How can one ever understand the idea of betrayal?
The meaning, the motivation, the way it feels?
They can't.
At least, not until it happens to them. Not until their trust is wrenched away and shredded apart—until their walls of strength have been meticulously picked at so that with a single push, they all come crumbling down.
There's a pause.
And then everything hits like a tidal wave.
Water rushes over their body, drowning out the noise of the surrounding world; oxygen dissipates, the pressure of the deep pushing on their lungs and forcing suffocation; salt burns their eyes and washes into the new and carefully-crafted wounds, creating a pain so terrible and perfect because it was designed just for them.
And all the betrayer will do is smile at their work and revel in the pride of their accomplishment.
(Y/N)'s lips turn up with a cynical glee, her laugh resounding through the silent cave as she faces the demigods that so foolishly trusted her. They simply stare, shocked beyond belief.
Luke grins at the horrified teenagers, walking down the extended overhang of the cliff wall to stand beside (Y/N). His eyes darken at the beauty of his checkmate.
(Y/N)'s laugh tapers off, ending with an amused sigh as she looks down to the Golden Fleece in her arms. Ticking her tongue, she tilts her head at the group while opening her arms slightly. "Surprise."
Clarisse's heart pounds in her ears, her breaths becoming heavier and more weighted. Muscles beginning to tremble, her hands curling into fists, she glares at the girl with whom she believed to finally bury the hatchet—the girl who gave her the reassurance that their petty competition wasn't worth anything.
The liar who made her start to believe that she was enough, not just as a daughter of Ares, but as Clarisse La Rue.
Tyson's eye stings, his lower lip beginning to quiver as he clenches his jaw. His cheeks burn with humiliation, breaths shaky and air suddenly too thin to fill his lungs. She told him that he was good; she told him he wasn't a monster; she was the first person that seemed to truly accept him.
She acted like he was her friend.
He fights a sniffle as (Y/N) looks directly at him, an eyebrow raised.
"Oh, please. Don't tell me you're gonna cry." She scoffs, rolling her eyes at his state. "Come on, Tyson. Did you really think I meant anything I said? That's pathetic."
Grover snaps his head up, eyes wide. He swallows thickly, taking a deep breath to calm himself before he places a hand on Tyson's bicep, the Cyclops looking down to his feet in shame. Grover shakes his head, blinking furiously and gritting his teeth, his muscles flexing on their own accord. When he looks back up at (Y/N), who already awaits his attention, the intensity of her gaze shocks him back into the past.
He was nine.
There had been a girl with twinkling (Y/E/C) eyes. The girl who looks at him right now, yet at the same time, a different one. She had bounded up to him with a smile, quite literally bouncing with excitement. She'd shaken his hand enthusiastically, introducing herself with the brightest smile he'd ever seen.
"It's your first day, right? I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!" she says, and Grover gives her a nervous smile.
"Yeah, uh . . . yeah; I'm Grover Underwood."
(Y/N)'s smile grows wider, her arms swinging at her sides. "It's nice to meet you!"
"Thanks, um, you- you, too."
(Y/N)'s grin falls slightly at the hesitant response, and she takes in the boy's nervous posture. Only he wasn't a boy at all, because as she follows his gaze to his feet, she finds . . . hooves.
Her excited demeanor fades to become more relaxed, and she takes a step sideways. "I like your horns," she says, sitting on his bench a few inches away to give him space.
Grover looks up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't- I don't have my horns yet." He chuckles with uncertainty, rubbing the back of his neck.
(Y/N) shrugs, looking out at the demigods and satyrs bustling around the evening bonfire. "I know," she says, glancing at him. "But I still like them. They'll be really pretty when you get them, I already know."
Grover's cheeks warm, and he smiles. "Thank you. I, uh, I like your nails." He gestures to the polish on her fingers, messy flowers painted on each one. "Green's my favorite color."
(Y/N) stretches her arms in front of her and wiggles her fingers, letting the shiny surface catch on the firelight. "Thanks!" She grins, her eyes glittering with happiness.
The sheer, unrestrained joy in her following rambles makes Grover smile, the expression sticking on his face for the rest of the evening.
The satyr's shoulders slump at the memory. Her happiness then was pure, unadulterated—now, the smile is almost maniacal, the eyes taunting.
He feels sick.
Annabeth's stomach twists, her head pounding as her mind reels. Usually, everything was clear; but now, now her thoughts are slow, her impulses frozen, her eyes focusing only on Luke and the girl standing next to him. It all feels like . . . déjà vu.
Again.
How many times did this have to happen to her?
A small girl, only seven years old, runs through the less-populated areas of a small town in Virginia without pause.
Her hair is unruly and windswept, her legs tired and weak, her throat burning with every inhalation—yet she keeps on running.
He didn't want her. None of them did.
Their screams from the most recent monster attack echo in her mind. Her eyes prick with tears, the wind blowing them onto her temples and into her hair as she sobs. Her throat begins to close, her breaths choking, and she slows her frantic run to a reluctant halt.
She'd overheard her father whispering in frantic tones to her stepmother as they spoke in the kitchen just over one hour ago. He'd said that she was a liability.
Normal children wouldn't know what that word even meant.
She wasn't as lucky.
Swiping her arm under her nose, Annabeth sniffles, desperately trying to breathe. Dabbing her sleeves under her eyes, she looks around the deserted square before hugging her arms to herself and continuing at a walk. Her backpack tugs at her muscles, but she ignores the pain in her spine.
She couldn't—shouldn't—stop.
They didn't want her; they never did.
So she left, betrayed by her own father. And she never looked back.
If Annabeth was lucky, that would have been the only time she experienced such heartbreak.
Unfortunately for her, the world is a cruel place.
She felt the pain again because of a boy who she thought was part of her family—the one that wouldn't leave her no matter the circumstance. Her real family.
Luke Castellan destroyed that hope.
The wind whips through Annabeth's hair once more, dagger in hand as she looks at the lightning thief.
Luke's body hovers in the air, his winged shoes challenging her and Percy as they stand at the top of the Empire State Building. "You lost your chance, Jackson!" he calls down, arms opened in the presentation of his glory. "It's too late for you to stop me."
"What was the point of all this?" Percy shouts, furious. "What do you stand to gain?"
Luke tilts his head in incredulity. "I gain everything," he says, Zeus' master bolt seeming to glow brighter while in his hand. "I get revenge on my father. I get the power of Olympus' king. I get my chance to stop those tyrants from causing more death and destruction." His grip on the bolt tightens, as does Annabeth's hold on her dagger. "Don't you get it, Jackson? They don't care about you. They were willing to kill you without any proof of guilt. How can you stand against me?"
"Because I know that this only leads to more suffering!" Percy retorts, Riptide forming in his hand. "You might get those things for a short while, sure, but you can't destroy the gods! They'll fight back! Is that what you want?"
The corner of Luke's mouth quirks up, and his voice lowers slightly. "I'm counting on it."
Annabeth scoffs, earning his attention. "I can't believe you!" she exclaims, shaking her head. "After all these years?"
Luke's expression sees no change as Annabeth's eyes soften.
"You don't need power. You don't need to prove to anyone that the gods have made things shitty because we already know that. Everyone at camp knows that. By doing this, you're putting them all in danger. Travis, Chris, Grover, (Y/N)."
Luke's grip on the bolt relaxes.
"No one benefits from this, Luke," Annabeth pleads, "so come home."
"That is no home!" Luke retorts. "That place shouldn't have to be a home."
Annabeth swallows thickly. "Luke, don't say that. Please don't say that."
"What? The truth?"
"You're right, you are, but this just isn't the solution. Don't do this to us—don't do this to her."
Luke tilts his head, any signs of doubt disappearing within that very instant. "Can't you see?" he asks, his voice low. "I'm doing this for her."
Without a moment's hesitation, he flies forward and extends the bolt, lightning shooting towards both half-bloods as he passes above them. Percy and Annabeth dive to opposite sides, the son of Poseidon hurriedly reaching for his own pair of winged Converse while Annabeth clutches the edge's railing, seeing Luke's silhouette watch them from afar.
Her chest constricts just as it did that fateful day nine years ago.
Just as it does right now.
(Y/N) fakes a pout at Annabeth. "'We always assumed we'd go down together or remain invincible'," she quotes, pausing before she shrugs with nonchalance. "Wishful thinking, Annie."
"Don't call me that," Annabeth breathes out, her grey eyes reflecting hopelessness instead of their usual determination. "Don't. You don't—" She shakes her head, folding her lips inward to keep them from quivering. She takes a deep breath when the familiar pressure of Grover's hand falls on her shoulder, squeezing it gently to remind her that he hasn't left her like everyone else.
Intrigued, (Y/N) turns her focus to Percy.
His face remains stoic, his eyes the only indication of any emotion: instead of bright sea-green, there swims a murky blue.
His breaths are even, his gaze steady, his body completely still.
Unfortunately, she taught him that trick.
(Y/N)'s eyes flash gold, a woven barrier of vines materializing on the cliff edge to block the ropes of water created from the rushing stream at the bottom of the ravine. Immediately, Luke's sidekicks rush to restrain the five, pinning their arms behind their backs with iron grips.
No one makes an effort to resist, knowing their disadvantage.
Percy's eyes turn sad.
He knew it was coming.
He'd pieced together that section of the prophecy after his foresight presented her in a dream, standing at Luke's side as she does now. It's why he'd tried to cherish every moment until it happened, holding out hope that it wouldn't actually be real.
"How long?" is all Percy asks, looking at (Y/N) in desperation.
In response, she hums softly, thinking. Shrugging, she returns her full attention to him, her answer making his stomach twist. "How long have I been sided with Luke? Since we were on the yacht. How long have I planned to destroy the gods? Since before I met you. Really just . . . when I died. Or after, when I didn't even get an attempt at a funeral."
Annabeth snaps her head up, furrowing her eyebrows. Grover glances at her in acknowledgment, his gaze flitting unsurely to the girl clad in leather.
Luke looks at (Y/N), an eyebrow arching very slightly.
"I understood at six that no one wanted me," (Y/N) says, her grip on the Fleece tightening in anger. "I learned at fourteen that the majority of gods would rather us be dead than be given another chance at life. Why should I have accepted that—believed that the gods had our best interests in mind? It's a stupid idea. However, when Luke stole Zeus' bolt, I was fully on your side to prove your innocence."
Percy blinks, Annabeth and Grover turning their heads to her in surprise.
(Y/N) rolls her eyes at their reaction. "Not for the reason you might think, so just . . . chill."
Dismissively waving them off, she continues:
"I wanted to get the bolt, for obvious reasons, before making my way to Olympus. The fact that you were accused worked perfectly. I thought it'd be good to have you on my side. A son of Poseidon, someone who had to deal with the effects of the gods' neglect firsthand for sixteen years: an abusive stepfather, lies about who you really were, the supposed death of your mother, a Minotaur attack, being unjustly accused—it would have been the perfect motivation for you to join me. I was only frustrated that Luke hadn't told me his plan so we could coordinate.
"But you? Gods, you just had to be stubborn." (Y/N) shakes her head, her jaw set. "You were so desperate to return the bolt to smooth things over instead of using its power to teach the gods a lesson. I swear, it drove me up the fucking wall. I wanted to steal the bolt from you, then and there, but I couldn't without being suspicious.
"I had to keep up my act and stay in the Underworld after you left. I knew that three pearls weren't enough from the beginning, yet you idiots didn't even do the math and acknowledge it. Even Annabeth!"—(Y/N) scoffs as the daughter of Athena glances away in shame—"You trusted my word so much that you overlooked what was staring you right in the face.
"I had the perfect plan. You were supposed to stay behind, Percy. I would be there, changing your perspective while the gods descended into war. Then Grover stepped up in your place and ruined everything.
"I couldn't abandon my 'best friend' in Hell while I escaped without good reason; one of you, possibly even Persephone, would've smelled something. So, I was forced to hope that he"—she gestures at Luke beside her—"would put up a big enough fight that would get you out of my way. It should have been easy, considering that you were naive and untrained, but apparently I was wrong."
She flashes Percy a sarcastic grin. "You thought you killed Luke, and I lost a potential alliance with him before it was even formed. Then you returned the bolt and the gods didn't end up destroying themselves, so it was just another loss for me. However . . . I still had your trust. Poseidon suddenly stopped reaching out to you. I figured that I could salvage the situation. And you were so easy to manipulate."
(Y/N) chuckles, thinking back. "Flattery is your kryptonite, Percy, and you didn't even try to hide it."
His mind flashes with memories.
On the dock behind his cabin, where he was reading the letter she'd left behind, his heart wrenching at the thought of her clinging onto life in the infirmary. Her words had made his eyes go glassy by the first sentence. The later ones gave him hope. 'I've said it before, and because I believe it, I'll say it again. You're special, Percy.'
The night of his birthday, when he'd shared his moment of doubt with her as he finally expressed his disappointment and lack of self-worth. (Y/N) had gently smiled after his dejected sigh, her voice soft and soothing. "I know how much it sucks to be told you're exceptional and then be denied the chances that you rightfully deserve," she'd told him. "But Percy, those chances really don't mean much if you already know you deserve them. And if you don't, then you will in time. I know I do."
In the coliseum, where he'd hugged her for comfort after yet another loss to Clarisse. Her arms had tightened around his body, letting him melt into her touch for as long as he'd felt necessary. Eventually, he pulled back, arms still encircling her waist. She'd noticed his downcast eyes and raised her hand to cup his cheek, prompting him to meet her gaze. "Hey. If it means anything . . . to me, you're always the rockstar."
And the ones that now hurt most of all—the night at the lake, the day she insisted on cleaning his wounds after the Colchis Bull attack, the moonlit moment in the rain—are the ones he forcefully shoves away.
Percy swallows, fighting to keep his face outwardly stoic as (Y/N) grins wolfishly.
"I had you fooled from the very beginning. If only you weren't so blind. I showed you the truth of our situation, yet you still stand against the solution." Her smile falls as she finishes, "You're more annoying than I thought you were."
Percy doesn't show his pain at her words, instead asking, "Why? All the lies, all the- the pretense—it still could've been your truth. Even if it wasn't real, it was a good life, (Y/N). Why do you have to interfere with the gods' affairs by joining the other side?"
She blinks. "Isn't it obvious?" Stepping forward, she examines Percy's face before pausing. "Huh. You really can't see it, can you?"
Percy gives no response apart from the slight cinching of his eyebrows.
(Y/N) shakes her head, scoffing. "We don't mean anything, Percy. We're nothing more than nuisances to the gods. They brought us into this world and then left us to die. What do you call that? It certainly isn't love, or care, or appreciation of any kind."
"It wasn't their choice; Zeus—"
(Y/N) laughs in disbelief. "Zeus is the worst one! He watched his daughter get killed and did nothing. He forbade the other gods from having contact with their children, despite the danger we're constantly put in. How can you defend him?"
Percy shakes his head, "But that's just him; the others have proven that—"
"The others don't give a damn," (Y/N) again interrupts. "They didn't even question Zeus' order. They did nothing except quietly obey and watch from afar. If they actually loved us, Percy, they'd resist." She steps closer, lowering her voice. "If Poseidon actually loved you, you wouldn't doubt him like you already do."
Percy's face hardens.
Not in anger. He could never be angry at her.
Rather, in determination, for his armor is picked apart with every sentence that flows from her mouth.
"News flash, Percy!" (Y/N) starts, arms extended. "We're irrelevant to them! You want proof? Persephone dumped me in an orphanage without another thought; Poseidon left you and your mother to deal with that pig, Gabe; Athena didn't ensure that her daughter would be cared for; Hades tries to kill people even though they're innocent; Dionysus admitted, to my face, that he thinks we're expendable; Hermes never tried to fix his relationship with his children; and them and all the others do nothing, and have done nothing throughout history, as their children gear up for battle at nine! They abandoned us. So what the fuck is your argument?"
Percy shakes his head, trying to find her weak spot. "You know that's an over exaggeration."
(Y/N) scoffs. "How would you know?" she asks, her voice gentle with a challenge. "You've known about your heritage for—what, three years, now? You're so experienced? I've lived this life since I was five. I've spent twelve years at Camp Half-Blood. I've seen the impacts on a far larger scale than you have."
"Chiron's different," Percy argues, grasping at his last card to possibly play. "Your life, of all others', is proof of that."
"I think it's the opposite," she responds, her voice cold. "Chiron continuously sends half-bloods on quests that get them killed. I'd be the one to know that."
Percy softens, realizing the entire foundation of her stance is rooted in emotion. Love, even.
"So you'd bring back the Titan that would destroy the lives of the people you care about?" he asks, hoping to make her see reason.
(Y/N) pauses, and hope begins to bubble in Percy's chest.
It dies when he sees her expression.
"The people I . . . care about?" she repeats, eyes going wider and mouth falling slightly agape at the realization. "Oh, Percy," she starts, her voice full of feigned sympathy, "you didn't really think I cared, did you?"
Luke smiles with anticipation, watching gladly as Annabeth and Grover visibly steel themselves at (Y/N)'s words.
"You poor thing. I fooled you that badly, huh?"
Percy shakes his head, praying that his last attempt of desperation proves to be successful. "You're not that good," he says, the corner of his lips quirked in a crooked and confident smirk—a mask to hide his fearfully-pounding heart.
(Y/N) gives him a gentle smile. "You're right," she shrugs. "I'm not that good."
Percy doesn't dare to exhale in relief.
Her eyes flicker with triumph. "I'm better."
Suddenly, Percy was looking at a face that was a ghost in time.
He was back at the lake, his face streaked with blood and vision foggy with tears.
His heavy breaths send ripples through the water as his body trembles, his heart lost to hope as he stares at her. Her shirt is ripped, her abdomen scarred, her body coated with sweat and blood.
They each remain wordless, too afraid to disrupt the lull of what could be a dream.
His heart shatters when she breaks the silence. "Percy?" she whispers, her voice wavering in fear.
His throat tightens, a tear streaking down his cheek as he breathes her name.
The next thing he'd known was her body wrapped around his as they fell under the water's surface, her arms tightened like she was suffocating and he was her oxygen. Her breaths shook, her tears fell onto his skin, and her figure fit right against his.
That was the moment he consoled her while breaking down himself. The moment he was overpowered by desperation, prompting him to take the chance he'd been terrified of before.
As he looks at her expression, his mind blocks out the present.
The tears in her eyes, the pain on her face, the quiver of her lower lip—it makes him need to run to her, to hold her close, to scream and beg and cry for whoever is hurting her to hurt him instead.
He doesn't even realize his tightened muscles, the clenching of his jaw, the fire in his blood—his body begins to act on its own accord, his wrists twisting against the hands that hold them together and leg preparing itself to kick behind him.
Something in his conscience tells him to stop.
He forces his mind back to the present, and his soul weakens in complete and utter defeat when he sees her expression once more. The pain has been replaced by victory, the tremble by a laugh, and the tears by an evil glint in her eye.
His gut twists when she finally, definitively proves that it was all a lie.
But the pain of heartbreak spreads through his entire being, ripping and slicing through his nerves like shards of glass on a smooth floor once they break. The reality of his naivety burns him, stinging his eyes and overtaking his mind, and he curses himself for being so infatuated by her.
The tidal wave finally makes landfall, her impact so powerful that even the son of Poseidon cannot breathe while in the water.
"You see, Percy . . ." (Y/N) starts, moving closer to tilt his chin up.
He hates himself for the goosebumps that prickle his neck when her scent reaches his nose. He hates himself for the fluttering of his heart when her fingertip traces down his jawline to rest under his chin.
He hates himself for still wanting her to lean in even closer.
"—I'm an excellent actress," she whispers, and joy appears to flash over her face as hope drains from his eyes, his spirit dead.
But Percy's breath hitches as she begins to move away.
Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was his desperate mind hallucinating.
Because for the quickest instant, the briefest flash of a millisecond, he could swear he saw her eyes flicker up to look at his forehead.
He blinks.
Her expression sees no change. Her face is an image of stone-cold victory.
Percy didn't think he could break even more.
At least, not until Luke walks over to her, resting his arm around her waist as they look at the restrained demigods with their matching leather jackets and triumphant grins. Luke glances at Percy challengingly from the corner of his eye, leaning down to kiss (Y/N)'s temple.
Unflinchingly, she lets him.
What was left of Percy's heart holds steady for a beat, pressing against his ribcage in desperation, before it shatters.
He meant nothing to her. They meant nothing to her.
Every kiss, every laugh, every smile, every hug, every moment of concern, even every argument—in one second, all of it was thrown away.
All of it was meaningless.
All of it was a lie.