The Winds Of Heaven (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

2. Storm Spirits

Y/N was dreaming.

This time it wasn't the usual visions foreshadowing his future, though. There was no giant double-headed serpent, no fall into a bottomless abyss, no vision of Ethan, no vision of his own death. Now he stood in his cabin, awake in the dream but conscious he was actually lying in his bed.

Hera's cabin was as cold as a freezer, with a circle of white columns around a central statue of the goddess, ten feet tall, seated on a throne in flowing golden robes. What caught Y/N's attention weren't the robes, however, but the colors. Normally the statue was white with blank eyes, yet in the dream it was brightly painted so it looked almost human. Hera's piercing eyes seemed to follow Y/N.

At the goddess's feet, a fire burned in a bronze brazier. Y/N had never tended it; it never extinguished. A stone hawk sat on Hera's shoulder, and in her hand was a staff topped with a lotus flower. The goddess's hair was done in black plaits. Y/N had always thought the colorless statue looked gentle in a motherly way. But this painted statue was different. Her face smiled, but the eyes were cold and calculating, as if she were saying: Mother knows best. Now don't cross me or I will have to step on you.

Y/N noticed something else was off. Except for the columns, the statue, and the brazier, there was nothing else—no bed, no furniture, no bathroom, nothing that anyone could actually use to live. The cabin looked just like it had looked when he'd first slept inside—like a tomb.

Suddenly Hera's marble body stiffened, and she grabbed Y/N by the shoulders.

Y/N tried to back away, but his mother's hands were like steel clamps.

Free me. Her voice seemed to come from far away, down a long, echoing pipe. Free me, Y/N, or the earth shall swallow us. It must be by the solstice.

The room started spinning. Y/N tried to get free from his mother's grip, but no use. The thin trail of smoke curling above the brazier thickened and closed on them; he was no longer sure whether he was dreaming or not. The throne started rocking back and forth. The statue's eyes bored into his. Its mouth opened again, its breath like horribly thick perfume now. It spoke in the same echoing voice: Our enemies stir. The fiery one is only the first. Bow to his will, and their king shall rise, dooming us all. Go to the Grand Canyon. Find the boy with one shoe. He will be the solution to your problems. FREE ME!

Y/N's knees buckled, and everything went black.

Y/N opened his eyes and jumped out of his bed.

Next instant, he almost fell head first on the ground. He'd gotten up so fast that his head spun and spots floated across his vision. He caught hold of the night table to stop himself from falling. He wiped off his forehead; he was soaked in sweat and out of breath, as if he'd just run a marathon.

Though it was hard, he breathed deeply. His brain drove in the fast lane and he barely managed to calm down. What was that dream? What did it mean? Why now? In his state, just out of bed and half asleep, he was in no shape to find any answer.

Eventually he relaxed. He glanced at the Hera statue. It was back to normal—pure white and unmoving. Yet he couldn't shake off the feeling that the second he'd turn from it, it would raise from the throne and shake him some more, just to be sure he'd got it.

He quickly took a shower, dressed up, and got out of the cabin.

Everyone was going to the dining pavilion for breakfast. He joined the other campers and walked up the hill.

As soon as he came to the pavilion, he knew something had happened. Because of Percy's missing, everyone had been gloomy the last few days. But now, something about the atmosphere was different—campers were talking faster, and they went from one table to another even though it was more or less forbidden. Just as Y/N sat down, Annabeth slid along the bench next to him.