✩ ━━━ chapter twenty-one, butchered tongue. ❝You may never know your fortune, until the distance has been shown between what is lost forever and what can still be known.❞

I AM HERE, BROTHER.

Four innocuous words, strung together in a concise arrangement, yet they seemed to choke him, as if every syllable tightened into a noose, tightening around his throat and snarling his vocal cords. With every attempt to utter those words, the rope seemed to constrict further, pulling his voice into a strangled silence. I am here, brother—those four simple words, rather than flowing effortlessly as language should, transformed into a battleground within his mouth. Each vowel was a knot of ache and regret, a tangle of unspoken truths that had been building within him for far too long. He was one of three, but Morpheus and Phantasos wove tales with an effortless mastery of words, their narratives intricate and captivating, while he remained bound by the chains of his own silence. What a curse it is—Endless eons drifted by, and yet Icelos remained a prisoner of his own voiceless existence, enslaved by a longing to express what remained unsaid, unable to find the right combination of syllables to speak and say, Hiroki, I am here, brother.

When would he learn to speak, to articulate the thoughts and emotions that consumed him? It seemed as though the weight of his silence only grew heavier with each passing day. Speech dissolved within his mouth, incapable of passing his lips. And as he witnessed his youngest brother succumb to the clutches of the shadows that haunted their lineage, Icelos felt so old.

Even now, the memory of his brother's birth remained vividly etched within his mind. Hikori Matsuoka emerged into this world cradled in the embrace of love, engulfed within the warmth that his family's hearts exuded from the very instant he drew his first breath. Born from the wish of a lonely young boy who dreamt of a sibling—the embodiment of hope and joy, banishing any trace of sadness or loneliness that lingered within Hypnos' eternal soul.

Recollections of a bygone time flooded the god's mind, recalling the vividly colored eyes of Hiroki, glowing with innocence and radiating a clear and unabashed love. His youngest brother betrayed no inkling of fear, even in the face of the very night terrors that had conceived the god—a silent connection that transcended their lack of words, even if Hiroki could never speak his true name as a mortal. Now, as he thought of what that child had become, cloaked in the shadows of darkness and consumed by despair, Icelos couldn't shake the overwhelming guilt that his own inability to speak out had led to his brother's damnation as well.

The House of Midnight was never meant to cast its shadow upon Hiroki's path.

At the dawn of the war for Olympus, Icelos wondered—To whom does a god turn for guidance?

"What's the matter with men these days? Has no one ever taught you how to crack a smile?"

Icelos' eyes flutter open at the sound of his aunt's words. Nemesis joined him, maintaining her distance as they stood before the observatory window within the Empire State Building. The vast expanse of the New York skyline sprawled out before them. The city lights, glowing like stars that had tumbled from the heavens, began to wane as the canvas of the sky shifted its hue. The palette of dawn emerged, its ever-changing colors painting the horizon with strokes of pinks and purples, illuminating the darkness and marking the arrival of a new day.

Soon, war will commence. The House of Midnight will fulfill all of his grandmother's wishes, as planned for years. Soon, the world would witness the true strength of Nyx.

Uncertainty gnawed at his throat like maggots, ravaging the rotting words of his unspoken fears.

The goddess tilted her head contemplatively as she turned to face Icelos, her eyes fixating mercilessly on him before continuing. "It must've been my mother's influence on you. She always had a way of bringing out the worst in people."

Icelos sighed and averted his gaze, unable to bear the sight of the golden eyes that coursed through his family. "Grandmother cares deeply," He finally uttered, his voice carrying a deep resonance even though he longed to be able to speak softly. Nyx held an affection for her family, yet the task of finding words to convey the brutality that accompanied her affection seemed unfathomable. It was a convoluted form of love, leaving wounds more profound than any physical injury. Nyx could not help the brutal way in which she loved.

Nemesis chuckled. "Ah, the irony of it all," she remarked, her voice dripping with bitterness. Absently, Icelos noted how her voice had become coarser over the years—Humanity seemed to have eroded her once elegant tone. Had he changed, too? "Love can be a twisted game, can't it?" Nemesis asked, accustomed to his lack of response. "It's as if the more we care, the more we hurt each other."

Icelos thought of his brothers. Morpheus, the eldest, whom he could not stomach the presence of but whose absence left him reeling, lost without direction; Phantasos, whose affections came with dishonesty and delusions, a victim to his nature of deceit; Hiroki, fragile and mortal, whom he was meant to protect but who had slipped through his fingers, lost in a war that held no victors.

No, he thought. He has not changed. "Where is my father?" Icelos asked, his tone grave and weighted with solemnity no matter what pitch he tried, the very essence of his being—a creature born of nightmares—immuring a stark, fatalist edge to his words.

"With his son-in-law," Nemesis replied with an ill-fitting sense of amusement in her voice. "Jackson seems to believe he can rescue the world through love. Only two other individuals share that naive sentiment—Hypnos and, I suppose, my own son."

Her words express a distinct lack of interest in her son's actions, mirroring the indifference she had long displayed toward her offspring. She wasn't like his father, Icelos recognized, who loved with such vast magnitude and all-encompassing devotion that there was no space left for anything else. Nemesis perceived her offspring as a mere pawn within her intricate system rather than an individual with distinct autonomy, valuing her own agenda above all else. She regarded her children as a means to achieve her goals—a mere instrument to wield and cast aside once their usefulness faded. The perfect goddess, relentless in her vow of vengeance and justice, never wavering in her will to bring balance to the world. She prioritized her divine responsibilities above all else, including her children—including Ethan Nakamura.

It was somewhat humorous, the contrast between siblings. If he could, Hypnos would carve out his immortal heart and offer it to Hiroki, so that his son could feel the depth of his love with every beat. His father is kind, but he is weak in a world that values strength and power above all else. Hovering between divinity and humanity, barely a god without worshippers to sustain him, yet unable to break free from his immortality and fully embrace humanity. He knew happiness—he knew love in a way no other deity could—but he was destined to bear the heart-wrenching pain of losing all he cherished, looking on as mortals aged and departed from the world.

Out of the two, Icelos did not know which was more devastating.

He let out yet another sigh, the weight of his weariness dragging in the sound.

Nemesis responded with a slight chuckle. "It'll pass," she said, as if she could possibly understand Icelos. "It always does."

He did not agree. They exist beyond the constraints of time and aging. Still, he felt so old.

What a failure of a god—what a failure of a son—what a failure of a brother.

His father arrived clad in armor, taking on an older form that resembled Hiroki so much that it left Icelos breathless with guilt. Weariness cut into the lines of his slouched shoulders, and a bittersweet half-smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he placed a consoling hand on Icelos' shoulder. He did not treat him with disappointment or hostility, despite knowing Icelos had acted with his brothers to cast a spell over the half-bloods, essentially betraying him. He did nothing but smile as he greeted them gently: "Icelos, sister, it's good to see you both! Please don't mind the atmosphere; it has been a trying time for us all."

The clouds encircling the Empire State Building hung low and ominous, casting a solemn shroud over the sprawling city beneath. The Olympians' displeasure was obvious in the air; the weight of their dissatisfaction seeped into every corner of the city. Chthonic deities were seldom greeted with anything but reproach.

"You worry too much, brother!" Nemesis smirked as she wrapped an arm over Hypnos' shoulders. Like a punishment for his earlier thoughts, the goddess said, "I'm more surprised the Big Twelve let you in here, considering what happened between you and Zeus. Did Pasithea sneak you in before that shrew Aphrodite chained her away in her closet? Or are you finally moving up in the hierarchy?"

A freezing ache cracked through Icelos' heart, enveloping it in frigid coldness. A single name served as a reminder—Pasithea, his father's wife, destined to endless servitude as one of the Charites, forever bound to obey Aphrodite and Hera—another member of his family enslaved, much like his younger brother. When would the Olympians cease their relentless intrusion in his family's affairs? He longed to confess, to unburden himself, and seek forgiveness, but he could not afford to. Icelos bowed his head in surrender as he listened, feeling the strain of his father's love and the weight of his secrets.

"Ah," Hypnos chuckled sheepishly, his white curls swaying softly with the motion caused by the flustered flutter of his wings at his temples. Unaware of the lurking betrayal that lay concealed in the shadows, a sense of innocence pervaded the moment. "My lovely Pasithea is still dutifully serving her mistress, sister! And I wouldn't say the Olympians trust me as much as they trust Percy's judgment—considering Typhoon, they do not have much of a choice, either."

Hypnos' playful demeanor masked the responsibility he carried. As he spoke, a fleeting trace of sadness drifted across his eyes. Icelos couldn't help but wonder: Did he know—did Hypnos know of Nyx's involvement? Had he taken on this role of protecting Olympus out of compliance , his compassionate nature misguided by the heroism of the demigods at Camp Half-Blood? Or was there another reason, hidden in the depths of his heart, that drove him to risk everything for the safety of Olympus? A desperation to ask questions flared within Icelos, a yearning to speak and know with certainty rather than the half-lies that burned within him.

The temptation to delve deeper and pry into his father's mind engulfed him. The desire to serve his father, who only ever treated his children with love and compassion, was overwhelming. But all that came out of his mouth was a lifeless sigh, because above all else, Icelos longed for the safety of his family, and he recognized that the only way to guarantee that safety was to cleanse the world of the Olympians.

Soon, Micah will enter Olympus and make use of Kronos' vessel, capitalizing on the Titan's power to destroy the Hall of Thrones. Through this singular divine labor, the boy is poised to complete Grandmother's trial, just as Hercules faced his challenges, and fulfill his ascension to godhood, whether he wanted to or not.

"You should join us, brother." Nemesis' words came abruptly, the timbre of sorrow lingering within her voice as she spoke: They were all aware of its pointlessness. Hypnos smiled, eyes wrinkling with genuine warmth. He was apologetic as he held his sister's hand, shaking his head in a single, regretful gesture. For the first time since Icelos had known his aunt, Nemesis appeared sad. "After everything," she said. "I don't want to stand against you. Among the pantheon, you are the most deserving of a throne." 

Siblinghood is a cruel trap. He thought of Hiroki and the feeling of his small hand wrapped around Icelos' finger all those years ago. I am here, brother. The unspoken words echoed within him. Follow the path your heart illuminates, and I will shoulder the burden of the rest. But Icelos, damned as usual, remained captive in the unyielding arrest of silence, with only shame lingering.

At that moment, he envied mankind. Who could a god possibly pray to? He yearned for a celestial signal to respond to him—to provide Icelos with reassurance that he wouldn't regret his chosen path—but his pleas were met with silence.

If he stood with his father, he would be abandoning his family.

If he fought with the House of Midnight, he would betray his father.

In either choice, he would condemn his youngest brother to an immortality he did not want.

Icelos was trapped in an impossible decision with no solution in sight.

The touch of his father's hand on his cheek forced Icelos to meet Hypnos' gaze. Hiroki looked so much like him—the identical luminous eyes, the hue of burnished gold, shifting between shades of amber and ochre, reminiscent of the molten glow of a dying star with pupils as fine as pinpricks, just like minuscule obsidian shards set in a sea of champagne. It felt like falsehood—fragile at first glance, like fragments of glass capturing stray sunlight, but glass remains sharp.

Those eyes could devour the world with a single glance.

Icelos could no longer discern any beauty within them. The burden of being born with Nyx's eyes was far too heavy, even for a god. They were all children of the night—of sleep, death, misery, sorrow, chaos—of nightmares. They were only family because of the shared darkness dwelling within each of them.

Hiroki was just a boy. He should never have inherited those eyes.

"Don't wear such a mournful expression," Hypnos told him kindly, his hand cradling the side of his face. Icelos did not notice when Nemesis left, lost in thought, but it was just the two of them standing in the lonely observatory.

How could he not? Gazing at Hypnos, Icelos' heart nearly broke under the weight of its sorrow, and he couldn't help but question, "Why did you father a mortal child?"

His voice trembled, unused and wrecked, so unlike a god. So much went unsaid, words spiraling within him like a tempest waiting to be unleashed. The silence between them grew heavier, suffocating as Icelos desperately searched for answers in his father's eyes—his father, who loved Pasithea but did not free her from her eternal duty to cruel masters. His father, who conceived an innocent boy with a mortal woman despite knowing the consequences that would befall them. How could his father dare to profess love while allowing those he cherished to endure such suffering? Icelos wanted to lash out—How could you subject me to this torment as well?

Hypnos did not seem hurt by the unspoken accusations in his words; instead, a fleeting smile graced his lips. "Don't waste time mourning, my son," he advised, his voice carrying a fragile undertone. "Of all the days, the one I dreaded the most was the day of my Hiroki's passing. He was not like you and your brothers. He was small and fragile, full of screams—He never quite stopped crying after his birth, did you know? He wept when he was cold; he wailed when it was too warm! If it was bright or too dark, if he was hungry or too full, because that was the only thing he could do. He was a child in a way that left me floored—amazed, charmed, even when tears would redden his face. I felt alive, Icelos. Terrified, as well." Hypnos paused, his eyes glistening with memories. "Day by day, I found myself engulfed by the knowledge that he would age and fade before my very eyes. Someday he'd leave, and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

Outside, storm-wracked clouds shrouded the vast expanse of the morning sky, flickers of lightning illuminating the darkened horizon and giving fleeting glimpses of the cityscape below. The earth appeared to shudder with the low rumble of distant thunder and the howling wind.

"Then you know what happened, Icelos? He did just that!" Hynos exclaimed with an indulgent smile. "He's gone, but I can still reach him. There's no fear left in me anymore—He walked away from me on his own, choosing to follow his own path instead of the one I had delicately laid out for him. My rebellious boy, my arrogant boy! He grew older without my presence, which makes the time I have left with him all the more precious, Icelos. He is mortal, and we, my son, are gods. We will remain here forever, long after Hiroki and Percy, and all those heroes." Hypnos laughed wistfully, a blend of affection and sorrow in his expression. "I thought, how can we be sure that love will return?" The god questioned, "We cannot, so we must shield and honor that love. We mustn't mourn, my son! We have been blessed with love! Hiroki should not be out there waging war! Am I not his father? Am I not a god? Icelos, how can your foolish father possibly waste any more time away from his rash son? Mourning, anger, and despair are all emotions I can feel when he is gone, but for now, while he walks this realm, I want to cherish every moment we have left together. You should as well."

Guilt destroyed him.

Hypnos, familiar with his sons as though he had intertwined his soul with theirs, responded with nothing more than a gentle smile and rested his hand on Icelos' forearm. 

"Father..." Icelos could only speak before his voice gave away, filled with remorse and regret, because Hypnos did not understand. He did not know. He was genuinely unaware that Hiroki hadn't vanished voluntarily—that Nyx had kidnapped him, forced him to drink from the Lesmosyne, and driven him to obedience. And as Icelos stared at Hypnos' cursed eyes, the same ones he and Hiroki bore, he thought of all the pain and suffering his brother must have endured—all the years spent in darkness, trapped in Nyx's grasp. Icelos had never been strong enough to speak up for his brother; his cursed reticence, his tragedy, his silence—it only furthered Hiroki's suffering, permitting Nyx and Morpheus the means to take advantage of the boy, manipulating him for their own twisted desires. Hiroki, who was mortal, who was meant to die enveloped by love and the joy of a life well-lived but instead was dragged into the ruins of the gods.

The words taught by his grandmother came to mind, then: It's the duty of the son to bring honor and respect to his family. What honor is there in his grandmother's actions? What respect would he gain from allowing his family to poison itself? As he grappled with these conflicting thoughts, his father watched him silently, as if aware of the awakening rapturing in his mind as a newfound determination began to stir within him.

Thunder raged. Out at sea, Typhon unleashed his fury at the Olympus.

Icelos had prayed for a sign, had he not?

"Father," Icelos said then. "I failed you."

The words wrenched their way out, triggering a sensation of choking constriction within him as they left his lips. The enormity of his own insufficiency bore down on him, the oppressive weight of failing his father pressing upon him, frantic to keep him tongueless. But Icelos is so old. How can he hold onto the dream of change while the restraints of fear continue to silence his voice? Staring at Hypnos with a tightness in his throat, Icelos continued, his determination evident despite the shaken tone in his voice. "Hiroki is not well," he confessed. "He needs our help, Father. I cannot turn a blind eye to his suffering any longer."

And so, after countless eons of silence, for the first time since the amalgamation of the nocturnal fears and enigmatic shadows formed Phobetor, the god of nightmares broke his long-standing curse of silence and spoke; he did it for his brother, whom he had failed once and never again.

Icelos told his father everything he knew.

And Hypnos responded as he always has, with kindness in his smile, as he answered simply, "I see."

But behind that pleasant facade, his eyes betrayed a profound sadness, a weary depth that hinted at the multitude of burdens he had silently carried. It was a grief born from the awareness that their family's legacy of pain still lingered, haunting him like a relentless specter. Nobody can escape the House of Midnight; the eternal bonds of suffering and sorrow are woven into the very fabric of their being, no matter where they go. Now, those bonds are unfurling and laying bare before them, like a haunting unraveling of the darkness they had long carried within. His father, who had put down his weapon and sworn to embrace a life of peace, now teetered on the brink of being pulled back into the treacherous realm he had fought so hard to escape.

"I see," Hypnos whispered, his voice a fragile, almost vanishing whisper. Absently—betrayed—he said, "Mother always warned me about the fragility of trust. I suppose I should have heeded her words more closely."

Icelos, uncertain of how to offer solace, refrained from making any comforting gestures. "What can we do now, Father?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a sense of helplessness.

"We cannot do anything against Mother," Hypnos acknowledged, his voice laden with the burden of ages. "But more than seventy years ago, the Oracle of Delphi prophesied a half-blood who would confront a choice that could either herald the downfall of Olympus or its redemption. Today, war looms upon us, and we know that Percy Jackson is that half-blood. Icelos, we need to ensure that he can make his decision, and let us stand ready to shield him from the repercussions it may bring."

Icelos, his willingness to obey overshadowed by the grip of worry, questioned, "But what about Hiroki?"

A more genuine smile graced Hypnos' lips this time, a glimmer of gratitude breaking through as he revealed, "As the birds sang their melodies this morning, Icelos, I understood in their whistling that Hiroki is the one Percy will choose."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

In the surreal dreamscape that had enveloped New York City, where the lines separating reality and imagination had dissolved into an ethereal mist, Icelos' existence emerged as a stark contrast, much like a solitary crow amidst a gathering of gentle doves. His silhouette, cloaked in the ever-shifting shadows of fear and foreboding, cleaved through the ethereal mist like an omen of terror. The Oneiroi instinctively veered away from him, as though he bore a nightmarish presence so frightening that even they, the makers of dreams, dared not draw near—within his domain of nightmares, Phobetor reigned supreme, the embodiment of all phobias and terrors within the human psyche.

Icelos discovered the half-bloods sprawled unconscious on the cold concrete outside Rockefeller Center, held captive by the Oneiroi's slumbering magic. Their forms remained motionless, while their consciousness wandered in the labyrinthine landscapes of dreams. The god of nightmares approached them cautiously—heroes, he had learned through exposure to Hiroki, were capable of wonderous things.

He kneeled beside the closest boy, studying his features with apprehension; a fabric patch covered one of his eyes, while the other remained close, shifting ever so slightly behind its closed lid. The boy's face displayed sereneness, and dreams of home called to Icelos, begging to be corrupted into nightmares. "A son of Nemesis," he murmured to himself, discerning the unmistakable energy of the goddess in the boy's aura.

It was Ethan Nakamura, the orphan his brother insisted on raising despite only being a child himself.

As he looked upon the boy's peaceful countenance, an irresistible temptation washed over Icelos. He felt the seductive pull of his powers, beckoning him to delve into the depths of this half-blood's dreams and twist them into nightmares. Whispers of his home—of an apartment in New York, small and cluttered but loved and lived-in—and cherished memories—Micah, only Micah—tugged at his consciousness, begging to be corrupted, to become the vessel of torment that was his specialty.

Icelos ignored those pleas.

It was not the boy his father had told him to awaken.

"Leave... him alone."

Icelos' eyes snapped upward at the sound of those unexpected words. On the ground, mere steps away and slowly, laboriously crawling his way towards them, was the black-haired hero Icelos had been searching for. His gaze locked with those ocean-green eyes, which blazed with a mixture of unwavering determination and smoldering wrath as he attempted tenaciously to keep them open. Icelos stood, amazed. He had heard stories of the boy—of his capacity to summon the sea wherever he ventured, even within the scorching heart of Mount Saint Helens—of his unparalleled strength that could stand toe-to-toe with the likes of Ares, an innate power so tremendous that it kept Olympus wary of challenging him. The rumors of his power were not exaggerated, Icelos thought as he watched the hero. The sight was truly extraordinary—the son of Poseidon was supposed to be in a deep slumber like every other mortal taken captive by the spell, yet Percy Jackson was awake, his limbs trembling with the effort, crawling inch by inch in a brave attempt to protect Nemesis' son.

"Indeed, a hero among heroes," Icelos acknowledged, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. As a daemon, mortals often perceived beings like him as incarnations of chaos and malevolence, often taking on forms like beasts, serpents, and vultures in their imaginations. He couldn't fathom what Percy Jackson saw when he looked at him, but the sight of a mortal defying the spell's effects and willingly risking his life for another imbued Icelos with sincere respect for the young half-blood. "I can see why my father is fond of you, child."

Percy Jackson bared his teeth, much like a wounded wolf, a primal instincts flaring to life, ready to pounce and tear out the throat of anyone who dared to threaten him or those he loved. He continued crawling his way closer to Nemesis' child, weaponless yet unwavering, resolute in his determination to shield his own, even if it meant facing off against a god. The intensity in his eyes blazed with the relentless savagery of a raging storm, a force so formidable that it demanded recognition and fear. As he sprawled on the ground, nails rasping against the rough concrete, Percy Jackson radiated an aura of power that transcended even that of Poseidon himself.

"Be at ease," he reassured the half-blood. "Lord Hypnos has called for me to assist you. I am Phobetor, the god of nightmares. I shall assist you until the prophecy is fulfilled and your destiny is realized, Perseus."

Hecate had amplified the potency of the slumber spell, leaving no room for disturbance from the demigods as they conducted their affairs within Olympus. However, Icelos possessed an intimate connection to the realms of sleep and unconsciousness. With a mastery akin to breathing, he effortlessly withdrew the spell's influence from the son of Poseidon, like a gentle breeze lifting a veil.

Icelos extended his hand towards the half-blood.

"Wake my friends up," Percy demanded, ignoring the lingering drowsiness that clung to his senses. 

Icelos lowered his hand. "It would be safer for them to remain asleep," he responded. The children would be protected within the realm of dreams, shielded from the dangers that lurk in the waking world; Micah had wished for such in an effort to prevent casualties, and Icelos would comply with his brother's request.

"I'm not leaving them unconscious on the street." Percy's determination hardened his gaze as he regained the strength to stand. "I'll find a way to keep them safe, even if it means carrying them myself."

"You are stubborn," Icelos remarked. It was excellent; anyone involved with his family must be. "Olympus is at war," he reminded him. "You are the hero of the prophecy. Bringing them along would only put them in more danger."

The half-blood fixed an intense gaze upon Icelos, his eyes mirroring the deep, unyielding resolve of the boundless ocean itself. "I get what you are saying," Percy said firmly, lifting a finger as he pointed at the son of Nemesis. "But that kid's love for Micah—it's the most important thing in the world to him. And Thalia is the lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis; she will do anything for her lady, so they would never forgive me if I left them behind. And Annabeth and Grover, they're not just friends; they're my partners." The half-blood's voice carried a note of defiance as he firmly made his plea; Icelos intrinsically recognized that if he did not awaken them, he would carry them as if he claimed.

"We're stronger together," Percy said. "If you want me to complete the prophecy, I will need my friends with me."

His voice carried a resolute undertone that brooked no argument.

Icelos could smile; he saw why his brother loved him, as well.

The god of nightmares relented, absolving himself of the consequences that may befall them. "Then so be it." As a gesture of kindness, he warned, "Be aware that they will face dangers unlike any they have encountered before should they intervene. Your lieutenant friend, allies of Olympus—they are enemies of the House of Midnight. My father believes you will save my brother from grandmother's exploit; that is my sole priority, half-blood. Once your friends are awakened, their fate will be in their own hands."

"They're strong," Percy said at last. Icelus did not speak any further.

Bearing his divine lineage, the son of Nemesis was the first to stir, his eye rushing into focus, untouched by any remnants of the spell. His awareness returned with an abruptness that was almost startling, as if he had been sheltered from the lingering drowsiness that continued to envelop the others. His pale-skinned face bore only the faintest traces of his recent slumber—a subtle flush on his cheeks and tousled locks of midnight hair. The string of his eye patch dangled loosely around his neck, revealing the empty socket where his eye should have been. Not far from him, the daughter of Zeus stirred minutes later, somnolence lingering in her electric blue eyes, as Percy helped the other two regain their bearings.

"Another god related to Nyx," Annabeth murmured, her tone filled with skepticism. She exchanged a quick glance with Grover before they turned to face Thalia as she responded, "Family drama!" The daughter of Zeus yawned widely before continuing, "It's always complicated. Can you teleport us to Olympus, since you are a god and all? My leg fell asleep."

Phobetor offered no response, maintaining a stoic silence.

Thalia shifted uncomfortably, trying to wake it up. She nodded, "I thought so."

Getting close to the god, Ethan gave off the cautious demeanor of a predator sizing up its prey. His eye narrowed with scrutiny as he studied the god's unyielding facade, his mistrustful glare piercing through the air like a blade. Suspicion dripped from his voice like venom as he accused, "You don't look anything like Micah."

Phobetor's gaze, an ancient and timeless force, remained fixed on Ethan, capturing his essence for a fleeting moment. The weight of millennia bore down upon his heavy-lidded eyes; his expression remained as inscrutable and unreadable as if he were a relic from a bygone era, a statue hewn from the most unyielding stone. It was the truth—even to Percy, the contrast between the two half-brothers was stark. Beyond the matching luster of their golden eyes, they were almost like night and day; it wasn't like Naoki and Hiroki, who at least shared their mother's smile. Icelos possessed a muscular, imposing physique; his skin bore a deep, rich hue of teakwood, and his cropped white hair stood in stark contrast to Micah's natural black strands. The god of nightmares was more reminiscent of Thanatos than Hypnos' gentle, ethereal appearance, whom Micah had taken after the most.

Truthfully, it was not a matter of appearances.

Micah had never mentioned his immortal brothers to Ethan.

He didn't know Hypnos the way Percy did, either.

Micah's guarded nature had always made it clear that his relationship with their divine family was extremely complicated, and Ethan had always respected those boundaries. He had been there for the nightmares that tormented his cousin when he pushed himself to the brink of illness, after all. Because of all that, Ethan's knowledge of Phobetor, Hypnos, and the House of Midnight was limited in comparison to Percy's familiarity. He did not know any deities like that. His interactions with the gods had been mostly restricted to the lusive minor deities Micah reluctantly allowed into his life and the Titan god himself—he had only met his own mother twice, even. Now, faced with one of Micah's immortal brothers for the very first time, Ethan's mind naturally harked back to those ancient stories of violent jealousy and ruthless rivalry that so often consumed the gods of the Pantheon. The divine realm was notorious for its capriciousness and hidden agendas. Micah had always cautioned Ethan about engaging with and working for any god, especially after what had happened to his eye. So, why should Ethan place his trust in the god of nightmares, who had not come to Micah's support in the past?

Breaking the silence, Phobetor finally spoke.

"He is my brother," the god said, the words weighted as though each vowel meant everything to him. "Therefore, he is a part of me. Do not doubt the bond we share, child, for it runs deeper than you can imagine."

Those words from Phobetor seemed to dispel any lingering doubts or reservations Percy had about placing his trust in the god; the son of Poseidon broke into a smile, his shoulders easing as the tension dissipated. However, for Ethan, those same words only deepened his suspicion. He scowled even more intensely, crossing his arms uncomfortably over his chest and grumbling, "If you say so, I guess," because to Ethan, love was never something he wished for. And truthfully, now that he found himself engulfed by it, a part of him couldn't help but succumb to selfishness.

In the presence of Phobetor, Ethan couldn't rid himself of the feelings of jealousy and resentment, even if he wanted to, because it was like this: He could accept Percy into his tiny two-person family because Percy's love for Micah was so immense and insatiable that it could devour the very sun itself. Anyone with even a particle of a brain could see the ferocity of their bond—it burned in Percy's eyes and spread through every word he spoke. It was a love so glaring that it left no room for doubt or question. It was the missing piece. Percy loved Micah romantically, and Ethan loved Micah like a sibling, and together, the three of them formed a family. But now Hypnos appeared, which was fine with Ethan, but he brought along Phobetor, Hisa, and Naoki—Micah's actual family—and Ethan couldn't help but feel that he was paling in comparison, unable to compete.

He could not compete. So he argued. "Do you even know what Micah wants? Does Hypnos know?" Ethan challenged, his voice filled with annoyance. "Because I do—and Percy has a plan! We don't need you to come in and mess up everything!" Ethan's frustration grew; bitterness seeped into his words. "We know what to do, and now you come in and try to take over? Micah doesn't need a new family; he already has one!"

"You know nothing of family, child." Phobetor calmly elucidated, his unwavering gaze locking onto Ethan's. "You ought to be grateful that you were spared. Tonight, our grandmother intends to ascend Micah to godhood by force. I know my brother as intimately as I know my own soul: He will choose death, blind to the sorrow it will wreak upon those who love him."

Ethan wanted to protest—to say he knew more about family than a god ever could—but Percy looked at him strangely—not angry or disappointed, but something similar to frustration—so he closed his mouth and swallowed his words. He did not speak again, even as everyone around him began to strategize and plan their next move. He did not speak, even as Phobetor called upon the shadows around them to envelop the group in darkness, transporting them to Olympus without as much as lifting a hand. As Percy radiated with the power of the Curse of Achilles and Thalia Grace's finger tips crackled with lightning, both listening to Annabeth as the daughter of Athena outlined their plan, Ethan became acutely aware of one indisputable universal truth: he was utterly outmatched.

His heart pounded in his chest.

"I will go in first," He heard Percy say over the violent rumble of his own heartbeat. "I'll find Lord Hypnos and look for Micah. If things get too dangerous, I'll signal for you to come in and provide backup." Annabeth interjected, delving into questions about the prophecy, while Thalia vehemently defended her role as the Lieutenant of Artemis. Ethan watched as their expressions darkened, the shades of their disagreement growing ever more obscure, their words clashing in a dissonant symphony, and an unmistakable tension filled the air around him. His heart pounded in his chest, and Ethan could recognize that he could not compete with any of the Big Three or their children—he was insignificant and out of place among these powerful demigods—but he refused to let that stop him from trying.

Ethan has horrible luck. He has one eye, and he was shorter than most his age, a bit anemic, and possibly too thin. He had no biological family left or any special powers, but he has one invaluable thing in the whole world—he has his Itoko. And in Micah, who promised him that they would change the world together, he found all the strength and conviction he needed.

So, as Percy and Phobetor stormed off all heroically into the battlefield, Ethan came to the realization that his role was just as crucial as theirs, even if it lacked flashy powers and physical prowess—because Ethan was in Olympus in the middle of war to save the only person who has ever cared for him in any sort of way, not because he was the hero of some prophecy or a god trying to make amends for past mistakes.

"Ethan, where are you going?" Annabeth's voice rang out with concern as he bolted toward the inner sanctums of Olympus. Ethan cast a quick glance back at Annabeth, his eyes ablaze with determination. His jaw clenched, and his fists tightened as he responded, his voice steady but filled with urgency: "I'm going to find my cousin!"

He sprinted through the palace's grand halls, his heart pounding with adrenaline, each beat echoing through the opulent corridors like a war drum. The carvings and gilded accents of the corridor walls blurred as the echoes of his footsteps resonated off the marble floor, the sound reverberating in his ears. The statues that lined the walkways took on an unsettling quality as he raced past them—the elongated shadows cast appeared to come alive, their outstretched wings and menacing claws mocking and taunting him as he pushed onward. It was as if the spirits of the gods themselves were watching, but Ethan would not let it stop him.

The air itself felt charged with anticipation, as though the entire palace held its breath in suspense, caught in the war. It crackled with energy, a palpable force that seemed to guide him forward. Each inhalation was choked with a sense of foreboding, and with each exhalation, he pushed deeper into the labyrinthine maze of corridors, his instincts serving as his only guide in the twists and turns of Olympus' inner chambers. As Ethan delved deeper into the heart of Olympus, he could hear the distant echoes of battle, the clash of weapons, and the rumbling of thunder.

He came to a stop in front of a colossal door carved with the faces of the twelve Olympian gods. The stone was aged and weathered as it loomed over him. Smoke seeped out of the cracks, carrying with it the scent of charred fabric and scorched metal. Ethan hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before summoning the courage to push open the heavy door. He pressed his whole body against it, using every ounce of strength to force it open.

It was immediate.

Ethan clenched his eyes shut tightly, attempting to shield himself from the sudden, blinding explosion of light that engulfed him. Simultaneously, a deafening, thunderous roar pierced the air, assaulting his senses with an overwhelming wave of heat and sound. When the blinding light and ear-splitting noise finally subsided, Ethan cautiously opened his eye, only to be met with a scene of absolute devastation. Before him lay the remnants of what had once been the Hall of the Gods. Inside, hundreds of Hellhounds snarled and howled in the distance, their fiery eyes piercing through the darkness. Relentless flames devoured all they could, smoldering embers dancing and crackling amidst the wreckage. They cast surreal, elongated shadows on the shattered remains of marble thrones and grand pillars. The crackling of the flames became an incessant roar, a relentless crackling that drowned out any other sound. Persistent coughs wracked his chest, each one painful and sharp. Every breath he drew was a labored effort, as if the very air had transformed into a suffocating, molten mass, searing his lungs with each inhale, making it increasingly difficult to think clearly. His eye watered and stung from the putrid smoke, senses obstructed by the thick, swirling haze that obscured his sight. Squinting through the dense smoke, he strained to catch any glimpse of Micah or Percy, but all he could discern were silhouettes writhing within the blazing inferno.

With each step he took into the scorched chamber, the air grew thicker, laden with the acrid stench of smoke that clawed at his throat and an electrifying sting of raw power that made his hair stand on end. Ethan almost stumbled as he took a step forward, his legs weakened by the oppressive weight of the atmosphere. Pillars and statues lay in ruins, reduced to rubble, obstructing any direct path to navigate through the wreckage.

High above him, terrifying flashes of light pierced through the smoke and ignited the sky into frightening explosions, pure white bursts tearing through the darkness. Shockwaves rippled through the air, causing the ground beneath Ethan's feet to tremble. The gods, in their true forms, fought viciously. Ethan could not stare at them without feeling like his eye would erupt.

He didn't need a second glance to recognize Nyx, however.

She was nothing like the ethereal goddess of night he had read about in ancient myths. Instead, she manifested as a monstrous, towering entity of darkness, a grotesque form seemed to devour all light. Shadows writhed around her like living, abominable creatures, weaving and undulating gruesomely—the very air around her trembled with a palpable sense of dread, black fragments of her essence protruding as if it recoiled from her unnatural presence.

His hands trembled uncontrollably, betraying the fear that consumed him.

The mere sight of her sent shivers down his spine, as if he were staring into the abyss itself. It was clear that Nyx's true nature was far more terrifying than any story could ever convey.

As Ethan stood there, surveying the devastation, a sinking feeling engulfed his heart. The scale of the destruction he witnessed was far from the balance he had envisioned when Micah had spoken of the downfall of Olympus; this was chaos incarnate.

Micah—He had to find Micah.

Ethan's mind raced; every thought was frantic, his gaze darting from one shadowy corner to the next, desperately seeking any trace of his cousin. With each passing moment, his heart pounded relentlessly within his chest, its thunderous rhythm serving as a relentless reminder of the urgency that consumed him. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to overwhelm him completely.

Then he saw it, amid the chaos and destruction, a faint, distant shine—a tiny glimmer on the edge of perception. Without a moment's hesitation, he surged forward, driven by an unshakable instinct that this light—whatever it was—was the fulfillment to the promise between him and his mother.

"Ethan!"

His heart pounded in his chest.

Percy felt as if his entire being was on the verge of shattering. Nyx had taken a hold of Micah as if he were nothing more than a rag doll, dragging him to the sky where the Olympians and the gods of the House of Midnight were battling. Even with the Curse of Achilles, Percy couldn't withstand the pain of witnessing the gods in their true form. He felt like a fraud standing there, powerless to protect the one he loved.

With feelings of pure and profound worthlessness tormenting him, the sight of Ethan filled Percy with a fear unlike anything Nyx could possibly evoke.

"Ethan!" Percy called out again. The boy briefly turned to cast a glance at him from across the throne room, black strands of hair clinging to his forehead, dampened by the sweat brought about by the intensity of the fire's heat. Percy's heart sank as he saw the desperation in Ethan's expression, realizing that his own powerlessness could cost them both their lives. "Ethan, come here! Where are you going?"

The son of Nemesis turned away from Percy, his face contorted with an emotion that he could not make sense of. Percy readied himself to pursue Ethan, determined to untangle the unfolding circumstances. However, before he could take a single step, a thunderous explosion seemed to have shattered the very fabric of the universe, sending shockwaves through the air and causing the ground to tremble beneath their feet.

Percy instinctively shielded his eyes from the blinding light that followed, his heart pounding in his chest. As the dust settled, he looked around in horror to find that Ethan had disappeared amidst the chaos. Panic surged through Percy's veins as he realized the gravity of the situation—the prophecy stated that Olympus would either be preserved or razed, and as flaming spheres of pure light rained down from the sky, like fallen stars, it became clear that destruction was imminent.

He watched in horrified disbelief as the meteors streaked across the sky, leaving behind fiery tails of destruction in their wake. They crashed into the ground with an earth-shaking impact, their immense power obliterating everything in their path. As the dust and smoke settled, Percy's heart sank with a sickening realization. These were not fallen stars or any sort of ability—it was far more terrible. The unconscious bodies of gods rained down like lifeless dolls; their divine essence vanished by whatever cataclysmic force had caused such an armageddon.

"You must leave now," a voice urgently commanded. Percy turned to find Phobetor holding an unresponsive Micah in his arms. The god's once enormous aura had now dwindled and flickered, a mere remnant of its former strength. Phobetor, his expression rigid and eyes heavy-lidded, fixed Percy with a gravity that sent chills down his spine. "Father has been deemed a traitor to the House of Midnight. You will not survive what is about to transpire unless you flee immediately."

"What is happening?" Percy rushed toward Phobetor; his eyes were wide with fright as he reached out to take Micah from Phobetor's trembling arms. As he took in Micah's condition, everything around him seemed to blur, as if he had entered a nightmare.

Micah's body was aflame with a fever that burned through his flesh, the heat radiating off him in palpable waves. Blisters had formed on his skin, gruesome and angry, and blood oozed from his wounds, mingling with the sweat that had drenched his clothes. Deep lacerations ran across his arm where Nyx had torn at him with her sharp claws, leaving behind jagged, bare gashes. Micah's pulse had dwindled to a feeble thud beneath his touch. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one shallower than the last, as if the very air had turned against him.

Percy's hands began to shake regardless of how much he tried to steady them, his fingers trembling as he adjusted his hold on the son of Hypnos.

Phobetor's voice held a harsh edge as he spoke. "Father is granting you time to escape. Do not concern yourself; the dealings of the gods are not for mortals to meddle in. You must go at once." His jaw clenched, and the god of nightmares locked eyes with Percy, their gaze a swirling vortex of emotions—fear, mainly, a desperate plea for understanding. Phobetor's voice softened, almost pleading, as he instructed: "Take my brother to the Asclepiades, or else he will endure a fate worse than death."

Percy swallowed. "But Ethan—He—"

"My brother is dying," Phobetor interrupted, the words heavy with sorrow and helplessness. "He is dying, Perseus Jackson, and I cannot save him—so I beg you to save him."

His eyes, once filled with a brutality that matched his reputation, now glistened with tears of despair. It was a rare glimpse into the depths of a god's anguish, a vulnerability that Percy had never expected to witness. Phobetor's voice trembled with raw emotion as he continued, "The Asclepiades possess the power to heal even the gravest of injuries. Please, do not let my brother suffer any longer."

A sort of understanding dawned on Percy then; it wasn't the good kind, but a sickening, twisted recognition that left his throat constricted and threatened to bring tears to his own eyes.

Was this the choice the prophecy mentioned? To abandon Olympus and save Micah, or to stay behind to rescue Ethan and fulfill his duty as a hero. It had to be, didn't it? Because to Percy, there could never be a more agonizing choice to make.

In his arms, for the first time since they had met, Micah appeared small and fragile.

The thought of a world without him was unfathomable to Percy.

How could he possibly exist without Micah?

But how could he possibly bear the guilt of knowing he had left Ethan alone to die?

"Percy!"

The son of Poseidon turned immediately at the piercing sound of his name, the urgency in Ethan's voice slashing through Percy's heart like a blade. He turned swiftly, and across the ever-burning hearth's flames, he locked eyes with Ethan. The fear and desperation etched on the fourteen-year-old's face were impossible to conceal. Still Ethan thrust his arm into the air, his trembling hand clutching something tightly:

It was Hypnos' scimitar, its golden blade gleaming like a beacon in the flickering chaos of the engulfing flames.

"SAVE MY ITOKO!" Ethan's desperate shout tore through the chaos, his voice quivering with distress, a haunting cry that echoed through the hopelessness of the battlefield. Percy could see budding tears welling up in his wide, terror-stricken eye.

He didn't want to understand—Percy didn't want to.

Ethan's voice cracked as he choked back his own tears, his grip on the golden weapon tightening, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, catching his breath as he tried to steady himself. "If you let him die," he screamed, trapped sobs causing his words to shatter and break, "I swear on all the gods that I will curse you, Jackson! I will haunt you until the end of your days!"

"Ethan—" Percy pleaded, far too quiet for him to hear, his voice barely a whisper lost in the crumbling palace walls. Agonizingly, the two of them knew, so Percy tried his best to memorize the sight of Ethan's anguished face, etching it into his memory as the flames danced around them, because he knew it would be the last time he would ever see him again, and he owned it to Micah to hold onto every moment of Ethan's life. He owed it to Micah to hold onto every second of Ethan's life, no matter how painful it might be.

Percy watched as Ethan nodded to himself, a trembling hand raising to wipe away the tears streaming down his face, the touch of his fingers leaving behind streaks on his ashen cheeks. Ethan smiled then, as wide as he could, forced and awkward and twisted, but still a smile; his lips trembled with sorrow and gratitude as he mouthed, I love him.

And before Percy could utter a word, Ethan ran—off into the darkness that amassed Nyx, tendrils of shadow swallowing him whole within seconds, the golden glow of Hypnos' scimitar flickering in his hands as he disappeared.

The son of Poseidon, his heart heavy with the weight of grief that threatened to crush him, ran as well. He ran as fast as he could, holding onto Micah as tightly as he could, his footsteps echoing through the desolation. Above him, the sky seemed to break into flames, blinding flashes of lightning searing through the pitch-black darkness and deafening thunderclaps punctuating the void until the heavens themselves were a pure, blinding white.

As he made it outside of the crumbling palace walls, where he could see scorched grass and the familiar figures of Annabeth and Thalia in the distance, he could feel the ground shake beneath his feet, the tremors intensifying with each passing moment.

The air was heavy with the acrid scent of smoke, even at this distance. It clung to the atmosphere like a suffocating shroud, making each breath a struggle even in the coldness of the night. The once-vibrant landscape had succumbed to rolling clouds of smoke that ascended into the sky, veiling the moon and casting an unnerving, apocalyptic hue over everything. Blood stained the ground where dozens of dead Hellhounds lay, their lifeless bodies twisted and contorted in grotesque positions, their fur singed and blackened from the intense heat. The crackling of burning trees and shrubs rang through the silence, a mournful dirge for the devastation that had befallen this once-thriving place.

"Percy!" Annabeth shouted as soon as she caught sight of him, her voice a blend of relief and desperation. She looked utterly drained as she lowered her knife, claw marks etched on her arms and blood splatters marring her clothes. "We need to get out of here!"

She gasped, her gaze widening with disbelief as she noticed Micah's condition in Percy's arms.

Thalia stood beside her, lowering her raised bow as she approached. "What's happening?" she demanded. "Is he alive? Where's Ethan?"

He couldn't muster a response; a palpable and eerie stillness enveloped the air. It felt as if time itself had frozen, leaving nothing but a haunting silence, occasionally disrupted by the distant echoes of collapsing debris. Nyx's darkness had swallowed the palace in an impenetrable shroud, rendering it nearly impossible to see or hear anything beyond the entrance gates, casting a suffocating shadow over everything.

Within the darkness, Olympus lay in ruins.

Yet, just as despair threatened to engulf everything, a glimmer of something extraordinary began to emerge.

A radiant, shimmering light pulsed in the distance. It started as a mere flicker within the abyss of shadows but steadily grew in intensity, transforming into a miniature sun that bathed the entire battlefield in its warm, resplendent glow. 

From within the luminous brilliance emerged the Oneiroi.

They flew above the wreckage with an ethereal grace, bathed in a golden light that emanated from their very beings, a striking contrast to the chaos and destruction below. Their wings, translucent and delicate, glimmered with shining hues as they floated through the air, their presence bringing a sense of serenity amidst the turmoil. Wherever they flew, the writhing shadows of Nyx's power seemed to recede and seep into the Earth, as if intimidated by the radiant beauty of the winged spirits.

"That's Lord Hypnos, isn't it?" Thalia asked, her voice tinged with awe as she gazed at the celestial creatures. Annabeth began to smile and nodded, her eyes mirroring the same sense of wonder. "Yes, those are his daimones," she affirmed, "the messengers of sleep and dreams!" Annabeth laughed with relief, her gaze never wavering from the mesmerizing display. "You did it, Percy!"

Percy wanted to respond, but his words became ensnared in his throat, and the tears he had struggled to contain now flowed freely. All he could do was shake his head, his voice drowned in silent sobs.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

micah is going to wake up and realize his younger cousin is dead LOL

thoughts on the chapter are always appreciated thank u!

i think i know some of the reactions though </3 so i am going to run

until next chapter!

bye  bye