Chapter Text
Percy woke slowly, pulled out of dreams like surf dragging him back toward shore. The Poseidon cabin was awash with sunlight, spilling across the floorboards like liquid gold. The warmth settled on his skin, familiar and too vivid, reminding him of someone.
Not sunlight. Not just sunlight.
Apollo. The memory of strong arms, of warmth wrapped around him, of golden light that had steadied his breath. For a fleeting heartbeat Percy let himself drift in it—then he shoved it away, cheeks warming even though no one was watching. He couldn’t start his morning like that. Not when it felt… uncharted.
He shifted and felt the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath his head. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling beams, listening to the steady rhythm of Nico’s breathing under him. Blinking, he turned slightly, cheek pressed to Nico’s shoulder. He was still fast asleep, his dark hair spilling in every direction, fully rumpled and one arm flung carelessly over him, fingers curled into the fabric of Percy’s shirt as if anchoring him in place.
His chest twisted. When he looked closer, Nico’s brow was furrowed even in sleep, dark lashes brushing pale skin, with a sleeping posture like he’d fallen asleep guarding him. Percy’s throat went tight with guilt. He hadn’t asked him to stay, hadn’t meant to make him worry like this, but Nico had been there anyway. Silent, steadfast. The sight filled him with a bittersweet feeling—guilt, mostly. Nico wasn’t supposed to look so peaceful and exhausted at once.
He turned his head, watching the shadows pool naturally around Nico’s form like they were an extension of him. Percy wondered—not for the first time—if he’d ever stop hurting the people who cared about him.
You shouldn’t have to worry about me like this, Percy thought, staring at his friend’s face.
He didn’t deserve a friend like this. When he’s just a fragment of that fun, confident, warm person he used to be
For a moment, Percy didn’t move. He just listened to Nico’s breathing, the quiet hush of morning settling around them like a fragile blessing. It felt safe. Safer than he’d felt in months, maybe years.
The memory of it—Nico’s heartbeat against his ear, the protective curl of his arm, the steady rhythm that had carried Percy into dreamless sleep—was so vivid his chest ached.
He shifted, sitting up carefully, groaning at the stiffness in his limbs, and Nico stirred awake from his movements. The younger boy’s brows furrowed, eyes fluttering open slowly, heavy-lidded. His gaze took a second to focus, but when it landed on Percy, his eyes softened, relief washing through his sharp features like a crack in stone, fleeting but unmistakable.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” Nico muttered, his voice rough with sleep. He blinked, rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, then looked back, sharp as a blade despite his drowsiness. “I thought I lost you.”
Percy swallowed, guilt pressing hard in his chest. “Sorry. Guess I’m making a habit of worrying you.”
Nico huffed, shifting onto his side to face him fully. “More like a bad hobby.” His expression softened, though the shadows in his eyes didn’t fade. “You don’t get it, Percy. I felt it. Your thread slipping. The Fates had their scissors out.” He clenched his jaw, voice breaking quieter.
“I couldn’t stop seeing it. Couldn’t stop feeling it.” He said it with such fear that it sounded like the memory would stick with him forever.
Percy winced, instinctively reaching to steady Nico’s hand where it had curled into a fist. “Hey. I’m here. I made it through. Apollo saved me”
“That’s not the point,” Nico whispered, eyes flashing, though his fingers didn’t pull away. “You’re reckless. Always putting yourself in danger, always pretending you’re fine when you’re not. One of these days—” He cut himself off, his throat working like the words hurt too much. “One of these days, I won’t be able to pull you back. Neither will a passing God too.”
Percy’s heart twisted. He wanted to joke, to lighten the air the way he always did, but Nico’s face stopped him. This wasn’t a moment for banter.
“You did pull me back,” Percy said softly. “You stayed. You always stay. I don’t… I don’t deserve it, but you do.”
Nico blinked at him, startled by the honesty. His eyes softened, the anger ebbing into something more fragile. “…Idiot,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
Percy gave a small, crooked smile. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me.”
Nico exhaled shakily and nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave Percy for a long while, like he was memorizing every breath just in case.
For a long moment, they just lay there, the golden morning wrapping around them, the silence filled only with their breathing. Nico’s arm stayed looped loosely around Percy’s waist, as if he didn’t quite trust him not to vanish if he let go. Percy didn’t mind. If anything, the warmth of it rooted him, steadied him more than he wanted to admit.
Finally Nico sighed, rolling onto his back but leaving his arm pressed close. “Next time you try to die,” he muttered, “I’m dragging you to the Underworld myself. Save us both the trouble. Let’s just start our Elysium life, find a nice secluded area there and treat it like that popular game—what was it—animal crossing, yea.”
Percy snorted, relief easing some of the heaviness in his chest. “Fair deal.”
But when Nico’s breathing evened again, Percy didn’t close his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling, guilt and gratitude twisting together inside him. He hated making Nico worry. Hated being the reason his friend looked at him like the world was about to shatter.
He wanted to promise it would never happen again. But Percy knew better than to promise lies.
So instead, he let the sunlight fall across them both, a fragile peace for now, even as his thoughts tugged restlessly toward golden warmth and a god’s voice that still echoed softly in his ears.
The quiet didn’t last.
The cabin door creaked open and banged shut almost in the same breath. Percy jerked upright—well, tried to. Nico’s arm was still draped across him, and Percy only managed a very undignified half-sit before a familiar voice cut through the morning.
“Oh thank the gods.”
Will Solace stood framed in sunlight, blond hair sticking up like he’d sprinted the whole way from the Apollo cabin. His bow clattered against the wall as he all but launched himself to Percy’s bedside.
“You’re awake,” Will said, his words tumbling in relief before narrowing into a scolding glare. “You’re awake and you didn’t call for a healer the second you opened your eyes? Typical. Absolutely typical.”
Percy blinked at him. “…Hi?”
Will pressed the back of his hand to Percy’s forehead, then Percy’s cheek, ignoring the way Nico gave him the iciest death-glare known to man. “You look pale. Do you feel dizzy? Any nausea? What about chest tightness?”
“Uh—good morning to you too?” Percy muttered, glancing helplessly at Nico, who was still half-lying against him.
“Good morning, my ass,” Will snapped, pulling a satchel of supplies from nowhere. He started rummaging. “You nearly died yesterday. You don’t get to shrug it off like you stubbed your toe.”
Nico groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Will, he’s fine. He’s breathing. Sit down before you give yourself a heart attack. He was healed by your Dad, the literal embodiment of good health.”
Will did not sit. Instead, he brandished a small vial. “Drink.”
Percy eyed it suspiciously. “Is this going to taste like medicine or like the time Leo tried to make Kool-Aid out of motor oil?”
Will’s expression didn’t change. “Both.”
“Great.” Still, Percy took the vial, downed it in one go, and made a face. “Ugh. Disgusting.”
“Good. That means it’s working.”
Nico groaned louder and flopped back down beside Percy, covering his face with one hand. “This is my life. I chose this. I chose both of you.”
Percy couldn’t help laughing. A tired, real laugh. It felt good in his chest, easing some of the heaviness from the night before.
The laughter faded quickly, though, when the cabin door opened again.
Thalia Grace leaned against the frame, arms crossed, her storm-grey eyes sharp enough to pin Percy in place. “So,” she said, “Apollo, huh.”
“Hi to you too,” Percy said weakly.
She stepped inside, boots echoing on the wooden floor. Her gaze swept the room—lingering on Nico pressed close, on Will fussing, and finally on Percy himself. “You know,” Thalia said, her voice calm in a way that was more dangerous than shouting, “Lady Artemis may be wrong. She said I didn’t need to worry about you. But I’m starting to think that I should anyway.”
Percy frowned. “I’m fine.”
Thalia’s eyebrow rose. “You’re not fine. You’re lucky. And luck runs out.”
Will started to argue, but Thalia silenced him with a glare. She looked at Percy again, softer now but no less serious. “Listen. Gods don’t just swoop in and save you for free. Especially not ones like Apollo.”
At the name, Percy’s stomach lurched. Heat crept up his neck before he could stop it. “He… he didn’t ask for anything.”
“Not yet.” Thalia’s expression tightened, and for a moment Percy saw something protective flicker beneath her hard edges. “But you can’t afford to forget what they are. What he is.”
Nico shifted, finally speaking up. “She’s right.”
The weight of both their stares pressed down on him, and Percy suddenly wished he could sink into the mattress and vanish. He wanted to argue, to defend the warmth he’d felt, the gentle hands that had held him. But his voice stuck in his throat.
Instead, he muttered, “I get it. I’ll be careful.”
Neither of them looked convinced. But Thalia only sighed, dragging a hand through her dark hair. “Good. Because if you’re not, I’ll knock sense into you myself.”
She turned on her heel and strode back toward the door, leaving Percy sitting in silence between Nico’s shadows and Will’s golden fussing.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Nico muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for Percy to catch: “She’s right. He’s dangerous.”
Percy didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Because even now, with their warnings echoing in his ears, he couldn’t stop remembering the way Apollo had whispered his name like it was something precious.
And that, Percy thought, might be the most dangerous part of all.
⸻
By the time Percy dragged himself out of the cabin, the sun was high, the sky painted in pale morning blue. Camp was alive—laughter from the strawberry fields, the clang of swords from the arena, the smell of breakfast still lingering in the breeze. Life moved on even while he’d been bleeding out in the woods yesterday.
Percy rolled his shoulders, wincing faintly, and made his way toward the arena. The clang of bronze rang sharp through the arena, more easily heard as he entered, each strike sending sparks of sunlight flashing across the sand. Jason moved like the storm itself, his blade catching and driving back the strike of an Ares kid who was too eager, too wild with their swings. The crowd of campers ringed the sparring pit, cheering each clash of steel with hungry energy.
Percy sat on the edge of the benches, where Piper was, elbows resting on his knees, watching the clash of bronze in the arena. Once, he would’ve been down there—grinning through the sweat, letting instinct carry him through the rhythm of strikes and parries. Once, it had felt alive, almost fun. Now the sight only left him tired. His body could keep up, sure, but the spark was gone; the thought of stepping into the ring made his chest tighten, not with excitement, but with a weight he couldn’t quite shake.
“You’re frowning,” Piper said beside him, her voice soft enough that it barely rose above the clang of bronze and the cheers around them. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the other hand resting easily on the hilt of her dagger. “That’s supposed to be your friend out there. Smile a little.”
Percy huffed, though the sound came out flat and tired. “Jason doesn’t need me smiling. He’s got half the camp cheering for him already.”
Piper followed his gaze, lips curving faintly. Jason twisted his opponent’s blade from his grip in a single, fluid motion, sending the boy sprawling into the sand. The crowd whooped, loud and admiring, as Jason offered his opponent a steady hand up, his grin warm and unshaken. Golden. Effortless. The kind of hero people liked to look at.
The kind Percy used to be.
The thought stuck like a thorn, and Percy tried to shove it away before it could take root. Piper must’ve caught something in his expression, though, because she glanced sideways at him, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Percy shoved that thought down, but Piper stared at him knowingly. “You don’t have to fake it with me, you know,” she murmured.
He managed a small smile anyway. “Old habits.”
Piper didn’t press. She just bumped her shoulder lightly against his, grounding him, a silent reassurance that he didn’t have to say anything at all.
“You’re still you.” she murmured next.
Percy blinked at her, caught off guard by the certainty in her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Piper shrugged, leaning back on her hands as she watched Jason. “Everyone out there’s trying to be something. Jason’s good at being… Jason. And you’re good at being Percy. The one who makes people laugh when things are darkest. The one who throws himself between danger and everyone else without thinking twice. The one who—” She hesitated, her mouth tugging into a wry smile. “The one who lets me braid his hair and secretly loves it a lot.”
Percy’s ears went hot, and he ducked his head, pretending to focus on the fight below. “That was blackmail,” he muttered.
“It was kindness,” Piper corrected, her voice softening. She tilted her head, watching him for a beat longer before looking back at the arena. “You don’t have to fight to prove yourself anymore. You already did that—more times than anyone should’ve had to. So if sparring doesn’t make you happy, don’t force it. Let yourself breathe, Percy.”
The words hit him with unexpected force, simple as they were. Percy swallowed, his chest tightening in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. For a moment, the noise of the arena dulled, leaving just Piper’s warmth beside him, her presence as steady as the sun on his back.
“…Thanks,” he said finally, his voice low, almost sheepish.
Piper smiled without looking at him. “Anytime.”
Instead, he leaned back, letting the sounds wash over him. The crash of swords, the shouts, the laughter. It should have been normal. But there was a thin edge to it all, like glass ready to crack.
From a few benches down, voices carried—low, but not low enough—a group of campers.
“Can you believe it? Apollo himself. Here.”
“Saving Percy, no less.“ another voice whispered, tinged with awe.
Percy took a sharp inhale, seems like word got out about that.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” a younger camper breathed. “First Lady Artemis shows up and stays for weeks, now Apollo just… appears out of the sky. And wasn’t Hermes here the other day?”
“Yeah, and Mr. D’s been walking around too. That’s four Olympians in one week.”
“Four!” another voice gasped. “That’s… I mean, that never happens. Gods, literally, I hope Aphrodite comes by next”
“In your dreams!”
“It felt like the air changed when Apollo landed,” the first camper said softly. “Camp feels warmer, brighter. And bless my poor heart, he is one good looking God.”
“Seriously, he’s like thousands of years older than you.” A round of laughter broke at that.
“I got goosebumps just being near them,” someone else murmured. “The gods are supposed to be stories. Distant. But they’re… here. Like the greek stories I read, coming to life.”
Yeah, yeah, very magical, Percy thought. Dad swung by the other day too.
He wasn’t exactly swooning like the other campers. After you’ve fought beside the gods, against them, and occasionally because of them, the novelty kind of wears off. Honestly? Horses were more exciting. At least they didn’t lecture you or try to blow up Manhattan every other week.
Jason jogged over then, sweat running down his temples, sword balanced casually on his shoulder. He was grinning like the whole world was a game he’d just won. “See? Still got it.” He clapped Percy’s shoulder with enough force to jolt him. “Once you’re up to it again Perce, let me have the honour of being your first opponent.”
Percy forced a crooked smile. “Yeah. Soon, maybe.”
Jason didn’t notice the hollowness in it.
When the match reset, Percy drifted away from the arena after saying a quick bye to piper. He let the noise fade behind him, feet carrying him down the familiar slope, through the trees until the air cooled and the lake spread out before him like a sheet of hammered glass.
The sunlight danced across its surface, broken into a thousand golden shards. For a moment, his chest loosened. This had always been his place. His refuge. The one part of camp that felt wholly his.
He crouched at the shoreline and dipped his fingers into the water.
“Peaceful, isn’t it?” A hand settled lightly on his shoulder
Percy jerked at the voice, his instincts snapping taut before his brain caught up and before he could think, Percy reacted.
His fist connected with something solid.
There was a very undignified yelp, followed by the sound of someone stumbling back a step.
Percy spun around, heart hammering, only to see Apollo himself clutching his face, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight like nothing had happened—except for the indignant glare he was fixing Percy with.
“OW!” Apollo exclaimed, rubbing his jaw with exaggerated offense. “Was that—was that a punch? Did you just punch me in the face?”
Percy froze. “Oh my gods—I—sorry! I didn’t—I didn’t recognise your voic—”
“We just talked yesterday!” Apollo exclaimed, incredulous. “I healed you! Your savior. Your literal knight in shining sunlight. And you—” He gestured dramatically at himself. “You punched me.”
Percy winced, guilt flashing across his face. “I said I was sorry!”
“You’d better be,” Apollo huffed, though his tone was already softening, amusement threading through his words. He tilted his head, and the sunlight caught against his cheekbones, making him look impossibly radiant even while fake-pouting. “Is this how you greet all your rescuers? I swoop in like some divine hero, kill a monster, save your life, heal your wounds, and you repay me by breaking my face?”
“You’re fine,” Percy muttered, crossing his arms, already catching on to his teasing. “You’re a god. You probably can’t even bruise.”
“That’s not the point!” Apollo’s lips twitched like he was fighting back a grin. “My feelings are bruised. Severely.”
Percy groaned. “You’re worse than Leo.”
That earned a chuckle, warm and low. Apollo stepped closer, hand dropping from his jaw. He tilted his head down, looking Percy over in that way that made Percy feel both seen and… too seen, like Apollo was cataloguing every detail.
“You seem better,” Apollo said softly. “Color’s back in your face.”
“Thanks to you,” Percy admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt awkward suddenly, like the lake and trees were holding their breath. “I, uh… I can’t remember if I got to say it before but just in case, thanks. For everything. I’d really be dead without you.”
Apollo’s smile softened, golden eyes warm. “You don’t need to thank me, Percy.”
“I do,” Percy insisted. He glanced down at the lake, then back at Apollo. “People don’t just… do that for me. Not anymore.”
Something in Apollo’s expression flickered, like the words hit deeper than Percy intended. The god crouched slightly so they were eye level, his hand hovering near Percy’s shoulder but not quite touching.
“You’re worth saving,” Apollo said, voice low, like it was a simple truth. “Always.”
Percy swallowed hard, looking away first. He was glad for the breeze off the lake; it cooled the warmth creeping up his neck.
Apollo straightened again, breaking the tension with a bright grin. “Still, you did sucker-punch me. Should I expect this every time I show up? Should I start wearing my old war armor?”
Percy huffed a laugh. “Maybe you should stop sneaking up on people.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. I was arriving dramatically.” Apollo swept an arm out at the sunlight glinting off the lake. “Picture it: handsome god, golden glow, appears silently behind his favourite demigod—”
Percy groaned. “Stop.”
“—only to be assaulted!” Apollo finished, clutching his chest like he was mortally wounded.
Percy couldn’t help it; he laughed, the sound bubbling up and loosening the knot of tension in his chest. Apollo’s eyes lit up at the sound, his grin softening.
“You know,” Apollo said after a beat, tilting his head in mock thoughtfulness, “I think you owe me something.”
Percy blinked. “Owe you?”
“For saving your life,” Apollo said smoothly, ticking a finger in the air. “And for being your personal punching bag. I’m a god, Perseus. Do you have any idea how few people get away with punching me in the face?”
Percy’s smile faltered just slightly. Thalia’s warning echoed in his head: Don’t let the gods think they own you. He straightened, guarded now. “If this is about some kind of favor, I—”
Apollo’s laughter cut him off, warm and bright. “Relax, Perseus,” he said, leaning in with a grin that was equal parts teasing and dazzling. “I’m not asking for your soul. Just…” He paused for dramatic effect, then tapped the side of his jaw, where Percy had landed his punch. “…a kiss. Right here. To make it better.”
Percy froze, caught between indignation and disbelief. “What?”
“Payment,” Apollo said cheerfully, as if it was obvious. “I mean, I could write a whole poem about your left hook, but this feels simpler.”
Percy stared at him for a beat, utterly flustered, before shoving his shoulder lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” Apollo insisted, tilting his head closer, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “Come on, Little Pearl. One kiss.”
“Not happening,” Percy muttered, though his ears were definitely pink. That nickname definitely did not help.
Apollo chuckled, leaning back and holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. No kiss. How about… archery?”
Percy blinked. “…Archery?”
“Yeah,” Apollo said with a shrug, like it was obvious. “I’ll teach you.”
Percy squinted at him. “How is that me paying you back? That sounds like you doing me a favor.”
Apollo grinned, all golden warmth and mischief. “Because I get to spend time with you.”
Percy’s cheeks heated, and he tried to cover it with a scoff. “That’s a weird way to collect a debt.”
“I’m a weird guy,” Apollo said breezily, settling down beside him on the grass. “Besides, I think you’d look good with a bow.”
Percy huffed a laugh. “I’m genuinely terrible with it., I’m hopeless with a bow”
Apollo tilted his head, smiling widely. “Well, it’s your lucky day cause I—God of Archery, best of the best—will be helping you.” His grin softened, and his voice dropped, playful but earnest. “Seriously. Let me teach you. Archery isn’t just a skill, it’s… meditation. Control. You could use a little of that.”
Percy shot him a look. “You calling me out?”
“Gently,” Apollo said with a smile that made it hard to be annoyed. “I’ve got centuries of wisdom to share, you know. Might as well give some of it to someone who won’t waste it.”
Percy shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. “You’re the last God I’d say has wisdom.”
“Hey!,” Apollo clutched his chest dramatically, as if Percy had just shot him with one of his own arrows. “That’s slander. I have loads of wisdom. Buckets of it. I’m practically drowning in wisdom.”
Percy giggled. “Sure. Right next to your buckets of ego.”
Apollo gasped, scandalized. “This is the gratitude I get for saving your life? Insults? I should’ve let the manticore chew on you a little longer.”
“You’re the one who wanted payment, don’t complain if it’s not in compliments.” Percy shot back without thinking, a smile tugging at his lips.
He hadn’t felt like this in ages—so easy to banter with someone, to joke without that familiar weight pressing against his chest. The words came as naturally as breathing, effortless, like teasing an old friend. It was… refreshing. Like a glimpse of himself from years ago, before Tartarus, before Kronos, before all the scars he carried. Just a clueless demigod again, wide-eyed at the world, laughing at everything and nothing.
“Come on,” Apollo said gently, slipping an arm around his shoulders, his touch warm and steady. He reached over with his free hand, flicking a stray strand of hair from Percy’s forehead with casual ease, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.
Percy didn’t say anything about how close the God was. “You’re trying way too hard to sell this.”
“Am I?” Apollo teased.
Percy snorted, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Fine. I’ll let you try to teach me. But don’t get your hopes up if I’m disastrously bad at it.”
Apollo’s grin turned bright and pleased, like Percy had just agreed to something much bigger than archery. “Deal. And if you’re terrible, I’ll just have to keep working with you until you’re perfect. More time for me.”
Percy rolled his eyes, though his lips curved in a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible,” Apollo agreed softly, “and yet here I am.”
The warmth between them lingered, golden as the sunlight dancing on the lake’s surface. Percy didn’t say it out loud, but he found himself already looking forward to it—basking under Apollo’s light, learning to hold s bow, feeling the god’s warmth at his back as he guided his aim.
⸻
The training fields were quiet in the late afternoon, the sun low and warm, drenching everything in soft amber light. Percy stood awkwardly with a bow in hand, eyeing the target downrange like it was a monster that might lunge at him first.
“This feels weird,” Percy muttered, tugging at the bowstring experimentally. “Like, why would I ever use a bow? I’ve got a perfectly good sword.”
Apollo leaned lazily against a post nearby, arms crossed, smirk easy. “Because, Sea Prince, you owe me. And besides, archery teaches patience, balance, and precision—qualities you desperately lack.”
Percy shot him a look. “Wow. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Apollo straightened and stepped closer, plucking the bow from Percy’s hands to adjust his grip. “Now, you stand like this.” He placed it back in Percy’s hands, shifting his shoulders gently. “Feet apart. Shoulders square. You’re not swinging a sword; this is about control.”
Percy huffed but followed along, letting Apollo maneuver him into place. The god’s hands were warm—steadier than Percy would’ve expected from someone who spent most of his time writing poems about himself—and annoyingly sure as they guided his stance.
“Breathe,” Apollo said softly, voice smooth as honey, his lips brushing close enough that Percy swore he could feel the sound. “Archery is all breath and heartbeat. Let the string pull you, not the other way around.”
Percy inhaled, then exhaled through his nose, determined to focus. But then Apollo stepped in closer, so close that his chest pressed lightly against Percy’s back. The warmth seeped through his shirt, impossible to ignore. Apollo’s hand slid down, curling over Percy’s fingers, fitting over his knuckles as if they’d always belonged there.
“Like this,” Apollo murmured near his ear. The breath ghosted against Percy’s skin, and he stiffened. His pulse jumped, betraying him, and he cursed himself silently.
Apollo chuckled under his breath, clearly catching it. “Relax,” he teased, the sound soft but edged with amusement. “You’re more tense than my sister at a Kalamatiano dance back in the day.”
Percy snorted despite himself, unwilling to give Apollo the satisfaction of silence. He fixed his eyes on the target downrange, forcing his mind on the bullseye, not the god practically wrapped around him. Every subtle adjustment—Apollo nudging his elbow higher, brushing his shoulder straighter, sliding his palm down the line of Percy’s arm—was equal parts instruction and excuse to linger.
Percy told himself not to read into it, that Apollo was just hands-on with everything, that gods didn’t think twice about boundaries. But the little grin tugging at the corner of Apollo’s mouth, the way his thumb grazed Percy’s wrist and lingered just a beat too long. Must he really be so close.
And Apollo knew it. He was savoring every stolen brush of contact, every tiny flinch Percy tried to disguise as shifting his stance. To Apollo, it was all part of the lesson—at least, that was the excuse he’d keep.
Percy, meanwhile, swallowed hard and locked his eyes on the target like his life depended on it. Because looking anywhere else—especially at the golden god practically breathing down his neck—felt like conceding a battle he wasn’t ready to fight.
Then—just for an instant—something shifted.
The golden glow that always seemed to cling to Apollo dimmed at the edges. Percy’s peripheral vision caught it: a bruised-purple shimmer bleeding into the light, shadow coiling like smoke beneath gold. The air felt heavy, electric, and Percy stiffened.
Apollo’s hands faltered for a split second, tightening on his.
Then it was gone.
Sunlight flooded the field again, Apollo steady and smiling like nothing had happened.
Percy swallowed hard. “Did you—”
“Hmm?” Apollo tilted his head, his expression open and unbothered.
Percy hesitated. “Nothing.”
But the image lingered, for a split second he swear he saw the veins of apollo’s hands glow purple through his skin.
Apollo tapped the bow lightly, breaking the tension. “Focus, Perseus. You’re about to hit yourself in the foot if you keep spacing out.” He leaned even closer.
Percy rolled his eyes and forced himself to focus on the target again, his pulse still racing from Apollo’s closeness, already forgetting about the weird purple glow that came from Apollo just a few seconds ago.
By the time the sun started dipping behind the trees, painting the archery field in gold and shadow, Percy realized their little “training session” had turned into a full-blown spectacle.
Not that he should’ve been surprised. Gods putting on a show? Yeah, of course the campers would gawk.
A quick sweep of the field confirmed it: Groups of camper sprawled around the edges. Jason and Piper in one corner, Piper biting back a grin while Jason wore the expression of someone trying to calculate the probability of friendly fire. Off to the side, Will Solace and the other Apollo kids were literally scribbling notes like this was some kind of sacred masterclass.
Great. Just what Percy needed: a peanut gallery for another one of his failures.
And—wow—he really was bad at archery. Really bad. He’d hit the hay bales a few times, winged a tree, and may or may not have scared a pigeon into early retirement. Sure, he’d nailed one bullseye, but Percy was a hundred and one percent sure Apollo had blessed that arrow mid-flight. The god had tried to act casual, but Percy had caught the smug sparkle in his eyes. Dead giveaway.
He was about to pretend he didn’t notice the audience when the air stilled. The crowd went quiet all at once, like the wind itself had held its breath. Percy turned and immediately understood why.
Lady Artemis stood at the edge of the field, silver radiance catching the last of the day’s light. Beside her, Thalia crossed her arms, her storm-blue eyes narrowing not at Percy—but at Apollo, who was still much too close behind him.
“Brother,” Artemis said, her voice calm, deliberate. Her gaze lingered on Percy before sliding back to Apollo. “You’ve taken quite an interest in this one’s form.”
Apollo smiled, all teeth. “Greetings Arty, just teaching. Someone has to.”
Artemis’ expression didn’t shift, though there was a flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth. “Strange. Didn’t someone just tell me they’ll never bother learning said skill, you’re suddenly very… devoted to the lesson. Glad you’re taking my advice little hero.”
Percy felt his ears heat. Oh, great.
Apollo only straightened, grin widening. “I am an excellent teacher, how could he reject my teachings..”
Thalia leaned in toward Percy, her words low, sharp enough that only he caught them. “Did you not listen to what I said. Why are you playing with arrows with him.”
Percy grimaced. Its just an archey lesson, what’s ao bad about it.
Before he could come up with a proper reply, the ground beneath his feet darkened. A tug at his sleeve made him glance down.
Nico had surfaced from his shadow like it was the most natural thing in the world. His pale hand stayed at Percy’s wrist, anchoring him.
“You’re done here,” Nico muttered.
Apollo blinked. Then bristled. “I’m sorry—what? You don’t just crawl out of someone’s shadow and—” He turned on Percy, indignant. “Why didn’t you punch him?!”
“Why would I punch Nico?”
“What! You punched me earlier when i appeared behind you.” Apollo spluttered, feeling wronged.
Percy shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Because it’s Nico. I’m used to him.”
Apollo looked like Percy had just admitted he enjoyed eating nails for breakfast. The nerve of it—that Percy let this brooding shadow kid cling to him without so much as a flinch—gnawed at him in ways he refused to put words to.
Artemis, mercifully, stepped in before her brother could combust. “Enough. If you’re so eager to prove yourself, Apollo, perhaps a hunt is a better test of your focus.” Her tone was mild, but her eyes glinted silver with challenge.
Apollo drew himself up, flashing a grin that was both cocky and relieved at the change of subject. “Gladly.”
“Alright Apollo, I shall see you in the Arcadian Forests, let us hunt in the north acre.” With that she disappeared with a silver glow.
Apollo didn’t leave immediately he turned back to Percy, ruffling his hair. “Thank you for your time, Perseus. Don’t miss me too much.” he added with a grin before vanishing in a blaze of sunlight.
Percy groaned, shoving his hair back into place. “I swear he does that just to annoy me.”
Nico scowled at the empty space. “I don’t trust him.”
“Me two,” Thalia muttered, shooting a last suspicious glance at the spot Apollo had disappeared from. “ He’s acting too chummy with you. It’s never good when you catch a God’s attention Percy. Espacially with the likes of someone like Apollo.”
“I didnt ask for this!” Percy squawked. “Besides he’s been really nice, ya’ll are overthinking it… Maybe… he’s just feeling lonely.”
“Sure,” Thalia scoffed.
Percy wanted to argue more, to defend the warmth still clinging to his skin where Apollo’s light had brushed him. But he couldn’t find the words.
Nico tugged Percy’s sleeve again, more insistent this time. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Percy blew out a breath, gesturing for them both to follow. “Come on. Let’s go to where Jason and Piper are. Will’s with them too.”
The three of them slipped away from the archery field, the murmurs of amused campers fading as the last sliver of sun vanished behind the horizon.
⸻
On his way back to the Poseidon cabin, Percy slowed. From the veranda of the Big House, a flicker of color caught his eye. Rachel Elizabeth Dare sat hunched over a canvas, her red hair loose and wild, brush slashing furiously at the surface.
He hadn’t seen her much this summer—maybe once or twice at most. Each time, she’d seemed…different. Quieter. A little more hollow around the edges, as if the spark that usually lit her up had dimmed. Percy had felt bad about it, in the way you feel bad about a friend you should probably check in on but keep putting off. She was important—his friend, his guide once—but part of him didn’t know how to bridge the space that had grown between them. And, if he was honest, another part didn’t want the weight of suddenly being pulled into another prophecy. Who knew when she’d suddenly get a vision and spew it onto him.
Curiosity tugged Percy closer, an invisible thread pulling him toward the porch. He moved softly, each step measured, as though even the creak of a floorboard might shatter the strange tension clinging to the air.
He stopped short when he finally caught sight of the painting.
A great sun dominated the canvas, its brilliance dulled, gold bleeding into sickly shades of bronze. A jagged crack split its centre, a fracture so stark it looked like a wound. From the fissure seeped something darker than shadow—inky coils twisting outward, serpents painted in strokes so fine they almost seemed to writhe, their bodies threaded with veins of bruise-purple. They crawled across the canvas like they were alive, spilling down into what might have been a sea or a sky—it was impossible to tell.
Percy’s throat went dry.
Rachel didn’t seem to notice him. Her hand moved in frantic bursts, brush darting and slashing, her red hair falling in a curtain around her face. Every stroke carried a tension that made Percy’s chest tighten, a rhythm like panic, like prophecy clawing its way out of her. The air around her practically hummed. Percy felt a cold shiver skate down his spine, the same unnatural ripple he’d felt earlier at the lake, only sharper now, as if the painting itself was watching him.
He stepped back slowly, unwilling to interrupt, though the image clung to his mind. A sun cracked, dulled. Dark purple spilling through the light.
By the time he reached his cabin, the camp had settled into its nighttime rhythm—lanterns glowing, crickets singing, waves lapping against the shore. Peaceful. Safe.
But Percy couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, in the folds of that darkness, something was waiting. Something winding closer.