Chapter Text
It was the constant motion—the unrelenting to and fro of the ship—that dragged Nico di Angelo out of unconsciousness. Groggy and disoriented, he blinked against the pounding ache behind his temples. His stomach churned with every roll of the waves beneath him, the pitch and sway of the vessel making his skin clammy and his pulse unsteady. It was an unfortunately familiar sensation, waking up in a place he doesn’t recognize with no memory of how he got there.
But the sickly roll of the ocean beneath him? That was new. And unwelcome.
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to stay still, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to calm the queasiness rising like a tide. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears, drowning out the sound of distant waves crashing against the hull.
If he could just breathe through it, just let his body adjust, maybe—
The acrid stench of saltwater and sweat made him gag. Nope. Not happening.
With a low groan, Nico cracked his eyes open. His vision swum for a moment, blurring into patches of dim light and shadows. As the nausea slowly ebbed, the scene around him sharpened into view.
He was on a ship. Not just on it, but locked in a cage within its dark, suffocating belly. The iron bars around him were crude and rusted, their edges sharp and unyielding. The faint stench of saltwater and human sweat and waste hung thick in the air, clinging to his clothes and skin. He shifted, but the movement sent the floor creaking beneath him—a wooden deck, swaying with every roll of the sea.
There were others.
Six young men, boys really, huddled around him in the same cage. They were silent, their faces pale and gaunt, their eyes wide with fear. Nico recognized the expression; it was the look of someone who knew exactly what awaited them and knew there was no escape.
“What the hell,” Nico muttered, his voice rasping like sandpaper in the thick, humid air.
One of the boys glanced at him, his expression tired and wary. He was tall and lean, with a mop of dark curls that fell into his eyes.
“Finally awake,” the boy said quietly, his voice tinged with bitterness. He sat slouched against the bars, his arms resting loosely over his knees.
Nico blinked at him, his brain struggling to piece together the words. They felt strange—familiar and foreign at the same time. His mind, wired to understand Ancient Greek, could grasp their meaning, but it still took effort to process them.
Why was he even speaking Ancient Greek in the first place? After a moment’s hesitation, Nico decided not to question it.
Ignoring the tightness in his stomach, he pushed himself upright, wincing as his head spun and his stomach lurched dangerously. “Where am I?” he croaked. His voice sounded hoarse, his throat dry, but he couldn’t help but notice that his accent was different from the boy’s. Rougher. Out of place.
The boy’s lips twisted into something close to a grimace. “Where do you think? We’re on our way to Crete.”
“Crete?” Nico repeated, the name like a rock dropping into his chest.
The boy didn’t even bother to look surprised. “Yes. Crete. Don’t tell me you don’t know.” He leaned closer, his dark eyes narrowing. “You’re one of the fourteen. The tributes Athens is sending to the Minotaur.”
The words hit Nico like a slap. This could not be happening.
“No way,” Nico muttered, the blood draining from his face. He leaned back against the bars, suddenly dizzy for a whole new reason.
“Believe it,” the boy replied flatly. “This is your last voyage.”
Another boy, younger and fairer, spoke up from where he sat hunched in the corner. “If you’re lucky, you’ll die quickly,” he said in a trembling voice.
Nico stared at them, his mind spinning. How had he gotten here? One minute, he was—what? Where had he even been? Everything was hazy, a tangle of fragmented memories. But the ship was real. The bars were real. And the fear in the other boys’ faces was all too real as well.
Nico’s gaze flicked to the dark-haired boy, the one who had first spoken. “What’s your name?” he asked.
The boy hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to assess whether Nico was worth answering. His expression hardened, a flicker of mistrust shadowing his face, before he finally replied in a clipped tone, “Melas.” He tilted his head, his dark curls falling across his forehead. “What about you?”
Nico froze for a moment, his mind racing. He couldn’t exactly say Nico di Angelo—a name as modern and out of place as a smartphone in a temple. His name would only invite questions, and questions were the last thing he needed right now. But as the seconds ticked by, he realized something: Did it really matter? None of this felt real, and even if it was, his name was the least of his problems.
“Nico,” he said at last, his voice steadying as the word left his lips. “I’m Nico.”
Melas’s eyebrows rose slightly, skepticism flickering across his face. He gave Nico a long, searching look, before leaning back against the bars with a bitter laugh.
“Well, Nico,” he said, the words laced with a grim sort of amusement. “Welcome to your last few days alive.”
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What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
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The thing was, he could leave.
Nico leaned against the cold iron bars, his eyes flickering to the dim shadows pooling in the corners of the ship’s hold. They whispered to him like old friends, beckoning him with promises of escape. A single step, one pull of power, and he could disappear into the darkness, leaving the ship, the tributes, and the looming horror of the Labyrinth far behind.
But where would he even go?
The thought churned in his mind like the rolling waves beneath the ship. Camp Half-Blood didn’t exist yet—not here, not now, if this truly was Ancient Greece. There was no Hades Cabin to crash in, no Chiron to give him advice, no Will waiting to steady him with that quiet, reassuring presence.
The Underworld? He supposed he could try going there, descending into his father’s domain. Maybe he could explain what had happened—how he’d stumbled into the wrong time, how he didn’t belong here, how he needed help. Maybe Hades would listen. Or maybe he’d smite him before he even got a word out, dismissing him as a liar.
Gripping the edge of the bars, Nico let out a shaky breath. He could try the mainland. Get to Athens or Sparta or wherever was closest. But then what? He had no money, no food, no shelter. He didn’t know the language well enough to pass as a local—at least, not without drawing attention to himself.
And who would he even talk to if he did make it? He knew no one in these times. Not really. The gods he once called allies wouldn’t recognize him now. To them, he would just be another mortal boy, insignificant and expendable.
The ship creaked around him, the groan of wood against the waves punctuating the silence. He glanced at the others—Melas, the younger boy in the corner, the rest of the tributes sitting in the shadows, each of them bearing the weight of their fate. He wasn’t one of them, not really. He could leave, and they couldn’t.
But even if he escaped, even if he found a way to survive, what would it matter?
The realization sat heavy in his chest, sharp and suffocating. No matter where he went, he would still be lost.
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He would stay, Nico decided, at least until they reached Crete.
His fingers drummed against his knee as he leaned back against the iron bars, the steady creak of the ship filling the silence around him. It wasn’t a comforting sound, but it gave him something to focus on, something steady to hold onto.
Maybe this was all some elaborate trick, an immersive roleplay he’d somehow stumbled into—though he couldn’t quite imagine how that would have happened. Still, it was a possibility, however slim. Maybe the moment they reached land, someone in modern clothes would jump out, shout “surprise,” and explain that this was all some weird historical experiment.
He doubted it, of course. He wasn’t that lucky. But one could still hope.
And if not? If this really was Ancient Greece, if he and these tributes were truly being dragged to Crete to be fed to the Minotaur?
Well, if it came to it, he could still leave. The shadows were always there, ready to pull him into their embrace, ready to take him far from this ship and whatever nightmare waited on the other side of the waves. He could escape, and no one here could stop him.
But something about the thought didn’t sit right.
Nico wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or duty, or just his own stubbornness, but for now, he would stay.
He wasn’t ready to leave—not yet.
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His phone was gone.
Not that Nico had actually expected to find it in his pocket, but still, the realization stung more than it should have. The absence left him feeling irrationally annoyed—especially considering he’d never been one to use his phone all that much. But right now, even a few minutes of swiping through apps or playing one of the games Will had downloaded for him would have been a blessing.
But no, he was stuck on a creaky wooden ship in Ancient Greece, and as it turned out, traveling as a sacrificial tribute wasn’t nearly as dramatic or exciting as one might think.
Put shortly, Nico was bored out of his mind.
The hours dragged on, marked only by the rhythmic creak of the ship’s timbers and the steady crash of waves against the hull. There were no heroic speeches, no secret plotting, no whispers of rebellion. Just silence.
He glanced at the other prisoners. The boys kept their distance, their faces drawn and pale, their eyes shadowed with exhaustion and fear. Nico had tried striking up conversation a few times, but most of them either ignored him or offered terse, mumbled replies. They were either too scared or too resigned to bother with him.
The girls, huddled further down the hold, were no different. They whispered amongst themselves in low voices, their gazes darting nervously to the guards stationed above deck whenever the ship groaned particularly loudly.
For a moment, Nico once again considered just leaving. He could slip into the shadows, vanish into the void, and be halfway across the Aegean before anyone noticed. The idea was tempting, especially when the boredom started to gnaw at his nerves like a persistent itch.
But then he looked around again. He saw the young boys, some barely into their teens, their fear written plainly across their faces. He saw the girls further away, clutching each other as though the physical connection might keep the terror at bay. They didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know how to fight.
And that was the thing—Nico did.
So, with a sigh, he pushed the thought of leaving out of his mind.
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As it turned out, the situation was much more dire than Nico had first thought.
Or, depending on the perspective, perhaps better than he had expected.
It was all relative, he supposed, the line between catastrophe and opportunity. But either way, it certainly complicated things.
Because one of the hostages—one of the very boys sitting on the floor of this creaky ship—was none other than Prince Theseus.
And wasn’t that just a surprise.
Nico had caught on when the whispers started, subtle and reverent, passed between the others when they thought no one else was paying attention. They spoke his name with equal parts awe and disbelief, glancing occasionally at the broad-shouldered boy who sat near the center of the group, his posture upright even in this grim situation.
Prince Theseus. Hero of Athens. Destined to slay the Minotaur and emerge victorious from the labyrinth. Or so the myths went.
Nico let out a quiet breath, the realization settling over him like a weight. Was it relief? Anxiety? He couldn’t quite tell.
On one hand, the presence of Theseus meant their odds of survival might not be as hopeless as they seemed. If anyone could rally this terrified group of hostages and lead them to freedom, it was him. Perhaps Nico wouldn’t even need to interfere.
On the other hand... well, Theseus had a reputation. Arrogant. Impulsive. Reckless.
And like so many heroes of the Greek pantheon, he wasn’t here for the sake of others—he was here for one thing and one thing only: glory.
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The days passed in a blur.
Twice a day, soldiers descended into the hold to distribute bread and water. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep them alive, enough to ensure they would arrive in Crete hale and healthy. After all, no one wanted the sacrifices to die too soon.
Nico tried to keep track of time, counting the hours between meals or watching the light shift through the cracks in the wooden hull, but it all blended together in the end—an endless cycle of waiting, of despair and boredom. The sound of waves became a constant backdrop, lulling some of the tributes into uneasy sleep while others stared blankly into the dim, flickering shadows.
And then, finally, it happened.
The ship shuddered as it struck land, the creak and groan of its timbers accompanied by the distant bustle of activity. Shouts filtered down to the hold, followed by the heavy thud of boots descending the stairs.
The door swung open, and sunlight poured in, harsh and blinding after days in darkness. Nico squinted, shielding his eyes as the soldiers barked orders, dragging the tributes to their feet. Chains clinked and rattled as they were herded up the narrow staircase, one by one, out into the open air.
The first thing Nico noticed was the heat.
It pressed down on him like a physical weight, the sun blazing high in a cloudless sky. The salty tang of the sea filled his nose, mingling with the earthy scent of the docks and the faint, acrid tang of sweat.
And then there was Crete.
The city sprawled before him, a blend of beauty and menace. Towering, white-washed buildings lined the harbor, their walls bright against the deep blue of the sea. Narrow streets wound upward, packed with people bustling about their daily lives—merchants shouting over their wares, children darting between carts and stalls, soldiers patrolling in gleaming armor.
In the distance, high on a hill overlooking the city, stood the palace.
It was massive, its walls adorned with intricate frescoes and gleaming bronze accents. Even from this distance, Nico could feel its weight, its power. The center of King Minos’s rule—and the place where the labyrinth awaited.
The soldiers prodded them forward, their spears gleaming in the sunlight. The tributes stumbled along, silent and grim, their faces pale beneath the layers of grime from the voyage. Nico’s heart sank as he took it all in, the enormity of where they were and what awaited them finally settling like a stone in his chest.
This wasn’t just a myth anymore. This wasn’t a story he could walk away from.
This was real.
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They were paraded through the city.
The soldiers kept them in a tight formation, herding the tributes like livestock through the bustling streets. On either side, crowds gathered, curious and cruel eyes following their every step. Nico let himself be pushed forward, keeping his head down as he watched the proceedings with a detached curiosity.
He had been doing that for a while now—alternating between a deep-rooted anxiety and a numbing detachment, as if his mind couldn’t decide which one to cling to. At this point, neither felt particularly useful, though the detachment made it easier to keep moving.
Before they had left the ship, the soldiers had distributed clean clothing. Simple tunics and sandals, nothing fancy. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d spent the last four days sweating through his old clothes, Nico might have refused on principle.
He hated the new outfit. The tunic felt loose and unfamiliar, leaving too much of his skin exposed to the sun and the prying eyes of the crowd. He already missed his jeans and hoodie, the comfort of layers that felt like armor against the world.
And really, he thought with a faint, humorless smile, he needed to check his priorities.
He was about to face the Labyrinth, possibly fight the Minotaur, and yet here he was, griping about historical fashion choices.
Maybe this was how his brain was dealing with all this. Distraction. Dissociation. Mr. D had called it a coping mechanism once, back at camp, though he’d said it with all the sensitivity of someone reading a weather report.
The crowd grew louder as they neared the center of the city, shouts and jeers mingling with the occasional cheer. Nico tuned it all out, his eyes darting between the soldiers and the tributes.
The palace loomed closer, its grand entrance framed by towering columns and carved reliefs depicting glorious battles. A chill ran down Nico’s spine, though whether it was from fear or anticipation, he couldn’t quite tell.
The tributes were marched through the massive gates of the palace, the soldiers urging them forward with sharp commands. Nico took in the grandeur around him, but it was difficult to feel awe when the weight of their circumstances pressed so heavily on him.
The palace was an architectural marvel. Towering columns lined the courtyard, their surfaces carved with intricate depictions of gods, monsters, and the deeds of kings. Brightly colored frescoes adorned the walls, showing scenes of battle, harvest, and worship, their pigments vibrant even under the relentless sun. The floor beneath their sandaled feet gleamed with polished stone, smooth and cool despite the oppressive heat.
The tributes were ushered into a massive audience chamber, its vaulted ceiling high enough to make Nico feel small in comparison. Golden light poured in from open skylights, casting shifting patterns across the floor.
At the far end of the chamber sat Minos.
He looked almost exactly as Nico remembered, though younger, more vibrant, and far more imposing than he was as a ghost. Draped in richly embroidered robes and adorned with gleaming gold jewelry, Minos radiated power and arrogance. His graying beard was immaculately trimmed, and his dark, piercing eyes held a sharpness that seemed to cut through even the faintest pretense. Nothing escaped his notice.
Beside him, seated on a smaller yet equally ornate throne, was a woman Nico assumed to be Queen Pasiphaë. She was elegant and composed, her expression unreadable, but there was a certain hardness to her gaze that made Nico uneasy. Behind them, standing off to the side, were two young girls. Phaedra and Ariadne, Nico realized with a start.
He had met Mr. D’s wife a few times on Olympus, but seeing her younger—unburdened by the chaos of millennia—was a strange experience. She seemed almost... ordinary.
Not that he would ever dare to say that out loud. He doubted Mr. D would take well to anyone calling his wife boring.
The tributes were arranged in a line before the king, flanked on either side by heavily armed guards. Mino’s gaze swept over them, assessing, calculating, as though they were livestock at market rather than living, breathing people.
A herald stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. His voice boomed across the chamber, announcing the arrival of the tributes in a formal tone that made Nico’s stomach churn.
"Behold, great King Minos, the sacrifices from Athens, as decreed by your wisdom and might. Fourteen in number, as tribute for the crime of their people, and as offering to the Labyrinth."
Minos leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the distant murmur of the palace beyond. Then, Minos stood, his voice calm yet chilling in its authority.
"You have been brought here to fulfill a sacred duty," he said, addressing the line of tributes. "Your lives will serve a purpose far greater than yourselves, a testament to the power and justice of Crete."
Justice. The word twisted in Nico's mind, sour and bitter. He clenched his fists at his sides, biting his tongue to keep from saying something stupid.
Minos’s gaze lingered on each of them in turn, and when his eyes passed over Nico, they seemed to hesitate, just for a moment. Nico stiffened, unsure if the king had sensed something unusual about him or if it was just his paranoia talking.
"Take them to the holding chambers," Minos commanded, his voice like a blade cutting through the stillness. "Ensure they are prepared for the Labyrinth."
The soldiers stepped forward, seizing the tributes by their arms and forcing them to move. Nico’s legs obeyed automatically, but his mind raced, every instinct screaming at him to run, to hide, to fight back.
But he stayed silent, his face impassive as he was led away.
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Nico found Theseus sitting alone near the barred window of their holding chamber, his broad shoulders illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. The other tributes were scattered across the room, murmuring quietly or lost in their own thoughts, but Nico’s focus was on the prince.
He approached Theseus cautiously, the faint creak of his sandals on the uneven stone floor betraying his presence. Theseus turned at the sound, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as they landed on him. Even in the dim light of the chamber, the prince radiated an air of authority and confidence that set Nico’s teeth on edge.
“Is there something you need?” Theseus asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
Nico crossed his arms, leaning casually against the rough wall. “We need a plan if we want to get everyone out of this alive.”
Theseus frowned, the lines in his face deepening. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Nico said, his tone steady. “We need a plan.” He deliberately emphasized the ‘we’.
Theseus let out a sharp laugh, the sound more derisive than amused. “We?” he repeated, shaking his head. “There is no we. And for your information, I already have a plan. A solid one. And it certainly doesn’t involve an urchin the guards scraped off the streets of Athens.”
Nico stiffened, the words striking a nerve. He pushed off the wall, standing straighter, his dark eyes narrowing. “That’s how you think I got here?” he said evenly, though his voice carried a dangerous undertone.
Theseus shrugged, clearly unbothered by the tension. "Isn't it? The guards said they found you abandoned on the streets like a dog. Be grateful they thought you'd make a decent enough tribute to fill their quota."
Well, that was rude. And worse, it wasn’t even far from the truth. Nico had no memory of how he’d ended up on the ship, but the idea of being dragged off as some pitiful stray didn’t sit well with him.
“You really think you’re going to take down the Minotaur on your own?” Nico asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
Theseus’s jaw tightened. “I’ve been training for this my entire life,” he said sharply. “I don’t need help from a boy who can’t even hold his footing on a rocking ship.”
The words stung, but Nico refused to flinch. For a moment, the two stood in a silent standoff, their gazes locked. The tension between them was almost tangible, like the charged air before a thunderstorm.
Nico opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Theseus’s face stopped him cold. The sheer stubbornness there was impenetrable, a wall of unshakable arrogance. Any words would bounce right off.
After a beat, Theseus rolled his eyes and turned away, the dismissal in his movement as sharp as his words. “Stay out of my way,” he called over his shoulder, his voice dripping with finality. “I don’t have time to babysit.”
Nico clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he watched Theseus walk off. Arrogant, reckless, and too blind to see that he might actually need help. Typical hero, Nico thought bitterly. Always convinced they could carry the world on their shoulders—right up until it crushed them.
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He should leave. Why didn’t he just leave?
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He had nowhere to go.
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That night, sleep did not come easily. The stone floor was unforgiving, the air heavy with the quiet sounds of restless breathing and the occasional shift of bodies. Nico drifted in and out, his dreams tangled and uneasy, filled with flashes of labyrinthine corridors and shadowy beasts.
A faint murmur pulled him from the edge of sleep.
At first, he thought it was part of the dream—a lingering echo—but as his mind sharpened, he realized it was real. Voices, low and urgent, cutting through the stillness of the night.
He lay still, straining to listen, his heart picking up pace as the realization hit him. One of the voices was familiar.
Ariadne.
The other, rougher, carried a tone of self-assuredness that set his teeth on edge. Theseus.
Nico turned his head slightly, careful not to make a sound. The voices were close, somewhere beyond the barred door of their chamber. He couldn’t make out their words, no matter how he strained, only the cadence of their conversation—a mixture of urgency and intent.
What were they talking about?
He shifted slightly, trying to inch closer without drawing attention, but it was no use. The words were muffled, swallowed by the stone walls and the whisper of the night breeze.
The conversation ended as abruptly as it had begun, the voices fading into the distance.
At the very least, Nico consoled himself, their means of escaping seemed to be in motion.
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The next day, they were marched into the shadowy depths of the Labyrinth.