The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

59. Hades's Old Secret

Compared to Mount Olympus, Manhattan was quiet. Friday before Christmas, but it was early in the morning, and hardly anyone was on Fifth Avenue. Argus, the many-eyed security chief, picked up Y/N, Annabeth, Ethan, Percy, and Grover at the Empire State Building and ferried them back to camp through a light snowstorm. The Long Island Expressway was almost deserted.

Chiron greeted them at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Ethan and Grover went off with their satyr friends to spread the word about their strange encounter with the magic of Pan. Within an hour, the satyrs were all running around agitated, asking where the nearest espresso bar was.

Y/N, Annabeth and Percy sat with Chiron and some of the other senior campers—Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard, and the Stoll brothers. Even Clarisse from the Ares cabin was there, back from her secretive scouting mission. Her quest must've been difficult, because she didn't even try to pulverize Y/N. She had a new scar on her chin, and her dirty blond hair had been cut short and ragged, as if someone had attacked it with a pair of safety scissors.

"I got news," she mumbled uneasily. "Bad news."

"I'll fill you in later," Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. "The important thing is you have prevailed. And you saved Annabeth!"

Annabeth smiled at Y/N gratefully, but he pretended not to notice.

"Luke is alive," Percy said.

Not again. . . . Y/N thought.

"How do you know?" he said.

"My dad told me, back on Olympus."

Y/N sat up. "Percy, Luke fell—"

"It didn't kill him," Percy interrupted. "And anyway, the Princess Andromeda is still sailing, with Kronos's remains on board. The older spirits of the ocean are protecting the boat, so Poseidon'll have a hard time sinking it."

Y/N slouched in his chair. "Well. If the final battle does come when you're sixteen, at least we have two more years to figure something out."

Chiron's expression was gloomy. Sitting by the fire in his wheelchair, he looked really old. Well . . . he was really old, but he usually didn't look it.

"Two years may seem like a long time," he said. "But it is the blink of an eye. I still hope you are not the child of the prophecy, Percy. But if you are, then the second Titan war is almost upon us. Kronos's first strike will be here."

"How do you know?" Percy asked. "Why would he care about camp?"

"Because the gods use heroes as their tools," Chiron said simply. "Destroy the tools, and the gods will be crippled. Luke's forces will come here. Mortal, demigod, monstrous. . . . We must be prepared. Clarisse's news may give us a clue as to how they will attack, but—"

There was a knock on the door, and Nico di Angelo came huffing into the parlor, his cheeks bright red from the cold.

He was smiling, but he looked around anxiously. "Hey! Where's—where's my sister?"

Dead silence. Y/N glanced at Percy, who sat dumbfounded. He would've liked not to be there, too. Nobody had told Nico yet. They'd left the dirty work to him and Percy.

That was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Hey, Nico." Percy got up from his chair. "Let's take a walk, okay? We need to talk. You come, Y/N?"

Nico took the news in silence. Percy kept talking, trying to explain how it had happened, how Bianca had sacrificed herself to save the quest. He was only making things worse.