Damasen's bachelor pad was comfortable.

It was about the size of a planetarium and constructed of bones, mud, and drakon skin, but out of all the places they'd seen in Tartarus so far, this one was the only one where they all collectively felt at ease. In the center blazed a bonfire made of pitch and bone; yet the smoke was white and odorless, rising through the hole in the middle of the ceiling.

The floor was covered with dry marsh grass and gray wool rugs. At one end lay a massive bed of sheepskins and drakon leather. At the other end, freestanding racks were hung with drying plants, cured leather, and what looked like strips of drakon jerky. The whole place smelled of stew, smoke, basil, and thyme. Where Damasen got his ingredients from, Emilia didn't know. She felt homesick in that moment, remembering the days in high school when her aunt would have food waiting for her.

There was a flock of sheep huddled in a pen at the back of the hut. Emilia watched them for a moment, craving the sort of birria her aunt excelled at cooking. She wondered if Damasen ate them regularly or kept them as pets.

Bob had placed Percy in the giant's bed, where he nearly disappeared in the wool and leather. Small Bob hopped off Percy and kneaded the blankets, purring so strongly the bed rattled. Emilia wished the kitten would come and cuddle with her.

Damasen plodded to the bonfire. He tossed his drakon meat into a hanging pot that seemed to be made from an old monster skull, then picked up a ladle and began to stir. Annabeth wasn't one to sit around– she marched up to Damasen, and inquired, "My friend is dying. Can you cure him or not?"

Emilia didn't question why Annabeth had called Percy a 'friend.' They were a lot more than that. 'Boyfriend' probably couldn't even sum up what he was to her. At this point, Emilia considered them married. Damasen regarded Annabeth, glowering under his bushy red eyebrows. He looked so pensive, so bitter and sorrowful, not at all vengeful like the other giants.=

"I don't hear words like those in Tartarus," the giant grumbled. "Friend. Promise."

Annabeth crossed her arms. "How about gorgon's blood? Can you cure that, or did Bob overstate your talents?"

"Annabeth," said Emilia in a warning tone. Probably best not to piss him off if he was Percy's only hope.

Damasen scowled down at her. "You question my talents? A half-dead mortal straggles into my swamp and questions my talents?"

"Yep," said Annabeth.

"Hmph." Damasen handed Bob the ladle. "Stir." As Bob tended the stew, Damasen perused his drying racks, plucking various leaves and roots. He popped a fistful of plant material into his mouth, chewed it up, then spat it into a clump of wool.

"Cup of broth," Damasen ordered. Bob ladled some stew juice into a hollow gourd. He handed it to Damasen, who dunked the chewed-up gunk ball and stirred it with his finger. "Gorgon's blood. Hardly a challenge for my talents."

"Thank you so much," said Emilia appreciatively, motioning for Annabeth to go sit with Percy, and miming a motion for her to be quiet. She scurried around Damasen as he lumbered to the bedside and propped Percy up with one hand. Small Bob sniffed the broth and hissed, scratching the sheets with his paws like he wanted to bury it.

Against advice, Annabeth asked, "You're going to feed him that?"

The giant glared at her. "Who is the healer here? You?"

Annabeth shut her mouth and sat with Percy, watching as the giant made him sip the broth. Damasen handled him with surprising gentleness, murmuring words of encouragement that Emilia couldn't make out.

With each sip, Percy's color improved. He drained the cup, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked around with a dazed expression, spotted Annabeth, and gave her a drunken grin. "Feel great."

His eyes rolled up in his head. He fell back in the bed and began to snore. "A few hours of sleep," pronounced Damasen. "He'll be good as new."

Annabeth sobbed with relief. "Thank you."

Damasen stared at her mournfully. "Oh, don't thank me. You're still doomed. And I require payment for my services."

"Payment?" asked Emilia. "Yes– of course. Um... what can we give you?"

The giant's eyes glittered. "A story. It gets boring in Tartarus. You two can tell me your story while we eat, eh?"

Emilia gave Annabeth a look, hoping she got the gist that they should just give their story. In bits and pieces if needed, but no resistance. Damasen had saved Percy and for now, they were safe and able to relax here.

Annabeth got started first. She told Damasen about her life, her adventures with Percy. She explained how Percy had met Bob, wiped his memory in the River Lethe, and left him in the care of Hades. "Percy was trying to do something good," she promised Bob. "He didn't know Hades would be such a creep."

Bob washed his bowl with his squirt bottle and rag, not speaking anything to how he felt about what she revealed. Damasen made a rolling gesture with his spoon. "Continue your story."

She gave Emilia a turn to speak. Emilia got to explaining her past, brushing very quickly over the part where Atlas recruited her for Kronos's army– she'd only just remembered his father was Iapetus. She explained how she'd arrived at Camp Half-Blood and was now part of a quest in the Argo II– she even included the part about the Athena Parthenos when Annabeth gave her a nod.

When she got to the part about stopping Gaea from waking, she faltered. Annabeth spoke for the both of them, saying to Damasen, "She's, um... she's your mom, right?"

Damasen scraped his bowl. His face was covered with old poison burns, gouges, and scar tissue, so it looked like the surface of an asteroid. "Yes. And Tartarus is my father." He gestured around the hut. "As you can see, I was a disappointment to my parents. They expected... more from me."

"So... You don't mind us fighting your mom?"

Damasen snorted like a bull. "Best of luck. At present, it's my father you should worry about. With him opposing you..." He glanced at Emilia but gestured only to Percy and Annabeth, "You have no chance to survive." He then pointed at her. "If Tartarus laid a finger on you, there would be consequences. Even he is not fool enough to anger Night."

Emilia's soup didn't taste very good as she imagined Tartarus himself hesitating to hurt her all because of Nyx. She sounded worse than Gaea. She supposed she should be thankful this connection was keeping her alive. "How is he opposing us? Do you mean like... now? Sending obstacles? Or do you mean he's going to come and confront us?"

Damasen snorted. "You should hope he doesn't." He cracked a drakon bone and used a splinter as a toothpick. "All that you see is the body of Tartarus, or at least one manifestation of it. He knows you are here. He tries to thwart your progress at every step. My brethren hunt you. It is remarkable you have lived this long, even with the help of Iapetus."

Bob scowled when he heard his name. "The defeated ones hunt us, yes. They will be close behind now."

Damasen spat out his toothpick. "I can obscure your path for a while, long enough for you to rest. I have power in this swamp. But eventually, they will catch you."

"My friends must reach the Doors of Death," said Bob "That is the way out."

"Impossible," muttered Damasen. "The Doors are too well guarded."

Annabeth sat forward. "But you know where they are?"

"Of course. All of Tartarus flows down to one place: his heart. The Doors of Death are there. But you cannot make it there alive with only Iapetus."

"Then come with us," said Annabeth. "Help us."

Damasen let out a loud ha! that made both Annabeth and Emilia flinch. In the bed, Percy laughed deliriously in his sleep. "Child of Athena, I am not your friend. I helped mortals once, and you see where it got me."

"I remember that story," said Emilia carefully. "I read it when I joined Kronos's army. Damasen, you're the bane of Ares. You're peaceful. You didn't fight the gods. You... tended to sheep, collected herbs, you learned to heal."

"Yes," sighed Damasen. "I wandered the fields of Maeonia, in the land you now call Turkey. It was a good life. My mother and father cursed me for that. The final insult: One day the Maeonian drakon killed a human shepherd, a friend of mine, so I hunted the creature down and slew it, thrusting a tree straight through its mouth. I used the power of the earth to regrow the tree's roots, planting the drakon firmly in the ground. I made sure it would terrorize mortals no more. That was a deed Gaea could not forgive."

Annabeth frowned. "Because you helped someone?"

"Yes." Damasen looked ashamed. "Gaea opened the earth, and I was consumed, exiled here in the belly of my father Tartarus, where all the useless flotsam collects—all the bits of creation he does not care for." The giant plucked a flower out of his hair and regarded it absently. "They let me live, tending my sheep, collecting my herbs, so I might know the uselessness of the life I chose. Every day—or what passes for day in this lightless place—the Maeonian drakon re-forms and attacks me. Killing it is my endless task."

It sounded like a terrible existence. Annabeth blurted out, "Break the curse. Come with us."

Damasen chuckled sourly. "As simple as that. Don't you think I have tried to leave this place? It is impossible. No matter which direction I travel, I end up here again. The swamp is the only thing I know—the only destination I can imagine. No, little demigod. My curse has overtaken me. I have no hope left."

"No hope," Bob echoed.

"There must be a way," she insisted. "Bob has a plan to reach the Doors of Death. He said we could hide in some sort of Death Mist."

"Death Mist?" Damasen scowled at Bob. "You would take them to Akhlys?"

"It is the only way," said Bob.

"You two will die," said Damasen. "Painfully. In darkness. Akhlys trusts no one and helps no one. She will let Emilia live only because she is meant to arrive at the Mansion of Night."

"Is there another way?" asked Annabeth.

"No," said Damasen. "Emilia does not hold the power Akhlys has– without her... unfortunately it is both the best plan and a terrible plan."

"But isn't it worth trying?" asked Annabeth. "You could return to the mortal world. You could see the sun again."

Damasen's eyes were like the sockets of the drakon's skull—dark and hollow, devoid of hope. He flicked a broken bone into the fire and rose to his full height—a massive red warrior in sheepskin and drakon leather, with dried flowers and herbs in his hair.

"Get some sleep," said the giant. "I will prepare supplies for your journey. I am sorry, but I cannot do more."

"Rest," encouraged Emilia, motioning for her to go lay with Percy. "I'm going to stay up a bit longer."

Annabeth didn't argue. "Maybe a little sleep." Bob scooped her up like a rag doll, setting her next to Percy on the giant's bed. She started to snore lightly almost instantly.

"You should rest, too, child," said Damasen as Emilia placed Small Bob on her lap. She was glad when the kitten curled up. "You have a long journey ahead of you."

"Thank you for all your help," she said. "I wish you could come with us. To be free of all this. You don't deserve this. Neither of you do."

He regarded her, that sorrowful face gazing down as if imagining what she must be thinking. "There was but a single day since my time here that the drakon did not come."

"And?" she asked eagerly. "What happened that day? We could make the same thing happen again."

"You were born."

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to say to that. "How do you know that?"

"All of Tartarus was silent that day. The only demigod child to come so directly from any of the protogenoi, the only mortal to be spawned here with a new purpose. Eris is your mother, mine willed you to be created, and Night's domain was your first home. Creatures from every corner of Tartarus migrated to the Mansion of Night to see you."

"Come with us, Damasen."

"It does not mean my curse can be broken. You are the only one of the three that will survive being so close to the Mansion. To the Doors. You are home. They are not." He shook his head. "You need your rest before you meet your grandmother. Go. The night fuels you but it won't fully replenish you."

Emilia sighed. She glanced at Bob. "Can I take the cat?" He gave her a puzzled look as he scooped her and Small Bob up, laying her on the other side of Annabeth. She turned on her side, Small Bob settling next to her tummy and purring happily. She closed her eyes, letting sleep overtake her.

She woke up what felt like many hours later. Small Bob was no longer against her belly, but she could hear Damasen and Bob still talking.

"Why do you guide them?" Damasen was asking. "What have the demigods given you? They have erased your old self, everything you were. Titans and giants... we are meant to be foes of the gods and their children. Are we not?"

"Then why did you heal the boy?" asked Bob.

Damasen exhaled. "I have been wondering that myself. Perhaps because one girl goaded me and the other pleaded with... appreciation and tenderness that I've never seen in any of Night's family members. Perhaps I find these three demigods intriguing. They are resilient to have made it so far. That is admirable. Still, how can we help them any further? It is not our fate."

"Perhaps," said Bob uncomfortably. "But... do you like our fate?"

"What a question. Does anyone like his fate?"

"I liked being Bob. Before I started to remember." Damasen hummed. Bob asked, "Do you remember the sun?"

She heard Damasen exhale. "Yes. It was yellow. When it touched the horizon, it turned the sky beautiful colors."

"I miss the sun," said Bob. "The stars, too. I would like to say hello to the stars again."

"Stars..." Damasen said the word as if he'd forgotten its meaning. "Yes. They made silver patterns in the night sky." He threw something to the floor with a thump. "Bah. This is useless talk. We cannot–"

In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared. Percy sat bolt upright, and Emilia realized Annabeth was already awake. She shimmied out of the bed as Annabeth helped him gather his bearings. Damasen loomed over the bed. "There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others– my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."

"What will you tell them when they get here?" asked Annabeth.

Damasen's mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone." He tossed them three drakon-leather satchels. "Clothes, food, drink."

"Thank you," said Emilia gratefully, putting hers on. Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, staring at them pensively.

"The Prophecy of Eight," Annabeth said suddenly. Percy nearly fell out of the bed, so startled. She grabbed Damasen's hand, causing his eyebrows to furrow. "You have to come with us. The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that's not it. The line means us– demigods, a Titan, a giant. We needyou to close the Doors!"

The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away. "No, child. My curse is here. I cannot escape it."

"Yes you can! Don't fight the drakon. Figure out a way to break the cycle. Find another fate."

Damasen shook his head. "Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture."

"There is another destination. Look at me! Remember my face. When you're ready, come find me. We'll take you to the mortal world with us. You can see the sunlight and stars."

The ground shook. The drakon was close now, stomping through the marsh, blasting trees and moss with its poison spray. Farther away, the giant Polybotes snarled, "THE SEA GOD'S SON! HE IS CLOSE!"

"Annabeth," said Percy urgently. "That's our cue to leave."

Damasen took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the white shard looked like a toothpick, but in Annabeth's hand, it was revealed to be a sword– a blade of dragon bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather. "One last gift for the child of Athena. I cannot have you walking to your death unarmed. Now, go! Before it is too late."

"We must leave," urged Bob as the kitten climbed onto his shoulder.

"Damasen, please," begged Emilia. "Walk with us. Just try."

He didn't move. Bob motioned for them to follow, and they broke into a sprint, running for the entrance and exiting the swamp. Behind them, Damasen shouted his battle cry at the advancing drakon, his voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.

They stumbled through the darkness, the air thick and cold, the ground alternating patches of pointy rocks and pools of muck. All the sleep they'd gotten meant nothing anymore– they were exhausted all over again.

Emilia hated how hard it was to tell time was passing. Certainly it had been at least an hour since they left Damasen, given, they could no longer hear their pursuers, but there was no certainty. No way to quantify the distance they covered.

How much time had passed in the mortal world? How many days had her aunt been left without a response? How many days had Hylla and Pollux wondered if she would ever come home?

Gods, she missed seeing Hylla laugh. She missed Pollux's playfully judgmental looks. She missed hearing her brothers bicker and having Xochitl and Blanca yapping her ear off about the things they loved.

She tried to relive each conversation, conjuring their voices and the feeling of their proximity. She hated that she grew jealous as she watched Percy and Annabeth comfort each other. She hated wishing Hylla was here with her. She'd never wish it on her. She just disliked the feeling of being alone.

I have to go home to her. I have to find a way.

Thinking of her was starting to do more harm than good. The more Emilia thought of getting back to her, the more she felt she couldn't. The more she wondered if Hylla would still want her. It was the pit speaking, it was the darkness calling her back. She had to tell herself plainly that those thoughts were bad, that those thoughts weren't true. The more she missed her, the more she believed it would be permanent.

I want to tell her I love her. I want to hear her voice.

She was sure she'd burst into tears the moment she was safe in her cabin and starting an Iris-message to Hylla. How she craved the feeling of being in her arms, of being able to sob onto her shoulder. They were both always being the strong ones for the sake of others. Emilia just wanted a moment to be weak without judgment.

She hated how much of a responsibility she had here. The only one unaffected by the pit, the only one who could control the monsters that came for them. She resented herself for feeling that protecting Percy and Annabeth was a burden. It was just so hard without a real sense of hope. Without anyone to lean on here. She couldn't hold it against them but with a terrible twinge, she realized she still did.

She resented being here. She resented the things she was feeling, all because of the choice she made. It wasn't fair she was here. It wasn't fair they'd had to fall. It wasn't fair that Damasen was cursed, that Bob didn't know who he was.

As much as it hurt, focusing on Hylla was the only thing that kept the hate from bubbling up and suffocating her from within.

Finally, the darkness dispersed with a massive sigh. Emilia's legs felt like jelly and she nearly crumpled against Bob. In front of them was a clearing– a barren field of dust and stones. In the center, about twenty yards away, knelt the gruesome figure of a woman, her clothes tattered, her limbs emaciated, her skin leathery green. Her head was bent as she sobbed quietly.

"We're here," said Bob. "Akhlys can help."

They approached through the soupy white fog, a strangely almost-lit area surrounding the sobbing woman. "Akhlys!" called Bob.

The creature raised her head. She looked like a victim of a famine– limbs like sticks, swollen knees and knobby elbows, rags for clothes, broken fingernails and toenails. Dust was caked on her skin and piled on her shoulders. Her face was utter desolation. Her eyes were sunken and rheumy, pouring out tears. Her nose dripped like a waterfall. Her stringy gray hair was matted to her skull in greasy tufts, and her cheeks were raked and bleeding as if she'd been clawing herself.

Emilia could see the immediate effect this had on Percy and Annabeth. They were struggling to make eye contact. They looked afraid, like they might throw up and cry at the same time. Akhlys had that aura– she could sense it.

She wasn't afraid. She was fascinated. Something about this woman should have scared her, but it didn't. It unsettled her, but it brought no fear. She didn't give into the desolation solely because of her– Emilia could control when she felt that hopeless. It was her decision and her decision alone. Meanwhile, Annabeth and Percy were being swayed into the negativity merely by staring at Akhlys.

Across her knees lay an ancient shield– a battered circle of wood and bronze, painted with the likeliness of Akhlys herself holding a shield, so the image seemed to go on forever, smaller and smaller.

"That shield," murmured Annabeth. "That's his. I thought it was just a story."

"Oh, no," wailed the hag. "The shield of Hercules. He painted me on its surface, so his enemies would see me in their final moments– the goddess of misery." She coughed. "As if Hercules knew true misery. It's not even a good likeness!"

"What's his shield doing here?" asked Percy.

The goddess stared at him with her wet milky eyes. Her cheeks dripped blood, making red polka dots on her tattered dress. "He doesn't need it anymore, does he? It came here when his mortal body was burned. A reminder, I suppose, that no shield is sufficient. In the end, misery overtakes all of you. Even Hercules."

"My lady," said Emilia, trying to be respectful. They still needed something from her. "I am Emilia, daughter of Eris–"

"I know you," said Akhlys, voice so hoarse, it sounded like just thinking of Emilia made her ache more. "You were born to bring misery into the mortal world. I have channeled you many times. I have felt your presence from the moment you were created, perpetually."

Perpetual, like the apparent pain she was feeling. Emilia continued, "We request your assitance, my lady. We need your Death Mist to hide ourselves in order to reach the Doors of Death and return to the mortal world."

"Hide?" Akhlys made a gurgling sound, like she was choking. "Impossible! The armies of Tartarus will find you. They will kill your friends."

Annabeth turned the blade of her drakon-bone sword. "So I guess your Death Mist is pretty useless, then."

Lately, Emilia had a recurring desire to shut Annabeth up. This was not how she sensed they should be talking to Akhlys. The goddess bared her broken yellow teeth. "Useless? Who are you?"

"A daughter of Athena. I didn't walk halfway across Tartarus to be told what's impossible by some minor goddess."

The dust quivered at their feet. Fog swirled around them with a sound like agonized wailing. "Minor goddess?" Akhlys's gnarled fingernails dug into Hercules's shield, gouging the metal. "I was old before the Titans were born, you ignorant girl. I was old when Gaea first woke. Misery is eternal. Existence is misery. I was born of the eldest ones– of Chaos and Night. I was–"

"Yes, yes," said Annabeth. "Sadness and misery, blah blah blah. But you still don't have enough power to hide three demigods with your Death Mist. Like I said: useless."

"Annabeth," said Emilia sharply as Percy motioned for his girlfriend to hold her tongue. Emilia was sure she could work something out. Akhlys was family, maybe a bargain could be struck without getting aggressive.

Percy, apparently, decided to play along "I mean... Annabeth is right! Bob brought us all this way because he thought you could help. But I guess you're too busy staring at that shield and crying. I can't blame you. It looks just like you."

Akhlys wailed and glared at the Titan. "Why did you inflict these annoying children on me?"

Bob made a sound somewhere between a rumble and a whimper. "I thought– I thought–"

"The Death Mist is not for helping!" she shrieked. "It shrouds mortals in misery as their souls pass into the Underworld. It is the very breath of Tartarus, of death, of despair!"

"Awesome," said Percy unseriously. "Could we get three orders of that to go?"

Akhlys hissed. "Ask me for a more sensible gift. I am also the goddess of poisons. I could give you death– thousands of ways to die less painful than the one you have chosen by marching into the heart of the pit."

Around the goddess, flowers bloomed in the dust– dark purple, orange, and red blossoms that smelled sickly sweet. "Nightshade. Hemlock. Belladonna, henbane, or strychnine. I can dissolve your innards, boil your blood."

"We could learn this another time," said Emilia, growing impatient. "My lady, we understand this is not for helping, but we must return to the mortal world. My mother is expecting me in the Mansion of Night. Your mother– my grandmother–wishes to um, meet me. Please, we implore, we need your magic, your blessing."

Akhlys struggled to her feet. The shield of Hercules rolled away and wobbled to a stop in a patch of poison flowers. "You need nothing from me, Child of Darkness. Your own will could shroud you between any realm." For a moment, the air shimmered, and Emilia found herself standing alone with Akhlys. "The same cannot be said for your friends. They do not possess this power. They will learn this the hard way. They must walk the path alone. If they survive, they will find you in my mother's mansion."

"Swear it to me," said Emilia, not at all liking how she worded it and not appreciating the fact Akhlys had separated them without warning. Maybe Annabeth had been right to be aggressive with her words. "Swear to me that you will give them the gift and that they will find me in the Mansion of Night still alive."

Akhlys's mouth split into a grin, yellow teeth bared. "Do you expect a betrayal?"

"Yes. Everyone who hasn't helped us has spared me only because of my connection to Night. Percy and Annabeth have not been safe. So swear it to me. On the River Styx. You will give your gift and you will send them to me. Do it, or I will crush you like I did the arai. Do it, or I will turn darkness against you. You may be Night's child but you're not special. Iam."

When Akhlys only sneered, Emilia pressed, "Swear it. Gaea needs all three of us to return to the mortal world alive. She intends to spill their blood to rise, she needs me there to transfer her power. And we must close the Doors of Death. If you do not swear, I will destroy you... and trust me, that'll be a mercy compared to what she would do to you if I don't make it back alive."

As if calculating the risk, Akhlys looked her up and down. "Very well, little shadow. I swear upon the River Styx that I will give the Death Mist to your friends. I will send them in sleep to the Mansion of Night. But this does not guarantee their survival beyond. You don't know my mother. I'm not even sure you know yours."

"I'll take my chances," said Emilia coldly.

Akhlys stepped aside, the fog clearing a path for Emilia. "Go on, then. Return home."

With nowhere else to go, Emilia took a step into the darkness.

-

A/N: Happy 500 pages! I've been wanting to write this coming chapter since I started the story and somehow I still didn't do much planning for it so we're all gonna find out together how Emilia's time in the Mansion of Night will go. Side note, I was super emotional writing this because Damasen and Bob just make me SO SAD. Anyway, comment for more!