into Percy's space despite his best efforts to shrink away, forcing his back against a pillar. "Where does your bravado come from? Or is it merely foolishness? My name has left your lips far more often than any other would dare."

"Fearing a name just gives it more power," Percy argues, eyes darting wildly around the room in desperation, hoping to focus on anything else but the Titan's visage. "It would be different if I were shaking in my boots every time I wanted to use a proper noun, but... Anyway, stop changing the subject! Why did you bring me here?"

“You forget yourself,” Kronos says. “You’ve intruded into visions of my past. I had no hand in bringing you here—for you are the trespassing interloper and I the passive dreamer.”

“Titans can dream?” Percy mumbles before he can stop to ask himself if he's being lied to.

“But of course.”

Kronos waves his hand half-heartedly, and the scenery around them ripples in fluid waves as though pierced by a fishing spear, morphing into a more familiar setting right before Percy's eyes.

A gorgeous courtyard overlooking the sea with a smattering of wooden picnic tables and benches sunbathe beneath towering Doric Greek columns. Where the rocking ocean waves glint with stray beams of reflected light, the opposing direction holds a series of cabins around a campfire leading to a lofty, storied house.

Percy's home for the last several summers.

A girl with spiky black hair sits atop one of the tables, stormy electric-blue eyes looking right at Percy.

… Thalia.

"So?" she says.

Percy's gaze immediately whips back toward Kronos, confusion palpable, but the only thing the Titan deigns to respond with is an amused chuckle.

Is this conversation from earlier today? Percy must still be dreaming.

"Will you do it? To stop the prophecy from coming true?"

Oh.

"It can be as soon as tonight."

Oh no.

Kronos looks over at Percy’s memory of Thalia thoughtfully, slowly pacing around the table. “I see what your aim is, Percy Jackson, and I won’t allow it.”

"... My aim?" Percy tries to play dumb. "What are you talking about?"

Kronos goes still, eyebrows narrowing as he tilts his head toward Percy. "You'd continue to play the fool, little hero?"

Percy scoffs. “As if. What are you gonna do? Lecture me to death? We’re in a dream. You can’t do anything to me.”

The air crackles with energy like a thunderbolt shattering glass, and the scenery around them darkens as though the sun has been snatched out of the sky.

Faster than Percy can even blink, he's sprawled like a wriggling insect on a massive palm, breath knocked out of his lungs and kept empty by a thumb the width of an immature tree trunk pressing threateningly on his torso, applying what could be heavy, deadly force to his upper body, as though the smallest, accidental twitch might crush both Percy's hyperventilating lung cavities and the heart pounding like a jackhammer in racing, staccato thumps within.

As the blood rushes to his ears with the ferocity of a passing train, Percy gapes at the colossal sight glaring down at him, a titanic being that must be at least three times his height.

Even still, some part of him understands that the Titan before him is only a toned-down version of whatever whole had been scattered into pieces deep inside Tartarus, a divine form of Kronos's whim.

Kronos is glowing—an immortal light coming from beneath his impenetrable skin. Even worse is the intensity of his drachma gold eyes, gaze pinning Percy down like a butterfly skewered onto a dartboard or an ant burning under the lens of a magnifying glass. Like he might be turned to gold if he breathes wrong.

"Why haven't I been vaporized?" Percy weakly gasps out despite the impending doom squeezing down on his chest, continuing to stare wildly in bewilderment.

"Have you already forgotten your own words?" Kronos mocks, beyond loud, bassy vibrations rattling Percy's ribcage. Even the Titan's breath is a cold gust of polar easterly wind. "We two sojourn in a dream, after all."

"Holy shit," Percy croaks, quite aptly. "You're…"

He doesn't know what he wants to say without his voice breaking into pieces, vocal cords failing him as his eyes wander up and down. Other than the increase in size, the Titan doesn't boast any eccentric limbs, extra eyes, or distorted features, but he just can't seem to stop staring.

"Why do you look like this?" he mutters aloud, internal filter long clogged full of dust and burned into ashes.

When Kronos's thumb suddenly relents on the ever-present threatening pressure and instead begins to stroke ever so gently up and down Percy's body, slowly, thoughtfully, he shudders uncontrollably, gradually growing warm and complacent at the soothing friction.

He finds himself relaxing involuntarily, like a mollified rabbit held between the jaws of a wolf.

The Titan Lord's abrupt switch in temperament is like an acidic miasma to Percy's sensibilities, pseudo-tenderness melting all the rational, coherent thoughts away. What remains is morbid curiosity, the kind that always gets him in trouble. "Why do you look so… normal?"

An entity to be exalted and lauded through ancient Greek paintings over the millennia, fearful stroke after fearful stroke.

A divine being who once held the world hostage in a self-proclaimed Golden Age, the absence of law, order, and morality.

An evil, immortal deity with a shockingly handsome face like that of any other older gentleman, incalculable age be damned.

"Do you mean to ask why I don't look like a deformed monster?" Kronos drawls, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. Percy feels every syllable rumble through him from the tips of his clenched fingers to his weak knees. "How rude. Did you ask the same of your father?"

Percy's reply is weak and out of breath as he arches away from the insistent presence of Kronos's thumb, struggling to regain a modicum of control. "I've never seen him anything other than human-sized."

“And you never will,” Kronos says, “for you’d perish upon the sight.”

Yeah.

If there's one thing the Lord of the Titans understands, it's that Percy never will.

As if Poseidon would ever appear in his dreams like this.

It's why Kronos continually jabs at Percy's emotional Achilles' heel whenever the opportunities arise.

Even Poseidon's most recent appearance at camp was orchestrated by Kronos.

"Okay, whatever. How do I leave?" Mood souring even further, Percy gives his arm another hard tug, but the Titan's strength doesn't budge from his wrist. A repeat performance and a reminder of his own meager power against that of something even more ancient than a Greek god.

"Patience," Kronos grins, his teeth the size of mullioned windows. An entertained chuckle follows. "I'll be seeing you very soon, Percy Jackson. For now, what say you repay me for interrupting my dreams? I’m finding myself rather… famished."

And then the Titan Lord leans his face down and slips Percy’s dangling left arm into his hot mouth, the maw of an abyss, stopping just before Percy’s shoulder.

Percy shrieks, “H-Hey, what—!?”

A wet tongue curls over his inner elbow, immediately turning his words to smoke and thoughts to static.

“Wait… Wait,” he says, disbelief coating the terrified squeaks leaving his throat, ice slipping down his backside.

When the edges of sharp incisors clamp down on his bicep, Percy’s stomach drops like heavy bricks tied to a corpse disposed in a lake.

“No, what are you—wait, no, please, wait…!”

His arm leaves his body with a sickeningly hollow crack, splintered bone, like it never belonged to him in the first place.

Percy's scream dies a quiet death in his throat when the Titan pulls away and smiles.

Loose flesh and fabric hang from the cracks between Krono’s teeth, gory grin as he chews and chews and chews, Percy’s arm brittle on his back molars, being ground to paste like crunchy cartilage.

“Mm, as I thought.” Kronos licks his bloodied lips, a pleased noise. ”Begging suits you most, little demigod.”

Breathe, Percy.

This isn’t real.

Just a dream.

Kronos just wants a reaction out of him.

Percy won't give him the pleasure.

He keeps his face blank.

Schools any emotion into vacant numbness.

"That expression of yours… How dull. No fun at all. Leave," Kronos says, as if he's suddenly grown bored. "Before I make the rest of you go where it rightfully belongs." In my stomach, he doesn’t say out loud.

And then Percy wakes like a startled corpse, quickly and all at once, eyes shooting open to the sights of his familiar cabin ceiling, gasping for air as if he’d been buried six feet underground alive, desperately clawing his way out of the dirt.

He wiggles his left arm in relief, relaxing against his bedsheets.

He's never been so thankful to be at camp than this moment. Never been so thankful to know his dreams lack the premonitive power of diviners or grateful for the dream state dulling his pain into a mere concept. Even the dusty cobwebs in the too-high-to-reach corners of the cabin are a welcome sight.

Just a dream.

Percy has slept long enough.

He shouldn’t keep Annabeth and the rest of camp waiting.

As he follows the desire trails carved away from the beaten paths, Percy takes notice of the lack of people where there would usually be clusters of clamoring campers spread across Camp Half-Blood.

It's extraordinarily quiet.

He imagines it will be just as silent when he tells Annabeth he's considering taking up Thalia's offer. That his immediate, knee-jerk reaction hasn't been outright rejection.

… How often does he have real, honest-to-gods choices instead of an ultimatum or demands disguised as options?

He imagines afterward, Annabeth's noiselessly mouthed what about us fading into a final conclusion about all the mixed signals he's been sending her; joining the hunters means forgoing love, after all.

… It doesn't mean he'll stop cherishing her altogether.

He imagines his mom, watery-eyed and telling him to embrace selfishness for once; it doesn't escape him that his supposed selfishness will directly influence someone else's suffering, some other poor demigod's involvement in this meaningless war.

… Would his mom eventually realize that the pact with Artemis means Percy will outlive not only the war, but her, too?

He imagines gods and demigods and a certain Titan, imagines being thought of as a disappointment of a son, a coward of a hero, a hypocrite of an opponent; maybe then Kronos will grow to realize how boring Percy is, more human than god.

… An immortal's boredom is no joke, after all.

At this rate, he'd be better off plucking petals from a flower one by one, like he's trying to divine his love life and not the fate of the world.

If only someone could make his decision for him.

His thoughts continue to pile on top of each other in a messy heap until loud, aggressive clamoring carried by the wind washes over him, snapping him out of his sardonic reverie.

“Yeah? Tell me, then! Tell me who else in camp could possibly have destroyed all the wooden targets we set up?” Overlapping voices separating into furious shouting greets Percy as he idly approaches the large gathering of campers by where the starting line of the adjusted-for-demigods pentathlon should be. “We already know. We all do. It’s obvious. He must have thought he could get away with taking down the targets beforehand so he could claim all the points for himself afterward!”

“It’s not like him! He wouldn’t do that, and you know it, Clarisse!” When Percy hears Annabeth’s voice involved in the rapidly spiraling argument, he breaks into a brisk jog.

“All the proof we need is right there at the scene of the crime. The dirt in that entire area turned muddy because someone obviously used their control over water to sabotage the training targets. Every last one of them.”

Percy circles the outskirts of the crowd as the back and forth continues.

“If you would just use your brain for a moment you’d realize that someone else is obviously framing him,” Annabeth speaks coolly, arms crossed. “Why would Percy do such a thing if it’s so obvious that everyone’s first suspect would be him?”

The arguing campers finally come into view, just in time for Percy to watch as Clarisse shrugs. “I’m sure he thought we wouldn’t double-check before we started. Unluckily for him, Silena noticed the wet ground. And if you want to talk about proof, who can say where he’s been the last few hours? Not with you, right, Annabeth?”

“I’ve been taking a nap in my cabin,” Percy blurts, and hundreds of heads suddenly whip toward his direction, all eyes on him. “What’s going on?”

“Percy! Are you feeling alright?” Annabeth looks him up and down, carefully assessing his physical state.

“This whole time? Alone, in your cabin?” Clarisse asks, but sarcasm clearly seeps from her dagger-sharp accusation. “Yeah, right.”

"I feel better," Percy says, cautiously. Other than dreaming about his arm being bitten off by a Titan. "Did something happen?"

"Sure, play dumb," Clarisse mutters, kicking at the dirt under her feet, probably imagining Percy's face in place of the rocks.

Annabeth looks between them, a cautious pause when she lingers on Percy. "There's been a little… incident."

"A wet one, if I'm hearing things right." Percy would laugh, but he doesn't think this is the right moment to piss Clarisse off even more.

It's clear Annabeth doesn't think he sabotaged her event, and Percy knows he didn't sabotage her event, but he still finds his face beginning to flush and heart racing the same way they did when Nancy Bobofit accused him of pushing her into the fountain in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art before he knew anything about demigods or monsters or Olympians or Titans.

Even though he knows now, he still finds himself involuntarily tensed from his shoulders to his locked ankles sometimes and replaying the scene in his head like a glitchy old video, when nobody had believed in his words, when he held his breath for the rest of the day scared that his mom wouldn't believe him this time, either.

The tight feeling in his chest, his peripheral vision swimming in and out of focus, and his heart beating stupidly fast under his skin—it's the same as back then.

But he doesn't have the liberty of stomping his feet and claiming that things aren't fair. As a son of the Big Three, as the one closest to fulfilling the Great Prophecy, rapidly approaching his sixteenth birthday, he understands tensions are running high in camp. He gets that he's supposed to be the mature one and act as the glue keeping everyone on this side of the war together. Percy knows incidents like these are just another trap set by the other side; he's stumbled into enough of them blindly to know by now.

Doesn't make the sickening physical sensations in his body go away, though.

Clarisse plunges the head of her spear into the ground with a loud thud. "Done zoning out yet?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I am," Percy says, reigning in his burning sense of injustice. That's right—he can be less talkative and more agreeable. He can do that. "Look, we're not gonna get anywhere standing here and arguing about something none of us can prove. I get it. It sucks that everyone's efforts putting together that part of the course were ruined. All I can say is that it wasn't me… even though that might be unsatisfying to hear. You know what? What if I just start the race last? I won't even move until I can't hear anybody anymore, I swear. If you think what happened is because I want to win so badly, I'm alright with essentially sitting this one out."

Murmurs break out from around them. "But Percy, that means—"

He cuts Annabeth's next point off before it can grow roots. “You saw all the mud, too, right? I don’t think Clarisse is making things up just because she wants to start a fight. I’m sure everyone worked really hard to set things up. I mean, look at it this way. I’m the only child of Poseidon here, after all.”

Clarisse's hostile glare finally settles into a suspicious squint. She glances over her shoulder to gauge the reactions of the other campers that'd been rallying with her, finally turning back to Percy and Annabeth when she concludes that everyone has arrived at a general consensus.

"... Fine. But don't you dare move from that spot." Arms uncrossing, Clarisse throws her voice out to the crowd. "Everyone else, we'll be starting in a few minutes!"

Rambunctious footsteps disperse from the rocky fire pit.

"Can I at least sit, though?" Percy mutters under his breath, relaxing as the spotlight finally switches off him.

Annabeth bumps her shoulder against his. "I wouldn't risk it, Seaweed Brain. Though, I guess that was kind of clever."

"Yeah?" Percy grins.

Annabeth flips her ponytail over her shoulder. "Only a little bit. Don't get too smug."

Some of Percy's gloomy stormclouds disperse. "You should probably get going."

"Just to be clear, you and I both know this is complete bullshit, right?" Annabeth's expression turns serious, lips flattening into a thin line. "This was supposed to be an important group activity. One that included you."

"Sure, sure." Percy lazily waves his hand at her in a shooing gesture. "Just because I can't win this time doesn't mean I won't win the next. Now get out there and show 'em who's boss in my place."

They've got more important things to worry about. Both of them do.

After Annabeth's outline finally disappears over a hill, Percy heaves a sigh, rubbing at his neck. He hopes he wasn't flushing a bright, splotchy red when he was at his most flustered.

Awfully convenient for a conflict to bubble up at this time, when this event was made specifically as a bonding activity for building rapport.

What do they say, once is chance, and twice is a coincidence? He's lost count of how many times he's been given the short end of the stick, more often than not ending up with splinters all over his hands from enemy action.

… That damned Lord of the Titans.

Kronos can't physically get into camp, but he can still get into everyone's minds—Percy's included.

Totally unfair.

Enough time has passed for his body to feel like it's no longer interested in mimicking an easy-bake oven, that almost-childish sensation of heated betrayal triggered by the overwhelming abundance of mistrust earlier. Kronos keeps trying to 'prove' that Percy's life sucks, and this must be another attempt.

The Titan Lord doesn't need to put so much effort into all this. Percy already knows his life sucks without needing to be convinced.

Imagine coming back to Camp Half-Blood for a fourth summer and still being treated like an outsider among outsiders.

He's the unstable variable in the prophecy, and sometimes, he feels as though everyone is just waiting for him to raze the world down.

No—they quite literally are.

So, wouldn't it be better if he took Thalia on her offer? He'll be solidified as the one in the Great Prophecy only once he hits sixteen, after all.

If he gets to sixteen.

Gods, he doesn't know what he's doing.

It occurs to Percy that Thalia's plan is becoming more and more appealing the moment he stops hearing any energetic shouting over his voluminous thoughts, the event well underway. His legs were just beginning to fall asleep, too.

He briefly massages his knees before setting off after the rest of camp, enjoying the wind picking up against his flushed face, a cool balm.

A steady run to the finish line should help refill the mental hole he's just dug himself into. He knows Camp Half-Blood like the back of his hand. It's not as though he can't catch up from last place—Percy just feels like he has nothing to prove today, dispassioned by Clarisse's accusation.

Somebody else can win.

The odds are stacked against him, and yet no one even knows about Kronos.

What he's done with Kronos.

… What he's allowed Kronos to do to him.

The Titan wants to take advantage of Percy's shame, doesn't he? Like some kind of twisted version of blackmail?

Maybe Kronos is waiting for a bigger audience to tell the world Percy popped a boner being kissed by someone who has no business being anywhere near his mouth. Warn that if Percy doesn't do as he says, Kronos is going to astral project what happened into everyone's dreams in full HD resolution, believing it will work better than threatening to kill all the people Percy has ever cared about.

The mere thought of anyone finding out what happened twists Percy's stomach into an unravelable Gordian knot, a dreadful swooping sensation.

Like ammo loaded neatly into the chamber of a gun, it's just a matter of when Kronos decides to pull the trigger.

Percy swallows the hard lump in his throat and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the base of his palm.

Would it work on him?

Fuck, it just might.

If Kronos wants to hold Percy's mom hostage, a physical threat as a bargaining chip? Percy can just set out on another quest.

If Kronos wants to make sure Percy can never look anyone in the eye again? What can Percy do? He'll never join the Titan cause, so what's left? Choking down his pride as every person he has ever known loses all respect for him? Watching the disgust fill Annabeth's eyes or the revulsion in his mom's gaze, knowing they'll never see him in the same way ever again, even if they try to convince him otherwise?

He needs to find Thalia as soon as possible.

… But who's to say all that won't happen anyway if he refuses to fulfill the prophecy? Fickle as Kronos is, the Lord of the Titans might just tell on Percy anyway.

Percy comes to an abrupt stop as he passes a particularly thick part of the forest, shrubbery and foliage blocking off what lies beyond the tall trees that rise out of the Earth and up toward the sky.

It's quiet, but a different kind of quiet from before. He doesn't even hear the chirping of birds anymore, let alone the usual liveliness of the local buzzing insect population.

Something's off about this place, like there's something dangerous skulking around.

He drops to a knee and ruffles a particularly botched-looking bush, a divot right down the center where it appears someone must have trampled right over it in a hurry. When he bends over to further examine the soil just behind the brushes, he discovers a smattering of footprints leading away from the main path, but no return tracks.

More than one person.

Maybe stragglers? And if not, then maybe he's found the spies they've been looking for all along without needing to point any more accusing fingers.

"Will you just hear me out? One moment, just one! Look, I've got nothing in my hands, alright?”

Percy creeps closer to the voices one light footfall at a time, careful not to expose his concealed presence. He compresses his body behind the low-hanging branches of the trees, inhaling a lungful of pine needles when he sucks in a bated breath.

"So what? You don't need a weapon to maim someone."

In no world could Percy have guessed what awaited him past the next row of greenery.