✩ ━━━ chapter fifteen, end of beginning. ❝Death by his hand, but living by my own.❞

IN THE LONELIEST TIME OF HIS LIFE, ETHAN NAKAMURA BARELY SLEPT AT ALL. He spent most of his nights staring at the ceiling of Hermes' cabin, lost in thought. Anxious, overwhelmed by all the unclaimed demigods forced together in a singular room. Trapped. Sickened by the smell of rotten food hidden by the teens who had barely scraped by before arriving at camp, paranoid of when a new meal would be available. The nightmares that plagued the youngest and their inability to be quiet when they broke down; the non-stop bitter mutterings and constant hissing from the oldest campers, always plotting yet doing nothing—the worst of all were those who hadn't lost hope despite everything, still clinging to the idea that they would be rescued by their godly parent soon. Cabin Eleven is a prison with no parole date. Never enough room to stretch, or move, or breathe. No privacy; constantly surrounded by the sounds of shuffling feet and sniffling noses. Feeling disconnected from the world around him.

Back then, despite his exhaustion, Ethan kept awake each night, staring at the chipped paint that failed to conceal the water damage on the ceiling above. Yet, during those restless hours, unlike the rest of Cabin Eleven, Ethan never once questioned precisely why. Why did they have such a hard time everywhere they went? Why did monsters hunt them relentlessly with every passing second? Why did no one come to their aid despite their parents being gods? Why, why, why—the sum question of a demigod's life. Ethan knew why—because they were unloved; it's as simple as that.

To him, it meant nothing. Love was never something Ethan wished for. In the same way that he entered the world alone, without a mortal or divine parent at his side, he will spend the rest of his life on his own.

Having an older cousin like Micah only made things marginally more challenging.

In the loneliest time of his life, Ethan Nakamura was blessed with Micah, or so his irritating cousin would claim. Always present after that day when Micah looked at him and saw Nemesis' features in his face, claiming they were family 'unlike the others.' Akin to a parasite embedded under his skin, with constant chatter, his unsolicited advice, the historical minutiae. His sweet tooth, his penchant for starting trouble each time they snuck out of camp—did he mention the agonizingly never-ending chatter? Always so distracting and boisterous, so arrogant—a whirlwind that swept Ethan away each time without fail. He invoked a mixture of annoyance and amusement, unable to decide whether to tell him to shut up or just let him continue his rambling. Torn between affection and wishing for the familiar loneliness that plagued his life because, to Ethan, it's obvious that the lives of demigods aren't supposed to be happy.

Micah consistently denied Ethan any sense of balance.
People like him—greater than titans and gods—had no need for it. They lived above it all, untouchable in every way, so why would they care about the laws that governed others?

Now, Ethan wondered if he had been wrong to think that.

Micah is unwell.

Concerned but silent, Ethan observed him. The usually piercing stare of his cousin was disoriented, open too wide yet unfocused as if he were lost in thought, and his hands trembled with a manic energy despite how much he tried to hide it. His skin had a waxy sheen that frightened Ethan, and Mica's fever-flushed cheeks were sunken tragically into his pale face. Nothing came out of his mouth; he just existed, silent unless spoken to, oblivious to everything going on around him—a spirit trapped in the past. Ethan couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness as he watched Micah deteriorate before his eyes.

"Itoko?" He sought out in the silence of New York's abandoned streets. As they slowly made their way away from the reservoir, the cries of monsters and the stomps of the Hyperborean Giants faded into the background. Hyperion will be dealt with swiftly, Micah disclosed, with Typhon and the Olympians being slowed down by his godly brothers, so they advanced stealthily on Mount Olympus, bypassing the two armies and heading straight for the Empire State Building. Kronos remained weak and suppressed, imprisoned within the vessel of Luke's body by the combined efforts of the children of Hypnos. He'll awaken if they desire it. When asked about Luke, Micah shrugged uncaringly. It makes no difference whether he dies now or later, he said, cold and distant.

If Micah had ever been loyal to any side of the war, Ethan understood that he had long since abandoned the notion and now only cared about his own objectives. It was as if the son of Hypnos had found a new purpose, one that superseded any previous loyalties or allegiances—above Ethan and their shared dream. Something even greater than the love he supposedly held for Percy Jackson.

He couldn't put his finger on what was going on in the shadows of the conflict, but Micah's sudden shift in priorities and disregard for the consequences of his actions made Ethan uneasy. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that Micah's intent would be disastrous for everyone involved—worse than any fate bought by any Titan or god, but foremost for Micah himself.

The weight of it bore down on Ethan's shoulders; there was a constant sense that if he remained silent, Micah's fate would be sealed. The thought gnawed at him incessantly, unnaturally, fueling a desperate urge to speak up—to intervene before the imminent tragedy unfolded. For Ethan, his cousin's life hung in the balance, teetering on the edge of a deadly abyss.

Ethan sought, "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

Micah remained absent, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. His response came slowly, seconds after he hesitantly opened his mouth. "It's been a while since I've felt hungry."

"Then we should eat; we have time." Ethan reasoned, trying to coax Micah out of his state of mind just for a single second, but his cousin shook his head. "There's been enough waiting," Micah told him. Ethan worries, with a deep, growing fear, over how little his cousin views himself as human.

"You don't have to worry, little cousin," Micah said, his tone resolute. There was something gut-wrenching about his attempt at a reassuring look. "This is the day I've been preparing for. The Olympian Army and Titan Army will neutralize each other, leaving us with little to handle. Everything is perfect."

With a heavy heart, Ethan unwillingly nodded. The Empire State Building loomed in the distance; Micah stared at it, devoid of life, as his finger raised towards the sky. "I'll make it there," he promised, "and we'll make things right, Ethan. We've got everything under control."

A dull ache that spread throughout his entire frame made Ethan restless—like a warning from his divine powers that something was amiss. His mother has absolute and divine authority over abstract principles like balance and retribution. He isn't like Percy Jackson, who can make the Earth tremble with his anger, or Micah, who can sleep an entire army with just a single look, but Ethan must've inherited something from Nemesis, and that ability was cautioning him of the ultimate destiny he had exchanged his eye for. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that Micah was keeping something crucial from him. That if he didn't intervene, something terrible could happen to Micah.

Long ago, when rumors of Kronos' reemergence first arose, he promised Ethan that as long as they stood together, there would be nothing to fear, but it now looks like his cousin sought his own death. Carelessly taking risks that aren't necessary, betting their lives on unknown strategies, becoming callous with his actions, willfully injuring himself—his behavior wholly erratic and wild. Each missed meal and every ignored injury tore at Ethan's heart, leaving him with a sense of unease that refused to dissipate. The lives of demigods aren't supposed to be happy. They are living tragedies, caught between mortal fragility and divine obligations; they were born to endure the disasters of both realms, forever caught in the crossfire of their dual heritage. And it was this understanding that intensified Ethan's worry for Micah: The brightest stars burn brilliantly, but their radiance comes at the cost of a swift, agonizing demise. The son of Nemesis knew the fate of those like Micah—destined to be devoured by his own flame, following the pattern of each and every hero, leaving only a tragic void in the places he once illuminated.

Ethan only had him. Secretly, desperately, he was afraid of being alone again.

"Who is 'we'?" Ethan pressed, his voice laced with wary suspicion. "Because I don't know what is going on at all. You made an entire show out of betraying Percy and Camp Half-Blood, but you aren't loyal to Kronos and Luke either. If you are screwing both sides of the Second Titanomachy, then who is left? You, alone?" What about me?

Micah covered his face, tired, and sighed heavily. "Let it go, Ethan," he advised. "All you need to know is that family will be left. I'll handle it, as I said I would, little cousin."

"No, I won't let it go." The son of Nemesis denied," I am your family. Do you want me to die because I don't know your plan? The war is now, Micah! We made it to the gates of Olympus, but that doesn't mean the danger is over." Ethan argued. When the stakes were so high and the repercussions so dire, he could not afford to blindly follow anyone. There was no time for complacency, not when the fate of the world rested on their shoulders—on Ethan's traded eye.

Micah lies—a universal truth—and is, by temperament, a manipulator.

Ethan knew this all too well; he witnessed the devastating impact it had on the son of Poseidon and now Luke, who will most likely die before he realizes what the son of Hypnos had truly orchestrated with his life. Ethan has firsthand witness to how Micah wove webs around gods like Ares and Aphrodite, contorting the very truth to align with his personal agenda. He couldn't let himself be swayed by Micah's honeyed words and beguiling demeanor.

"Itoki," Ethan pleaded, his voice laced with desperation, "what are we doing?"

The son of Hypnos cast an indifferent gaze in his direction. His exhaustion showed in his reddened eyes. Within the oppressive stillness of New York's forsaken streets, Micah seemed on the verge of unraveling. In an abrupt motion, he thrust his scimitar into Ethan's unsuspecting hands, striking his torso with a jarring impact that stole his breath away. The son of Nemesis stumbled backward, clutching the weapon in surprise. His eye widened, instinctively hunching his shoulders in response to the abrupt shift in Micah's emotions.

"We aren't just demigods, Ethan." Micah declared with an intense fervor burning in his eyes; he seemed to search for something concealed within his armor. Crushed flower petals fell as he grasped Ambrosia cubes. "Not like any of those shit-eating worms at the camps. I've been saying it over and over, pleading with you, Percy, even Brother Morpheus and grandmother. Let me finish my work; I know exactly what needs to be done! I've spent years planning, but everyone keeps ruining my efforts!" His voice was frigid as he spoke, a slight mania stretching his disoriented words as he harped. "Can't you see, Ethan? We have a lineage, a dynasty to uphold! Being who we are comes with a responsibility you're not ready to shoulder yet."

"But you are? The insane, half-dead nut case?" He scoffed, unsettled by Micah's attitude. His cousin glared at him as he consumed more ambrosia. When did he become so gaunt, his once vibrant frame reduced to a mere skeletal appearance? "Look at you!" Ethan stressed. "Even if you somehow end up killing Kronos and the entirety of Camp Half-Blood or whatever the hell your plan is, you've consumed so much ambrosia you'll blow up when the Olympians come back!"

Micah's eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, ripping his weapon from Ethan's hand. "You have no idea what I've gone through to get here," he said, a golden hue flashing underneath his skin. Ambrosia ignites. "Non est ad astra mollis e terris via, little cousin. There is no easy way from the earth to the stars. I am here because I possess the power and the will. I can't—I won't let anyone compromise my duty, not even you."

Ethan found himself speechless, his mind racing to make sense of Micah's sudden aggression. Against his better judgment, with a small voice so unlike his character, Ethan found himself saying, "Percy will stop you."

Micah's eyes narrowed, and his grip on the weapon tightened.

As Micah echoed the name with venom and drew closer, Ethan's sense of unease deepened. The intensity in Micah's eyes intensified with each passing second, his rage becoming palpable. "He can try," Micah acknowledged. "He's been trying, Ethan. He will die trying because of his damned loyalty. But why do you think he could stop me, little cousin? Because we love each other? Because he is the hero of the prophecy?" Micah was agitated, his voice rising with each word. "Fuck love, fuck that prophecy! Fuck Olympus and all those pussy gods! Love cannot stop fate! It will not stop the gods—it won't stop grandmother! It's unfortunate that Poseidon's son is opposing us, but we only need family, Ethan. We are direct descendents of the Protogenoi, the first race of immortals to come into existence! Our grandmother, Nyx, and our grandfather, Erebos. Aunt Hemera is the day, and Uncle Aither is the air. We are the family of Misery herself! I won't bow any longer! I won't take orders."

Ethan stood still, utterly perplexed, his lone eye locked onto his cousin with an unyielding gaze. Conflicting emotions churned within him. "You were groomed, or manipulated, or brainwashed—whatever it was—into thinking that way," Ethan concluded, adrift, caught between loyalty and an unsettling truth. "But I know that isn't how you feel, Itoko."

Micah pressed his finger into Ethan's chest harshly, towering over him, close enough that Ethan's heartbeat spiked and his hands trembled unwillingly. "Don't be fucking innocent, Ethan. Feelings do not matter when family is involved. What I feel does not matter—Morpheus is right; family is above all. It's for you, so stop interrogating me. It's aggravating." Micah kept going, his words crashing in a frenzied rush. Ethan's heart clenched. "I can admit that I am not a hero. I was never written to be the hero in our story. I never had the chance to be one—Grandmother chose me from a young age, and what I have to do, I can't do peacefully. The will of Nyx is my own, so I'll fight Olympus with everything I've got until I'm dead."

Ethan gritted his teeth anxiously. "Are you talking about your family or a cult, seriously? Is this what it was always about? You got groomed by your grandma into doing what, exactly? Dethrone Zeus? Kill Kronos? Put her in power? Die for her to make a statement?" He asked, wishing he didn't feel intimidated to step back. Micah laughed cruelly at his reply. "News to you—they're immortal, idiot."

"I was not groomed—Stop saying that! It's my duty to help them." He denied it sharply. "It is the duty of the son to bring honor and respect to his family—and I am my father's son. I am my grandmother's most treasured child. Won't it be unfilial of me to disappoint the House of Midnight? We should be ruling, Ethan, yet a sadistic rapist occupies the throne high above Olympia. My ridiculed father doesn't have any real authority despite his lineage, nor does your mother. Aunt Hemera grows weaker with each breath Apollo takes. My brothers depend on my success. Our family is dwindling because, yes, immortals do not die, Ethan, but they fade out of existence. A god without followers cannot exist, and our primordial family is dimming. Don't you see that, cousin?"

Ethan allowed his words to wash over him the same way he ignored the cries of the abandoned demigods imprisoned in Cavin Eleven, knowing that arguing with him in his current state would only make things worse. The craze in Micah's voice nausated him; he attempted to reconcile the stark contrast between the Micah standing before him and the memories of the god-like man who promised him change. The crushing awareness that Ethan knew absolutely nothing descended upon him.

He didn't know what to say or how to react, so he simply stood there in silence. The tension in the air was palpable, and he could feel the weight of Micah's resentment—for the gods and for himself— bearing down on him. It was clear that this was not a situation that could be resolved.

Did Micah deceive him about the future they had painted together, fueling Ethan's determination to topple Olympus only to betray him in the end, anticipating that he would be crowning Nyx the queen at the end? Did Ethan innocently place his trust in Micah, obediently following directives without raising any questions? It hurt. "So..." he began numbly, his mind racing with possibilities, but all of them seemed to lead to a dead end. "Everything... It was for Nyx? Betraying Jackson, double-crossing Kronos? and Luke? Does he know you are just using him?"

"The House of Midnight will rise," Micah replied calmly, his eerie golden eyes glowing as they fixed on Ethan. "And Nyx will rule. You can either join us or be left behind."

A cold, visceral reaction swept over him, as if an unseen hand traced a freezing path down his spine upon hearing those words. The world seemed askew, thrown off balance by the weight of those words. And yet, amidst the disarray of emotions, Ehan couldn't dismiss the undeniable truth of what he had discovered.

As he looked into Micah's eyes, Ethan absently understood that he was facing a different person than the one he had known for years. The silence between them was deafening, and he could feel his heart breaking as he turned away and walked in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Micah called after him, but he didn't turn back.

"I'm not going to watch you kill yourself over something your grandmother groomed you to do as a child!" Ethan shouted back, his words laced with anguish and frustration. Because he and his cousin shared a dream, he was willing to die alongside him. The two of them against Titans and Olympians to establish a world of harmony, where lesser-known gods are as revered as the Big Twelve, where half-bloods are happier and less vulnerable, no monsters daring to harm them. A life where gods would finally pay attention to their children and not just use them as pawns in their power struggles.

Together, Ethan believed, they had taken the risk for a better future. He would've happily died alongside his cousin, comforted in the belief that fate had united him with Micah in this dream for a reason. Now, it had all been a lie.

Consumed by a heartbreak that wore the mask of anger, he fled like a scared child who couldn't stand to be hurt. Ethan did not know where he was heading; every stride was marked by a sense of urgency to get away from the Empire State Building and the pain that had become too much to bear. The pounding of his footsteps echoed in the air, and the silence of his surroundings only served to magnify the hollowness that consumed him. He felt like he had lost everything that mattered to him. Each step provided a sense of escape, the impact of his feet on the pavement temporarily masking the heavy weight of his heart. With each uneven breath he took, the exertion of his body served as a temporary distraction from the overwhelming sense of loss. Everything around him blurred, and all he could think about was running.

Here, in the deserted streets of New York, without Micah, Ethan discovered that the world had turned against him.

Breathless, his lungs heaved as he gulped in air with each uneven breath. Ethan struggled forward, his mind consumed by memories of family and overcrowded cabins. Hatred erupted within him. Images of Micah's laughing face twisted in his mind with the echoes of their conversations. The empty assurances of loyalty and support sounded like a cruel joke, mocking him in Micah's absence. His steps became unsteady; his heart pounded. Half-bloods are unloved, condemned at birth by their parents. Ethan did not know his mother or any other relative—the House of Midnight meant nothing to him. He was the one who dedicated himself to Micah. What right does Nyx have to suddenly claim his only family as her own? He had been the one who stayed with Micah night after night, who shared a home with him, meals, and countless conversations with him. He was there to ground the son of Hypnos, reassuring him whenever he drifted too far into the stars. Nyx cannot just come in and take that away from him.

The goddess of the night must've manipulated Micah and instilled those notions in his mind, warping his beliefs, because Ethan is aware that after all the suffering Zeus and the Olympaisn had caused the son of Hypnos, the Micah he knew would never willingly submit or bend before another deity. The Micah he knows would refuse to lose his freedom, surpassing any attempt to sway or control him. He mocks the Fates and defies Ares without hesitation; he effortlessly tames monsters that would strike terror into the hearts of most, treating Drakons with a gentle hand as if they were nothing more than playful puppies. That Micah—Ethan's Itoko—treated Kronos, the King Cannibal himself, with ridicule, as though the Titan were nothing more than dirt beneath his feet. They had promised to be the demise of Olympus and Kronos in order to create a new world for demigods. Why would Micah settle for the rule of another god?

His chest was heaving from exertion when he finally stopped running. Sweat beaded on Ethan's brow as he knelt, hands resting on his knees. The rhythm of his pounding heart echoed in his ears, drowning out the surrounding sounds. Micah's demeanor changed in the days leading up to the war.

The mysterious lashes on his back, infected and bleeding, had rendered him extremely ill, leading to a high temperature and exhaustion. His cousin had found it difficult to focus on anything else besides the impending battle; he was obsessed and rentless, yet each time he spoke of the war, his confidence was disturbed by a sense of apprehension that grew with each passing day. Ethan thought it was because he would be facing Percy, but now he doubted that.

He knew Micah hadn't been whipped by a Gorgade; the lie was as convincing as his unexpected alliance with their grandmother. Could Nyx have done it to force him to obey orders? Did Micah's father and brothers pressure him with lies about family? Ethan's mind raced with possibilities.

High above him, a flash caught his eye, instantly grabbing his focus. Ethan tilted his head back, his gaze fixed on the sky above. A flash of light erupted in a blinding explosion, illuminating the cityscape, turning the concrete and steel of New York's streets blinding white for a second. Ethan shielded his eyes, squinting against the intense radiance—it must've been Hyperion.

"By the gods," a voice exclaimed, sharp and sly. "Jackson's really giving him the ol' Minotaur treatment."

Ethan's heart skipped a beat. He recognized the voice. Slowly, he turned his head.

There, behind him, on a bench at an empty bus stop, was a figure he never thought he'd see again.

"Hello, Ethan," Nemesis said. "Long time no see."