Chapter Text
Styx observed the vow that was made on her sacred waters and on her mourned companion’s name: Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades swore not to sire any more children in an attempt to circumvent a prophecy that could destroy Olympus.
Styx observed the three Kronides sons.
“I swear upon the waters of Styx and upon my niece, Perseleia’s name, that I shall sire no more demigods.” Hades swore, pouring out his goblet of her waters on the marble floor of the throne room.
Hades would be the most faithful to his vow. He hadn’t sired many children but when he did, he adored them fiercely just as Persephone adored the children she and her husband created with a mortal lover. Persephone would be heartbroken but Hades would comfort her.
“I swear upon the waters of Styx and upon my daughter’s name, I too shall sire no more demigods.” Poseidon swore, somber as even thousands of years later, he still could not speak his daughter’s name. He too poured out his goblet full of Styx’s water on the marble floor.
Poseidon… though swearing on an oath in his lost daughter’s name would normally hold the god to his oaths, there was something that nagged at Styx; a feeling that felt like a fish was swimming against the currents of her waters. She’d have to keep an eye on him.
Then there was Zeus.
Styx pursed her lips and glared at the King of the Gods.
Zeus’ paranoia should theoretically keep him from straying from his lady wife and Queen. His paranoia lost him his first Queen and Athena’s mother. When he sought to replace Hera as Queen and wife with the Nereid Thetis, only the prophecy surrounding her that her son would be greater than his father stayed his desires; he risked one prophecy stating a son would overthrow him, Zeus would not risk another.
Now there was a prophecy stating that a child, a demigod, would preserve or raze Olympus upon their sixteenth birthday? Styx believed that this would prevent Zeus from pursuing any mortal woman for a few decades but eventually the severity of the prophecy would dwindle in his mind.
Styx raised an eyebrow and glared pointedly at the King.
“This was your idea. What good are your decrees if you do not swear to follow them?” Styx hissed at the King.
“I swear,” Zeus said through clenched teeth, “upon the waters of Styx and my niece, Perseleia’s name, that I too shall not sire any more demigods.”
Thunder that was not Zeus’ clapped and roared as the oath was sealed the moment the waters from Zeus’ goblet splashed on the floor.
“Should you forget your oaths, should you forget what promise you made,” Styx frowned and studied each of the brothers. “While you may not be punished severely, any child you begat by you, will suffer my wrath and your punishment. You will watch the child you have perish within my waters. You will watch the child suffer the consequences of your oath breaking. You will watch that child die a horrible, suffering death.”
The brothers nodded.
Styx then turned and left the throne room.
As she was leaving, she passed a fountain that was on the edge of Athena’s grounds overlooking Apollo’s gardens.
It was not uncommon to find Apollo’s Oracle on Olympus when she needed to deliver a prophecy of such great importance, but to find her on Athena’s temple grounds, on a fountain dedicated to Perseleia…
“They swore the oath.” Gertrude, or Gertie as the child and Apollo frequently called her, said as she looked into the fountain waters.
“They did.” Styx said.
Gertie turned and looked at Styx; her green eyes glowing with the power of Delphi.
“You know something. Speak to me plainly.” Styx ordered.
“Sit.” Gertie said.
Styx did.
“They swore on Perseleia’s name. Perseleia will return because of this broken oath.” Gertie said.
Styx was thankful she was sitting otherwise she would have collapsed from shock.
It has been thousands of years since…
They had hoped but it had been too long.
“Are you certain?” Styx asked.
Gertie nodded.
“Who else knows?” Styx demanded.
Gertie tilted her head.
“None but you have asked.” She said.
Styx brought her hands to her mouth and shuddered, letting out a mix of laughter, cries, and a gasp.
When she finally composed herself, she looked around.
“You are to tell no one of this. Not even your Patron.” Styx ordered.
“Shall I swear on your waters?” Gertie asked.
“No. If this is revealed to anyone else, I will not need my waters to enact my wrath upon you.” Styx vowed.
Gertie smiled up at the goddess.
“You know, you’ll see her again soon enough.” Then Gertie smiled bitter-sweetly. “We both will.”
Styx nodded in satisfaction.
Gertie was mortal.
Gertie would die in fifty years; longer if Apollo blessed her.
Styx could wait a short time for the goddess she advocated for, for the goddess who understood oaths, who understood promises.
///
Gertrude “Gertie” Jones, the Oracle of Delphi and Priestess to Apollo, was dead.
The Oracle had not moved on to another host.
She couldn’t. Not since Hades swore on her sacred waters that Delphi could not move on until his children were accepted; as of today, none of Hades’ children were accepted.
Some foolish mortal lover of Hermes tried, but she had already had a baby, thus violating an important requirement for the Oracle: to be a virgin.
Styx, along with the King and Queen of the Underworld, watched in morbid curiosity as the mortal went mad.
Styx couldn’t help but think of what the Oracle had said to her: you will see her soon enough. We both will.
///
It was not even half a century and already, Zeus had broken his oath.
Styx felt the shreds of his oath, the angry current of her waters, as the girl was born.
Styx appeared in the hospital room; the mother was asleep yet the baby was not.
The baby, Thalia Alyssa Grace, was screaming and crying for a mother who ignored her whimpers.
Styx didn’t feel pity as she picked up the baby.
Thalia’s whimpers ceased, thinking her mother was holding her.
Styx frowned at the infant in her arms.
“Your father broke his oath when he sired you.” Styx said.
Thalia looked up at her with tearful eyes.
“He will be incapacitated for one year and exiled from feasts for the next nine years but you,” Styx said. “Your name means blossom but you shall not. You shall suffer. You shall never grow to be a woman.”
Styx laid the baby back in the hospital bassinet and turned to leave.
The cries of her oath’s violation did nothing to wake her mother.
Styx visited Olympus a lot in the King’s absence.
Hestia had been asked to be on the council in the King’s incapacitation and Hera could not be more livid.
The Mountain of the Gods was peaceful in the King’s absence.
Everyone, from the Olympians on their thrones to the least of the nymphs and satyrs, could feel it.
Yet none dared to say it aloud.
Styx was loathed to see the King come back but he could not show his face at any of the feasts for next nine years; Queen Hera made a point to throw many lavish feasts, inviting all the gods to come, and subtly show them all that not even the King of the Gods could keep his oaths.
When Zeus was finally allowed to return to his duties, he was given the coldest greeting from his wife.
And Styx could not blame the Queen of the Heavens.
It was a few years after that when Styx felt her waters roar and the oath she held Poseidon to rip to shreds.
Styx met Poseidon’s eyes across the feast and glared as she sipped her wine.
Poseidon dared give her a look of confusion before he sensed his child take their first breath.
Poseidon portrayed calm and ease at the feast but his eyes, locked with Styx, were a hurricane of rage and silent threats to the goddess.
Styx merely scoffed and left to find the product of the broken oath.
She found herself in another hospital; where the first one, the mother had money and could afford a private room and a comfortable bed, this one was in a shared room and poor.
Styx raised an eyebrow and took in her surroundings.
The lover was obviously not the sleeping, pregnant woman near the door.
Both the mother and the forbidden child were fast asleep; the mother curled on her side and facing towards the crib where the baby lay, her finger being held tightly by the little one’s hand as they slept.
Even asleep, Styx could tell the character of this young woman was not that of Zeus' lover.
Styx walked over, her footsteps silent as she did so, and lifted the newborn into her arms.
As she was about to deliver her curse, her judgement, the baby opened her eyes.
Sea green, just like her fathers, and yet, so familiar…
There was something…
“Memories of future events. Memories that I lived even though I live here and now.” Perseleia had once told her.
Styx looked again at the babe in her arms, really looked, and found herself holding the goddess that was lost but had come back again.
“Oh, my sweet.” Styx mourned. “How I wish you could have a different fate, but you must pay for your father’s mistakes.”
Styx looked at the name on the hospital crib and sighed.
“Perseus Leia Jackson, you are both a destroyer and a treasure. Because of your father, you shall be the child of the Great Prophecy. Because of his oath breaking, he will never know you have returned to him. No god will know you have returned until you know it yourself; they will look at you and be haunted. I am so sorry, little one.” Styx laid Perseus Leia Jackson back in her crib and stroked her cheek.
She was thinking about leaving when she sensed someone else in the room, someone who arrived thinking they could stay her curse not knowing they were too late.
Styx had already cursed the child.
“My lady, please, do what you want with me, but please spare her!” Poseidon begged.
“The great King of the Sea, reduced to begging.” Styx sneered.
“Please! She’s my first daughter since-” Poseidon cut himself off.
“Since who?” Styx scoffed. “You already broke the oath you made on your daughter’s name. You should have the balls to say her name. Or did you lose them when you sired a forbidden child?”
“She is my first daughter since Perseleia. Please! I cannot lose this little one.” Poseidon begged.
The sleeping women and child were oblivious to the two deities in the room.
None of the hospital staff were aware of the gods in their midst.
“No.” Styx said sharply.
“My Lady! Please! She’s just a baby! Have mercy on her!” Poseidon begged.
“I cannot make an exception. Not even for her.” Styx said, the hatred in her voice softening to something akin to pity.
Poseidon collapsed to his knees and leaned against his trident as he fully realized the pain he was subjugating his daughter too.
“She’s just a child.” He said weakly.
“If you’re lucky, she’ll forgive you.” Styx said as she left the mortal hospital, the King of the Seas mourning his newborn daughter in her wake.
It was a year later when Styx felt her oath being broken another time.
It was the King of the Gods, the Roman one this time, with the same woman.
Styx returned to the same hospital, finding Thalia asleep on a couch, the lover passed out on mortal drugs on the bed, and the newborn forbidden child in the crib.
Styx read the name: Jason Alexander Grace.
Styx rolled her eyes at the name as she picked up the boy.
“You are named for a man who fell out of Hera’s grace and another who spurned Hera during a contest for beauty. Your life will be tragic. Nothing you do will ever be good enough in the eyes of your father. You shall die how your namesakes did: either alone in the wake of your rotting life or by retribution of someone you wronged.” Styx gave the boy her lullaby curse and returned to her waters.
Olympus was going to be interesting when the God King is found to be out of commission once more.
///
Styx set the hellhounds after Thalia as she tried to escape her fate; the twelve year old girl was stubborn and brave, but it would not save her.
Styx will have her retribution.
Zeus will watch as the daughter he sired will die a painful and agonizingly slow death and he will be reminded that his actions have consequences, that not even daughters were safe from the sins of their fathers.
Styx watched as the Furies cracked their fiery whips and each held the girl in place for the hellhounds to bite and tear as they pleased; Thalia’s screams echoed to the sky yet Styx knew that Zeus had turned away from the sight, believing that it was easier to not watch as his daughter was punished for his mistake.
Styx knew that Zeus shuddered as he heard Thalia’s dying rasp.
Styx raised her eyebrow in macabre curiosity as it was Poseidon, not Zeus, who turned the dying child into a pine tree.
“Do you think that when he finds out, your King will spare your daughter?” Styx asked.
Poseidon said nothing.
“He will kill the mother and your daughter without hesitation. He did so once before, he would do so again.” Styx said.
“He will not touch a hair on either of their heads.” Poseidon snapped.
“Enjoy the few years of life your daughter has. She won’t have much left.” Styx melted into water and allowed herself to drain into the soil, down, down, down into the Underworld below.
In the waters of her river, Styx pondered the implications.
The Athenide was back.
The Athenide was a mortal.
The Athenide was a demigod.
There was a prophecy that a child of the elder brothers would save or destroy Olympus.
Thalia Alyssa Grace was now a tree; she would never reach adulthood and Jason Alexander Grace was being raised to be a soldier, a weapon, an instrument of Rome to appease a spurned wife and Queen.
The next in line for the prophecy should be Bianca and Nico di’Angelo yet Hades had hidden them away in the Lotus Eater’s hotel, locking them away where time cannot touch them, and where Zeus cannot find them; Bianca will stay twelve years old for a long time and Nico will stay ten until they are removed.
Perseus Leia Jackson would be seven by now, only nine years until she makes her choice.
Styx liked to think she would know what the Athenide would choose, but for now, she’d wait.
For now, she’ll entertain herself by going to the feasts, reminding everyone that not even the Kronides were above disrespecting her; besides, the feasts on Olympus have been so entertaining since Zeus is exiled from them. Poseidon, however, has gotten around his exile by not leaving the sea except for solstice meetings.
The gods knew of Thalia but they wondered what had happened to the second child of Zeus.
Hera would merely sip her wine and smirk, stating only that the child was taken care of.