something new | pjo

xix. a different inheritance

xix. a different inheritance

Night had already swallowed San Francisco by the time the Sopwith Camel wobbled down onto Crissy Field. The little biplane looked impossibly fragile against the sweep of fog and the glowing teeth of the Golden Gate Bridge, but it landed with a surprising grace, like some forgotten relic from a war museum came to life.

Annabeth was already sprinting toward the pilot. "Dad!" She threw herself at him with the kind of abandon Daphne rarely associated with Annabeth Chase.

Dr. Chase—tweed jacket, spectacles askew, smelling faintly of machine oil and academia—caught his daughter in an embrace that was both awkward and heart-wrenchingly earnest.

"You flew," Annabeth gushed, her voice higher than usual. "You shot—oh my gods, Dad, that was amazing!"

He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, not terrible for a middle-aged mortal. Though the Camel's fuel mixture nearly gave me a heart attack."

Daphne tilted her head, folding her arms. The blush, the sparkle in his eyes, the way he casually undercut his own brilliance—it clicked why Athena, of all goddesses, might've found him tolerable. The man radiated eccentric genius.

Athena, really? You could've picked a general, or a statesman. Instead you went for the type of man who melts bronze in his garage. Then again... maybe that was the point.

Annabeth pressed him. "But the bullets—you had celestial bronze?"

Dr. Chase cleared his throat, careful not to meet her eyes. "You left some... weapons behind, the last time you departed." He said it with a scholar's precision, deliberately sidestepping the words and ran away. "I thought I'd... experiment a little. Melt some down and forge them into bullet casings. For research."

He said it like it was no big deal, but he had a gleam in his eye. He was an excellent mad scientist at heart.

"Dad..." Annabeth faltered.

The gleam in his eye made Daphne smirk. Yes. Definitely Athena's type. The tweed covers the madness.

But before she could settle in to enjoy the reunion, Thalia's sharp voice cut across the field. "Annabeth, Percy, Daphne."

They all turned. Thalia was kneeling beside Zoe Nightshade, Artemis at her side. The huntress looked... wrong. Her bronze skin was ashen. The faint silvery aura that had clung to her since the Garden of the Hesperides had thinned to almost nothing.

Daphne stopped dead. She already knew what was coming. She hated deathbed scenes—too raw, too human. Her father's world was full of glorious battles, victories, and the occasional casualty who could be chalked up as an honorable offering. But this? Watching someone unravel? She preferred distance.

Annabeth rushed forward with Percy. Daphne stayed where the shadows pooled, arms wrapped tight across her chest.

"Can't you heal her?" Percy's voice cracked. "You're a goddess."

Artemis's face was as unreadable as the moon. "Life is delicate. If the Fates will a string to be cut, even I cannot retie it. But..." Her silver hand hovered above Zoe. "But I can try."

Artemis tried to set her hand on Zoe's side, but Zoe gripped her wrist. She looked into the goddess's eyes, and some kind of understanding passed between them.

Zoe whispered. "No. My lady... have I served thee well?"

The way Artemis's expression softened made Daphne's throat tighten despite herself. "With great honor. The finest of my attendants."