Chapter Text
“It’ll just be one more time,” Annabeth said, standing before the gaping maw of the newly rebuilt tunnel leading out of New Rome.
She smiled at Percy as she leaned in for a kiss. Her soft lips almost broke through the numbness smothering everything he felt. Almost. He knew that wasn’t good—that he wasn’t processing like he needed to, but he was just… so tired. Exhausted in every way—spiritually, mentally, emotionally—all of it bleeding into his body, making his muscles ache as they protested any movement.
He tried to pretend he was fine for her. He didn’t want her to worry, but Percy Jackson had never been good at subtlety.
She pulled away from the kiss to lean her head on his collarbone.
“For Malcom.” Her soft, warm breaths managed to send goosebumps up his spine, but he could still only feel it as if from a distance.
He couldn’t go with her. That was the worst part. If they could go together, it might’ve been bearable. But the quest was female-only—for some reason Rachel’s prophecy had made clear, though no one seemed to know why.
Malcom had used the camp phone to call Annabeth in a panic because the prophecy’s recipient was his girlfriend. Percy hadn’t even known he was dating anyone. It was her first quest, and she wasn’t a fighter. The only person Malcom trusted to really help was his big sister. He’d been so sorry and so scared and stuttering over the line and—
“For Malcom,” Percy said, cutting into his own spiraling thoughts and hating how dull he sounded but unable to do anything about it.
“Just one more time,” Annabeth whispered against his neck.
Just one more quest. Then one more battle. Then one more war. One more pantheon, one more divine cousin, one more magical apocalypse. Always one more. He knew he was being bitter. He didn’t care.
It didn’t help that she didn’t believe her own words.
He didn’t either.
Neither one of them had ever had a calm life. The best they’d ever had were calm months, at least when they were outside of camp.
Peace was a myth—more so than the pantheon they belonged to.
The Titans. Luke. Silena. Beckendorf. Lee, Castor, Michael. The Giants. Gaea. Apollo. Jason. Dakota. Too many others.
It had just. Kept. Coming .
And even now, they were still getting quests from the gods. They weren’t supposed to—not anymore—and no god approached them directly. But the gods had gotten sneaky. Apparently it had gotten around that to way to get to Annabeth and Percy was through the people close to them. Not that it had ever been a secret. Maybe that was the problem.
So here they were, staring down the inevitable “just once more.”
“Be safe,” Percy whispered, knowing his voice came out too harsh as he hugged her tighter. “Even the strongest can fall in the right circumstances.”
“So you do listen to me,” she said. He could feel her smile against his skin like warm glass—piercing but addictive and comforting. Because it might be the last time he’d ever hold her.
“Always.”
“Liar.”
But she was still smiling.
She gave him one last kiss before heading toward the tunnel and the pegasus waiting in front of it.
I promise to bring her safely to camp, Lord.
He nodded. Thank you.
Do we have to go through the tunnel, though? The pegasus stamped a little on the hardened ground, eyeing the opening into the mountainside warily.
With the new fortifications, yes, Percy said, trying to inject any emotion into his mental voice.
The winged horse deflated a little as Annabeth situated herself on the mare’s back.
Very well, Lord. I will do my best.
I’m sure you will.
“I love you, Seaweed Brain!” Annabeth called.
Percy forced a smile and ignored how his stomach dropped at her worried look. But then she turned the pegasus around, and they were gone.
He stood there, staring after her for what could have been seconds or hours. No one else was there, which meant he had time to quietly fall apart. She could take care of herself. Odds were she’d come back. And even if the odds got worse… well, they’d beaten them before.
But there was always that chance… and there always would be.
That thought was what made him finally spin around, a destination suddenly clear in his mind.
And an idea.
A bad idea, maybe, but it was him, and he couldn’t just sit around doing nothing.
Riptide went to Terminus—who yelled at him, not that Percy heard a word. He just walked past the Statue-God and into the city proper.
This was definitely a bad idea.
But he was done. He’d been done for years, but he’d given the Greek gods a chance to do right by them—their heroes and children. But while some seemed to want to help, nothing had changed. So maybe a Roman god could do what the Greeks couldn’t seem to.
Maybe the old Roman propaganda was getting to him. Or maybe he was just that desperate for a peaceful life—for all of this to end. The quests, the danger, the uncertainty…
Mortals could only take so much.
And he didn’t think the gods understood that. Maybe they couldn’t understand that. Which was why they kept asking and asking and asking—taking and taking and taking—long past when he’d given everything he had to give.
The prospect of continuing to live like that for the rest of his life just…
No.
No more.
His footfalls echoed on the marble steps of New Rome’s public library. It struck him as ironic. Annabeth was off on a mission, and here he was, ready to research. It almost made him laugh.
Almost.
Five minutes later, he stood in front of the rows and of shelves of books, unsure of where to start. Maybe with a list of the gods? He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for, but he needed something—someone—who could give him and Annabeth safety. Or peace. Or both. Preferably both.
For the next several hours, he poured over books, willing his eyes to focus on the swimming letters in front of him. His brain wasn’t wired for Latin any more than it was wired for English, so his dyslexia still applied. By the time the lights flickered to signal the approaching closing time, his head ached, his eyes burned, and he hadn’t found anything. Of course.
“How are we supposed to find peace or safety like this?!” he hissed, throwing himself back in the library chair. It rocked and thumped loudly, drawing annoyed looks from the other patrons. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He’d almost forgotten where he was.
Still prone to making a fool of himself, even after all these years.
Tiredly, Percy gathered the books he’d been reading and started to put them back, turning down the aisle where he’d found them. He didn’t want to give the librarian more work than he already had.
Before he could fully enter the narrow walkway, he froze. In front of him stood a figure. A familiar figure. One he hadn’t seen in years and, truthfully, could have gone much longer without seeing.
This time, the god wasn’t dressed like a doorman. Instead, he wore typical Roman regalia, as if preparing to attend a Senate meeting. But there were still two faces protruding from either side of his head, one pointing left, the other right. Both faces were framed by dark, curly hair that merged at the side, running down the center where their ear (or was it ears?) should have been.
Gods were ridiculous sometimes.
For several seconds, they just stood there, staring at each other (as much as the god could stare out of the corner of his eyes) as Percy processed what he was seeing. He didn’t like how he couldn’t focus on both faces at once. He could tell each one was still there—knew the face he’d been focusing on was present when he looked away—but he couldn’t picture it in his mind or even glimpse it in his peripheral vision when he focused on the other face. It was as if that part of his head didn’t exist. Just that strip of curly hair.
Ridiculous.
Percy still felt his mouth go dry. He, of all people, knew how problematic it was to see a god here—for him, obviously. Was this an answer to his... well, not a prayer, but a plea? A wish? A need?
Part of him hoped so, but most of him just wanted to fight or run.
“Janus,” he finally said, allowing a scowl to crawl over his face. He’d forgotten Janus was Roman. Why he, of all gods, had been allowed to show up for their very Greek quest—back when the camps didn’t even know about each other—was beyond him. He also remembered that he didn’t like the guy. At all. He’d joined Kronos. He’d almost gotten them all killed in the Labyrinth. Par for the course when it came to the gods in his life, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “What do you want?”
The god tipped his head (heads? So confusing) to one side. “What do I want?” the right head asked angrily. “Rude, impertinent, reckless little brat!”
“He always struck me as brave and strong,” the left head disagreed. “Leave him alone.”
“He’s not showing me the proper respect!” Funny, he hadn’t said ‘us.’ How did that work?
No, seriously, gods.
“Name a god he’s respectful towards,” the left head said dryly.
That was a fair point, and they all knew it judging from the following silence. Percy found himself liking the left head more than he had before. To be fair, he still didn’t like either head much, but hey. Now he just had to figure out which one liked to lie this time around. Did it change? He didn’t remember which one had been lying last time. Why didn’t he remember?
“You are searching for someone to grant you peace,” the left face said suddenly, not unkindly, but somehow not kindly either.
(Maybe he should have looked into that wording more... he wasn’t stupid, but sometimes he really could be a Seaweed Brain.)
Percy’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. What’s it to you?”
“Of course you’ll find peace!” the right head said, voice suddenly saccharine. So that was the lying head today. Good to know.
He really needed to cut back on the bitterness.
“Peace isn’t for you,” the left head said quietly.
Percy took it back. He didn’t like the left head, even if it wasn’t lying.
“I’ll find a way,” he insisted, lifting his chin defiantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed no one else seemed to be able to hear them. His frown deepened.
“I could show you,” the right head said, “show you everything you want.”
The left head, in response to the phrase, sighed. “No, I can show you peace.”
Percy snorted. “Why should I believe that?”
“I am the God of Choices, the Guardian of Paths and what each choice leads to—I can show you a life where you will only know peace.”
He… didn’t sound like he was lying. And that was the left head…
“Why?”
Silence for several beats.
Percy decided to clarify. “Why would you? You fought against my side in the Titan War and I haven’t seen you since. Were you even a part of the Giant war?”
The right side scowled. “You dare question us?”
Percy just stared at them, deadpan. “Yes.”
“Why, you—”
“Stop,” the left face cut in. Then his head turned, and the burning eyes on that side locked onto Percy.
He couldn’t help that he gulped.
“Tell me, demigod, do you know how many look to you? How many follow your lead? How much of an example you are?”
Percy’s cheeks burned, despite himself. “I’m not that influential.”
The right—now back?—head snorted. “False humility doesn’t suit you.”
Percy scowled, but the left head spoke again before he could respond.
“Your choices tip the balance. They always have. So many follow you. I wanted to see if that was your own influence—or your father’s.”
Yeah. Screw that face too.
“So you’re curious. And you want to use me as a lab rat.”
Janus just shrugged.
Yep. He definitely hated both heads.
But he was still being offered something he very much wanted. He chewed the inside of his cheek, eyeing the god again. He really, really hated how tempted he was.
“And Annabeth?”
“She’ll never notice a thing,” the right head said, voice slick with a sneer.
“She will know everything,” the left head corrected, almost gently. “But this will change you as every decision does. This is your choice: take my offer and find peace… or don’t, and continue with your life as it is.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Percy forced himself to say, tamping down the reckless part of him that wanted to leap at the chance. It was still too good to be true. “Why are you offering this? You hate me.”
“You awful, evil, disgusting—” the right head began, but the left head cut it off.
“When I influence one as powerful as you, your choice—regardless of what it is—gives me power. It is my domain. It is mine to witness the moment you decide. That is all.”
So a lab rat and a battery. Yeah. That tracked. That very much tracked.
“I don’t trust you,” he said finally, shaking his head.
The right face laughed, sharp and mocking. “Look at him! So tangled in doubt he can’t even accept the gift I offer.”
The god tilted his head again—slow, deliberate. Then he turned it back so both faces were technically visible at once again. Percy found himself flicking between them, his gaze shifting as his eyes still refused to focus on both simultaneously. Annabeth would say it was his mortal mind trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.
“It is your choice,” the left face repeated, softer now, but no less final.
Silence followed—thick, expectant.
“What’s the catch?” Percy pressed.
“There is always a lesson to learn,” both faces said at once.
The air warped. Percy’s balance faltered. The words didn’t echo—they pressed in, circling him like a trap closing. He gritted his teeth and pushed back with his own power. It held. He stood firm again, even as the sky outside darkened and the once-calm sea began to churn in the distance.
“Lessons?” he managed, jaw tight.
The head angled again, slow and smooth, like Janus knew every answer he didn’t want to hear.
“Your choices define you. Your life, your consequences,” the left face said.
“No, they don’t,” the right face snapped, full of scorn. Percy ignored it.
“Whether your decisions lead to happiness, sorrow, fury, joy, peace, or ruin—you will learn something. That is how humans are.”
The pause that followed wasn’t silent. It throbbed. Then, in perfect unison, both voices spoke again, their tone and weight identical:
“You have a lesson to learn.”
“And who are you to decide if I need that lesson?” Percy shot back, anger rising as he fought against the overwhelming force of the combined voices, pushing his own divinity harder. He could feel the wind picking up outside.
Hazel and Frank would definitely scold him for that later.
Janus responded once more, his voice still that strange, dual harmony.
“I am the God of Choices.”
Percy shook his head in disgust. “You think I’d just—”
“I swear it on the Styx.”
Thunder (that was definitely not from his storm) cracked through the sky, and Percy’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes widened.
“You… swear what on the Styx?” he asked cautiously, trying to smother that spark of hope inside him.
“That you will know peace. I swear it on the Styx.” Both voices spoke evenly, again in perfect unison. Percy felt himself almost bowing under the weight of it, but they had sworn on the Styx.
This could be his chance. He and Annabeth could finally have the life they dreamed of. But as much as he wanted to believe it, he couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that it was still too good to be true. He knew he couldn’t trust the god. But if he could have that peaceful life with Annabeth… and the god had sworn on the Styx…
“Fine,” he said, his voice tight with resolve. If the god was willing to give that oath—an oath only the Olympians could break without consequence—then maybe, just maybe, he could afford to be desperate. “Run your experiment. Let us live in peace.” He extended his hand.
The god, without turning his head, looked down at the offered hand out of the corners of his eyes. After a long moment, he reached out and shook it.
White light overtook Percy’s vision.
Then nothing.
xXx
He woke up on a beach.
The sharp scent of salt and brine filled his nose. Warm, gritty sand shifted beneath him—familiar, and it should’ve felt normal. But it didn’t, and he couldn’t place why. His head felt foggy, his thoughts dragging like feet through mud.
Then Annabeth leaned over him, blocking the sun, her face pale with worry.
He blinked. What was she doing here? She was supposed to be on a quest. That was what had pushed him to take Janus’s deal.
Before he could ask, she spoke. “Percy! Are you okay?”
“Um…” he said brilliantly. “What happened?”
Her brow furrowed deeper. “You fainted!”
“I what?” That didn’t sound right.
She shook her head. “That’s it. I’m calling an ambulance.”
He blinked again as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone.
What?
“No!” He lurched upright, struggling to his feet. His heart pounded—not from fainting (that still didn’t feel right), but because that cell phone could put both of them and the quest in danger. “I’m fine. Just give me some ambrosia and I’ll be good.”
Annabeth stilled. “Ambrosia?”
He let out a weak laugh. “Very funny, Wise Girl. Look, I’m sorry to crash your quest, but I ran into Janus at the Library in New Rome. He must’ve sent me here to you.” There were worse places he could’ve ended up. Some of them he’d definitely already been to.
She bit her lip. “You ran into—wait, quest? Percy… what are you talking about?”
Her words and something in her voice sent a chill down his spine. And now that he was really looking, her face was… off. Paler. Hair a little frizzier, not the perfect princess curls he loved to play with.
And her eyes—
Blue.
Annabeth didn’t have blue eyes.
His hand shot to his pocket.
“You’re not—” he started, but froze. His fingers found nothing he expected. No pen. No Riptide. No ambrosia. Nothing demigod-related at all.
Just… a cell phone.
He never carried a cell phone. No demigod did—at least, not outside Camp Half-Blood, Camp Jupiter, or New Rome.
Except Leo. But Leo was a special case.
Something was very, very wrong.
“Of course you don’t want me to call an ambulance,” she said quietly, almost pained. Then she shook her head. “Fine, but I’m calling your mother instead.” Her fingers moved over the screen. “I think you’re hallucinating.”
Percy couldn’t answer—not because he didn’t have words, but because the lock screen on his phone stopped him cold.
It was a picture of him and Annabeth.
This Annabeth.
Not his Annabeth.
Trying to steady himself, he looked around. And that’s when he realized where he was. The beach at camp. East Coast. He’d just been in San Fransisco.
“Percy, please sit down,” Annabeth begged, phone to her ear.
He didn’t. Instead, he stared at the sand, the rocks, the ocean. All of it looked the same—but it wasn’t. That thing he’d noticed earlier that was so off… what was it?
It took him far too long to figure it out.
He couldn’t feel the ocean.
Not the pull, not the power, not even the faint hum in the back of his mind. It was just... water. Dead water. It felt wrong on a level so deep it shook him. He couldn’t breathe. He stumbled back as another dead wave curled lifelessly onto the shore.
“Percy,” Annabeth started, but her voice shifted. “Sally! Thank goodness!”
She never said that.
Percy backed up again.
“Something’s wrong with Percy! We were just sitting on the beach, and he collapsed! Then he started talking about someone named Janus? Said he needed ambrosia and—” She paused. Percy took another step. “No, I haven’t told Mr. Kai. I’m a counselor now, I have jurisdiction to call an ambulance. I just wanted to check with you first.”
Mr. Kai?
That wrongness was a pressure now, like a storm rolling in under his skin. A storm with no outlet. The skies above remained clear.
He had to get away. Now.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he’d whipped around and bolted up the path toward the cabins.
“Percy!” Annabeth’s voice chased him. “Percival Jackson!”
Percival?! That was not his name.
He kept running. But why was he already out of breath? With how much he trained, that shouldn’t be a problem.
He crested the hill—
—and stopped cold.
Twelve cabins. All of them identical, like the Hermes cabin from when he was twelve. The decorations were different, but the shape, the design? All the same. On all the cabins.
No names over the doors. No gods.
And in the middle of camp… no fire.
No hearth.
No Hestia.
Kids passed between the cabins, waving cheerfully. He didn’t wave back. He didn’t know a single one.
The panic flared. Tartarus-level panic. He hadn’t felt this bad since—
“Percy!”
Annabeth. She caught up to him, breathless. After that short of a run? Just like him… “Please, just sit down!”
He wanted to yell at her, tell her to stop, to go away, to admit she wasn’t his Annabeth, but then—he saw her eyes.
She was crying. The last time Annabeth had cried was Jason’s memorial.
“Please,” she whispered, voice breaking. And it didn’t sound fake. It sounded real. Too real.
“Hey, Annabeth!” A girl rushed over—olive-skinned, dark-haired, younger than them. Percy didn’t know her either. “What’s wrong?”
More voices followed. A crowd of strangers. Questions. Concern.
He couldn’t understand any of them. It all blurred together, fading in and out like static.
“Mr. Kai!” Annabeth’s voice cut through the haze. The crowd parted for an adult.
An adult. At camp.
He didn’t know why that was the breaking point. But it was.
Percy dropped, crouching down. He curled in on himself, hands clamped over his ears, trying every grounding trick he’d ever learned. None of them worked.
Somewhere, Janus was laughing at him. Percy had been desperate—distracted by the offer, the oath on the River Styx. He’d seen it coming, known something was off, but had taken the deal anyway.
And now… now he was in another world.
A world where he wasn’t a demigod.
Where Annabeth wasn’t a demigod.
Where Camp Half-Blood as he knew it didn’t exist.
Did that mean the Greek gods didn’t exist here either?
Part of him felt relieved—the kind that came from setting down a weight he’d carried too long, as bone-deep as the time he’d held up the sky. But the rest of him didn’t know what to feel. Not really. He’d been tangled up in the mythological world for so long, he couldn’t imagine life without it. It wasn’t just a part of his story anymore; it was woven into every moment, every relationship, every decision he’d ever made.
Yes, he’d wanted to escape it—but to erase it completely? To live in a world where it had never existed at all? That was something else entirely.
Who was his father here, if not Poseidon? Sally was still his mom—Annabeth had called her—but what about Paul? Estelle? Annabeth’s family?
And who else was here?
If he and Annabeth existed in this world, did the others? His friends. His siblings-in-arms. The people he’d fought for. Mourned. Buried. Would they have lived longer here? Would they have smiled more? Maybe they’d never even picked up a sword.
That thought almost made this all feel worth it.
Almost.
He hoped they existed. Hoped they had a chance at something better. Or at least more ordinary. No monsters. No gods. No ancient grudges passed down like curses. Just lives—simple, maybe even happy.
No Greek gods sounded like a dream. But now, standing in the middle of it, he wasn’t sure if any of it was better. He wasn’t sure if any of it was worth it.
It was all just… too much.
He barely registered the man—Mr. Kai?—asking something. Percy’s mouth moved, but no words came.
Because he—the great hero of Olympus—passed out.
The last thing he felt was sand sticking to his sweat-slicked palms, and a girl who wasn’t his Annabeth crying his name.