✺ AS IT HAD ALWAYS BEEN ✺
"Any progress?"
(Y/N) shakes her head at Annabeth's question, her jaw clenched as she pulls books from a shelf in the Athena cabin's library. Her stack of volumes grows so tall that it covers her face, and she holds her arms to the side to watch where she walks as she moves to the space near an empty table.
"I've looked over everything that I have," (Y/N) says, crouching to set her pile onto the floor before sitting cross-legged, opening the first book, and flipping through the early pages, "and nada. A week of research, and I'm still coming up blank." Her finger runs down the table of contents, and she closes the book upon reaching the bottom of the page.
Annabeth watches as (Y/N) sets it aside, the daughter of Athena relaxing as her friend still treats the book carefully.
"What is it that you're looking for, exactly?" Annabeth asks, running her finger along the spines of books on another shelf, and (Y/N) shrugs while looking at the next one in her pile.
"Anything on godly abilities—"
"Well, that really narrows it down," Annabeth grumbles, moving back to the beginning of her row and taking out the first three books.
"—along with power transfers and blessings—"
Annabeth removes two more tomes from the row.
"—or just general information about how to train our abilities."
The daughter of Athena scoffs, shaking her head as she adds seven more books onto the pile. "I mean, if you think it'll help, then okay." Struggling with the weight, she adjusts her hold on the stack so that it rests in both of her arms instead of just one, and she carefully moves to the long table near her friend, turning her chair to face (Y/N) on the floor.
"Honestly," (Y/N) starts, snapping the book shut and moving on, "I don't know what I'm expecting from books. Last time I did this, I didn't have to study." Her brow furrows as she examines the sections of the new volume, her head tilting with interest. After scanning the rest of the table of contents, she starts a new pile. "It's convenient that you have this at your disposal, though," she says, gesturing around at the library, its shelves on one end full with thousands of old texts while workbenches and architectural materials take up the other side of the room.
"That's for sure," Annabeth agrees, holding her book out to (Y/N). "Do we have a useful pile?"
"Right here." (Y/N) takes it, setting it with the one other useful volume in front of her. "Thanks."
"Uh-huh."
Once (Y/N) runs through her initial stack, she pushes herself off of the floor and moves to check out another bookshelf. "Whoa!" she exclaims, and Annabeth turns in her chair. "You guys have scrolls, too?" (Y/N) asks, waving a scroll in the air.
"Evidently," Annabeth says, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.
"That's so cool." (Y/N) unrolls the long parchment, her eyes glimmering with awe as she looks it over. "This is totally ancient!"
"It's not that ancient."
(Y/N) peers at the scroll, holding it up to the light as if to test for authenticity. "Damn. You guys are legit."
"Did you expect anything less?"
"I wasn't expecting scrolls," (Y/N) scoffs, rolling the parchment back up and returning it to the shelf. "It's my first time in here; I didn't know you guys had this stuff. But you're right, I probably should have expected it. You know, given that you're all a bunch of nerds."
"We prefer the term 'intellectuals'," Annabeth dismissively responds, looking back to the book in her hands.
"That's even more nerdy."
"Intellectual."
"Nerdy."
"Intellectual."
"Agree to disagree."
"Deal."
— x —
Seeming more silent than it has ever been, Camp Half-Blood sits under a midnight blanket of twinkling stars, basking in the light of a crescent moon. The thirteen cabins barely emit noise as their residents retreat to their beds, illuminated by the golden and silver glows of Apollo's and Artemis's. Slightly more separated from the rest and all but swallowed by darkness, the Persephone cabin sits quietly in the light of its entry torches.
Inside, (Y/N) paces, flipping through the pages of a book titled Rulers of Olympus: The Gods and Their Histories. She reads the words under her breath, occasionally shaking her head as the letters swirl around to be incomprehensible English. "Stop it," she grumbles, gently hitting her temple with her palm and squeezing her eyes shut as if to reset her vision.
One of Hera's many abilities is that of madness induction. This power was used to influence Heracles (an illegitimate demigod son of Zeus) to kill his wife and children, having been sent by the goddess into a wurberous rage.
"'Wurberous rage'?" (Y/N) repeats, squinting at the word before the letters shift into their natural position. "Oh, a murderous rage. I knew that."
Hours later into the night, she finds herself sitting at her desk, her hand tangled in the roots of her hair as she pores over a massive tome. The parchment feels fragile enough to crumble into dust under her fingertips as she turns the pages, and she scrunches her nose each time small bursts of dust float up from the paper and into her face. Yawning, (Y/N) leans back to stretch, blinking furiously to keep her eyelids from drooping with exhaustion.
The minutes pass by at a painstaking pace, the quiet workings of her watch marking each second with an unnaturally loud 'tick' in the silence of her cabin.
Her desk becomes a sea of printed parchment and scribbled findings, peeling leather covers and college-ruled notebooks. She reads and re-reads and re-re-reads every section of potential interest in every book she selected from the bookshelves in the Athena cabin's library, the Big House office and rec room, and her own cabin's supply of literature.
Eventually, she moves to the floor, laying out her sheets of notes and looking over them for anything she may have forgotten to search for. Afraid of falling asleep and losing essential time, she chooses to multitask—she flips through pages while doing sit-ups, holding planks, or squatting; writes messy bullet points and sentences while balancing a stack of items on her head, all while she stands on one leg at a time; and verbally recants her findings while jogging in place or organizing her belongings, hoping that a solution will become clear if she just repeats what she's read enough times.
The night goes with little progress, and (Y/N) slumps in one of her boho chairs as thin rays of sunlight begin to filter into her cabin. "Great," she mutters, looking at the forty-something volumes scattered across her desk, floor, and bunk bed. With a sigh, she stands, stifling a yawn before walking over to her bookshelf and looking over the spines for anything she potentially overlooked.
Five days later, Annabeth pulls Grover into the Persephone cabin, and (Y/N) waves at them without looking up from the scroll in front of her.
"See!" Annabeth hisses to the satyr, gesturing around the room. "I told you!"
"Told him what?" (Y/N) asks, her question bland.
Grover's eyes go wide as he takes in the mess created by (Y/N)'s research, practically every available surface littered with open and closed books. On the desk, the daughter of Persephone has built up a collection of unopened scrolls, the others in her possession piling up on the lower bunk of her bed (along with, Annabeth realizes, the other books and documents taken from her cabin's library). "Holy shit," he breathes, looking at (Y/N) with concern.
"I told him that you're going crazy," Annabeth says, and (Y/N) furrows her eyebrows while unfurling the scroll more.
"That's not nice," the daughter of Persephone responds, unfazed. "Or true, for that matter."
"I guess Thalia wasn't kidding when she said you emptied her bookshelves in a frenzy," Grover says, carefully stepping deeper into the cabin as he tries to avoid the tripping hazards everywhere on the floor. "How long have you been at this?"
"How long have we known that I could die if I don't figure this out?"
Annabeth facepalms as Grover's mouth falls open. "Tell me you're exaggerating," the satyr pleads, earning a shrug from (Y/N).
Grumbling, Annabeth drags her hand down her face, sending a silent prayer up to the sky. "Have you even been sleeping?" she asks, and (Y/N) pauses, looking up from the scroll in thought.
"I took a nap two nights ago," she says, rolling up the scroll while she stands.
Speechless, Grover stares, watching as she places it on her bed with the rest of Cabin Six's belongings. Annabeth lifts onto her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of (Y/N)'s top bunk.
"Your bed hasn't been slept in," she points out, looking back to (Y/N) for an explanation.
"I fell asleep on the floor for a couple hours when I was reading," (Y/N) clarifies, picking up a new scroll from her desk and unrolling it. "Didn't do me that many favors; I lost a good amount of time."
"(Y/N)!" Annabeth exclaims, finally prompting the girl to look her way. The skin under her eyes and at her cheeks sink inward from her lack of rest and nutrition; the hair at her temples is tangled and mussed from how she tugs at it when concentrating; and her eyes appear dull, emotionless glass serving only to focus and stare and read and repeat. Annabeth's lips turn down in a concerned frown, and she steps closer. "You need to take care of yourself."
"Annie, I'm fine." (Y/N) holds her arms out, letting out a forced chuckle. "I'm okay, I just need to—"
"No, you don't," Grover interrupts, and (Y/N) drops her arms back to her side, the scroll hanging loosely from her fingers. "You don't need to figure it out by working your ass off. You don't need to use every available second to crack this mystery." (Y/N) grinds her teeth, shifting restlessly on her feet. "You don't need to lock yourself in here and tell yourself that you have to take advantage of every moment you're alone to try and find a solution. That's not how this works."
"I kind of feel like I have to, though!" she exclaims, her eyes growing wide. Grover falters with surprise. He and Annabeth share a concerned glance as (Y/N) continues speaking in a wild, almost manic, frenzy. "It's easy for everyone to think that I have it so much better than them because I was just given more power, but no one understands what is actually happening to me! I am so sick, all the fucking time! I've tried to practice it, but my body literally can't stand this shit anymore. Every time I do anything with it, it feels like my insides are being torn apart and- and the wrong pieces are just being forced into the empty spaces. I don't have any more options, here, and . . . and I'm terrified that the moment I take a break is the moment it all ends, and you've already dealt with that way too many times."
Tears spill down her cheeks, and her friends just stare at her, caught in surprise and guilt.
"What?" she asks, her voice choked as she swallows a sob.
That one word strikes pain into the hearts of both.
Wasting no time, they maneuver through the maze of the cabin floor to engulf their best friend in a hug. (Y/N)'s lips tremble as they support her weak figure, and she presses her face into the crook of Grover's neck.
"You're not alone in this, (Y/N)," Annabeth says, pulling back and brushing away some of the hair that sticks to (Y/N)'s face. "We are going to help you, and we are going to get you better. We just need to know that you'll let us."
(Y/N)'s stomach twists with guilt, her heart aching as the déjà vu slams into her. Not long ago, she'd been told that her decisions had closed them off too much. The decisions that broke their trust and made her lose a friend, all because she thought she had to deal with everything on her own. Sniffling, she wipes at her cheeks, nodding.
"Of course I want your help," she says, her words slightly hiccupped as she takes deep breaths. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like that wasn't an option."
"We're here for you," Grover says, smiling gently at her. "And we're gonna start helping right now. So that means"—he gently tugs the scroll from her hand, her fingers absentmindedly reaching out for it as it leaves her grasp—"that you're going to take a break."
"But—"
"No 'but's. You need rest."
Annabeth speaks to silence (Y/N)'s bubbling protest: "At the rate you're going, malnourishment and sleep deprivation are going to kill you long before that power does. We still have time, (Y/N), as long as you actively give it to yourself."
(Y/N)'s eyes swirl with fear and uncertainty, and Grover rubs her arm in comfort.
"We're going to figure it out," Annabeth reassures, smiling lightly when the words bring into her friend's expression. "And we're going to do that by working together and by getting enough rest, okay?"
The daughter of Persephone nods, her shoulders loose as she lets out a resigned exhale. "Okay."
"Good," Grover says, patting (Y/N)'s shoulder before striding to the bed and clearing everything off of the bottom bunk. He fluffs a pillow and sets it down with finality, his face stern as he points to it. "Bedtime. Now."
— x —
It took two weeks for (Y/N) to start looking remotely healthy again.
Constantly, she'd stress her concerns to Annabeth and Grover and Chiron and Thalia, disbelieving their reassurances that they still had time to look into the issue of her power and figure out a way to ease its conflict. Eventually, she began to accept their words, if only for their sake.
Unwilling to receive concerned glances and hear wild speculations, she continued to isolate herself to keep her sickly appearance from other campers. In an effort to get her to leave her cabin and strenuous work behind, Grover (occasionally accompanied by a very concerned Hesperos) poked his head inside every afternoon with an invitation to join him on a walk in the less-populated woods. To satisfy him, she would agree. Thalia and Annabeth moved their practices to the training area behind the Persephone cabin, and (Y/N) would study their duels with an eye as sharp as ever, her feedback growing more detailed in regards to Thalia's strategy, rather than her technique. At night, Hesperos slept on her porch, his head poking through the doorway and resting on the floor inside to prevent any attempts to leave.
Her skinnying and sinking features, brought on by her regular bouts of insomnia (she did not disclose her memory-cursed dreams to the others, as she dreaded their current concern enough—revealing her likely PTSD would do nothing to help the situation) and dwindling appetite (having taught herself to ignore bouts of hunger well enough to function during quests that limited her resources, her stomach and mind tend to slip into the habit whenever she becomes tunnel-visioned with focus on something of importance) were harder to fix than her mentality. While her determined and reckless independence over her dilemma diminished easily, allowing her friends to do what they could to take care of her, the physical symptoms of her distress took more effort to resolve.
Meals began small, and infrequent. She struggled to force away thoughts of her impending demise so that her appetite would return—Chiron would sit with her, holding a casual conversation, albeit quite one-sided, as she would nibble at whatever food was given to her. Other times, he would bring his current read and explain the story's happenings to (Y/N) for some form of entertainment. Some days, he would challenge her to a game of Pinochle, (Y/N) holding half of a sandwich in one hand and a cluster of playing cards in the other.
Chiron always let her win. Without fail, she would roll her eyes and scoff, though a grin tugged at her mouth.
After a week passed, Annabeth and Thalia had barged into (Y/N)'s cabin, catching the girl and centaur off-guard in the middle of their game.
— x —
Chiron immediately stands, the panting breaths and wide eyes of the girls prompting a wave of concern.
"What's the matter?" he asks. Behind him, (Y/N) rises from her chair, resting her weight against it for support.
Annabeth shakes her head, holding up a hand as she gulps down air in deep breaths. "Phew," she exhales, coughing before she shakes her head again. "Ugh, okay"—she straightens up, running a hand down the mussed roots of her hair—"so! Oh, no, hang on, I think I might throw up. Ugh." She leans forward, resting her hands on her knees and struggling to catch her breath. "Gods, I'm literally about to die."
"Basically," Thalia fills in, her words divided by thin, frequent breaths, "we were talking about how (Y/N)'s internal . . . rebellion . . . thing is happening because she initially didn't accept the ritual for what it was, and then Annabeth had this- this brilliant idea."
"As always," (Y/N) says, chuckling. She walks over to the daughter of Athena, easing her over to her bunk bed and helping her lie down. Annabeth flaps her arm up into the air in a sort of grateful wave, and (Y/N) pats her shoulder.
Chiron's brow furrows as he asks, "What idea?"
"I mean," Thalia looks at Annabeth, hesitating, "I don't wanna steal your spotlight, here."
"You can steal it, I don't care," she groans, the words slurred around her exhausted breaths.
"All right, then. She figured that if the reason this is all happening is because you didn't want it, the first step towards a solution would be to accept it. If you can at least convince yourself that this whole thing is good for you, then maybe that power will react. We didn't really look into it to double-check viability, but we thought you should know as soon as possible. Hence the"—she gestures messily towards Annabeth, taking a series of deep breaths for herself—"sprinting."
"I swear, I ran the speed of mother-freaking light," Annabeth claims from the bed, turning her head to look at (Y/N) with exhausted eyes. She lifts a weak arm, grabbing for (Y/N)'s face; the daughter of Persephone leans forward, and Annabeth loosely cups her cheek. "All for you," she says, her words playfully lovestruck as (Y/N) plays along with the act, smiling fondly down at her friend. Off to the side, Thalia lifts a hand to her heart.
(Y/N) takes Annabeth's hand from her cheek, squeezing it in her own. "I'll never forget it," she says, smoothing out Annabeth's hair.
The daughter of Athena forces a choking breath, her eyes drooping. "Tell my story," she whispers, her gaze blank as she looks across the cabin.
Her arm goes limp in (Y/N)'s hold, her head lolling to the side.
Thalia pretends to wipe away a tear as she watches the scene.
"Jesus," Chiron mumbles, shaking his head and collecting the cards from their abandoned game.
— x —
As it turned out, Annabeth's genius idea was unfortunately false. Every time (Y/N) tried to ease the distanced power into her system, it became a wild force of its own, fighting her and every effort she made. It didn't want to share.
It wanted control. And that was one thing that (Y/N) was not willing to give it.
Also unfortunate was the impact that these efforts had on her: becoming a more prominent victim of the ongoing battle did nothing less than mutilate her from the inside, over and over again. Eventually, she and the others came to a consensus that assimilation of this manner was no more a wanted possibility than death. Three attempts to be welcoming of the power, and (Y/N) required another seven days of recuperation.
With time and rest, her face grew a touch more full, her eyes regained their life, and her legs felt fit enough to hold her upright without assistance. Under different circumstances, two weeks without her regular training would have a less prominent effect on her figure, but the struggles with her sleep and appetite left significant marks on her body. Her muscles became less pronounced, their mass and structure dwindling to show only when she flexed them; the shape of her clavicles and shoulders and wrists became far more sharp, her skin taut over the bones—her ribs were practically the same, their ridges massaging anything within contact the moment she took a breath. Her hair felt brittle and thinner than normal, lacking shine even when under light.
The differences were negligible. No one would mind if they happened to anyone else.
But they never happened to her.
And after two weeks, she didn't mind.
The questions were bound to come. She'd rather let everyone get them out sooner.
While few people physically approach her as she walks across camp, she can feel their whispered questions fizzling out in the air, making the atmosphere thick with intrigue and concern. Their gazes burn on her back when she passes, the sharp glint in her eye warding them away from eye contact.
Did something happen to her?
Is she okay?
Is it just me, or does she look . . . weaker than normal?
(Y/N) rolls her eyes as their not-so-quiet voices reach her ears, and she chooses not to acknowledge how a small crowd forms a distance behind her, following her path to the training field. Upon her entrance to the clearing, a pair of sparring demigods begins to near, the taller of the two forcing their opponent back with a relentless offense. The smaller half-blood stumbles, nearly a yard away from (Y/N), and they begin to fall backwards, their arm—and sword—flailing wildly in the air.
Without a moment's hesitation and barely a glance in their direction, (Y/N) unsheathes her sword, blocking the uncontrolled weapon just before it smashes into her face. The cluster of campers who'd been trailing after her instantly stop in their tracks; now reassured of her wellness, they begin to disperse, and (Y/N) continues her walk as if nothing even happened. "Use a wider stance, be more offensive, and . . . watch where you fall," she tells the stumbling fighter while passing behind them, the demigod blushing profusely with embarrassment as they correct their grip on the hilt.
Light glints off the blade of her sword as she slides it back into its sheath, refracting in a sort of beacon of her presence.
Percy, having agreed to coach Will on his swordsmanship during (Y/N)'s absence, watches with a furrowed brow as she crosses the field to meet Annabeth and Thalia. Like most of his peers, he, too, notices the newer prominence of her bone structure—and while her leather jacket covers her arms, its fit is a touch looser than was typical, also indicating the shrinkage of her muscle mass. Beside him, Will seems to go stiff at her appearance, and this shift of motion in his periphery makes him look closely at the boy.
"You see it, too, right?" Percy asks, and Will's jaw tightens as he nods. "D'you know what's happened?"
Will shrugs, his eyes swirling with a hint of concern and—was that anger? Frustration? Percy's head tilts slightly with intrigue, but Will quickly reigns in his emotions. "I do know," he says, his hair flashing with honey-gold highlights when he brushes it away from his forehead. "I stopped by her place a few days ago. She's gonna be fine."
Percy accepts the answer, though Will's tense figure sends a sliver of doubt into his mind.
(Y/N)'s spine bristles at the feeling of Percy's eyes on her. It nearly escaped her notice, so much attention already drawn her way that his nearly blends in with everyone else's.
But she knows his gaze. She could distinguish it from millions.
She'd felt it for two years, filled with awe and friendship and pain and concern and apology and adoration. She'd met it with her own, and the connection that formed as they locked eyes was more intense than any she'd ever experienced. It set her skin on fire, the nerves in her body sparking to life every time he looked into her soul; it made her heart race, skipping with excitement and passion whenever she looked into his. Back then, the way he looked at her would bring her to life, fill her with joy and endearment—the way he looks away now, any time she tries to meet his gaze, is enough to kill her.
She doesn't bother turning when she feels the heat of his focus in her periphery, pulling her shoulders back and clenching her jaw to ward off the intrigue and worry that reaches from his direction.
He could be as concerned as he liked, but she, at the very least, wants him to look her in the eye.
Thalia and Annabeth's practice serves as a welcome distraction from her thoughts, and she crosses her arms while watching their duel. The daughter of Zeus had always put on an image of certainty, but now, her confidence properly shows in her fighting. Rather than blind pride, Thalia spars with genuine self-assurance, her strikes calculated and precise against the daughter of Athena. Annabeth easily holds her own, and (Y/N)'s eyebrow quirks at how even their match appears to be. Neither girl manages to get a strong advantage, locked in an apparent stalemate until Thalia starts pushing Annabeth towards a dip in the ground.
The uneven surface was formed by a medium-sized rock that had been wedged into the dirt and then removed. It was practically harmless, barely enough to trip someone.
Thalia maneuvers the duel towards the sunken earth, watching carefully as Annabeth steps back for the sake of maintaining her stance. Her left heel settles into the dip, locking into place with the force of her movement. Unable to pull her leg back farther without stumbling, the daughter of Athena tries to move forward, to reset her positioning, but Thalia proves too quick for Annabeth to recover.
Her strategy successful, the daughter of Zeus easily disarms her opponent, placing herself behind Annabeth as she holds one sword to her throat while the other pokes just under her rib cage.
"Clever," (Y/N) comments, watching Annabeth discreetly slide her left foot forward, dislodging it from the ground. Thalia doesn't notice, glancing at (Y/N).
Taking advantage of Thalia's distraction, Annabeth slams her palms into the curve of Thalia's wrists, pushing the swords away from her; weakened by shock at the impact, Thalia's grip on the weapons loosen just enough for Annabeth to take both hilts for herself. Pivoting on her right leg, she turns to face her opponent, stepping forward and crossing the swords at Thalia's neck.
The blades push uncomfortably into the daughter of Zeus's skin as she breathes, locked in the tight V that could very easily decapitate her. She glances around frantically for an escape, and Annabeth smirks at her efforts.
(Y/N) chuckles, catching their attention. "Yeah, there's no way out of that one," she says, and Thalia's shoulders slump.
"Damn," she grumbles, and Annabeth removes the swords from her neck. Thalia rubs at the faint red indents that remain, extremely grateful for the blunted edges of their training weapons.
"You did really well, though," Annabeth says, holding out Thalia's sword for her to take. "You had me beat for a moment, there. Just don't get distracted next time; that's the only reason I caught you off-guard."
Thalia's mouth falls agape, and she turns to (Y/N). "You distracted me!"
"You let yourself get distracted." The daughter of Persephone's words are cold, and Thalia frowns. "You know this. Losses happen, Thalia, but if they happen, it's most likely on you."
Thalia looks to Annabeth, who shrugs, and she sighs. "Fine. I'll work on that."
"Good."
"Otherwise," Annabeth starts, resting her sword on her shoulder, "you're pretty much set. I think you're back up to speed—with everything, really—and you'll learn and improve as you keep training, so we don't have to meet up like this anymore unless you want to. You can hold your own against whomever you want, and consciously, too."
At the words, Thalia's gaze flickers across the field to Percy, who works slowly through a sparring sequence with Will.
"But if it's Percy"—Thalia looks back to Annabeth, whose gaze flickers with amusement as she speaks—"or (Y/N), for that matter, you might wanna go in with a slightly different mentality."
A light smile on her lips, Thalia rolls her eyes.
— x —
Another few days pass until (Y/N) feels ready enough to practice using her power. She lets out a deep exhale, hoping to relax the tension in her body as she thinks back to the last time she'd struggled to find balance in her abilities.
It was after she'd been resurrected the first time. She was fourteen years old, and she couldn't use her inherent abilities. The power of the Underworld had suffocated them, burying them deep under layers of untouchable ash.
She hated to do it, but she, at long last, asked for help.
— x —
Hades's palace was exactly as she remembered.
Granted, it had only been a few weeks since she'd last paid her visit—and that visit wasn't even voluntary.
Firelight casts long, distorted shadows across every surface, the living room warm enough to be on the verge of stuffy. On surfaces of shimmering onyx, the reflection of orange flames illuminates veins of red, nearly emitting heat of their own to amplify the temperature from the pillar of fire that burns alone, without kindling, on the gleaming floor.
"You know . . ." the hologram-type vision of Persephone starts, her image in the fire flickering as she glances at Hades with uncertainty, "it might help if you begin by centering your power around your emotions."
"If she has to rely on her feelings in the middle of a fight, it's unlikely that she'll be able to channel whatever she needs," Hades counters, resting his chin on his fist as he lounges in his skeletal-frame onyx chair. "And even if she manages it, her emotions could get in the way and alter her actual fighting ability."
(Y/N) looks between Hades and the vision of her mother, leaning against the wall as she crosses her arms. "So what do I do? Because everything that I've had for the past fourteen years is now gone."
"Honestly, it's not like you need it," Hades admits, shrugging.
"She might, though. You never know what could happen. Plus, it's part of her; she shouldn't have to feel locked out of her own ability." Persephone wrings her hands, her worried voice presenting like a distant echo. "But think about it: the abilities you've had unlocked since birth—those of new growth and life manipulation—are very different when compared to Hades's. You've been able to control shadows for a while, as well. How did you manage to do that before?"
(Y/N) gnaws on her lower lip, the fingers on her right hand drumming along her left palm as fidgets. "I don't know. I just focus on it and it happens."
"Do you feel anything different, though?" Persephone asks, and Hades leans back to observe (Y/N)'s reaction. "Anything at all?"
"I mean . . . maybe?" (Y/N) sighs, lightly hitting her head back against the wall as she looks up to the palace ceiling in thought. "It- it sort of swallows me on the inside, if that makes sense. When I want to control darkness, I lose the connection to everything else. It doesn't even feel like my feet are planted because it's like the rest of the living world just . . . disappears from my reach. Do you know what I mean?"
Hades hums with consideration, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he grinds his teeth absentmindedly. "It could be that because the shadows, the darkness, isn't as physical an entity as the Earth, your power tries to mimic it. Even though you have—you've long had—these abilities together, your mind wants to treat them separately."
"So how do I work around that, exactly?" She gasps, snapping with a realization and asking, "What if I talk to Hephaestus's kids? They have pyrokinesis, too!"
Hades scrunches his nose, his words halting as he struggles to find the right words to explain: "Well, first of all, we're concerned about you regaining control over Persephone's powers. That's the main thing you need to focus on, and then you can work on my side. Secondly, it wouldn't help because Hephaestus's pyrokinesis is different. It works in different ways. My speciality of pyrokinetic control is over hellfire"—a ball of purple-black fire sparks in his hand for demonstration, and (Y/N)'s eyes widen in amazement. "It can melt anything it touches. It is beyond dangerous, but I think that your weaker control over this ability is what makes it present and act as regular flame. The other fire that exists in the Underworld is just part of the entire package. That means that the spawn of Hephaestus—"
"You can say it nicer than that," (Y/N) interjects, scoffing at his word choice.
"Fine. That means that the children of Hephaestus cannot help you with your fire manipulation." With a gesture of finality, Hades extinguishes the hellfire, smoke trailing through his closed fingers.
"I think," Persephone says, prompting their heads to turn to her image, "that until you can fully identify what makes your abilities work, you should try to channel them by controlling your mindset. Everything has shifted for you since we brought you back—"
"That's putting it lightly," (Y/N) mumbles, earning an amused smirk from Hades.
"—so there's a chance that it could have changed your worldview, or your emotional regulation, or anything that can alter your focus and control over the power within you. If your life and the way you live it have become different, then you must accommodate to regain control. Discover your abilities in a way that you couldn't have before, and then you'll be able to figure out how they work."
Hades's brow furrows with uncertainty at Persephone's next words.
"You should be able to regain your power by understanding the differences between the two. If you feel disconnected from life when you use the abilities of the Underworld, then you must find a way to ground yourself when you use those of the spring. There is a spectrum. Learn where each power lies on it, and then you will be able to manipulate them at will."
(Y/N) looks at Hades with intrigue as he asks, "Isn't it best that she learns how to use them cooperatively?"
Persephone sighs, her face conveying helplessness. "I think it's best that she actually manages to use them. Then she can work on conjunction."
Hades still appears unsure, but (Y/N) shrugs.
"I guess that's fair," she says, and the god sighs.
"If you want to pursue that path, then so be it," he says, flashing a glance to Persephone's image. "We wish you all of our luck."
"Thank you."
"I'll see you off." Hades pushes himself up from his chair, stepping aside for (Y/N) and Persephone to say their goodbyes. When the girl turns with a nod, he waves his hand, the flickering image of the goddess vanishing before the fire dies out, embers skipping along the floor until they, too, extinguish.
They walk together to the fountain of liquid fire in the main foyer, and (Y/N) pulls her shoulders back, squeezing her eyes shut as she concentrates on the Big House office fireplace, where Chiron waits with anticipation.
"Easy," Hades says, watching as the flames begin to spark out of control. "Don't force it. Just ask, and they'll listen."
Shaking out her arms, (Y/N) nods, taking a deep breath as she tries to relax. It takes a moment, along with a flick of Hades's wrist, before the fire at last shows the image of a centaur turning the page of a leatherbound book.
"Good." Hades grins, patting (Y/N) on her shoulder. "The fire, the darkness—they are all a part of you. You don't need to be their master, merely their guide."
"I've been meaning to ask you something," (Y/N) begins suddenly, unprompted, and Hades nods with intrigue. "Why do you keep my mother here? As your prisoner?"
"What?" Hades falters slightly, his eyebrows knitted. "Where did you hear that from?"
(Y/N) shrugs, her jaw tight. "That's what the mythologies say. That's what everyone has been led to believe. Is that not the case?"
Hades's fists clench at his sides, the muscles in his neck tightening. His nostrils flare with each breath, and (Y/N) examines his reaction closely, waiting for an answer. Instead, he nods to the fire. "Go. They're waiting for you."
The daughter of Persephone stills, disbelief rushing through her. She scoffs, shaking her head as anger bubbles within her stomach. Her cheeks flush with warmth before the (Y/E/C) of her irises becomes obscured by a hazy sheen of red—the fire reaches out, engulfing her from head to toe in a cocoon of swirling warmth. The god's face vanishes from her view, and her mind flickers to her destination, her heart racing as the flames grow hotter and a bead of sweat rolls down her temple.
The heat cools, and (Y/N) opens her eyes to be greeted by the familiar sight of Chiron's office. She ducks under the mantle of the fireplace, welcoming the cool air conditioning as it hits her warm skin.
"How did it go?" Chiron asks, stepping forward to help her.
She huffs a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "It went," she says, squeezing her eyes shut when a burst of dizziness hits her. "I've got a lot of work to do."
Chiron begins to respond, but (Y/N) groans, gripping the hair by her temple as her head sears with pain. Within a second, her vision fills with blinding light.
The last thing she remembers is the feel of Chiron's arms catching her as she faints.
— x —
(Y/N) flexes her fingers, her hands resting on her knees as she sits cross-legged in her training area. She faces the fence that closes the space off, the tree line close enough for her to hear the sounds of wildlife and the occasional exploring camper.
"If I pass out after doing this," she grumbles, casting her bitter eyes to the sky, "I'm going to murder you all."
Closing her eyes, she focuses on the sounds available to her, focusing her senses on anything constant that will distract her mind from bursting into chaos. In the woods, a rabbit hops across a blanket of brittle grass; deeper into the camp, swords clang and campers shout while they train; a breeze rustles the flowers and vines along her cabin's roof, also sending strands trailing out of her pinned-up hair and along her cheeks.
She takes a deep breath, drawing out her exhale as the thud of her heart rocks the inside of her chest with a steady beat. With her pulse settling into a rhythm, she times her breathing to maintain its consistency. The swirling of her thoughts calms down as she focuses on her heartbeat, and she tries to reach for a power familiar to her.
While once she had summoned Hades's abilities by focusing on her anger and detaching herself from the pulses of life around her, she now fights to stay grounded, keeping her emotions regulated even while she seeks out the darkness. Deep in her soul, she taps into the bubbling well of godly essence, sifting through the possibilities before submitting to the comforting grasp of shadow.
Too comforting, she realizes, keeping her disappointment at bay. This power was too familiar and safe.
It was her own. Persephone's.
The queen's granted authority over the Underworld was great, yes, but it was nothing in comparison to its king.
(Y/N) needed to find a far more intense source of that power, and as she looks within herself, it presents itself easily. A raging river, it flows nearly out of control, swirling through her veins with authority and strength. Before, his power had been meek, similar to a blessing as it melded with her own. Now, it was isolated and full of vigor, making the differences between past and present capability far more stark.
She braces herself, dipping into the river and allowing its inky waters to pull her with the current.
Her skin rushes with energy, the immersion into such divine power inebriating every cell in her body. Heat swallows her blood, electricity running through her veins as her heart beats with an intoxicated passion. Her mind begins to waver, the appeal and strength of this power manipulating her into letting go—the drunkenness seeps into the fabric of her will, staining her determination with abandon as the darkness begins to take her body in its clutches.
The current was carrying her, and she was losing control.
Desperate for awareness, (Y/N) pushes her attention away from her, seeking the closest source of life as she sends her mind to look directly below her. Grass, roots, insects, bacteria—she looks for them, she finds them, she clutches their ripples of life as tight as she can. Her breathing grows rapid as the darkness within her fights for her submission, the vibrations of the Earth's life sending tremors through her skeleton as she attempts to balance the scale.
Gleaming amber, her eyes snap open as pain shoots through her throat.
Two faint beams of light emanate from her irises to break the billowing mass of shadows that circle her body, the darkness growing stronger as her panic increases and the pain worsens. Her lungs close off as her veins rush with agony, sending her muscles ablaze as her bones seem to shatter in repeated succession. The ground beneath her rumbles, her calming grasp on the earth overcome by the darker, fiercer clutch that apparently wishes to swallow her whole.
(Y/N) closes her eyes, her breaths strained, as she tries to fight her terror.
Desperate beyond measure, she tightens her fists, and the shadows close around her, rushing faster as the current within becomes deadly. Her mind races to find some reminder of tranquility, something calm and reassuring.
The moment she grasps it, her connection snaps back into place. The darkness sucks into her, rendering her blind for the moments that her body loses all form.
She crashes into the ground, and a flash of golden light extends behind her eyelids as she groans. Cool air relieves the aching tingle under her skin as she turns onto her back, the cloudless sky looking down at her while she gasps for breath.
The scent of fresh flowers touches her nose.
Brow furrowed, she turns her head.
Separating a clearing from the rest of the forest is a blossoming ring of blue and purple flowers. (Y/N) looks to her other side, being met by a sheet of glass—or it might as well have been, the pool of water so still and undisturbed by anything that may grace its surface.
She closes her eyes, long blades of blue-green grass caressing her cheeks as she lets her composure return.
Somehow, the raging current was nowhere to be found. The pain was gone and everything inside of her was as it had always been.
When she finds the willpower to push herself up, she looks around, light bursts of gold rippling from under her feet as she turns. As far as she can tell, the surrounding forest is abandoned, save for the wildlife in the area, so her neck pricks with goosebumps when the feeling of someone's attention falls on her back. Her spine, however, tingles with familiarity as their presence moves forward, and (Y/N) turns to face whoever enters the clearing.
Large, silver eyes meet her gaze, and the daughter of Persephone relaxes with a relieved sigh.
"Lupa."