✺ DOOM AND CURSES AND REVENGE ✺
"(Y/N)?"
The daughter of Persephone bolts awake with a gasp, lifting her head from the plush mattress and sitting up in her chair. Darkness obscures her vision, the dim light that trickles into the infirmary slowly clarifying the edges of her sight. The boy on the bed groans with his jolting determination to move.
(Y/N) squeezes Will's hand, leaning forward and gently pushing his shoulder down as he tries to sit up.
"Hey," she says, frowning at the beads of sweat that glint off his skin in the moonlight. "Go back to sleep, it's okay."
Will stares at her with wide eyes, his breaths quickening as he shakes his head. His hair sticks to his skin, his grip on (Y/N)'s hand nearly tight enough to cut off her circulation. "No, (Y/N), this isn't- it's not—"
"Will, breathe," (Y/N) urges, carefully testing his burning forehead.
"(Y/N), it's not natural, none of it is natural. It's all—" Will hisses, squeezing his eyes shut and lifting his hand to his temple. "I can't—"
"Hey, hey, it's okay," (Y/N) soothes, moving to sit on the edge of his mattress as he begins rambling incoherently. She pushes his hair off of his forehead, combing it back with her fingers and watching as he relaxes. His eyelids droop while his breaths begin to calm. (Y/N) reaches for the towel at his bedside table, and her eyes flash with blue light before it grows cool and damp in her hand. As she wipes at the sweat on his brow, Will sinks into his pillow, his grip on (Y/N)'s hand loosening.
"I don't . . . I can't . . . (Y/N), it's . . ." His words slur, sentences and thoughts swallowed by the encroaching shadow of fatigue. "I don't know what . . . to do."
(Y/N) sighs, returning the towel to the nightstand and gently squeezing his hand. "That's okay, kid. We're gonna figure it out," she whispers, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Go to sleep. I'll be right here."
Soft mumbles escape his lips, his head lolling to the side as he lets out a deep exhale. (Y/N)'s chest tightens as his pulse steadies under her fingertips, his golden curls dim in the silver light that streaks through the windows.
The shadows in the room thrum around her, as if yearning for their power to be used.
(Y/N) doesn't bother. If the most skilled healer she knew had no effect on whatever affliction this was, if he fell victim to it despite his power, there was no way her abilities would do anything.
Instead, she carefully pushes off of the bed, returning to again sit in the chair at Will's side.
She pushes aside her body's desire to sleep, waiting until the sun rises and refusing to let go of his hand.
— x —
As golden rays swathe the infirmary in warmth, glinting off bottles and jars to cast rainbows along the walls, (Y/N) navigates through the maze of the floor, checking temperatures and breathing patterns alongside the other unaffected healers and volunteer helpers. She makes her way to the back of the room, and a small bunch of sunflowers materializes in her hand.
She—tactically—shoves them into a vase, setting them on Will's nightstand. A soft chuckle escapes her lips when the flowers slowly turn to face the son of Apollo, ignoring the eastward sunshine in preference for the boy.
His eyebrows furrow as he dreams, and (Y/N) sighs at the sick pallor to his face.
None of it is natural.
She stuffs her hands in her pockets, looking around the infirmary with a frown. She'd had that assumption at the very beginning, when Lou Ellen was admitted and Will's power couldn't heal her. He'd brushed it off as over-exertion, that Hecate's daughter merely needed rest.
(Y/N) fights the churning of her gut upon realizing that Will likely knew something was wrong before then. The day of their last Senior Council meeting, he'd lost control of his own muscles—she remembers how weak he'd gone when she caught him and pulled him to his feet, the terror that swirled through his eyes even when he assured her that he was fine.
How long had he been pushing it aside? How long had he been suffering and exhausted, hoping to help others at the expense of his own health?
He was becoming like her.
(Y/N)'s jaw tightens, and her brow furrows while she sweeps her gaze across the room again. All of these campers, whether in the barrier or distanced and in their homes, somehow managed to get the same sickness. If it could even be called that.
We're not exempt from the illness and weakness that come from being human.
The healers bustling around the infirmary, Annabeth and Percy and Silena and so many others, even herself—they'd all been exposed to this collection of campers. And over the past week, those who had been around them the longest somehow hadn't taken ill.
(Y/N)'s line of focus flits between the campers shuffling around the room and those who remain bedridden, trying to figure out what distinguished one group from the other. They were all half-bloods, but it couldn't be parentage; children of various gods were sick while their siblings were fine. Body mass or structure were also unlikely factors—both the unwell and unaffected were of different heights and weights and builds. Physically and genetically, it didn't make sense.
(Y/N)'s pulse begins to thud in her ears, her focus distant as her eyes land on Meg McCaffrey, a thirteen-year-old daughter of Demeter whose nose crinkles as she sleeps. Her short, dark hair falls messily over her forehead, and she appears to shift with discomfort on her low-set cot. The daughter of Persephone struggles to think properly, her heartbeat shaking her body.
She was so young, and they couldn't help her.
All of them were.
(Y/N)'s eyes widen.
Turning on her heel, she examines every sleeping face, putting an approximate age to each one and making a mental list of their siblings.
Her pulse quickens with confirmation as she catalogs the campers, from Will and a few of his friends to the youngest, a ten-year-old girl. No one under fifteen was spared the illness.
Every other half-blood still in the camp was older, even if only by a year.
A virus wouldn't need spatial transmission if it was programmed to have a target.
Her mind racing, (Y/N) exits the infirmary, sprinting to her cabin and leaping over the stairs. Without sparing a second, she moves for her bookshelves, pulling forward the heavy books and ledgers that she'd once rifled through for a quest years ago. Dust floats up from their leather bindings as they slam on her desk.
She scans the records of mystical artifacts, flipping through pages with increasing force until she groans with frustration.
"Fucking hell!" she exclaims, a bolt of power shooting through her chest. The pages begin to turn on their own, and she gasps, pulling her hands away. Quickly, they stop, the book lying open to reveal the detailed image and description of the very item she needs. Startled, (Y/N) lets out a sharp exhale.
"Thanks," she mumbles, reading the information about its properties before opening the second volume of the book's collection to find its whereabouts.
"'While the Tablet of the Arai was guarded in the temple of Moros by priestesses of Nemesis,'" (Y/N) reads, Greek letters shuffling around to morph into English, "'records indicate that it was stolen, presumably by Narcissus. Its location to date is unknown.'" (Y/N) chuckles, shaking her head.
"Yeah, well, I've got a pretty damn good idea."
— x —
"Chiron!" (Y/N) announces her presence while slamming open the office door, a thick book under her arm.
Grover jumps in surprise, and the slate board he writes on releases a shrill squeak as his stick of chalk scrapes against it.
Chiron cringes at the noise, turning to (Y/N) with a sigh. "Grover, would you please excuse us? I think we've researched all we can for the day," he says without looking at the satyr.
Grover replaces the chalk, smiling at (Y/N) and moving past her with a quick pat on her shoulder.
"Hey," she whispers in greeting, waving as he shuts the door.
Chiron crosses his arms, an eyebrow raised.
(Y/N) sighs. "Hello."
"Hello," Chiron echoes, his eyes slightly wide with disapproval. "Why didn't you say that yesterday, when you apparently got back?"
(Y/N) walks over to his desk, setting the volume down before she lifts her hands with innocence. "I was going to. But then Annabeth took me to the infirmary. I stayed with Will through the night. Thanks for letting me know that this was happening, by the way," she finishes, her frustration evident.
Chiron's shoulders loosen, and he lowers his head with apology. "We did not want to worry you during your quest, nor did we want you to abandon it and risk conflict between Hades and anyone else."
(Y/N) hums in acknowledgement, though forgiveness remains far from her expression.
"I take it that something happened between you and Mark?" Chiron asks, and the half-blood goes stiff. "He told me he was leaving yesterday."
Her pulse point ticks as the muscle in her neck tenses briefly, and she shakes her head. "We got into an argument," she says, giving Chiron a tight smile, "and I won."
The centaur tilts his head, evidently curious, though he decides not to question the situation further. "Anyway," he starts, glancing pointedly at the book on his desk, "what brings you here now?"
The daughter of Persephone perks up, and she opens the book to the page she'd marked. "What's been happening lately," she explains, gesturing for Chiron to move closer to look at the writing, "can't be solved with medicine. That"—she points to the chalkboard, riddled with Grover's handwriting and notes about herbs and spells—"won't fix anything. Will tried to tell me so last night; he said it wasn't natural. Chiron, you've been treating this whole thing like it's a sickness, but it's not. It's a curse."
Chiron's brow furrows, and he looks at (Y/N) with skepticism.
"Think about it," she continues, listing off her points on her fingers, "people from inside and outside of camp were affected around the same time, meaning that there's no clear point of origin; the Golden Fleece doesn't do anything, so they're not physically ill or injured in a normal way; and the affected campers are all fifteen or younger, and the only reason that makes sense is if—"
"—there was a specified group of people to affect," Chiron finishes, his eyes wide with realization.
"Exactly. And there's only one object that is known for certain to be able to get rid of things like that." (Y/N) taps the open page of the book. "The Tablet of the Arai. It was made by them with Moros and Nemesis—all creatures and gods experienced with doom and curses and revenge. But as a safeguard to keep balance, they made the Tablet. If someone reads the inscription, whatever curse they're dealing with, no matter who sent it, will go away. It'll get contained in the Tablet, never again to be used."
"Are you thinking of summoning it here?"
(Y/N) shakes her head. "If that were the case, anyone could steal it. The magic it's made with guards against that."
Chiron squints at the tiny lettering, his forehead crinkling in thought. "It says here that no one knows its location," he reads, shaking his head. "So how do you even plan to find it?"
(Y/N) shrugs. "I already know where it is."
Chiron's eyebrow arches, begging for elaboration.
"I've seen it before. I was too busy then to fully recognize what it was, and after that, it sort of left my memory. But when I realized what was actually happening today, I remembered reading about it. And then when I saw that"—she points to the drawing of the Tablet, the golden ink of the inscription glittering under her touch—"everything came back."
"But how—? You—? Where?" Chiron stammers, shaking his head in confusion.
(Y/N) takes a deep breath, preparing herself for his response. "I think it's what that kid was looking for. Four years ago."
Chiron slams the book shut. "No."
"Chiron—!"
"(Y/N). No." His gaze bores holes into her, his jaw tight with determination. "It's too dangerous. You know that better than anyone."
"That's exactly why I need to go!" (Y/N) exclaims, an astonished laugh trailing after the words. "I've been there before. I know what to expect and how to prepare for it. If we want any chance at getting rid of this thing, we need that tablet. And that means that someone has to go and get it."
"Do you really think," Chiron's breaths are heavy, his words almost crazed, "that I am going to sanction a quest that sends you back to that place?"
(Y/N) scoffs. "If the fate of your campers depends on it, then yes. In fact, I think anyone would encourage you to do so. We talked about this."
"(Y/N), I would not send anyone there. This is not a matter where I'm 'playing favorites.' We will figure out another way," Chiron says, pulling the book to him. "And I'm keeping this."
"Chiron—"
"End of story."
(Y/N) clenches her jaw, her breaths seething as she stares the centaur down. As he holds her gaze, his own grows sad.
"I am sorry," his voice, gentle and determined, weaves uncontrollable veins of despair through her resolve, "that this is not a solution. But we will heal them, Flower. Another way."
Trembling with restraint, (Y/N) shakes her head. She pushes past him, striding to the door and yanking it open. Just before she steps out of the office, she turns, her eyes burning with disappointment and rage and fear.
"You wouldn't have even known what you were dealing with if it weren't for me," she hisses, pulling the door behind her.
Chiron winces as it slams.
— x —
(Y/N) swivels at the knock on her cabin's door, and she hurriedly kicks her half-packed backpack under her bed. The door opens slightly, and Annabeth's head pokes into the room.
"(Y/N)? Are you he—oh, you are here," she says, smiling at the daughter of Persephone. "Can I . . . come in?" Annabeth furrows her brow at (Y/N), who stands stiffly with her arms behind her back, a forced smile on her face. The daughter of Athena sweeps her gaze across the room, her eyes landing on the desk littered with open books and scrolls.
Her face falls.
Annabeth steps inside, shutting the door behind her.
"What the fuck is that?" she asks, her voice suddenly hollow.
(Y/N) grinds her teeth, not answering.
Annabeth walks over to the desk, taking one glance at the map sprawled out amidst the clutter. She whips her head towards (Y/N), eyes wide and crazed.
"(Y/N)," she starts, her irises mimicking storm clouds, "what the hell are you thinking."
Sighing, (Y/N) steps aside, reaching under the bed with her foot and dragging her backpack into sight. Her shoulders loosen, and she stuffs her hands in her pockets with a shrug.
"I need to help those kids, Annie," she says. "They're not sick; they're cursed. That means that we can't sit on our hands and hope that something will show up."
"That's not what anyone is doing!" Annabeth exclaims, gripping her hair. "We're- we're doing research and trying everything that we can find, and that might seem like nothing to someone who wants to go on a suicide mission, but we're not just waiting around! We're working, and we're going to figure it out, and—"
"And what if you don't?" (Y/N) asks, and Annabeth pauses, her breaths heavy while her eyes swirl with fear. "What if you don't? What if I pass up the opportunity to get the only thing guaranteed to fix this, and it's too late? Annie, I don't want to take that risk. I would rather walk into something where I know what I'm getting into. I'd rather trust what I know and act on it, rather than wait, and research, and just pray that we'll find a cure."
Annabeth shakes her head, blinking furiously at the tears that gloss over her eyes.
"But what if we do?" she whispers, her forehead creasing with worry. "What if we find it, and you're still out there?"
(Y/N) steps forward, taking Annabeth's hands in hers. "Then you get a message to me," she says, squeezing Annabeth's hands, "and I'll come right back."
The daughter of Athena squeezes her eyes shut, sniffling before shaking her head again. A tear streaks down her cheek. "And if it doesn't get to you? If what . . . if you . . .? What then?"
Her stomach twisting and chest tight, (Y/N) pulls Annabeth closer, hugging her with as much strength as she can muster. Annabeth's tears soak the fabric at her shoulder, and (Y/N)'s heart wrenches at the feeling of her friend's body trembling in her arms.
"Then you help them in the way that I couldn't," (Y/N) says, her throat constricting as Annabeth holds her tighter, "and you tell them that I'm sorry."
Annabeth chokes on a sob, burying her face into the crook of (Y/N)'s neck.
The daughter of Persephone takes an unsteady breath, closing her eyes. She rests her head against Annabeth's, stroking her hair and waiting for her to calm down. Even after the bobbing of her shoulders settles, her hiccups turn into sniffles, and she lifts her chin to rest on (Y/N)'s shoulder, Annabeth doesn't pull away. She stares blankly at (Y/N)'s backpack, the red fabric of her medical pack poking out of a pocket.
"I don't want you to go," she says, her mind flashing with memories of red, red, red.
(Y/N) lets out a deep exhale. "I have to."
"I know."
Red.
"Were you going to tell me?" Annabeth asks, sniffling. She can feel (Y/N)'s heart skip as her body stiffens.
Red.
"I was going to say goodbye."
Red.
It had haunted her dreams for nearly a year. Would it come back tonight?
"Tell Grover not to worry about me, okay?" (Y/N) asks. Annabeth nods.
"He's going to, anyway."
"Look after him, then. Until I get back."
Annabeth's inhale hitches. "Yeah. I'm not looking after him for any longer than that," she breathes, forcing herself to chuckle. "He's way too much of a handful."
Silence hangs in the air, thick and dreadful and terrifying.
(Y/N) presses her lips to Annabeth's hair, glancing at the map's circled location. "I love you," she whispers, feeling Annabeth's hold weaken.
"I know." The daughter of Athena sighs, struggling to stay upright even with (Y/N)'s support. "I love you, too," she says, the words strained around the lump in her throat.
(Y/N) squeezes her, inhaling shakily. "I know."
— x —
A sliver of light breaks through the darkness of the stables as the door creaks open. A figure darts through the space, hoisting a backpack onto their shoulders while a sword's hilt glints at the crook of their neck.
Confused, Blackjack lifts his head.
(Y/N) moves past him without concern, walking in a beeline for Hesperos's stall. She urges her Pegasus to help her, explaining in a low mutter how the situation is extreme and the journey will be safe on his end. Hesperos rises with a huff, tossing his head as if to shake away his sleep before trotting out of his stall. (Y/N) ignores the saddle rack, following just behind the Pegasus and holding the door open for him.
She steps outside, and shadows creep over her image until a single bar of light divides the backdrop of her silhouette, her face poking through the crack in the doorway.
(Y/N) locks eyes with Blackjack and lifts her index finger to her lips. She waits for him to lower his head in agreement before shutting the door completely.
To any spectator, she was nothing more than an image of darkness, mounting her star-speckled steed amidst the creeping shadows of trees and torches and flagposts. Without a whisper of command, the Pegasus takes off into the sky, and his rider turns to look back as they speed away from Camp Half-Blood.
A moment later, they disappear from view, swallowed by the infinite night.
———
hello hello
it is finals week(s) and I have a research project due so I am very very busy! idk when I'll get the next part out, so you can expect a bit of a wait. updates will start going on my profile after ~2 weeks :)
hopefully y'all liked this part!! pls comment what you want answered in the sneak peek for 24!