Chapter Text
“The end draws near.”
With blissful sighs, Clotho and Lachesis tenderly embraced the obsidian-black socks they just finished knitting, watching in awe as the essence of the cosmos twinkled brilliantly on them like precious, glittering jewels. Atropos, on the other hand, observed the events unfolding through The Mist. It wouldn’t be long now, she smiled to herself. Soon, they will finally meet her.
“Finally.”
A warm, familiar hand nestled atop of Atropos’ head, causing her to smile even wider as her age regressed. Her sisters laughed in delight by her side, the sound distorting from raspy cackles to tinkling giggles. She looked up at the cloaked figure of the god before her, only to find the god’s emerald-green eyes on the visage of their mother through The Mist. Those eyes, they glowed like a planetary nebula, the green of them shimmering and pulsing. If she looked close enough, she was certain that she could see the outer edges appearing wispy, like tendrils of smoke.
“Is it done?”
At the inquiry, she glanced at the pair of socks on her sisters’ grasps before she looked down at her shears. It was the first time that she didn’t have to cut a thread of fate that it felt so foreign to her. She was The Inevitable. The One Who Cannot be Turned. Yet, she knew that this was necessary. While she was an embodiment of inevitability, her mother was absolute; the one whom they could not defy. Not that she or any of her sisters had any intention to do so.
“Yes, Father,” Atropos confirmed.
"You've done well. It's almost time to bring your mother home," the god declared before patting her platinum-colored hair affectionately. He smiled fondly at The Fates, at the three children who were almost the spitting image of his beloved.
"Take us with you, Father,” the youngest, Clotho, requested as she approached him, tugging insistently at his cloak. The delight in her eyes and smile was infectious, and his expression matched it.
"Of course. It’s time you all meet your mother."
Atropos casted a perfunctory look of their abode — a majestic palace within the cosmos where time was suspended, with every single inch of it created by their father for their mother. Olympus paled in comparison to it.
From outside, it was surrounded by vast gardens stretching as far as the eye could see, filled with exotic plants and trees from all corners of the universe, glimmering in iridescent colors. The palace itself, made of polished silver and gold, shone like a beacon in the darkness of space, obscured yet adorned at the same time by the stars.
The throne room was the centerpiece of the palace, with the walls adorned with precious gems and stones, and the floor a black marble imbued with cosmic dust. The ceiling was a mosaic of stars and galaxies, each one painted in brilliant hues of blue and green.
At the heart of the room was a lone elevated throne, crafted from a wealth of the most exquisite crystals, flawlessly wrought and polished to a shine that rivaled any star. Every surface gleamed and glittered with a thousand different lights, casting a dazzling array of colors that seemed to shift and change with every movement. The arms of the throne were wide and graceful, consisting of long, curved pieces of crystals that were adorned with delicate filigree work. At the back of the throne, rising up above the seat like a massive, glittering spire, was an exquisitely crafted crystal sculpture of their mother’s wings outstretched in a gesture of peace and power.
Her throne was a symbol of her grace and authority, an object that exuded all the power and majesty of the universe itself. It remained unoccupied since its creation four years ago.
But, not for much longer.
"Come,” the god gestured for the children to huddle close to him.
Once more, he directed his attention to The Mist, immeasurable longing reflected in his eyes as he reached one of his hands towards the image of his beloved. He had waited for this day for so long, to be reunited with his other half once more. His eyes darkened as he watched his beloved stand on the front lines with other Greek demigods, slashing his way through a crowd of monsters despite his battered state. The vessel was perfect, but heavily damaged and weakened. He wanted nothing more than to take him away from the mortal plane and care for him. He would. Soon.
The mistakes of the past wouldn’t repeat itself, he swore. His beloved was not getting away from him. Never again.
“Let us bring him home," the god declared as the four of them disappeared in a flash.
"Hey, Nico."
Exhausted, russet-brown eyes shifted to meet concerned, electric-blue ones. Nico mentally sighed. He didn't really want to talk to Jason right now. He was beyond exhausted from overseeing the burial rites for both camps shortly after the war concluded. He hadn't had the time to fix himself up aside from grabbing a loose, long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of jeans from the Camp Shop to temporarily replace his tattered clothes.
"You look like you're ready to pass out," Jason commented as he sat beside him on the porch of the Big House.
"I am. I haven't slept for days," Nico admitted as he pushed his hair away from his face, wincing when that small action alone caused his chest to flare up in pain.
Though he hadn't bothered to check in a mirror, he was certain that bruises were already starting to bloom across his chest. He had broken bones too, probably. He knew he should have it checked out at the infirmary, but the thought of facing Will Solace after what happened with Octavian… He just couldn't bear to see another person look at him like the monster he was.
"You're not a monster. You did what was necessary."
"What did you say?" Nico asked, looking at Jason.
"I didn't say anything," Jason said, frowning in confusion.
… Right. Must be my imagination. Nico was fairly sure he wasn't so far gone that he'd spoken out loud, but the voice... it didn’t sound like Jason’s — or anyone’s. The words brought him some comfort, nonetheless.
"Shouldn't you be…?" Nico trailed off as he gestured towards the Big House where Reyna, Frank, Annabeth, Percy, Piper and Hazel disappeared off to a few minutes ago. Probably to discuss with Chiron the current situation between the two camps, and the rebuilding efforts which Reyna, Annabeth and Piper decided to personally oversee.
"I think I can skip out on that one," Jason said with a small smile. Nico's lips twitched slightly at the thought of the perfect Jason Grace blatantly ditching his responsibility as a leader for once. "I'll be doing a lot of… I guess, as Leo would say, preventive maintenance for the gods in the future anyway."
"You know, you couldn't have stopped Leo," Nico found himself saying as he sensed Jason's sorrow while mentioning the son of Hephaestus. "There was nothing you could have done differently. He knew what had to happen. It was what The Fates had planned."
"But it didn't have to happen. I could have done something; there is never only one way," Jason said, remembering his father's words. "It's the reason why there are three Fates, and not one — because there is always a possibility of another outcome, a different solution."
"There is never only one way at the beginning. There's no point in living if there's only one way to do it," Nico acknowledged. "But when Leo decided to claim the prophecy for himself, his death became inevitable. The oldest of the Fates — she represents inevitability. There was no way you could have stopped her from snipping the thread of his life."
Jason frowned in response to Nico's words. As cruel as it was to hear that there was no preventing Leo's death, Nico wasn't going to allow Jason to wallow on what-ifs. It was an all-too-familiar, self-destructive path that he walked on far too many times.
"You're right," Jason eventually said, causing Nico to discreetly sigh in relief. He didn't care about being right. What he cared about was Jason believing in his input.
"Look, Nico, I wanted to talk to you…"
Jason cleared his throat before taking a cursory look around. Nico flinched in response. He had an idea what the son of Jupiter wanted to discuss with him. In the first place, it was his primary reason for not wanting to speak with Jason.
“I know what you said back at Auster’s palace. I know you already turned down a place at Camp Jupiter. I-I probably can't change your mind about leaving Camp Half-Blood, but I have to—"
"You're right," Nico interrupted him. "You can't change my mind."
The prophecy was fulfilled, and with the newfound peace between both camps, it was time for him to take his leave. Camp Half-Blood was never his home, and neither was Camp Jupiter. He didn’t need to stay much longer, in hopes that his perspective on that would change.
Once upon a time, it did. Once upon a time, he thought Camp Half-Blood could be his home. But once the storm settled and the glory faded, he was treated an outcast once more. He didn't need a repeat of history. Been there, done that and all.
"I plan to travel the world," Nico admitted, twisting the skull ring on his thumb. From his peripheral vision, he saw Jason's eyes widen. "Ever since I came to my parentage, I spent most of my years doing as the gods will."
"I might not belong here, but somewhere out there, maybe there is a place I could call home. I'm not going to find it if I stay here."
He was done serving the gods. He was done being at their beck and call. He's fought in two great wars, and that should be more than enough. He might not have the strongest desire to live, but he wasn't actively seeking death either. It shouldn't fall upon his shoulders, or anyone else’s for that matter, to have the matters of the gods settled.
"Will you promise to keep in touch?" Jason asked.
"If you tell me I don't have to swear it on the Styx, I will," Nico answered, causing the son of Jupiter to give him a lopsided smile.
"Where are you planning to go?" The older teen pressed, genuinely interested.
"I want to start in Venice," Nico mused.
He couldn't remember much of his childhood anymore, but he could remember bits and fragments. It was a long shot, but maybe it would help him remember some of his memories if he tried to retrace his past, whatever was still left to retrace.
"I'm hoping maybe I could find out about my family's history there, records of the di Angelo family. Maybe I still have living kins. Who knows, right? I just know I definitely won’t find it if I stay here."
"That's cool. Send me some postcards? Pictures would be nice too,” Jason requested, causing Nico to laugh.
"You're starting to sound like a mom.”
"I want to sound like a friend," Jason corrected, though he did give a smile in return.
He had never heard Nico laugh; he had never seen Nico smile. He’s certain that no one had heard him laugh or seen him smile either. In his memories too — those that Jason had seen — he couldn’t recall one where the son of Hades looked genuinely happy, not since he found out who his father was.
"I really would like to be your friend."
Nico offered no response, but the smile on his lips became melancholic. Friend… Never had something sounded so familiar yet foreign at the same time. He wanted to believe in Jason’s sincerity; he truly did. But when he thought of the concept of friendship, he was briefly reminded of a blue birthday cake…
"Jason. Nico. There you are."
… and of things like betrayal and abandonment.
Both of them turned around at the same time to face the son of Poseidon who was giving them an inquisitive look. Nico could tell from Percy's expression that he was wondering since when he and Jason had gotten close. A bold assumption, but since Percy wasn't addressing it out loud, Nico felt no need to correct him.
It was so easy for Nico to read Percy's face — especially his eyes — perhaps because it had always been an open book to him, or perhaps because he always found himself inadvertently staring at it. Long enough to make his heart race dangerously. Long enough for phantom fingers to pick at the scabs on his heart from wounds Percy had unknowingly inflicted, making him gasp at the excruciating yet exquisite pain. He was addicted to it by now, sought it out periodically as if it were his fix, like the emotional masochist he was.
Percy Jackson was the bane of his existence. He ruined Nico in ways Percy would never understand.
“What’s up, Jackson?” Jason asked.
"We’re being summoned by the gods,” Percy answered, frowning. “Hermes is here to pick us up."
To say that Nico was surprised to be included in the summons to Olympus was an understatement. A summons from the gods could only mean one of two things: First, you’ve done a great act of service to them, and they wanted to praise and reward you, as an incentive to "keep up the good work." Second, you had messed up so badly that the gods had to reach a consensus on the most appropriate way to drive home the point that you had royally fucked up.
Nico was certain he wouldn't be receiving praise or rewards; after all, the gods had conveniently forgotten about him the last time. But at the same time, he knew that he hadn't done anything to incur their wrath. So, what was he doing here? He wondered as the Hall of the Gods came into view.
The Olympians were already seated on their respective thrones when they entered, with — no surprise — the King of the Gods' throne elevated by a few steps and directly opposite the door. Nico noted that the position of Zeus' throne — the first thing anyone would see upon entering — might have been a tactical decision on Annabeth's part while she was redesigning the thrones along with the rest of Olympus. Anything to stoke the god's pride and ego, Nico supposed. Behind Zeus' throne was a gigantic aquarium, housing The Ophiotaurus, Bessie.
What came as a surprise, though, was that his father had earned a seat between Poseidon and Hephaestus, occupying a glittering black obsidian throne lined with pure silver and gold, inlaid with jadeite, blue garnet and other precious metals. Feeling Nico's gaze, Hades spared him and Hazel a glance before focusing solely on him. He casually brought a hand to his beard, slowly stroking it, but one of his fingers was subtly pointed towards Zeus.
Face front, his father seemed to say, and he obeyed. There was no need to offend the King of the Gods, who was clearly not in the best of moods at the moment, if the overcast canopy above their heads was anything to go by.
Wordlessly, they all knelt before Zeus, then at the feet of their godly parents — except for Reyna, who knelt before Ares with Frank. Nico tried to suppress a reaction on both occasions, but he failed the second time; a low hiss escaped his lips as excruciating pain radiated from his ribs and spread throughout his chest. One hand reflexively reached for his torso, clutching the fabric over it at the last second when he realized that applying pressure would only make it worse. Discreetly, Hazel nudged his free arm from beside him, her eyes flashing with concern.
“Rise, demigods,” Zeus instructed, and they all obeyed. Hazel immediately — but carefully — pressed against Nico's side, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him as they moved towards the center of the room. He murmured a soft thanks to her before looking up, noting with unease how the rest of the Seven — and Reyna — were all watching him with varying degrees of concern. Fortunately, none of the gods seemed to care enough to acknowledge his slip-up, only sparing subtle glances before turning their attention back to Zeus as he began the meeting.
"Demigods, we have summoned you to extend our gratitude for your service to the Olympians once more."
We didn't do it for you, Nico thought sourly. In either war, they didn't fight for the gods. They fought for their survival.
"As long as your requests are within reason and within our power—"
Zeus looked down at the son of Poseidon as he spoke, causing Percy to stiffen. Annabeth had to suppress a smile, while Nico's lips twitched ever so slightly in response. They had heard those words before — back when the gods offered Percy immortality. It seemed Zeus hadn't forgotten either, still bitter about Percy rejecting their most generous gift.
"—we shall grant it."
Trust Percy Jackson to be the one to start making demands.
"A break from quests and prophecies of this scale would be nice," Percy said.
"Unfortunately, that is not within our power." It was Athena who spoke, smiling wryly. "No one can control fate but the Fates themselves. They possess ancient and powerful knowledge beyond mortal comprehension, weaving the tapestry of life as ordained by… well, a being or a force higher and far more powerful than the gods. To question their decree would be to question the universe itself."
"Where are they now?" Jason asked from beside Nico.
"They're handling my foolish son's punishment as we speak," Zeus answered flatly.
Belatedly, Nico noticed the empty throne between Hermes and Ares. The bright blue canopy overhead — mirroring the sky over which the King of the Gods held dominion — visibly darkened as storm clouds rolled in, a clear indication of Zeus' emotions at that moment. Opposite of Apollo's empty throne, Artemis remained impassive, the subtle curling of her fingers in her lap the only indication of her concern for her twin brother.
"Those who believe they are above fate must pay the consequences of their actions."
From his side, Hera blanched at the implication.
"Husband—"
"Silence, woman!" Thunder boomed, and lightning flashed overhead. "Do not test me. I will not hesitate to chain you above The Abyss once more."
At the unspoken promise, the goddess of marriage leaned back against her ivory throne, lips pressed into a thin line to keep herself from speaking.
Nico tried to focus on the meeting — he truly did — but it was taking all of his willpower just to remain standing, even with Hazel's support. His vision was starting to blur, and the voices around him were becoming muffled and distorted in his head.
I don't even care about receiving a reward. I just want to get out of here, Nico thought as the Olympians suddenly broke into separate discussions about the events that had transpired, completely forgetting why they'd summoned the demigods to Olympus in the first place.
He didn't even notice that he was already swaying on his feet, the dark spots before his eyes quickly filling his vision. All he wanted to do was pass out — preferably on a soft bed, even if he had to settle for those coffin-like beds back in the Hades cabin. Anywhere but the cold white marble he was now free-falling towards—
Oh.
"Nico!" His sister called out to him as he tipped forward, his consciousness fading.
"Oh dear."
Nico heard a voice murmur softly against one of his ears before gentle, firm hands caught him by the shoulders. His weight slumped fully onto whoever was in front of him, his head coming to rest against broad shoulders.
“You’ve pushed your body to its limit.”
Belatedly, Nico realized that it was a man’s voice — velvety, smooth, and rich with a natural baritone. Listening to it gave him a comfort he hadn't felt since… he couldn't even remember. Was he dying? If this was what it felt to die, then Death could have him.
"I'm not Death. And Death won't have you, not for as long as I exist," the man promised as if he'd heard Nico’s thoughts, his voice laced with quiet displeasure.
Somehow, Nico believed him.
Without warning, his body was suddenly imbued with a burst of energy, spreading through every fiber, every nerve. He could feel every single wound on his body knitting together, his bones realigning and fractures resetting — as if he were being reassembled, piece by piece, like an intricate puzzle. The excruciating pain from moments ago vanished, replaced by a profound sense of relief. It all happened in a mere seconds.
Subconsciously, he leaned into the man holding him, enveloped in a warmth so deeply comforting and welcoming it felt like home.
“Would you like me to take you home?” the man asked softly, his cool fingers delicately running through Nico’s already disheveled hair.
He said it with such quiet certainty, as if he knew exactly where Nico belonged. As if he possessed the answer to Nico's unspoken prayer.
Home…
Where is home?
“What is the meaning of this?” Zeus’ booming voice harshly dragged Nico back to reality.
What… What am I doing? the son of Hades questioned, suddenly remembering where he was.
Pushing himself hastily away from that warmth, he opened his eyes — and found himself staring at the most mesmerizing, enchanting eyes he had ever seen. He'd seen beautiful eyes before: Piper's kaleidoscopic eyes, Jason and Thalia's electric blue, even Percy's sea-green hues. But these emerald-green eyes… He wouldn't be able to do them justice if he were to try and describe them. Oddly enough, there was something about them that felt familiar.
"You should be able to stand without any problem now. I've augmented your cells to allow your body to heal faster, and injected some essence into you," the man explained, releasing Nico and respectfully establishing some distance between them.
Nico's eyes widened as he realized that indeed, whatever pain and fatigue he was feeling for the past few months, maybe even for the past few years, had vanished. He felt truly alive, and power pulsed in his veins as if he had never depleted it in the first place.
"T… Thank you," Nico said, voice barely above a whisper.
He could only assume that the man smiled in return — he could see it in his eyes. The rest of his face was hidden beneath a brown shemagh scarf, and his body was cloaked in a worn, faded-green garment with a hood that shadowed everything but his eyes.
"What is this? A minor god from another pantheon?" Zeus questioned.
Nico flinched, pulling his gaze away from the mysterious man to face the King of the Gods. But Zeus wasn’t looking at him. His attention was fixed, with the barest flicker of interest on the newcomer — someone who had entered the Hall of the Gods without any of them noticing.
Instinctively, Nico stepped away from the intruder and closer to Hazel and Jason, who immediately checked on him — but not before he caught a flash of hurt and disappointment in the god's eyes. For some reason, he felt the urge to apologize, but the god had already turned away before he could get the words out.
“I don’t know where I should take offense: being labeled a 'minor god,' or being considered from another pantheon," the god answered in a level voice, walking in a slow, almost lazy gait as he circled the room.
“Are you even a god?" Hera questioned from her throne, eyeing the intruder with disinterest.
There was barely an aura of power to be felt from this being — much weaker than the demigods, and surprisingly still weaker than a mortal's.
“I have enough power in me to eliminate your council," the god said lightly, not directly addressing the question.
He paused mid-step, gesturing towards the son of Hades, who took a wary step back in response. “Well, perhaps I’ll be merciful to the ones he chooses to save.”
“What is the meaning of this impudence, Hades? Whoever this is, he’s clearly conspiring with your brat," Zeus demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously.
The god of the Underworld raised an eyebrow in response, but kept his gaze fixed on the intruder. He was well-versed with essences, given his domain — yet he had never seen or felt one so weak.
And yet this intruder had healed his son without so much as an incantation. Hades had felt in those few seconds, the sheer amount of power that had been funneled into Nico. It made no sense that the being's aura felt so low now… unless it was being suppressed.
A god suppressing his aura, Hades mused. Why would a god suppress his aura in the presence of the Olympians, who could easily pin him down with theirs?
“Brat?”
The word left the god’s lips like a curse, his eyes turning cold as they locked onto Zeus. His voice carried a newfound edge, the syllable laced with contempt, as if merely uttering the word tainted his tongue.
This one might be dangerous, Poseidon and Hades acknowledged, glancing at each other. Even the rest seemed to sense that something was amiss.
“Surely you do not mean our mother, King of the Gods.”
The title was said with such mockery, that it immediately garnered Zeus' attention, streaks of lightning flashing across the canopy.
Three figures appeared by the burning hearth beside the goddess Hestia, who only smiled faintly in their presence.
Nico had seen beautiful goddesses in his short lifetime — his stepmother, the goddess of spring, was a beauty to behold, and the Olympian goddesses were each distinctively yet inhumanly beautiful. But none of them compared to the three children standing before him, the eldest no more than ten, by Nico's estimation. Not even their simple clothing could diminish their radiance. He was convinced that Aphrodite could take any form she desired, yet she would never be able to capture the delicate beauty these children possessed.
"It still gives me the creeps to see these old ladies," Percy murmured.
Wait, what?
"Old ladies?" Nico repeated Percy's words, confusion written on his face.
The rest of the Seven — and Reyna — turned to him, mirroring his confusion.
"But… they're not old ladies. They're kids," Nico said, turning his attention back to the children, briefly wondering if his vision was playing tricks on him — only to realize they were making their way towards him.
"Mother, it’s nice to finally meet you," the eldest child with platinum hair and mellow golden eyes breathed, holding onto one of his arms delicately as if afraid she might break him. Her eyes were wide with awe, wonder, and pure, unadulterated affection — something Nico wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of.
Wait, what did she call him?
"... Did you just call me Mother?" Nico hesitantly asked.
"Yes! That is you, you, you!" the middle child, a child with two toned hair and heterochromatic eyes, enthusiastically confirmed, latching onto his other. "You are our mother! Father is right: Mother is the prettiest! The prettiest being in all the universe!"
The son of Hades didn’t need to raise his head to know that he was on the receiving end of nasty glares from almost all of the female Olympians, and perhaps skepticism from the rest. Nico would be skeptical too if he wasn’t mildly fearing for his life at that moment. It was a bold and audacious claim to make, and to snub the female Olympians in their presence was a blow that none of their prides would tolerate.
"Nasty gods mistreated our mother!" the youngest child, with jet-black hair and golden eyes, exclaimed, brazenly hugging his midsection and startling him into a small yelp.
“Mother is too thin! Smite them, we must!” the child declared, pulling a set of golden threads from the folds of her white cotton dress.
“Please don’t,” Nico hastily interjected.
The Olympians looked about ready to smite them — well, him — at the threat.
"Clotho. Lachesis. Atropos,” the god called out to the three.
Nico froze upon hearing the children’s names. Those were the names of The Fates.
He looked down at the smiling children in front of him. They were The Fates?
"To me, children.”
But the children refused to listen.
"Pretty mother, please come home with us,” the youngest — Clotho, based on Nico’s knowledge — pleaded, her limpid gold eyes begging.
Again, Nico wondered where this home was — the one they kept speaking of. A home they seemed so certain he belonged to.
"Yes, yes, yes. Mother doesn’t belong here.”
Nico had yet to hear that explicitly from anyone in either camp, but hearing such blunt honesty from a child’s mouth stung. Yet, he couldn’t disagree. Despite Will and Jason’s insistence, he truly didn’t belong anywhere. It wasn’t because of his identity as the son of Hades, or the fact that he wasn’t from his century. It was simply that he didn’t belong — nothing more, nothing less.
“The cosmos will behold your beauty until the end of time!"
"I'm sorry, but I think you're mistaken. I'm not your mother."
Sudden news of motherhood aside, Nico was still having a hard time wrapping his head that these children were The Fates. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but seeing them as children was the least of it.
"Only our mother, father, and grandfather can see our true form. If not you, then who else?" Atropos said with a knowing smile.
Nico wondered if she was reading his thoughts or if she was providing him with an explanation as to why he was seeing them differently from the rest of the Seven, Reyna and — if his assumptions were correct and if he could trust the child’s words — the gods as well.
But why were The Fates calling him Mother? Wasn’t their mother—... Nico shook his head. He… He didn’t want to remember her. His mind couldn't—...
"Children, to me,” the god repeated, his voice firmer now, causing the children to stand stiffly.
Quietly, they retreated back to the god’s side, but not before affectionately pressing a chaste kiss to Nico’s cheeks, causing the latter to flush in embarrassment while his fellow demigods looked thoroughly creeped out. Nico could only imagine how it must have looked to them.
“Behave. We’re not here to waste time,” the god instructed the The Fates, who solemnly bowed in response. “Remember why we came here.”
“What is it that you came here for?” Zeus demanded. At some point, he had removed the Master Bolt from his belt, the ends already emitting crystallized electric bolts.
The Fates hissed at the sight. "You dare, to our Father!"
"You don't know me, and yet, you dare raise a hand against me," the god sighed, his voice dripping with disappointment, before he raised his right hand above his head.
It happened so quickly. One moment, the Master Bolt rested — intact — in Zeus' hand. The next, it started disintegrating, sand-like particles floating towards the god's outstretched hand where it then gradually reformed.
"I'll forgive your impudence just this once," the god murmured, clasping his hand around the Master Bolt and twisting it as he inspected it. He looked at it with disinterest before pointing it at Hera. "But consider this my only warning.”
A lightning bolt shot out from its end, strong enough to obliterate a massive portion of the goddess' throne, mere inches from Hera’s head. The action caused all the gods to stand up in alarm from their thrones, their respective weapons in their hands.
“How dare you—!”
"Such a weak weapon."
Hands effortlessly compressed the Master Bolt, the metal groaning at the pressure. The Fates laughed in glee as they watched their father rip chunks of the celestial bronze, grinding it into powder with his other hand and letting the particles fall onto the marble floor. Once he had ground the last of it, with the barest upward jolt of his fingers, the broken weapon gradually reformed in his hand once more before he tossed it back to the stunned king.
“This should be interesting,” Ares exclaimed gleefully as he pummeled the end of his spear against the marble floor. The demigods covered their ears at the deafening sound that reverberated through the throne room.
The god clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. “As I said, I’m not here to waste time.”
With a snap of his fingers, Ares suddenly collapsed to his hands and knees, his spear clattering uselessly to the floor. The god's form trembled as he held himself up, as if an insurmountable pressure had suddenly descended upon his entire body, incapacitating him. The other gods could see that it took everything the god of war had not to fall flat on his face. Yet the more he struggled, the more he was pressed down, causing the marble beneath him to visibly crack.
"Kátse káto," the god commanded coldly, glancing at the rest of the Olympians.
It wasn't a request, but an indisputable order. Those two words alone seemed to force the gods back into their thrones, pinning them rigidly in place.
"Struggling is futile. All of you will listen."
"As I was saying, I came here for only one thing. Rest assured, as a primordial, I have no need for your powers.”
The room fell silent.
“Did... Did he say primordial?” Piper asked.
“I didn’t jinx it,” Percy groaned in frustration before anyone could pin the blame on him again, muttering a string of curses as he drew Riptide from his pocket and assumed a defensive stance. The rest of them tensed up as well, mentally preparing themselves to fight another primordial so soon after the first.
"Why is it that both of your races' first instinct is to fight?" The god raised a hand, presumably to his temple, massaging it as he huffed in exasperation.
“Just because you’ve met my... younger sister, and fought — at best — a vengeful, chthonic god, doesn’t mean that the rest of our race shares the same desire,” the god casually stated, sparing Percy a glance before redirecting his attention to Nico.
"I, for my part, have lived billions of years, which is more than enough to know that I covet only one thing," the god said, speaking directly to Nico as he approached him with confidence. "Him."
"Him?" The gods questioned, bewildered.
"Me?" Nico breathed, disbelieving.
"These newlings and mortals have devalued you, and you let yourself believe their lies."
The god stopped a few feet in front of Nico, staring intently into his eyes, as if searching for something. It lasted only for a microsecond, but Nico saw immense sadness in them when the god, presumably, didn't find what he was looking for.
"For that alone, I should annihilate their existence. However, I can see it in your eyes that, despite how this world has shunned you, you constantly choose to save it over and over again," the god stated, pulling the hood of his cloak back, exposing his face for the first time.
"I will never understand your mercy. Billions of years have passed since we came to existence, and it still baffles me," the god continued, pulling the shemagh scarf from the bottom half of his face and completely exposing himself to a stunned Nico and his companions. Nico finally realized why he found those eyes familiar.
"Regardless, as long as it makes you happy, I will spare them."
Suddenly, the gods could move again, slumping against their thrones. Even Ares collapsed to the ground, though inwardly, the god was seething from the humiliation of having been forced into a position of submission.
"What is the meaning of this, Poseidon?" Zeus harshly demanded as soon as he regained control over his body, his eyes flashing dangerously as he glared at the sea god.
"I would like to know as well," Poseidon answered, staring in shock at the intruder's face.
"Clearly, this is your brat! He looks the same as the other one!" Zeus bellowed.
"Percy is an only child. I do not know of this being whom even The Fates follow."
The similarity was uncanny. It was as if they were looking at another Percy Jackson. Same build. Same face. No, Nico thought — there were subtle differences.
Percy's jet-black hair was naturally and constantly swept to one side, while the god before him wore wavy, artistically messy hair, as dark as a starless night sky. And then there were the eyes — where Percy’s were sea-green, this god’s were emerald, as if a portion of the cosmos swirled within them.
"Agapiméni mou," the god called out to him.
My beloved, Nico's mind translated.
Whoever this was, he might have been almost a carbon copy of the original, but he was definitely not Percy Jackson.
"I'm offended that you would think of me as the... defective copy," the god murmured, as if responding to Nico’s thoughts, genuine hurt flashing in his eyes. "I am not him — but he is me."
“Your fragmented soul has not recognized me yet, but it will soon," he said, caressing Nico’s cheek with a thumb, his voice oozing confidence and certainty. Since when had the god crossed the distance between them? Nico couldn't pull away; he was caught in the gaze of a god who looked at him as if he were the entire universe.
"Who are you?" The words slipped from Nico's lips unfiltered.
The god smiled warmly.
“I am the very first Protegonoi to have ever existed — the first to emerge from The Abyss. I am the primordial god of time and space: Chronos. And you are my consort — the primordial goddess, Ananke.”