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His limbs ache with dull pulses of pain alighting up and down his arms from the top of his shoulders to the tips of his fingers.
His body evidently refusing to simply forget the battle between life or death he had recently fought on the shores of Santa Monica. The way Anaklusmos rattled in his hold as it clanged against the weapon wielded by War himself. The way he could feel his heart in his throat as he catalogued every detail of just how close he was to being turned into Ares’ latest shishkabob. The power and vigor he felt thrum in his veins when the ocean obeyed his call and his sword sunk into the flesh of the god drawing forth ichor.
Yeah, kinda hard to forget that. Paired with the mortals absolutely losing their minds in the background as police cars exploded from a simple wave of Ares’ arm.
Thankfully the whole ‘Percy Jackson is a delinquent child terrorist’ thing has been put to rest across the United States’ media. Ares took all the blame on that one.
Yet he couldn’t leave the shores feeling any better truthfully. Not even Annabeth’s gesture with her Camp necklace nor Grover’s decree of the backing of the Satyrs could put his heart at ease. For the darkness that was cast across the shore, the darkness that forced the embodiment of war to stand down from a battle, was the same darkness that emanated from the pit in the Underworld. From Tartarus.
Percy can taste the name on his tongue but for once he does not voice it aloud.
The elevator continues to ascend, numbers flicking by at a rapid rate on the control display as floor after floor is passed.
The wait to get to floor 600, the abode of the gods, Olympos itself, is proving to do little to calm his nerves.
His hands clutch the backpack straps wrapped around his torso firmly. The object inside the backpack, the Master Bolt, thrums with wicked energy. As though sensing it will soon be returned to its rightful owner.
Percy exhales slowly feeling his lungs shudder at the action. His eyes stay glued to the floor display counter. Watching it tick by closer and closer in efforts to ignore how he has the equivalent of a nuclear bomb strapped to his back. Has for a while now that he thinks about it.
The object of his quest. The Master Bolt. Zeus’ symbol of power. Whose disappearance almost threw all of Olympos into a war that was sure to rival if not surpass the Trojan one.
A chill tickles the back of Percy’s neck as he pretends not to notice the small hum coming from the backpack. It’s like the thing is itching to be done with him. Sick of being passed from wrongful hand to wrongful hand. In Percy’s hands. In Ares’ hands. And almost in Hades’ hands.
A frown twitches at Percy’s lips as his fingers curl, itching to uncap the pen in his pocket. But just whose hands had taken it originally?
It couldn’t have been a god. That’s become clear. As usual, the gods seek the half-bloods to do their meddling. Relying on their children to stain their hands instead of their own. To risk their lives just to appease the gods’ whims.
The frown sinks firmer into Percy’s lips as a new yet familiar flame of irritation blazes in his chest.
They’re pawns. And Percy is the biggest example of them right now. He’s nearly been killed ten times over in the past week and a half. And yeah, he mostly did it for his mother. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that a small part of him liked the idea. The idea of being useful. Of being a hero. Percy’s never known the taste of success. He’s only ever been a failure. So sue him for wanting to not fail for once.
Hero or not, he’s done exactly what the gods wanted of him. Retrieved the missing symbols of power. Hades should already have his now and Zeus will be soon to follow.
Yeah. He can almost understand it. Wanting to rebel. To incite the conflict. To piss off the gods. But in the end it only seems to make the demigods suffer more, so is it really worth it?
And well, the gods have yet to possess the same evil edge that the voice from the pit does. He can’t see how obeying that is any better than serving the gods. The gods being the lesser of two evils or whatever.
Percy sways in place, shifting his weight back and forth on his heels. He wishes he could recall that other voice from his dream better. The one that called Kronos ‘my lord’. Claiming Percy was ‘as ignorant as the rest’.
Which means this person must be an insider. They’re probably at Camp right now. Walking around the place like they just didn’t endanger everyone inside of it.
His teeth grit together where they’re clenched as his fingers curl into fists along the backpack straps. That’s step two he supposes after diffusing the immortal hotheads in Olympos. Go back to Camp and figure out how to weed out the double agent without tipping them off.
Gods, it’s hard to believe his biggest worry was passing pre-algebra a while ago.
Almost too soon a dinging sound echoes throughout the elevator and the doors begin to slide open.
Percy winces as light pours through the elevator door crack and finds a million questions whizzing through his mind. What will he be facing when he goes to deliver the bolt back? Will they even let him explain everything or will Zeus kill him on the spot? He already tried it with the bus. Percy imagines being within a couple feet of his brother’s forbidden child will only piss the god off more.
And will his dad be there to watch his demise? Will he defend Percy? Or will he sit back and do nothing…?
Will the other gods be there too? Annabeth’s mom? Luke’s dad? Clarisse’s dad better not show his face if he knows what’s good for him. Percy doesn’t care that the God of War placed a curse on him. For all he cares Ares is just one big bully. And Percy has never had a problem putting bullies in their place.
The thoughts are chased away as his feet kick into gear and subconsciously force him forward.
The sight is amazing. It’s a bright, golden and silver glorious city sitting on top of the peaks of a mountain. Everything about it is beautiful. From the architecture to the people. The people…? Or gods maybe? That are currently staring at him with curious gazes as he forces himself forward further into the heart of the place.
Percy has never quite exactly felt like he’s fit in well…anywhere. But here? Yeah, no. His grimy sneakers should have never been allowed to step on Olympos’ polished floors.
He keeps his head down, feeling a flush climb up from his chest to the tips of his ears as a wave of embarrassment encases him. Really he should be too tired and fed up to feel such things but emotions have a funny way of never obeying him.
He does look up when he comes face to face with the throne room. A massive room with enormous columns that rise to a domed ceiling where the ancient constellations are displayed. Twelve thrones that dwarf his human-sized self sit inside the room accompanied by a crackling fire settled in the central hearth pit.
Two of them, are occupied.
The presence of them alone is oppressing enough to instantly cause a headache to bloom behind his eyes. He just barely resists clutching his head from the pain to avoid appearing any more like the vulnerable child he knows he is.
Better to play up the idea of being a hero and retriever of the Master bolt than to highlight the truth that he’s a twelve year old kid in high need of a shower and a week’s worth of sleep. And his Mom. A swirl of agony pulses in Percy’s heart at the reminder of leaving her behind in Hades’ realm.
‘And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.’
The prophecy words taste like ash but Percy forces himself to swallow them as he refocuses on the situation at hand to the best of his abilities.
His eyes go to the left first. Drawn innately to the direction. Instantly he knows who he’s looking upon as the god remains sitting in his throne towering above Percy.
His father. Poseidon.
He’s in mid conversation with the god to his right. Face scrunched in displeasure as his hand grasps a vibrant trident. He’s speaking in rapid fire ancient greek. Percy is just barely able to catch a few of the words through the pulsating pain echoing in his head.
‘Mine’ ‘More careful’ ‘War’.
The last word is enough to rattle Percy out of whatever pain trance he’d begun to fall into.
He’s unsure if he’s so puny and insignificant that his father and the god beside him seriously can not even sense Percy, or they’ve deemed him not important enough to even acknowledge.
The answer is truly debatable. Both options viable.
So Percy does the first thing he can think of to get their attention. He coughs awkwardly in the grand space. The moment the noise leaves his lips it echoes around the room sounding so pitiful and weak it causes Percy to wince. So much for the whole hero display. He can practically hear Annabeth back at camp chastizing him.
Instantly the weight of their gazes falls on him. One shines with familiarity that it has no right to. The moment their eyes meet Percy finds his own gaze darting away in avoidance. Unwilling to unpack his feelings on his godly father in the moment.
Naturally, his eyes find the other god in the room. The King of Gods looks a lot like Percy presumed he would. Regal and imposing. Sitting proud atop his throne in the center of the room. His eyes the gray of a rumbling thunderstorm painting the heavens.
Percy blinks. Once. Twice. His fingers twitch around the backpack straps nervously.
For the gaze which he expects to be met with is not there. He expects hatred, wrath, disgust, and a plethora of other negative emotions to be brewing in the Storm God’s eyes.
But instead, Zeus’ eyes are widened in shock. His lips are parted as though stunned into silence. The conversation between him and Poseidon effectively dying in an instant.
Zeus stares at him like he’s seen a ghost. Gray eyes rake over Percy’s face like it’s the greatest puzzle he’s ever encountered. It takes everything in Percy not to hightail it out of there as Zeus’ eyes bore into his own. For while the god’s gaze had traced every part of Percy’s face, it particularly lingered repeatedly on his eyes.
What confuses Percy the most is the god’s own eyes. They also look at Percy with a familiarity that shouldn’t be there. But this one is vastly different than his father’s. This one looks to Percy with a deep seated desperation and longing. As though Percy is the treasure Zeus has been hellbent on retrieving and not the bolt strapped to his back.
Yet there’s an overwhelming outpouring of disbelief tainting the desperation. Like Percy’s image is a trick. A mirage. A taunting toward the god.
Faintly Percy wonders if he should’ve tried to wash his face in the airplane bathroom before daring to enter Olympos.
Poseidon’s voice breaks the heavy atmosphere with an apprehensive air to it, “Brother-“
But Zeus raises a hand towards Poseidon, instructing him to halt all further speech.
Zeus’ eyes never leave Percy’s as he rises from his throne. Percy doesn’t even have a chance to blink before he’s scooped off the ground indignantly via a large godly hand.
Percy splutters as he latches onto an oversized finger in favor of plummeting to his death.
He’s raised before the god’s face. Apparently inspecting him from a distance wasn’t adequate to Zeus. The god’s eyes rove over Percy as his lips twitch as though unsure whether to frown or smile at what’s before him.
Zeus’ eyes never leave Percy’s as his accusing tone cuts across the space directed at his brother, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Poseidon lets out a deep sigh as he mumbles somewhat half heartedly, “Must you have snatched him in your hand? He’s twelve, you know.”
Zeus makes a scoffing sound as he finally directs his gaze away from Percy, “Is he truly?”
He looks back to Percy who is seriously considering if jumping off the god’s hand may be the better option at this point.
“They look so alike. You know I spent the longest with her-“
Poseidon huffs irritably while muttering, “Oh here we go again. The ‘favorite’.”
But Zeus pays no mind to the comment as he continues, “She’s been gone for so long…and now”, he waves his other hand in Percy’s direction, “him.”
As though ‘him’ totally explains the insanity going down right now.
Poseidon nods his head. Huh, guess it does explain it. To everyone except Percy apparently.
Percy, in a notion that could be described as either bravery or stupidity, decides to break the increasingly strange atmosphere, “Um…I brought your bolt…”
Zeus rolls his eyes at Percy. Rolls. His. Eyes.
If Percy didn’t feel so faint he’d flip the god off.
Zeus waves him off condescendingly, “Yes yes I know, I felt it when you entered my skies.”
Percy’s face gains a slight green tinge at the reminder of his first time spent in a plane.
As though Percy hadn’t spoken Zeus resumes conversing with his brother, “Is it possible for a reincarnation?”
Poseidon raises an eyebrow at his brother’s words. His worried gaze falls onto Percy, cataloguing the child’s features carefully, “I believe it unlikely…although I suppose it is not out of the realm of possibility.”
Frustration grows inside Percy as he’s able to follow this conversation even less than the rapid ancient one from when he’d first entered the room.
Well, might as well try another route. A heavy hitter to knock some sense into their minds.
With little restraint Percy announces before the two gods, “Kronos is attempting to rise.”
Zeus hisses not unlike a disgruntled cat. Hackles raised and irritation pulsing off his entire being with a vengeance.
Poseidon simply shoots Percy a reprimanding look, “Do not speak names so freely, Percy.”
Zeus is not appeased by the simple reprimand. His hand jerks to bring Percy even closer to him, as though shielding Percy from some unknown threat. His voice has a panicked edge to it as he speaks fervorishly, “What do you know of Father? Is he bothering you? Does he know of you?”
Percy’s mouth goes dry as he recalls the dream with Kronos catching him, and the instance where Kronos literally tried to drag him down into the pit outside of Hades’ palace.
“Um…”, he shrugs half-heartedly, “maybe?”
Zeus is silent. The seconds pass by tensely. It feels like they bleed into minutes as a rumbling noise echoes across all of Olympos. Zeus clicks his tongue, “No.”
Poseidon rises from his throne, striding to his brother with trident menacingly in hand, “You cannot act alone on your suspicions. Perseus must return to Camp with the rest of the half-bloods.”
Zeus’ voice is as venomous as the chimera, “You truly wish for that, brother?”
Poseidon grits his teeth, as though the words are hard to force through them, “Yes.”
Zeus stares down at Percy long and hard. Percy’s never felt smaller and grander at the same time. Zeus looks at him seeing someone else. Someone important and dear to him. It’s greatly misplaced.
“A traitor remains in our midst.”
Percy pipes up at that, more than ready to throw Ares to the wolves, “Ares is.”
The two gods stare at Percy with trepidation.
Percy’s gaze doesn’t stray away, “The traitor I mean. Ares is the traitor.”
Zeus’ eyes gain a hardness to them that hadn’t been there before. He exchanges a silent conversation with Poseidon that Percy cannot begin to know how to decipher.
That seems to be the theme here since the beginning of the interaction. Leaving Percy in the dark.
Apparently uninterested in addressing the Ares’ sized elephant in the room Zeus continues speaking of the previous topic, “If there’s even a chance-“
Poseidon cuts him off gruffly, “Then we’ll act. Keep in mind, as reluctant as I am to remind you, the threat of the Great Prophecy looms.”
Zeus appears disgruntled at the words but he nods to his brother, acknowledging the words.
Speaking of the Great Prophecy isn’t a great sign to Percy. Maybe they really are gonna kill him right here and now. For the Great Prophecy paints him as the doom of Olympos.
As though it pains him to do so, Zeus lowers Percy back to the ground. The urge to kiss it is strong but he refrains.
Wordlessly Zeus plucks the backpack off Percy’s shoulders. More careful and gentle in the action than Percy would have ever anticipated.
Moments after, the Bolt shimmers and crackles in Zeus’ raised hand. Though the god doesn’t appear too interested in it. Which, kind of pisses Percy off considering everything he had to go through to get it in his hand.
Zeus thankfully lowers his raised weapon-equipped hand. His eyes pin Percy in place as the word wavers slightly from where it leaves his lips, “Go.”
Percy tilts his head, that’s it? No thanks? Or threats even? No warnings?
Zeus’ eyes narrow at Percy, “Before I change my mind.”
Percy takes that to mean ‘Leave before I turn you into a pile of ash at my feet’. Unknowing that the reality of the situation couldn’t be farther from the notion.
So he bows, and spends little haste in booking it out of the throne room as gracefully as he can. As he leaves the area his ears pick up the faint noise of a conversation,
“So much like mother…”
Percy slows down in his mad dash to exist Olympos as the words sink into his mind. He quickly realizes he doesn’t like the conclusion he’s coming to as he recalls the strange conversation his Dad and Zeus had while he lay in the mercy of the god’s hand.
Percy shakes his head roughly, there’s more important things to worry about right now.
Percy’s almost as shocked as Zeus was to see his mother again shortly after.