Archive of Our Own

The quest had been going fine until the wolves found them.

Kuanjui is no stranger to quests by now. He’s only been a full member of the legion for a year, but he’s been on more quests than even some of the older members. This one, in comparison to some of his previous ones, is straightforward enough. Find the centurions of the Second Cohort that went missing in Washington, and bring them back. It should’ve only taken a day or two.

“What are you thinking about?”

Kuanjui looks up, from where he had been absentmindedly staring into their campfire, and sees the firelight reflected in his close friend’s vivid blue eyes.

“Are you worried?” Hao tilts his head. The volume of his voice is just high enough to be heard over the crackling flames. “We’ll find them. It’ll be okay.”

“Why ask what I’m thinking about when you always know?” Kuanjui grumbles, bumping his foot teasingly. “I just…isn’t it weird that we haven’t found them by now? Charlie’s distress call was from here, so they couldn’t have gone far, but we haven’t seen any sign of her or Terry.” He hesitates. “What if they’re…”

Hao purses his lips. Kuanjui knows, from the weighted pause before his reply, that the same thought also crossed his mind. “We shouldn’t give up. Keita might’ve found something further south, too. Unless we find proof…we have to keep looking.” Then, quieter, “We can’t let them stay missing forever.”

It’s a chilly night, even with the warmth of the fire and the cave walls blocking off the worst of the wind. The stars shine brightly in the cloudless sky, partially hidden by foliage but beautiful nonetheless. Hao looks up at them, expression darkening from melancholy, as he reaches for his left wrist. A nervous habit, from what Kuanjui can tell—Hao never wears anything on that wrist, so he’s not sure why Hao always reaches for it. 

“It’s getting late,” Hao says eventually. “We should—”

He pauses. Then, without warning, he leaps to his feet.

“Huh?” Kuanjui startles, before standing as well. “What’s—”

It only takes him a second to realize what Hao reacted to, as he scans the area.

In the darkness, a pair of eerie red eyes glares back at him. Then another, and another, until nearly a dozen are surrounding them, leaving the two with nowhere to run.

Hao swears, quickly unleashing his rope dart. He presses shoulders with Kuanjui, who readies his bladed staff, and they face the oncoming enemies as one united front. Growling sounds from the trees, low and threatening, and slowly, the beasts creep into the light.

Wolves.

Kuanjui normally has no issue with wolves. No one joins Camp Jupiter without first getting trained by the literal wolf goddess of Rome, and he’s no exception. But these wolves…they’re not like Lupa’s pack. Not with their bloodthirsty eyes and matted fur and fangs stained with crimson. These wolves look…feral.

“Hao…” He grips his staff tighter. If this isn’t Lupa’s pack, then there’s only one other option. “Do you think…”

“It must be,” Hao responds grimly. Then, louder, “Lycaon. Show yourself.”

The wolves growl again. The largest one, at the center of the pack, changes form before their very eyes, until they are met with the sight of a tall red-eyed man, with a crown of animal bones and a cloak of rotten furs. 

Lycaon. The first werewolf.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” Lycaon’s lip curls into a smirk. “Two more children of Rome…an unexpected treat. My pack will enjoy the feast.”

Kuanjui gulps, eyeing the surrounding beasts. Wolves smell fear, and he’s trying not to let any get to him, but…gods, what are they supposed to do? They’re outnumbered, and can’t hurt the wolves at all without silver weapons, which neither of them carry…

Think. Think.

“You said two more,” he blurts. If nothing else, he can at least stall for time. “‘Two more children of Rome.’ So you’ve seen others recently?”

“Ah?” Lycaon grins, revealing pointed teeth. “Were you looking for them?” He tsks, and the wolves closest to him almost look entertained. “A shame you came too late to save them, then.”

Dread drops to his gut like a stone. Beside him, he feels Hao tense.

“You mean…”

“They barely even put up a fight. As expected of Lupa’s weaklings,” he says nonchalantly, and Kuanjui’s blood runs cold. “But they made quite a delicious meal.”

They failed. They failed before they even started. And now Kuanjui was going to die, in the middle of nowhere, torn apart and eaten alive by werewolves—

“That’s enough.” Hao is remarkably composed, as he stares the wolf king down. The only sign that gives him away is the white-knuckled grip around his weapon. “No more games. It’s me you’re really after, isn’t it?”

Kuanjui snaps his head towards him. “Hao—”

“I do despise your kind more than anyone, son of Jupiter,” Lycaon agrees. “Your father killed my sons. It’s only right that I return the favor.”

“Then do it,” Hao says. “Let him go, and I’ll come without a fight.”

“Hao, don’t you dare,” Kuanjui hisses. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Kuanjui, please—”

Lycaon barks out a harsh laugh, cutting their conversation off.

“How noble!” he jeers. “But you’re not fooling anyone, Hao Zhang. Not even yourself. You’re no protector. You weren’t then, and you still aren’t now.”

Kuanjui frowns, unsure of what he means, but Hao flinches like he’s been slapped.

“You—” His voice trembles. “Shut up.”

“It’s interesting to see how history repeats, isn’t it?” Lycaon’s words drip with a cruel amusement. The dying firelight only makes his features more animalistic, casting long heavy shadows like claw marks. “You fail to protect your pack when they’re in danger, you fail to find your pack when they’re missing…how pathetic. Too late to save those children of Rome, just like how you’re going to be too late to save your precious Hanbin—”

BOOM.

Kuanjui stumbles back, a blinding light searing into his retinas at the same time as a force explodes right in front of him. It takes all his dancer’s training and balance to stay on his feet, as he blinks the spots out of his vision. The air is crackling, with so much tension that he feels his ears pop.

When his sight returns, he almost can’t believe his eyes.

There’s a huge smoking crater where Lycaon had been standing. Around it, lightning dances dangerously, caging all of the wolves. In the center of the crater, Lycaon is unmoving, propped up solely by thick arcs of electricity pierced through him, awful choking sounds escaping from his lips. Gone is that amusement, that brutish smugness—instead, his eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets with pure fear.

And, standing in front of Lycaon…

“Keep his name out of your mouth.”

Hao, seething, incandescent with rage, is pointing a literal lightning bolt at Lycaon’s neck. Sparks are flying off his skin, like he’s lost the ability (or the willingness) to keep his power restrained within him. Pure hatred burns in his eyes. Kuanjui has never felt scared of Hao, not even after his godly parent was revealed to the entire camp, but now, seeing him like this…he’s absolutely terrified.

“If you ever even think of him again,” Hao snarls, digging the bolt into Lycaon’s neck, and Lycaon full-on whimpers, “you will remember this. You will remember how it feels to have the electricity in your own nerves rip you apart. Your pack will see what happens to wolves that stick their snouts where they don’t belong, and the memory will haunt them until they join you in Tartarus.”

“Mercy,” Lycaon gasps, begs, as his flesh begins to burn. “Please—”

He never gets to finish his sentence. Hao thrusts the bolt forwards, and it absorbs into Lycaon’s body, who screams as his body glows brighter and brighter, smoke curling from his body. With a dying howl, he withers and melts into shadow, until there is nothing left except for a broken crown of bones.

The rest of the lightning dissipates. The wolves, now free, scamper away with their tails between their legs. Soon, there is nothing left of the encounter, except a hole in the earth and the lingering smell of ozone. 

Hao is still standing there. He hasn’t moved a muscle. Hesitantly, Kuanjui approaches, leaping down the crater with light feet. 

“Hao?” he calls gently. “Are…are you alright?”

Silence. 

Then, Hao’s shoulders begin to tremble.

“Hao—” Kuanjui rushes to his side, and Hao practically falls into him. “Oh, gods—here, let’s get out of here first, okay? The fire is—”

“He’s right.”

Kuanjui blinks. “What?”

Hao sinks to the ground, and Kuanjui lowers himself with him, until they’re both sitting on the floor of the crater. Hao tucks his knees to his chest, huddling in on himself, his entire body shivering. His eyes are dull, vacant, staring unseeingly at his shoes. He looks so small, so fragile like this, a mere shadow of the frightening and imposing figure that killed the first and most powerful lycanthrope. 

“I keep failing,” Hao whispers, burying his face into his arms. “First Hanbin, and now Charlie and Terry…” A quiet sniffle. “Lycaon was right…I can’t protect anyone.”

There’s that name again. Hanbin. Lycaon had said it, too. 

“Don’t listen to him.” Kuanjui wraps an arm around him, rubbing circles into his back. Hao leans against him, as if involuntarily seeking comfort, and Kuanjui gives him a reassuring pat. “You protect me on all our quests, like you did just now. You protected your entire Cohort during your first ever game. There are so many people in camp who feel safe just from being around you.”

Hao makes a muffled noise of protest. Kuanjui clicks his tongue. 

“Don’t be like that. I know how hard you work, to make sure everyone’s taken care of.” He tousles Hao’s hair slightly. “You’re a great protector. What Lycaon said…none of that was your fault—”

“He was. Hanbin was.” Hao lifts his head slightly, propping his chin on his forearms, lower lip quivering. Grief weighs his voice down until it splinters, each time he says that name. “I—I lost him, I haven’t been able to find him ever since I got sent to Camp Jupiter, and—what if I’m too late? What if—what if something happened to him that night, what if he’s been dead this whole time and I’m already too late just like now—”

“Breathe,” he interrupts, as Hao begins to hyperventilate. “It’s okay, just please breathe—”

“Do you—do you know what the worst part is?” Hao’s hand closes over his left wrist, and whatever he sees there just seems to devastate him further. “I don’t even have anything to remember him by. I woke up at the Wolf House with nothing. Sometimes I think…what if it was all a dream? What if I just imagined him? What if I’ve been spending all this time missing and looking for someone who isn’t even real?”

He dissolves into tears, hiding his face again, and Kuanjui’s heart pangs.

“Hao…” Kuanjui keeps rubbing his back, hoping it helps soothe him at least a little bit. He’s floundering a bit, not sure what to do with this onslaught of new information, but… “Hao. Listen. We shouldn’t give up. You said that, remember? Unless we find proof, we have to keep looking. He’s real and important to you, and that’s all that matters. So you can’t let yourself spiral in ‘what-ifs,’ okay? We’ll keep looking. We. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Hao had looked up in shock at some point in Kuanjui’s rambling, before tackling him in a fierce hug. Kuanjui almost doesn’t catch himself in time.

“Do you mean it?” Hao asks, voice muffled into his shoulder.

“Obviously.” He musters up all the conviction he has. This is Hao they’re talking about. His first friend in the legion. Of course he’s going to help Hao with everything he has. “We’ll find him. As long as we keep looking, we’ll find him.”

Time passes, with Hao bundled tightly in his arms, as the fire crackles in the distance and the wind howls above them. Kuanjui stays, forgoing words to just keep smoothing Hao’s back with comforting strokes, letting Hao cling to him until he eventually, finally, begins to calm.

“Thank you, Kuanjui,” Hao mumbles, when they separate. “That…thank you.”

He’s still touching his wrist. Kuanjui wonders if that has something to do with Hanbin, too.

“Tell me about him,” Kuanjui suggests with a light nudge. “What’s he like?”

The sun has yet to rise, and barely any light reaches them in their crater. But it’s quiet here, away from the rest of the world, and the two settle against the wall nestled side by side, Hao’s head on Kuanjui’s shoulder. 

Kuanjui listens, as Hao tells the story of the boy who gave him everything, and watches life return to his eyes,  until they sparkle enough to rival the stars.

Taerae never wants to come back here.

He’s not even supposed to be questing in the Labyrinth—a group was already sent out to investigate it, consisting of Jongwoo and Jiwoong and the camp’s most accomplished satyr. But weeks passed with no sign from them, and then Gunwook of all people disappeared and left nothing but a note claiming he went to find his father’s forge in the Labyrinth, and…well. 

Hanbin was already antsy from not being on a quest. Finding out the kid he took care of like a younger brother went missing was his last straw—he had demanded to take action that same day.

He had at first been flattered Hanbin wanted him along. But now he wishes Hanbin had picked literally anyone else. The Labyrinth is…is…

“You alright?”

He turns to his left, where the third member of their quest is regarding him with concern. It’s Matthew. Of course it’s Matthew—Hanbin never quests without his best friend at his side if he can help it. 

“I get it,” Matthew says, without Taerae even saying anything. In the darkness of the Labyrinth, Matthew glows faintly, like a miniature sun. “I don’t like it here either.”

Taerae snorts, relaxing minutely at the show of empathy. “I don’t think any sane person would.”

From up ahead, Hanbin leads them, one knife drawn, as they continue down the twisted corridors. He’s the perfect picture of a leader: calm, confident, posture straight and strong, each step careful but firm. He’s only fourteen—a year older than Taerae—but has already accomplished so much, and Taerae can’t help but wonder how Hanbin is always able to just be this perfect persona all the time. He’s in a malevolent self-expanding maze, and his fate is bound by the Great Prophecy, and several gods and monsters are out for his blood. And yet he leads them, steadily, with nothing but his wits and that same calm confidence.

“Oh.”

Matthew stops in his tracks. The other two stop with him.

“Matthew?” Hanbin asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He’s staring at a doorway hidden to the side, made of old stone inscribed with strange markings. “I thought I heard…”

He steps closer, as if in a trance, until he’s under the doorway. His fingers trace over the writings. Taerae opens his mouth, ready to tell him to stop, when he hears it, too.

“Taerae? Is that you?”

“Guys!” 

Taerae blinks, and finds himself under the doorway, too. When did that happen?

“What’s going on with you two?” Hanbin asks, frowning. “What are you—”

Something begins to rumble. Instinctively, Taerae leaps to the side, pulling Matthew along, just as the doorway comes crumbling down in a shower of dust and rocks.

“Shit—” Matthew coughs, waving a hand to clear the air. It’s dark here, with the only sources of light being some kind of dim glow from the opposite wall of the room and, well, Matthew himself. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” The doorway had looked pretty old, but he didn’t think it was that unstable… “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Matthew gets to his feet, then hoists Taerae up as well. “I guess Hanbin is still out there…Hanbin?” 

Strangely, even after Matthew calls his name multiple times, and even strikes the rocks with an arrow, there’s no response.

“Maybe he can’t hear us?” Taerae grimaces at the idea. “How bad of an idea would it be to try to break through this?”

“Well—”

“Leaving so soon? But you just got here!”

Both of them jump, spinning towards the voice.

A young man stands in the center of the room. He’s tall and thin, almost skeletal, with unsettlingly black eyes that look more like holes dug into his face. There’s a sickly pallor to his pale skin, and his black and green robes are faded and torn. When he smiles, it contorts his skin strangely, like he’s not used to the motion.

“It’s been so long since someone’s come here,” the man says, with a voice like gravel. “Adventurers, I assume?”

“Who are you?” Matthew asks warily. “What is this place?”

It’s hard to make out much about the room itself, given its darkness. The main thing of note is the glowing wall, which, now that Taerae’s looking closer at it, looks like some kind of mirror. It shimmers oddly, more like water than glass, and their reflections are dull and hazy.

“Call me Tas.” He gives them a mock bow. “Son of Hecate, follower of Melinoe.”

Taerae’s back goes ramrod-straight. “Matthew, we’re leaving.”

“Huh?!” Matthew gapes at him. “Why—”

“Melinoe? Goddess of ghosts? Ring a bell?” He scowls at Tas. “We’re not dealing with someone insane enough to call themselves one of her followers.”

“No, wait, you misunderstand!” Tas holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not here to do anything to you! I mean, come on, you’re the ones who came here, right?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were drawn here, weren’t you?” Then, lower, “You heard someone that you really missed, right?”

The mirror ripples. Runes, emerald green, begin glowing on the surrounding stone walls. With a white gleam of light, the reflection changes, until it’s no longer of them in the room, but…

Taerae’s heart leaps to his throat.

His grandparents. His uncle. His closest friends from elementary school. His old guitar teacher. His first Aphrodite cabin counselor. All of the people he cared about, that he’d lost. All of them, staring right back at him through the mirror.

“What…” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Matthew, slack-jawed with shock, also staring at the mirror. “How…”

“A gift from my master.” Tas’s voice sounds distant to his ears. All he can really focus on is the mirror. “As a reward for my service, she granted me this room, for me to share with whomever I pleased. Anyone you’ve ever missed, that has crossed into the Underworld…here, you can see them again.”

His grandmother is beaming. His friends beckon for him, as bright and cheerful as when they were still alive. His uncle holds a hand up, pressing it to the surface of the mirror.

“Isn’t there something you want to say?” Tas prompts. “They can hear you. Just move closer.”

Oh, gods. Taerae can only stare, his chest seizing, as he takes in the sight of them. Seeing them again just makes him remember how it felt when he lost them, and the fresh flood of grief is so strong he can barely breathe. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to them, to any of them…

“You…” Matthew’s voice. Also oddly distant. “Why would you show this to us? What do you get out of it?”

“This kind of gift is a good one, don’t you agree? I get fulfillment just from sharing it.” A chuckle. “Go ahead. Your loved ones are waiting for you.”

Loved ones…

Taerae blinks. His eyes sting, as if he hasn’t blinked in a while. He searches the faces in the mirror again, double-checking, then triple-checking. 

Gunwook isn’t there. Junhyeon, Jiwoong…also aren’t there. Which means they haven’t crossed into the Underworld. They’re alive.

Once he remembers that, more faces flood to his mind, more faces that aren’t in the mirror. His friends still in camp. Matthew, right next to him. His sister. His father. His loved ones. The people in the mirror…they’re gone. He will love them forever, but they’ve moved on. And he knows, because they loved him, too…that they wouldn’t want him to linger like this. They wouldn’t want him to waste away in front of this mirror.

“Sorry,” Taerae says. “You’re right. My loved ones are waiting for me. So I shouldn’t stay here.”

He takes one step back, and it’s like a spell has broken.

Clarity rushes like a bucket of water splashed over him, breaking the icy numbness he hadn’t realized settled in, and he gasps. All at once, his nerves kick into overdrive, and the light from the mirror feels too blinding, the air too cold, the room too small. Something dark and malicious is stemming from that mirror, so intense Taerae can feel it even from where he is, and he shivers. What had he been about to do? What is this room?

“A pity.”

Tas sighs at him, and snaps his fingers. The ground rumbles.

“Melinoe gave me this second chance at life to bring as many people as possible to the Underworld, to join her as ghosts,” he says casually, as if talking about the weather. “She’d prefer I use the mirror to get them to cross over, but…she won’t mind if you go the old-fashioned way.”

A horde of undead rises from the earth. Taerae yelps, scrambling away, and Matthew chooses that moment to snap out of his daze.

“Whoa!” He ducks under one undead swiping at him, and whacks it with his bow. “Get away!”

Together, the two fend off the undead as best as they can, but it’s a losing battle. The undead are never-ending, and phase through their attacks unless caught off guard, and Taerae swears he saw one of them literally reassemble itself. Taerae can only do so much with his crossbow in close range, and has never been the best melee combatant, so when the undead knock his weapon out of his hands, he knows there’s not much hope left for him.

“Taerae!” he hears Matthew yell, but he’s too far, locked in his own battle. The undead only push them further away from each other, cornering Taerae and swinging at him with their swords. He stumbles as one wounds him deep in the leg, and another points the tip of their blade under his chin. He winces, bracing himself for the worst—

FWOOM!

The chamber rattles from the sheer force of what must’ve been an explosion. Seconds later, someone barges in, twin daggers in hand, frantically scanning the room.

Hanbin.

“Oh?” Tas smiles. The undead had all frozen as soon as the explosion sounded. Taerae doesn’t dare move, all too aware of the sword still at his neck. Across the room, Matthew is also trapped, surrounded by several weapons pointed right at him. “Another visitor?”

“Let them go,” Hanbin demands. “Now.”

The threat only makes Tas laugh. “How bold! But isn’t there something you want to do first?” Behind him, the mirror ripples again. “Is there someone you’ve lost, that you wish to see again?”

Hanbin visibly falters. “What?”

A flash of white light, as the reflection changes. Hanbin’s breath hitches, eyes going wide at the mirror. His feet move on their own, closer and closer to the mirror.

“What…what is this?”

“Everyone you loved, that crossed to the Underworld…” Tas’s smile turns smug, like a spider that’s successfully snagged its prey. “They’re all there. Waiting for you.”

Hanbin’s fingers around his knives loosen, as he fixates on whatever reflection he’s seeing, desperation clear on his face. This, and his reaction to Tas’s words earlier…there must be someone very dear to him that he’s looking for, Taerae realizes with dread. Someone he yearns to see again so deeply, that he won’t realize Tas’s trap.

“Hanbin!” Matthew shouts. “Don’t—”

“It’s too late,” Tas says, turning to Matthew and spreading his arms. “Once he goes, you will all soon follow. It would’ve been less painful for you if you had just—”

He’s cut off, abruptly, when Hanbin whirls and stabs him right in the back.

Tas chokes, hands flying to his heart, where the tip of the knife protrudes from. All around him, the undead dissolve, until there’s nothing left but piles of ash. The mirror begins to dim.

“You liar.”

Hanbin twists his knife out and grabs him harshly, throwing him to the ground onto his back. Tas struggles, but Hanbin is faster, and in a flash, there are two knives stabbed into his hands and pinning them to the ground, and a third held to his throat.

“He’s not there,” Hanbin spits out venomously. Fury rolls off him in waves, blazing in his glare and dripping from every word. Taerae has never seen him this way before—never this vicious and threatening and murderous. “You—you can't trick me like that. Not about him. You lied. That’s the last mistake you’ll ever get to make.”

He stabs downwards, and Tas dies a bloody second death.

Silence rings out, broken only by their heavy breathing. The runes have faded. Tas’s blood seeps into the earth. Taerae and Matthew join Hanbin in the center of the room, as the only three left.

“Hanbin?” Matthew asks cautiously, after a long moment. “Are…you okay?”

Taerae glances over, and it’s immediately clear why Matthew asked. Hanbin looks…rattled. He’s staring at the sorcerer’s corpse, but his eyes are vacant, like he’s not truly seeing anything. The knife still in his hand is trembling. His terrifying fury is gone, but this emptiness is somehow even more unsettling. 

“Hanbin?” 

Hanbin exhales quietly. 

“I’m sorry.”

Matthew and Taerae exchange confused looks. “Why are you sorry?” Taerae asks. “You saved us.”

“I almost didn’t.” Hanbin rubs a hand over his face, taking a haggard breath. “When he—when he said…” He swallows. “I couldn’t think of anything else. I fell for it, and you—you would’ve died.”

Taerae remembers what Hanbin had said. He’s not there. There really had been someone he was looking for…someone he was so desperate to see again, that he forgot about everything except for that person. Someone he could only have lost in tragedy.

“When I didn’t see him…” Hanbin’s fists clench. “I was—gods, I was so angry. I was angry that he got my hopes up, but…I was also angry at myself, for falling for it, for letting him get to me. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Taerae says. He pats Hanbin’s shoulder, and Hanbin shudders at the contact. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“Was it…?” Matthew trails off, and when Hanbin gives a shaky nod, Matthew bites his lip. “Hanbin…the mirror worked for me. I think it worked for Taerae, too. If you didn’t see him…what if it means—”

“Don’t.” Hanbin’s face crumples. “I can’t take any more false hope today. Besides…he might’ve been reborn. He would’ve gone to Elysium. If the mirror really was real…that’s probably why he wasn’t there.”

“But…”

“It’s fine.” He squares his shoulders, and closes his eyes, and when they open again it’s like a mask has settled into place. “Let’s get going.” 

He smiles at them. It’s easy, this time, to see how fake his smile is, how despite its sunniness there’s no happiness there. Taerae wonders how many times he’s seen Hanbin smile before without realizing it wasn’t real. 

He wonders how long Hanbin has carried this grief, silently, letting it fester within him. He wonders how deep Hanbin’s love ran, for his grief to still be this strong. He wonders if a grief like that can ever heal completely.

He wonders if he’ll ever know who it is, that Hanbin wanted to see again so badly.

At the base of Mount Othrys, where Kronos’s Palace looms above, a battle rages between an army of legionnaires in golden armor and an unending swarm of monsters. The Titan of the North laughs freely at the center of it all, blue-white hair reflecting the dying sunlight like ice, as he slashes forward with a dark sword that freezes the air itself. In front of him, fending off every attack and retaliating just as fiercely, is a single demigod.

“Is this the best New Rome can do?” Koios catches the demigod with the flat of his blade, who hits the ground hard. A cruel glint emerges in his eyes, as he aligns the tip of his sword above the demigod’s heart. “Beg for mercy, Zhang. Surrender, and perhaps I’ll spare you.”

Hao grits his teeth, defiant even in the face of death. “Jump back into Tartarus and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Koios barks out another laugh. “A shame. You should’ve known better than to side with the gods. All they have ever done to you is take, and yet you fight for them even when you know you will lose. Why do something so foolish?”

Above them, clouds begin to roll in, low and foreboding. The battle around them continues, loud and brutal and relentless. The tip of Koios’s sword begins digging deeper into the breastplate of Hao’s armor.

“I think you have the wrong idea about me.” Hao’s eyes darken at the same time the sky does, paralleling the incoming storm. “There’s only one person I’d fight for, and I’m not going to die before I see him again.”

He grabs Koios’s sword, and lightning arcs up the metal blade and handle, traveling until it electrifies his armor and pierces into his skin. Koios shouts in alarm, and the very second his grip slackens, Hao flings the sword away and leaps to his feet, rope dart at the ready. 

“This world is ours to live in.” His left hand, tinged blue from seizing the mercilessly cold blade, bleeds into the rope. “You won’t take that from us.”

Somewhere in Manhattan, under a white flag of temporary truce, as mortals slumber unknowingly in the wreckage of their own city and both sides take what little time they have to recuperate, two people sit at a picnic table.

“You are outnumbered,” Prometheus, Titan of forethought, says matter-of-factly, “and your numbers will only shrink, as ours grow by the day. If you continue, Hanbin, your side will be completely destroyed.”

“And if we don’t, the world will be completely destroyed.” Across from him, Hanbin just shakes his head. “I’m not an idiot.”

“All Kronos wants is Olympus,” he says. “Nothing more. If you surrender here, he will spare you, and your forces, and all of New York. Please understand. This is your best option.”

“It’s not an option at all. Not for me.”

Prometheus sighs. “We are not your enemy. Do you really have such loyalty for the gods? After they sent you on quest after thankless quest, and even voted to kill you on more than one occasion? After they took your first friend away from you?”

Hanbin immediately stiffens, unable to school his reaction in time. “How do you know about that?”

“If you knew the truth behind that fateful day four years ago, you would not want to fight for the gods anymore.” He leans forward, his glasses sliding forward slightly on his nose as he does. “They have been unfair to you. That is not something you have to bear.”

A deep, unsteady breath. Hanbin looks down, every muscle in his body going taut with tension, and his next breath is fraught with anger, with frustration…with sadness.

“What happened to him that day was no one’s fault but mine,” Hanbin says eventually. “It won’t do you any good to trick me into pushing that fault to someone else.”

When Hanbin meets Prometheus’s eyes again, there is a newfound determination storming in the sea of his eyes. 

“Four years ago, I promised to myself that I would live the best life I could,” he says, “because he didn’t get to. That promise is the only reason I’m still here today. I know it’s not possible to fulfill that in a world ruled by Kronos. So…I can’t surrender to you. I won’t.”

The Titan War progresses to its end on both battlefronts simultaneously. Two forces, two ideologies, sharing the same goal.

In the west, the son of Jupiter clashes against another Titan on the summit of Mount Othrys, his rope dart whipping through the air like a miniature tornado. Electricity crackles around them, popping like miniature firecrackers, weighing over the Lord of the South like a lead blanket. 

In the east, the son of Poseidon crosses blades with Kronos himself, their duel spanning the throne room of Olympus. He wields his daggers with such dexterity that they become blurs of bronze in his hands, and fights against time itself as it threatens to crush him underneath.

And as one readies to destroy Kronos’s palace, and the other raises his blade for the final time, the same thought resonates in their minds.

This is for you.