"I've got to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free.
I've fallen—"

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Song: I Want To Break Free, Queen

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XXX - Sneak

April 1

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The wall was gone.

The moon was full.

They had been sold out.

His friends were running, fleeing to the forest, guided by the words of a huntress.

People were shouting, and screaming as they ran. The light of spells was flashing across the stones. Percy was heaving for his breath. He saw Harry fall and he turned to help when her voice could be heard over the din.

"Percy!" She cried. "Let's go!"

The wind around them whipping, terror in her eyes—

Down to hell. Away from light and salvation. A dream. Wasn't it only a dream?

He turned to her, flashing her a grin. Let me help , he mouthed. I'll meet you in the forest. Get me a pegasus. He wasn't sure how much she understood, but she nodded mutely. She pressed her eyes tight as she turned and ran, gone in seconds.

The consequences of losing focus on the fight and focusing too much on her caught up when a spell hit his chest, knocking him back. Before he could move, he was lifted up by the collar and he saw a scene.

Umbridge, grinning. Harry, nose dripping blood, another student with his wand inches from his head. Murder in both their eyes. Umbridge spoke, and suddenly they were all being dragged away.

Percy didn't fight, needing to contain his strength. He knew where they were going, and the dread and hate of the open-air was what stirred his stomach as they climbed the stairs to the headmaster's office.

The next few minutes were blurry. He must have hit his head. Well , he thought, somewhat amused, there goes my already shoddy memory !

He bit back his anger when the girl who had blabbed came forward. He wasn't sure if it was the betrayal in her or the sneak on her face, but his anger grew and grew. A ticking bomb.

Percy stared at Dumbledore as he "admitted" to have started the army named after him. And when the heat of the Phoenix that he departed with faded, and he was pulled from the ground, and all eyes were on him, the situation set in.

Percy Jackson did not like Albus Dumbledore. But that man had been the barrier, the dam, against Umbridge and her conquest.

Percy Jackson, now heaving for breaths, the weight of the situation lying heavily, took a step back. Professor McGonagall, hands-on her students' shoulders, watched in horror, knowing what was next.

"Mister Jackson," Umbridge laughed. Percy did not flinch. She smiled and drew her wand, the rest of the room followed suit. He did not meet the man named Kingsley Shacklbolt's remorseful eyes, knowing he was undercover.

The Minister spoke, "The half-breed . You, boy, are under arrest for murder and conspiring to undermine our Government." The words shook Percy out of his daze.

"I would not lie, Minister. You have no idea what you're teetering on," Percy warned, the coldness seeping in. "I would not do this."

"Save your words for the interrogation, boy ," Someone spat.

Percy's next moments were so sudden, it seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Riptide, the godly glow casting long shadows in the dim room, was now in his hands. And in every aspect of him, Percy Jackson shifted.

His eyes hardened, and a light glow came over them. The sword in his hand, being eyed warily by his opponents, sharpened to a point so fine, it was invisible to the naked eye. The smell of salt, growing and growing. Was this the man who he truly was? The man who was a hero, a prince, a leader, a bastard of one of the three great kings? A child of a broken line of betrayal and paranoia?

Perseus. Poseidon. Kronos. Ouranos. Too much like his father.

Multiple people shouted a curse. Percy managed to deflect most of them, but it was a surprise one, coming seconds after the rest that hit his side and sent him back for the second time in the night, towards the open window.

He landed on his sword hand, a loud crack sounding. He hissed, but picked up the sword, ignoring the pain and shaking of his arm.

It was the cool wind from the window that made him remember what he had told Annabeth. He looked up at the room, taking in everything. The bookshelves, the portraits, the hundreds of metal instruments. The beams. He thought, trying to remember what Annabeth had told him about architecture and supports, and calculating the distance, as the wizards slowly pressed forward.

Percy Jackson made his decision.

He whistled for Blackjack, the noise deafening as he threw Riptide at one of the beams. He didn't look back as he jumped out of the window, the air whipping around him.

The ground was coming up too fast. He was going to die.

But then he saw Blackjack, and reached, barely latching onto one of Blackjacks wings as he passed. He howled, remembering the break. Sweating, tears prickling the back of his eyes, he pulled himself up.

They flew on, heading to the lake, to the forest.

A flash of red passed him, and he ducked. It missed him by inches.

They were so close.

Another spell.

Another one.

Through gritted teeth, "Almost there Black—"

He felt the mind-numbing pain, and seconds later, Blackjack's cry of pain. He was bucked from the saddle. And for the second time that night, Percy Jackson was falling.

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XXXI - The Difference Between and Inch and a Mile

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What is the difference between an inch and a mile?

It is not the wind, time, pain or distance even.

It is the mortality.

Falling from an inch is nothing.

A mile will kill you.

Your spine will crack like lightning, your screams will die on your lips, and your eyes, now unblinking and dull, will stare ahead. You will die.

Percy Jackson was not falling from an inch or a mile.

But he is falling, all the same, the ground rushing up to meet him, his screams breaking through the night air.

In the forest, a blonde woman looks up in horror.

In the castle, two girls, curled in their bed, roommate missing, wake up in the dark.

A boy with a lightning scar cannot breathe as he imagines the falling boy at the end of his fall.

In the sky, gods watch in horror. The king of them all is frozen. He should move. He owes the hero this, he bitterly admits. He cannot move. His wife, gently horrified, takes his hand.

And deep in the ocean, the dark waves lapping, a hand slacks and a trident clatter to the sea bed, and a King stops, green eyes looking up.

A hero falls.