Annabeth's cries rang in the palace's corridors: "Y/N, wait!"
But he ran—along the murals, under the arches, in front of the statues. He ran away from the palace.
No. It was impossible. It couldn't be happening, not to him. It was utter nonsense. Either you're a god or a demigod. Either immortal or mortal. There's no say to have in the matter, same as you don't nitpick with the difference between dry and wet, between light and dark. Being less than a god and more than a demigod . . . that was impossible. It was like imagining stairs with a place between two steps to put your foot on, where there was nothing! No, it just couldn't be.
Yet he ran.
He burst out of the palace, rushing down the stairs two by two and downhill toward the elevator. For a second he thought about simply jumping into the sky above New York; he would turn into an eagle and fly far, far away, before crashing somewhere as he got too tired. But he stayed on track toward the elevator.
A kind of fever had taken hold of him. Things flashed before his eyes. The world was collapsing, and Mount Olympus, despite the clearing the gods had done to put somewhat of order in the mess, seemed even more damaged than when Kronos had been there. His foot hit the arm of a broken marble statue laying on the side of the road, and he fell flat on his face. Next second he was back on his feet, hurtling toward the elevator.
He tried to focus—tried and failed. His mind leaped from one image to another but couldn't fix on any of them, preventing him from thinking straight. Zeus's face as he spoke irrevocable words; the paintings with gods and goddesses celebrating; the three Fates, flying away with Luke's body; Hades bellowing; New York sleeping . . .
Y/N was crossing a plaza in pitiful condition. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, straight as a ramrod.
His mother, Hera, stood on the other side. He felt as if she were there to stand in his way, and figured he was right.
For an instant, he hesitated. A cascade of emotions crashed on him. He felt dazed, not knowing what to say; relieved, with the hope that his mother would comfort him; sad, because his world was falling apart; angry, because she was his mother and yet had hidden and probably still hid so many things away from him. These emotions intertwined without stopping.
Finally he stepped forward and pointed at her. "You knew. You knew and told me nothing!"
"I did know your future, yes." He could almost have believed there was a touch of sadness in her voice. Almost. "It was for the best I didn't tell you. It was for your own safety. When a demigod realizes what he is, his scent reaches its peak. He becomes more powerful, yes, but monsters can smell him more easily. I would only have put you in more danger than you already were in by telling you what you really are. But now, you know. You know that you are a god. You must understand why I acted as I did."
"I am not a god!" he cried.
Y/N realized he was closing and opening his fists spasmodically and forced himself to keep them still. He had to strain, but at least they stopped moving.
"You had no right to do that to me," he said, his voice sounding more like a moan than anything else. "Because of you—because you wanted to annoy your husband—I'm going to die. . . . You can't do that. . . . It isn't fair!"
Hera stared at him. Each time he'd seen her, he'd seen a touch of affection in her eyes. Now, though, she was stone-faced, calm and emotionless. He couldn't figure out the smallest detail of what could be going on in her mind.
"I do owe you an apology." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. "But what is done, is done. I can't change the past—no one can do such a thing, Y/N. Everything I can do, is help you in the future."
"I don't want your help," he said warily.
"Nobody can stop destiny, Y/N," his mother went on. "Not even a god. Not even Zeus. This is where you have a say in the matter. We can alter the course of fate, if we are clever enough. We can prevent my husband's success. You will live."
"I will become a god," he retorted. "But I don't want to be a god. I want to stay who I am. Y/N the demigod. Not Y/N the god. The demigod."
Hera lowered her eyes on a fountain. "I am sorry to impose this on you at this moment, Y/N. Truly. This isn't what I wanted. But I don't have another choice, now."
Another god was waiting for Y/N on the way out of Olympus. Athena stood in the middle of the road with her arms crossed and a look on her face that made him shiver. She'd changed out of her armor, into jeans and a white blouse, but she didn't look any less warlike. Her gray eyes blazed.
"Well, Y/N," she said. "More than a demigod, less than a god."
"I didn't ask for it," he said gingerly.
"Much of what happens to us is not of our making. But what is, is. I would know what you think."
"I don't want to be a god," he insisted. "I don't want to be immortal. I don't want to die. I want to be a regular demigod—as much as a demigod can be, at least. Stay at camp, go on quests from time to time, sing with everyone around the fire. I want that kind of life."
"And my daughter?"
Y/N felt a lump forming in his throat. "What do you mean?"
"Before you stand two paths: death, or a god's life. Have you considered what will happen to Annabeth?"
"I won't leave her," he said, his throat dry. "I'll protect her—"
"Spare me." Athena stepped close to him, and he could feel her aura of power making his skin itch. "Don't act like you don't understand. You know fully well that the relationship you have with my daughter is doomed. I advise you to end it now before it's too late. Don't hurt her any more than you already have. If you care about her, get away from her and out of her life as soon as possible. Don't get her hopes up. Don't mess up."
Just to prove her point, she erupted in a column of flame, charring the front of Y/N's shirt.
Annabeth, Ethan and Percy were waiting for Y/N at the elevator.
When she saw him, Annabeth rushed and took him in her arms. Eventually, as she let him go, she said. "Why do you smell like smoke?" Though she looked like she wanted to talk about what had happened in the throne room, she must've figured that he didn't want anyone to speak a word about that.
"Long story," he said. Together they made their way down to the street level. Nobody said a word. The music was awful—Neil Diamond or something. Percy should've made that part of his gift from the gods: better elevator tunes. Strange how the mind, standing in front of something too terrible to face, manages to focus on the slightest detail to stay in denial.
When they got into the lobby, they found Sally Jackson and Paul Blofis arguing with the bald security guy, who'd returned to his post.
"I'm telling you," Percy's mother yelled, "we have to go up! My son—" Then she saw Percy and her eyes widened. "Percy!"
She hugged him tighter than Tyson could.
"We saw the blue flag," she said. "But then you didn't come down. You went up hours ago!"
"She was getting a bit anxious," Paul said drily.
"I'm all right," Percy promised as his mom hugged Y/N, Annabeth, and Ethan in turns.
Y/N didn't really pay any attention to what was happening around him. Finally, he'd find some time to rest and fall into a deep sleep, hoping never to wake up again. In his dreams, everything would be okay. He would grow old with Annabeth, like any mortal, and they'd spend the rest of their life together, peacefully.
But the life of a demigod is never so easy. Just then Nico ran in from the street, and his face told Y/N something was wrong.
"It's Rachel," he said. "I just ran into her down on 32nd Street."
Annabeth frowned. "What's she done this time?"
"It's where she's gone," Nico said. "I told her she would die if she tried, but she insisted. She just took Blackjack and—"
"She took my pegasus?" Percy demanded.
Nico nodded. "She's heading to Half-Blood Hill. She said she had to get to camp."
"Nobody steals my pegasus!" Percy said as they ran for the river.
"What was she thinking?" Annabeth said.
The traffic was horrible. Everybody was out on the streets gawking at the war zone damage. Police sirens wailed on every block. There was no possibility of catching a cab, and the pegasi had flown away. They would've settled for some Party Ponies, but they had disappeared along with most of the root beer in Midtown. So they ran, pushing through mobs of dazed mortals that clogged the sidewalks.
"She'll never get through the defenses," Ethan said. "Peleus will eat her."
"We've got to hurry." Y/N glanced at Nico. "I don't suppose you could conjure up some skeleton horses?"
He wheezed as he ran. "So tired . . . couldn't summon a dog bone."
Finally they scrambled over the embankment to the shore, and Percy let out a loud whistle. They came to his call.
Five wake lines appeared in the gray water, and a pod of hippocampi broke the surface. They whinnied unhappily, shaking the river much from their manes. They were beautiful creatures, with multicolored fishtails, and the heads and forelegs of white stallions. The hippocampus in front was much bigger than the others—a ride fit for a Cyclops.
"Rainbow!" Percy called. "How's it going, buddy?"
He neighed a complaint.
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Percy said. "But it's an emergency. We need to get to camp."
He snorted.
"Tyson?" Percy said. "Tyson is fine! I'm sorry he's not here. He's a big general now in the Cyclops army."
"NEEEEIGGGGH!"
"Yeah, I'm sure he'll still bring you apples. Now, about that ride. . . ."
In no time, Y/N, Annabeth, Ethan, Percy and Nico were zipping up the East River faster than jet skis. They sped under the Throgs Neck Bridge and headed for Long Island Sound.
It seemed like forever until they saw the beach at camp. They thanked the hippocampi and waded ashore, only to find Argus waiting for them. He stood in the sand with his arms crossed, his hundred eyes glaring at them.
"Is she here?" Percy asked.
He nodded grimly.
"Is everything okay?" Annabeth said.
Argus shook his head.
They followed him up the trail. It was surreal being back at camp, because everything looked so peaceful: no burning buildings, no wounded fighters. The cabins were bright in the sunshine, and the fields glittered with dew. But the place was mostly empty.
Up at the Big House, something was definitely wrong. Green light was shooting out all the windows. Mist—the magical kind—swirled around the yard. Chiron lay on a horse-size stretcher by the volleyball pit, a bunch of satyrs standing around him. Blackjack cantered nervously in the grass.
When he saw Percy, Blackjack started whinnying, and Y/N figured he was apologizing profusely.
Rachel Elizabeth Dare stood at the bottom of the porch steps. Her arms were raised as if she were waiting for someone inside the house to throw her a ball.
"What's she doing?" Annabeth demanded. "How did she get past the barriers?"
"She flew," one of the satyrs said, looking accusingly at Blackjack. "Right past the dragon, right through the magic boundaries."
"Rachel!" Percy called, but the satyrs stopped him when he tried to go any closer.
"Percy, don't," Chiron warned. He winced as he tried to move. His left arm was in a sling, his two back legs were in splints, and his head was wrapped in bandages. "You can't interrupt."
"But you have to explain to her how dangerous what she's doing is!"
"I did. And I invited her here."
Percy stared at Chiron in disbelief. "You said you'd never let anyone try again! You said—"
"I know what I did, Percy. But I was wrong. Rachel had a vision. She convinced me she deserves a chance."
"And what if she goes crazy like Luke's mom?"
The Mist swirled around Rachel. She shivered as if she were going into shock.
"Hey!" Percy shouted. "Stop!"
He ran toward her, ignoring the satyrs. He got within ten feet and hit something, like an invisible beach ball. He bounced back and landed in the grass.
Rachel opened her eyes and turned. She looked as if she were sleepwalking—as if she could see things, but only in a dream.
"It's all right." Her voice sounded far away. "This is why I've come."
"You'll be destroyed!"
She shook her head. "This is where I belong, Percy. I finally understand why."
The house rumbled. The door flew open and green light poured out. Y/N recognized the warm musty smell of snakes.
Mist curled into a hundred smoky serpents, slithering up the porch columns, curling around the house. Then the Oracle appeared in the doorway.
The withered mummy shuffled forward in her rainbow dress. She looked even worse than usual, which is saying a lot. Her hair was falling out in clumps. Her leathery skin was cracking like the seat of a worn-out bus. Her glassy eyes stared blankly into space, but Y/N got the creepiest feeling she was being drawn straight toward Rachel.
Rachel held out her arms. She didn't look scared.
"You've waited too long," Rachel said. "But I'm here now."
The sun blazed more brightly. A man appeared above the porch, floating in the air—a blond guy in a white toga, with sunglasses and a cocky smile.
"Apollo," Ethan said.
The god winked at him but held up his fingers to his lips.
"Rachel Elizabeth Dare," he said. "You have the gift of prophecy. But it is also a curse. Are you sure you want this?"
Rachel nodded. "It's my destiny."
"Do you accept the risks?"
"I do."
"Then proceed," the god said.
Rachel closed her eyes. "I accept this role. I pledge myself to Apollo, God of Oracles. I open my eyes to the future and embrace the past. I accept the spirit of Delphi, Voice of the Gods, Speaker of Riddles, Seer of Fate."
Y/N didn't know where she was getting the words, but they flowed out of her as the Mist thickened. A green column of smoke, like a huge python, uncoiled from the mummy's mouth and slithered down the stairs, curling affectionately around Rachel's feet. The Oracle's mummy crumbled, falling away until it was nothing but a pile of dust in an old tie-dyed dress. Mist enveloped Rachel in a column.
For a moment she disappeared behind the green veil. Then the smoke cleared.
Rachel collapsed and curled into the fetal position. Percy rushed forward, but Apollo said, "Stop! This is the most delicate part."
"What's going on?" Percy demanded. "What do you mean?"
Apollo studied Rachel with concern. "Either the spirit takes hold, or it doesn't."
"And if it doesn't?" Y/N asked.
"Five syllables," Apollo said, counting them on his fingers. "That would be real bad."
Despite Apollo's warning, Percy ran forward and knelt over Rachel. The Mist sank into the ground and the green light faded. But Rachel was still pale. She was barely breathing.
Then her eyes fluttered open. She focused on Percy with difficulty. "Percy."
"Are you okay?"
She tried to sit up. "Ow." She pressed her hands to her temples.
"Rachel," Nico said, "your life aura almost faded completely. I could see you dying."
"I'm all right," she murmured. "Please, help me up. The visions—they're a little disorienting."
Apollo drifted down from the porch. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the new Oracle of Delphi."
"You're kidding," Annabeth said.
Rachel managed a weak smile. "It's a little surprising to me too, but this is my fate. I saw it when I was in New York. I know why I was born with true sight. I was meant to become the Oracle."
"You mean you can tell the future, now?" Percy said.
"Not all the time," she said. "But there are visions, images, words in my mind. When someone asks me a question, I . . . Oh no—"
"It's starting," Apollo announced.
Rachel doubled over as if someone had punched her. Then she stood up straight and her eyes glowed serpent green.
When she spoke, her voice sounded tripled—as if three Rachels were talking at once:
"Eight half-bloods shall answer the call.
To storm or fire, the world must fall.
An oath to keep with a final breath,
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death."
At the last word, Rachel collapsed. Y/N and Percy caught her and helped her to the porch. Her skin was feverish.
"I'm all right," she said, her voice returning to normal.
"What was that?" Percy asked.
She shook her head, confused. "What was what?"
"I believe," Apollo said, "that we just heard the next Great Prophecy."
"What does it mean?" Y/N demanded.
Rachel frowned. "I don't even remember what I said."
"No," Apollo mused. "The spirit will only speak through you occasionally. The rest of the time, our Rachel will be much as she's always been. There's no point in grilling her, even if she has just issued the next big prediction for the future of the world."
"What?" Percy said. "But—"
"Percy," Apollo said, "I wouldn't worry too much. The last Great Prophecy about you took almost seventy years to complete. This one may not even happen in your lifetime." He glanced at Y/N. The god was probably thinking that in his case, there was no way it could happen in his lifetime.
Y/N gritted his teeth. "Maybe," he said, "but it promises nothing good."
"No," Apollo said cheerfully. "It certainly doesn't. She's going to make a wonderful Oracle!"
It was hard to drop the subject, but Apollo insisted that Rachel needed rest, and she did look pretty disoriented.
"Right now, Rachel, you need sleep," Apollo scolded. "Chiron, I don't think the attic is the proper place for our new Oracle, do you?"
"No, indeed." Chiron looked a lot better now that Apollo had worked some medical magic on him. "Rachel may use a guest room in the Big House for now, until we give the matter more thought."
"I'm thinking a cave in the hills," Apollo mused. "With torches and a big purple curtain over the entrance . . . really mysterious. But inside, a totally decked-out pad with a game room and one of those home theater systems."
Chiron cleared his throat loudly.
"What?" Apollo demanded.
Chiron sighed and guided Rachel inside the Big House.
The rest of the day was as strange as the beginning. Campers trickled in from New York by car, pegasus, and chariot. The wounded were cared for. The dead were given proper funeral rites at the campfire.
Silena's shroud was hot pink, but embroidered with an electric spear. The Ares and Aphrodite cabins both claimed her as a hero, and lit the shroud together. No one mentioned the word spy. That secret burned to ashes as the designer perfume smoke drifted into the sky.
Even Ethan Nakamura was given a shroud—black silk with a logo of swords crossed under a set of scales. As his shroud went up in flames, Y/N felt uneasy. He had killed Nakamura, and it had almost felt good at first, as if a heavy weight had disappeared from his shoulders. Yet it now seemed as though Nemesis herself had intervened to balance things, condemning him to death in less than a year, setting another heavy weight for him to bear.
Dinner at the pavilion was low-key. The only highlight was Juniper the tree nymph who screamed, "Grover!" and gave her boyfriend a flying tackle hug, making everybody cheer. They went down to the beach to take a moonlit walk, but Y/N didn't really notice. He could see his own reflection rippling on the surface of his Ice Tea, and the thought of what had happened earlier on Olympus transfixed him.
Mrs. O'Leary romped around happily, eating everybody's table scraps. Nico sat at the Hermes table, which would soon be a lot less crowded as the gods recognized their children. Everybody was patting Nico on the back, complimenting him on his fighting. Even the Ares kids seemed to think he was pretty cool. Which goes to show that showing up with an army of undead warriors to save the day makes you everybody's best friend.
Slowly, the dinner crowd trickled away. Some went to the campfire for a sing-along. Others went to bed. Y/N sat at the Hera table by himself and watched the moonlight on Long Island Sound. He could see dark figures at the beach, in groups of two or three, chatting and joking. It was peaceful—the perfect moment to feel gloomy.
"Hey." Annabeth slid next to him on the bench.
She took his hands in hers. He didn't dare to look at her. He thought about what Athena had said to him. It was stupid, worthy of the worst kind of rom-com shows. If he told her all this, he knew she'd say she could very well make her own decisions, and if she wanted to stay with him she would stay with him. Yet, now that he was playing the role of the character facing this stupid dilemma, it didn't seem so stupid. Who was the idiot who decided that wanting to spare the person you love, even if it means hurting them anyway, is the wrong way to go? Someone who'd never been in that same situation, apparently. He'd seen Silena's face after Beckendorf's death.
"You don't have to talk," Annabeth said.
But he wanted to. Same as he wanted to look at her. But it was so hard. He took a sip of Ice Tea.
Sitting next to each other, they watched the ocean. Crickets and monsters were making noise in the woods, but otherwise it was quiet.
"We saved the world," she said.
Why did it seem as if everything was about to collapse, then?
"You know . . ." she said softly, hesitating, "I won't let you die."
He glanced at her. She had the most determined look he'd ever seen on her face.
"You are not making things easy," he said in an undertone.
She smiled and put her hands around his neck. "I am never, ever going to make things easy for you, Y/N. Get used to it."
When she kissed him, he felt—for a second—as if all his problems vaporized to nothing, and he knew for certain he wanted this moment never to end.
A/N: Hi! I hope you liked the chapter!
Finally, my end-of-term exams are finished! I don't care whether I've managed to write anything good (at some point, I had a text about the Knights Templar to comment; I went yolo mode and wrote bullshit—whatever, I was too tired anyway). Now I can rest a bit until tomorrow and the start of the next semester. (Yeah, they don't give us much time.)
I hope you're all doing well right now. I feel like everybody around me is feeling bad these days. It's that time of year, I guess you could say. Anyway, if you feel down, I hope this chapter helped you pass some time.
See you next time, happy reading!