Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The intercom crackles to life, announcing to all in the large school gym, “The boys’ 18 meter target event is now beginning. Contestants, please make your way to the…”

It’s crowded, kids and adults alike prepping their bows and warming up. Targets are set up at the far end, already riddled with arrow holes.

A hand on his shoulder. Mom gives him a cheery smile, despite the exhaustion of working double shifts and dealing with the traffic to get here. Percy doesn’t deserve her. “You’ll do great, Percy. Don’t let anything convince you otherwise.”

The hand holding his duffel bag, the one containing his bow, feels clammy. “Coach Nelson’s been telling me he hasn’t seen anyone my age shoot as good as I have been. I’ll get the scholarship and then you don’t have to worry about paying for my school.”

Mom’s expression falters, like every other time Percy does something to lighten her load. “Percy…”

“Mom, I do have fun when I’m competing like you tell me to, but if I can help you out, then I will.” Can’t Mom see the vision? Percy’s terrible at school, but he has a gift in archery and if he can net that archery scholarship, then he’ll be able to go on and win more competitions and eventually earn a lot of money to give Mom the life she deserves and give her a giant mansion in the nice parts of New York where she can wear a bunch of fancy clothes and eat a lot of fancy food.

It’s not like the useless waste of space back at the apartment is doing anything to help, that piece of shit. Percy still doesn’t know why Mom married a man like Gabe and why she still hasn’t divorced him.

Oh, but you do know. It’s to hide you. It’s because you’re a-

“Let me worry about the adult things, okay? You’re only nine years old, Percy.” Mom cups his face. “You’re growing up so fast. I just wish this moment can last forever.”

Nothing lasts forever, you already know everyone leaves eventually-

Percy blinks back the tears that threaten to fall. He won’t cry! He’s nine!

He’s saved when his coach finds the pair and soon Percy is herded off with the rest of the contestents, bow in hand.

Percy gets three straight bullseyes at the end of his set. His hands are still clammy and nerves hum with energy, but he wins first place and Mom has him stand with his medal and bow so she could take a photo.

Mom aims the camera, so happy for his win. “Lift your medal a bit higher, honey!”

Percy gives a toothy smile, satisfied with his win. He does what Mom said and-

-catches sight of someone in the crowd, looking at Percy.

They look like an older teenager, with golden curls like his own and piercing sky-blue eyes. They have a band tee on and look absolutely handsome with their lithe figure.

And the stranger tilts his head, seemingly both in curiosity and confusion-

Oh look at his face, he thinks he actually missed one, how hilarious-!

“…rcy. Percy!”

Percy blinks and the stranger is gone, as if they were never there. “Uh, what?”

Mom looks around, trying to find a threat in the dispersing crowd. “Do you see something?”

Don’t. “…It’s nothing.” Then, with a sudden compulsion to change the subject, “Um, Mom, I know you’ve been working a lot, but can we go to Montauk to celebrate?”

Mom’s eyes light up. “Of course, honey. We’ll pack our bags the moment we get home.”

For as long as he could remember, Percy Jackson always felt… off.

Later, much, much later, he would understand why. But for five year old Percy, then six year old Percy, then seven and so on and so forth, Percy’s body felt too… small. Cramped. Misshaped. Like he was supposed to be someone else. An itch telling him he needed to do something about it.

Percy asked Mom about it once when they were huddled in Mom’s bed when he was six, before Gabe came along, when the thunder grew too loud and the sun was hidden behind all the storm clouds.

She asked if Percy wanted to be a girl and that there was no shame if he did, but that didn’t feel right either, but Percy didn’t know how to put it into words, not ones that fit.

So during the nights when the cramped/misshapen/wrong feeling got too much, she would read him books about the Greek gods, their myths history.

The story he liked the best was the one about Makários, the Firstborn of Apollo and the First Phoenix. He absolutely loved it. It was actually his middle name too. Perseus was his first name after the original one, since he was one of the few Greek heroes to have a happy ending, and Makários since the name meant blessed in Greek.

It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt blessed, hasn’t it. Your existence is nothing more than a-

Percy’s first exposure to archery was on TV when he’s eight. Gabe had fallen asleep from drinking and Percy wanted to watch cartoons, so through careful maneuvering, he takes the remote and starts flipping channels-

Then he sees it, the summer Olympic games with a blond woman pulling her bow and getting the bullseye, winning first place.

It was worth the slap from Gabe for changing the channel.

He’s instantly enamored. No, wrong word, very wrong word, he’s obsessed. Yes, that’s what he is. No, Mom. I don’t have a crush on the blonde girl who won first place, girls are gross.

A sister, she grew up, she made it, he’s so proud of her.

He takes odd jobs around the apartment building to help pay for the archery classes he begged Mom to enroll him in. After a few classes of the instructors going over safety and proper posture, they finally start shooting at targets.

His posture is perfect without anyone needing to correct him. He hits a bullseye every time. His instructors say he’s a prodigy, start talking to Mom about competitions, scholarships. Coach Nelson in particular gets Percy enrolled in Junior Olympic Archery Development.

As abusive as he is, Gabe soon learns to not interfere with Percy’s archery competitions, seeming to bank on Percy giving him money once he hits it big. Earning his keep, Gabe says, as if Percy would give him anything more than a penny. Gabe keeps the bruises light but everything else is fair game. The bruises become more purple when Gabe is deep in his drink.

Where are you, Protector of Youth? Too busy making another child that you will make me go fetch?

Montauk gives a sense of euphoria whenever Percy steps into the waves, but that euphoria is tied to the cramped/misshapen/wrong feeling. He doesn’t tell Mom, though. Not when he sees her genuine smile and the years of fatigue disappear from her face whenever they go, away from Gabe and everything else.

Not when he knows that a god is watching them. Isn’t it ironic, Poseidon? Your first demigod in decades and he’s not even yours-

But he likes the sunlight. Moonlight too. When he has nothing to do, he likes to curl up on his bed while a sunbeam shone over him like a cat. Sometimes he was little, he liked to run and jump just to pretend he was flying, imaginary wings on his back and wind blowing on his face.

For some reason, the cramped/misshapen/wrong feeling didn’t like the sky. He decides to shove it aside.

The waves crash on the shore as Percy and Mom roast marshmallows over the fire. “Mom?”

“Yes, Percy?”

He asks the same question each time they come to Montauk, perhaps in vain hope that the answer will change. “…What was my dad like?”

Her eyes get misty like they always do. “He was kind, Percy,” she says. “Tall, handsome and powerful. But gentle, too. You didn’t get his black hair. Honestly, I don’t know where you got your blond hair from, maybe from your dad’s side of the family, but you did get his green eyes.” Mom fished a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. “I wish he could see you, Percy. He would be so proud.”

He already sees us, can’t you see how the waves are gentle each time we come here-

Percy turns to see the waves crashing on the shore. The other part of him, the part that loves the sunlight and moonlight, the older and the so, so tired part, feels like this is merely the calm before the storm.

Percy, like any other person, gets dreams and promptly forgets about them once he wakes up. But occasionally, Percy would get dreams that feel too… real, like he was seeing things from someone’s eyes.

He’s always older in those dreams, body of toned muscle, tall. He would have a golden and silver bow that shone brilliantly in any kind of light and a smoky scent would always trail behind him.

But is more shocking were the wings on his back, the wings pure-white that would be on fire, but didn’t burn. The wings would disappear and reappear when he wanted.

Percy would at least tell Mom about these dreams, except…

Well, they were sometimes very, very, very violent. So much blood. Things that he almost doesn’t wish on Gabe.

And if Percy sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night and vomits in the toilet after each of those dreams and scrubs his hands with soap until it’s red and then some, that’s his business and no one else’s.

The painful screams of Eros rang as he writhed on the ground, arrows of pure light sticking out of his back, plague seeping into his bones as streaks of silver burrowed beneath the godling’s skin. The nymphs that were in the clearing fled without a trace the moment the first arrow hit Makários’s mark.

“Oh Eros~,” Makários sang as he let loose another arrow that sank into the base of one of Eros’s wings. “Did you forget my promise to you already? You have to admit, it’s only been a decade.”

Eros attempts to grab his bow, but Makários quickly puts a stop to it by shooting the bastard’s hands with gold arrows of sunlight. The godling yells as the light shreds his skin. No, he will not get the privilege of silver arrows. Makários wanted Eros to burn.

Getting on top of his prey, Makários grabs a hold of one of Eros’s wings and pulls-

His body makes a delightfully wet, squelching noise. Eros screams again, hoarse.

“I asked my Aunt Artemis for her blessing to hunt you down and she gladly gave it. We never did hold affection for any of you love gods, not after what you have done to my Father.” Makários relishes the fear in his prey’s eyes before he grabs the other wing and likewise rips it out and throws it to the side, ichor gushing out of the wounds. “Frankly, I believe she had the right idea, forsaking love.”

Makários gets up and kicks Eros over before grabbing his face, squeezing until Eros’s jaw cracks. The demon thrashes against him, tearing skin, but Makários pays it no mind. “You can try all you want, but I cannot die in a way that matters. No matter where you run, no matter where you hide, I will hunt you down through every lifetime until you swear upon the Styx to leave my family alone. I will not stop, shooting my arrows and planting my dagger into your flesh again-”

Another reincarnation. Makários shoots Eros down from the sky. Apollo looks the other way. “And again-”

Another reincarnation. He sneaks up behind the winged god and slashes his throat before ripping out his organs through that same wound. “And again-”

Another reincarnation. Through the light of the moon Makários fires an arrow through the window and into Eros’s heart on his wedding bed. Psyche screams. “And again-”

Another reincarnation. Makários lures Eros into his tent pretending to be a common whore before pushing his dagger through his eye socket. “And again-”

Another reincarnation. Makários rips out Eros’s wings again. The bastard’s mother, Aphrodite, attempts to trap him to torture him, but he self-immolates to escape as his laughter carries through the ash on the wind. “And again-”

Another reincarnation. Ares, god of war, attempts to stop him, but Makários simply drugs the god’s wine and slips past him in his addled state before catching Eros and ripping his heart out. Makários is surprised he has one. “And again-”

Another reincarnation. He tears off Eros’s manhood with his dagger, blessed by Artemis for this very purpose, while the demon slept, falling into the same trap of drugged wine like his father Ares. He carves his name on Eros’s pubic region and curses it to never heal, to always bleed. Makários presents his quarry to his Aunt just in time to hear the goddess of love scream upon seeing what Makários had done to her bastard child. “And again.”

Percy’s an only child, and for the most part, he likes it that way. Mom and Gabe haven’t had a kid between the two of them, which is good, because Mom deserves to have kids with someone way better than Gabe’s stinky ass.

But before Gabe showed up, Percy did like the idea of having siblings. When he saw his kindergarten classmates holding their big brother’s or big sister’s hand as they walked to the bus, it was like Percy finally noticed a hole somewhere inside him that was always there. The idea of being a big brother just felt so… right.

Mom had laughed when Percy asked if he could have a younger sibling, which made Percy mad but also sad and he spent the entire day refusing to leave his room with Mom trying to cheer him up to no avail.

He feels so lonely, where’s his family? Where are his brothers and sisters? Where are they?

“Hello little brother.” Makários smiled at the baby in his arms, his metallic bow still covered in the blood of his brother’s mother and her mortal lover. “It’s good to meet you.”

Koronis was a fool. Did she not know that she carried in her womb divinity? His little brother? Couldn’t the princess have waited until after his little brother was born to chase her whims? He could’ve at least whisked him away from her and she would’ve been free to be forgotten from history.

There was no trace of Eros’s handiwork, so unfortunately Makários couldn’t blame the demon and hunt him down.

But alas, mortals were fools and wove their own doom without the interference of higher powers. For the transgression of Koronis and that other mortal she dared to pursue, Makários and his aunt Artemis went to punish them as his father Apollo had demanded. His arrow pierced the skull of the man while his Aunt killed the woman.

His little brother, still without a name, watched Makários with an intelligence in those sky blue eyes that a normal mortal baby shouldn’t possess. But they were children of Apollo, that fact alone meant they were a cut above the rest. If anything, he would be surprised if his little brother wasn’t tracking his every move.

Makários probed the baby with his sight and was delighted at what he found. “Given time, a great healer. Ah, I know what your name will be. It will be Asclepius.”

The baby giggled. Clearly Asclepius agreed it was a good name.

It was at that moment that his father appeared in a flash of light, his glow illuminating the blood spattered across the area. Apollo’s blue eyes flicked from the cooling bodies to Artemis, then to Makários, before finally landing on the baby still in his arms.

“You could’ve killed my son.” His Father accuses.

“I cut him out of the womb the moment my arrow ripped her life. He was never in real danger.” Artemis argued. The scowl on her face fades as she regards her nephews. “Makários has seen the future of the baby. He has named him Asclepius.”

“Come see him for yourself, Father.” Makários maneuvered the baby into Apollo’s arms. “Isn’t he so small?”

The baby’s face scrunched up from their father’s glow as if to cry before Apollo rocked him gently, lulling his little brother to sleep.

“Asclepius…” Apollo’s eyes narrow slightly, a sign that he was using his domain of prophecy. “You have chosen a good name for him, Makários. He will become a fine healer indeed.”

Makários preens under his father’s praise. “Thank you, Father.”

Apollo hands Asclepius back to his eldest. “Take Asclepius to Chiron. He will care for your little brother. Chiron lives at-”

“The base of Mount Pelion, yes, yes Father, I know where.” Apollo huffs as Makários secures his little brother on his back. He takes a running start before leaping into the air and transforming into his sacred animal, the Phoenix. The flaming feathers burst from his body as it shifted, yet none of them burned the precious cargo on his back.

“Shame you’re asleep, Asclepius. The view is lovely from up here.” Makários flies through the night sky, his form now that of a golden bird aflame, the gaze of their Aunt upon them as the full moon shines on them both. “I suppose there is always next time.”

“Hey,” The word makes Percy pause from looking over his bow to see Tommy trying his shot with Amy, one of the girls at their archery club. Tommy hands a rose to Amy, “I, uh, thought of you when I saw this, so I thought you would like it…”

Taking the rose, Amy swoons and giggles with the rest of her friends while Tommy walks off, pleased with himself.

Aw, these babies are adorable. They would be so much more annoying if they were hormonal teenagers though-

Percy doesn’t see what’s the big deal about crushes. He’s never felt anything that people say comes with a crush. When he tries to imagine himself getting married in the future with some person, it just doesn’t compute at all, like trying to jam two puzzle pieces that don’t fit. Mom’s marriage with Gabe just makes him think that love makes people stupid, because Mom is definitely smart.

Love’s overrated anyway. Percy has bullseyes to make.

Kill the bull at all costs, kill it, kiLL IT! NEVER AGAIN-

Makários feels Artemis take a seat next to him as he gazes upon the stars, the constellations shining in glory.

He misses Kallisto, Orion, and now Hippolytus. It wasn’t fair. They didn’t deserve the fates they did. He thought that distancing himself from the mortal side of things would ease the pain of the constant deaths his mortal parents always left him, but the Fates were not known for their mercy.

“All the blame lies with me, does it?”

Artemis places a hand on his shoulder. “Silence those words. Who dares to fill your mind with such lies contrary to your Father’s domain?”

“But Aunt, do you not see? I try to protect our own, yet it seems I only bring strife.” The tears escape Makários as the words flee his mouth. “I managed to whisk Arkas away with Kallisto’s permission and took him to Chiron where he grew into a hunter king, the greatest ever known, only for him to kill his own mother and join her himself. Orion was upright until I spoke of him to Father and he cursed him with madness, an illness I could not undo.”

He places his head into his hands, unable to look at the expanse above any longer. “And now Hippolytus. I was so filled with joy to have met another man immune to the whims of the Dove and her demon. We went on so many hunts together. If only I shot that bull in the eyes sooner before it left the waters.”

“Hippolytus yet lives.” His Aunt points out. “You yourself took him to my temple far away where he now serves me as my priest. You sought after his future and saw him in a peaceful old age.”

“But at what cost? My brother Asclepius struck dead at the King’s Bolt by the urging of the Dove, who killed my best friend through his father? My own Father retaliating and nearly causing a war? Asclepius resurrected and ascended as recompense but imprisoned in turn?” Makários cries. “When will it end?”

“I do not know, Nephew.” Artemis admits. “We are hunters. Our very existence precedes violence and death. All we can do is carry forward. It is the only thing we can do, immortal as we are.”

The sobs shake his chest.

“Aunt, I… I think I need some time for myself to grieve. Away from the Hunt. Away from everyone.”

“Of course. Your leave is granted.”

Percy was first introduced to the concept of suicide when he was around five. One of Mom’s coworkers from one of her jobs had died and the usual babysitters were all unavailable, so Mom had to take him to the funeral with her. A brave thing, taking a kid with ADHD to a funeral where you could hear a pin drop.

Of course, Percy didn’t really get it at the age yet. All he knew was that he had to wear fancy clothes and sit through a church service without getting in trouble. He and Mom weren’t Christian, or Muslim, or Jewish, or anything really. They didn’t really do that kind of thing.

Mankind had abandoned the gods of Greece, what’s to say they won’t abandon this one in time?

The coffin was closed. Mom didn’t want to answer when he asked why, only saying that sometimes, people get really, really tired, and that sometimes they stop trying to stay awake and that closing the coffin helped them sleep in peace.

I’m so, so tired, please let me sleep-

“You are bold to call for me so soon after your brother committed a transgression against my realm, child of the Sun.”

The flames in Makários’s blood attempt to shield against the cold shadows, but it pushes past and seeps into his bones.

Makários is the fire of life incarnate, born again and again. The cold stagnation of death is the opposite of everything he is.

Yet he kneels. “Lord Hades, I am honored to be in your presence.”

The god drew closer until Makários could see his feet. “Firstborn. Phoenix. What esteemed titles your Father has bestowed you.” Hades speaks, the sound like wailing souls. “I grew curious when you first perished, yet Thanatos reported that he never reaped your soul as it never appeared on his list. Then word spread of your reincarnation, then of your third, fourth and so it goes, never touching the boundaries of my realm in the slightest. I was offended, how dare this fledgling defy me so many times? And now your brother dared to do the same, not with himself like you, but for that hunter that you have hidden away.”

“You need not go after him. Hippolytus will perish of old age. I have seen it.” Makários speaks before he realizes it.

It gets colder. The winds grow harsher. “Yes, he will die like all mortals should.”

A frigid hand grabs Makários’s face and jerks it up to meet Hades’s own. “You are an abomination before my sight, esteemed Phoenix. So why should I not take you down to the Underworld to be judged for your crimes against death?”

Makários struggles to breathe, the cold like needles to his lungs. Finally, he would find release. “Then… you would be… gran…ting my req…uest… to… you this ver…y night.”

Hades stops. “Oh?”

The god drops him, looking at him in a new shadow as Makários instinctively struggles to get his steaming breath back into his lungs. “You wish to die.”

Makários coughs, still cold. But now tears have joined them. “I have grown tired of being born again and again only to fail each time to protect the ones I love to death. The grief will not leave me. I wish to join them in the only way I can surmise how.”

Hades is silent for a moment before he responds. “Very well. For willingly coming to me, I will not have you judged so harshly.”

The air gets cold and the darkness grows thicker, converging on him. The flames start to stutter, flicker. His heart starts to slow.

Finally-

A vision.

An obsidian pair of shears attempt to cut a red string laced with gold but fails, clattering to the ground.

The force retreats as Makários collapses again.

“Hmm.” Hades sounds slightly frustrated, but unsurprised. “It seems the Fates have determined that you will never step into my realm as a departed soul. What a shame.”

Makários’s bitter tears wet the ground before him.

Percy’s grandma, grandpa and uncle are buried in a cemetery outside of New York City. With the distance, Mom’s back-to-back shifts, Percy’s archery competitions and school, they don’t really go there often. He’s only been there two, maybe three times.

Still, one weekend, with a lot of getting ‘permission’ from Gabe and promises to make it up, Mom buys a bouquet of flowers and droves Percy and herself to the place.

Percy’s dyslexia makes reading the gravestones hopeless, but he remembers that his grandpa was named Jim and his grandma was named Estelle. Apparently the both of them were very kind and helped out their neighbors a lot, though that’s all Percy has to go off of. There’s photos, but that hardly compares.

On the other hand, his uncle was the reason Mom’s in the situation she is, working so hard to keep them afloat. His name was Rich Jackson, but ironically enough he didn’t have enough money to pay for his cancer treatments, which forced Mom to drop out of high school and use her college funds to try to help him, but in the end he died and Mom was left to pick up the pieces. Percy wants to give the man a piece of his mind, but unfortunately he’s already dead.

Isn’t that a familiar feeling indeed-

“I wish you were able to meet your grandparents,” Mom says as she lays the flowers down on the shared Jackson tombstone. “I’m sorry they couldn’t.”

His grandparents had died in a bizarre plane crash. No one knew the cause, just that it crashed somewhere in Lake Ontario. “It’s okay Mom. They wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up about it, right?”

Mom wipes a tear from her eye. “You know, they always told me to never be afraid and to keep moving forward, no matter what.”

She crouches down and touches the names of the headstone. “But it doesn’t mean we have to forget what happened, just don’t let the past weigh you down.”

I tried, Mom. But I’m always sinking-

He makes a fire out of habit and lack of anything else to do. He stares and stares at the flames for hours on end, unmoving.

He can’t die, not in a way that matters. He’ll keep coming back when others are ferried across to the other side by Charon or lifted to the heavens.

Makários thought it a boon. A blessing. A guarantee that recklessness would only result in a few years of recuperation in the worst cases. It allowed him to hunt down Eros with abandon even after the god had torn his bodies to pieces each time.

But the strings of the Fates have revealed themselves to be shackles binding him to this plane of existence. What’s the point anymore? Everyone dies and he’s left behind in the ashes forced to carry on.

He lifts his eyes to the night sky. Would Kallisto, Arkas and Orion be able to hear him from all the way up there? What does he have to lose but his dignity? He had little use for it as it stood.

So he sings.

No, that’s not right. Singing is what he does when he’s content.

If he was more aware, he would call it a wail.

He wails for loyal Kallisto, forced to bear a child against her will. He wails for strong Arkas, whose aim damned both his mother and himself. He wails for dignified Orion, who lost his mind by Apollo’s hand. He wails for determined Hippolytus, not dead but will leave Makários behind nonetheless.

He wails. He mourns. Eventually, he stops, his eyes having given every last tear they could.

Warmth. “What troubles you, Grand Nephew?”

Makários startles, seeing the face of Hestia in the flames. He frantically wipes his tears. “Great Aunt! I’m-I was not expecting any company. I apologize if I disturbed you.”

The goddess steps out of the flames, dressed in modest, humble clothing. She takes a seat next to him on the log. “Nonsense. I heard your song. You are hurting.”

“I-,” Makários sighs. There was no use denying it. The streaks of his tears betray him. “Yes, I am.”

Hestia doesn’t say anything in response to that, electing instead to give him warm food. “Eat. I sense you haven’t eaten for a time.”

Makários chews the food, not really tasting it. Before long it’s gone. Hestia conjures a stick and tends to the campfire. “You are different from most of our family, Makários.”

He throws in another log of wood. The embers fly in the air as the log lands. “Believe me when I say I am very aware of my relationship with mortality. My Father and Aunt consider me immortal besides.”

“Yes,” The goddess agrees. “But that is not what I speak of. For their hearth, most beings have a house, a den, a palace, a nest. They leave to do what they must before returning to the warmth the home provides.”

Hestia turns her gaze towards him. “However, your hearth is not a place, but people. Family.”

“And what good is it that they travel with me only to leave me behind in the ashes of grief?” Makários asks. “What is the point?”

Hestia does not admonish his attitude, if anything she seems to expect it. “I know you feud with the Dove and her offspring, but love is not limited to romance and passion, and you have no interest in those domains besides. Do you know why I had chosen to preside over Hearth, Fire, Warmth, Family, and the Home?”

“I… no, I do not. Aren’t you a firstborn as well, the eldest among the gods? I am my Father’s Firstborn and I have a great amount of power above the rest of my siblings past and current. I do not see you display it thus.”

Again, Hestia does not take offense where his Father definitely would have. “You know of your Great Grandfather, the one we overthrew?” A nod. “He swallowed me whole, but I did not die. Soon, my other siblings joined me until your Grandfather Zeus rescued us all. Everyone always focuses on the aftermath, the Elder Cyclopes forging the great weapons and our war, but I will always remember how I sheltered my siblings, gave them comfort when there was none.”

She looks into his eyes and Makários sees eons-old wisdom behind those flame-caged eyes. “That, Makários, is love. I chose to be the comfort of the fire, the warmth during the winter. So that when all things appear lost, you can always return home into the warm embrace of family.”

Makários swallows, throat dry. “Oh.”

“I have seen so many families from their hearths, their campfires. I have seen you love your mortal parents in each lifetime. I have seen you with the Hunters, more specifically with the giant and the mortal. You are not related by blood and yet you consider them family. You want the best for your family, do you not?”

“Of course I do.”

“And likewise, your family wants the best for you.” Hestia says. “Answer me sincerely. Would they wish for you to be imprisoned by your sadness and waste away?”

Apollo would sing him gentle lullabies to ease his sleep. Artemis had given him leave to grieve. Asclepius would ask if he could help ease his pain. Orion would have lifted an eyebrow and questioned if he was alright. Hippolytus would have asked if he wanted to go hunt something ridiculous. “...No.”

Hestia’s voice grew softer and she places a hand on his cheek. “I am not saying that your grief is not important and insignificant. On the contrary, it is proof that you have love in your heart. Remember them, yes, but would they not want you to be happy?”

“...They would.”

Hestia got up to her feet, a kind smile on her face. “Remember that always. Go home to your family. You will always be welcome in any hearth and my temples.”

Makários laughs a little, feeling a bit lighter. “Careful, Great Aunt. My Father might think you’re claiming me as your child and spiriting me away.”

“Who knows? Perhaps I just might.” Hestia says with a mischievous smile as she walks into the fire, the flames welcoming her before she disappears.

By the time Percy’s eleven, he’s already starting to make a name for himself in the archery world for his consistent bullseyes with his accessory-free recurve bow, and one of the walls in his room is full of his awards and medals along with all the photos Mom had taken at each one.

Damn right, if he’s going to suffer for eternity he’s damn well going to be a fucking crack shot at it-

With all the events Percy attends, even the most face-blind person will start to remember faces, one of which is heading his way.

“Micheal! It’s good to see you again.” Mom greets. “How have you been?”

Micheal Yew is a year or two older than Percy and kinda short, though his attitude more than makes up for it. Though sometimes, Micheal gets this look in his eyes like he knows something Percy doesn’t.

Oh, he’s got the Apollo temper, alright, just like you-

“Pretty great, Miss Jackson.” Micheal says. “Another gold medal for the wall, Percy?”

Percy snickers, a smile already on his face. “Maybe.”

“Mark your words, that smug smile gonna slide off your face. I used to be the best before you came along and ruined my streak.” Micheal says. “Though I’ve been practicing all summer. You know, maybe your mom can take you to a summer camp like I do so you can learn to shoot even better. I know I improved, along with some other things.”

Well, no one ever said that Apollo kids were good at being subtle-

“Oh, I don’t think Percy needs to go with all his bullseyes.” Mom answers. “Camps like that are expensive and we have other expenses to think about-”

“If Percy can pass the entrance test, it’s completely free.” Micheal fires back, a bit heated. “He really should go. You know, before it’s too late.”

“We’ll think on it.” Mom says before she urges Percy along.

“Wait! Before you go.” Micheal moves to grab something from a pocket in his duffel, except it seems like what he was looking for wasn’t there, so moves on to the next, except it’s the same story, grumbling to himself all the while in some language Percy doesn’t quite catch.

Aw, the baby knows the real Greek swears, how funny-

Micheal finally finds what he’s looking for and presents a business card to Mom. “Just take this. In case you change your mind and need some help getting there.”

Percy doesn’t know what Micheal is trying to do here. Is he okay?

Mom gives it a long look before putting it in her purse. “...Thank you, Micheal. We’ll see you at the next regional.”

Percy moves to wave goodbye to Micheal, but in an uncharacteristic move, Micheal hugs him. Percy admittedly freezes, unused to anyone giving him affection besides Mom. “Uh, you okay dude? You’re acting like you’ll never see me again.”

“If my life ever taught me anything, it’s that anything can happen.” Micheal answers. “Hope to see you again, Percy. Good luck at that fancy boarding school.”

The day started off normally.

The year round Campers were all at breakfast being their rowdy selves.

Dionysus loudly complains about having to wake up early. Makários ignores him.

Darla, the Oracle, is over at Cabin Seven’s table discussing something with his sister Marcy, who is to be the new head counselor once Nathan graduates and heads off to med school, likely giving her advice for her new role.

Chiron is all over the place keeping the peace. Argus is busy keeping watch.

Then Makários hears a distinct sound.

And if he were alive for the moment after, he would’ve noticed that Cabin Seven and Darla heard it as well.

Snip.

Makários drops to the ground, cold.

His body doesn’t automatically burst into flame. Even after they burn his body at the pyre in vain hope of resurrecting him, he doesn’t come back.

The sun burns in fury and grief.

Later when Percy’s back in his room, he realizes that Micheal had somehow slipped a business card in Percy’s back pocket. It’s not written in English but in some other language, one that Percy somehow understands perfectly. It reads:

“My Lord-”

Makários huffs at the centaur next to him. “Enough with the ‘my Lord’, Chiron. You met me when I was truly just a boy for the first time. Though my blood runs bronze instead of red, I’m still mortal.”

“It is simply a habit at this point, Makários.” Chiron lifts an eyebrow. “The golden sheen on your skin does not help in that regard. And most demigods cannot sprout wings on their backs.”

Makários surveys the camp and watches the demigods train and laugh and run. “But if I am to impart my knowledge and experiences to my fellow demigods, I believe it would be best if you just use my name and make myself appear more… mortal, for lack of a better term. I would rather not have the fear that comes with the presence of a god attributed to me.”

Chiron snorts. “That would be quite the endeavor. Most if not all the children here believe you are a god.”

His head whips to the centaur. “What? Since when?”

“You have only ever escorted demigods here and didn’t stay any longer than a few moments at most, so I understand if you did not notice.” Chiron explains. “But you must understand the awe and respect that comes when one is saved from monsters by a man with flaming wings who treats them with kindness and dignity. Not to mention that you have been doing such a task for longer than a few gods have been alive. I still remember when you left your brother Asclepius and later Dionysus in this very same camp, now gods in their own right.”

“Is that why I inexplicably taste fresh meat each time I leave a child in your care? They would sacrifice to me?” Makários had never considered the possibility. He honestly thought that he was simply hungry and went on hunts to sate it.

“You are very loved and respected, a protector of the weak in their eyes.” Chiron says. “The children in your Father’s temple sing your praises each time you leave a sibling here safely.”

Makários’s face dons a bronze blush. “I was just doing the right thing, no need to worship me for that. They are aware that I have crashed into said temple and set the stone aflame multiple times, correct? And that I die more often ridiculous deaths than glorious ones? I would rather they not exalt me.”

Chiron looks amused at his insistence. “Well, I only wish you the best in your efforts to that end. Now, I trust you are aware of the non-interference laws the King has imposed upon all the gods shortly after the fall of Troy?”

Makários blinks at the centaur's question. “Non-interference laws?”

Chiron nods. “You were far from the only demigod at Troy. The gods had shown favor to their children throughout the war with disastrous consequences. Your Father had sent a plague after your most recent death when you were escorting that girl to Thebes. The King believes that overt interference in mortal affairs would simply make complications where there were none, for both mortals and gods.”

The demigod-not-god shakes his head. “But I had spoken freely with my Father a month ago in his gardens on Olympus. I had visited Hestia in her temple on Olympus as well and she had greeted me with an embrace. Some time before that I had accompanied my Aunt Artemis with her Hunters on a few hunts with no issue whatsoever. Even Ascelpius had met with me and asked if I could escort my niece here in a few years' time as he is typically too busy to do it himself.”

Chiron stroked his beard. “I wager you are an exception. You do occupy that odd space between god and demigod, close to ascension yet not at the same time. You bleed bronze, not red nor gold. Immortal yet mortal.”

“I see.” Makários replies, baffled. “None of my family members had mentioned such a thing to me about these laws.”

“It likely does not apply to you and you rarely interact with the mortal world these days as far as I am aware.” Chiron looks into his amber gold eyes. “Though I see that it will soon change. I would be honored to have your assistance around here. How does ‘Assistant Director’ sound to you?”

Despite Percy’s numerous archery achievements, school doesn’t really fare all that well. He scrapes by the skin of his teeth academically, but what really does him in are the fights Percy gets into with all the bullies in his schools.

His temper doesn’t really help, or the fact that he wins those fights far more often than not.

Eventually Mom enrolls him in a some boarding school called Yancy Academy that was willing to take him. Maybe if archery was a more recognized sport, Mom might’ve had a bit more leeway in schools, but they have to deal with the cards they’ve been dealt. Percy can only thank his shitty luck that his archery life and school life were completely separate.

But with Yancy being a boarding school, it means Percy can’t go to archery practices as often and the school had a zero tolerance policy about weapons, so Percy had to ditch his bow back home. Great.

At least his roommate Grover was cool.

You idiot, he’s a satyr-