Betrayed But Never Forgotten

The End but It's also the begining

Unknown POV

My feet pounded against the ancient stone floor, each step echoing through the celestial corridor. My gossamer dress billowed behind me like a comet's tail as I desperately tried to keep pace with the warrior ahead. The walls around us began to dissolve into glittering star matter—the very fabric of this immortal realm unraveling at its seams. Behind me, the floor crumbled away into cosmic dust, the void of creation hungrily consuming everything in its path.

The warrior ahead moved with supernatural grace, their midnight cape flowing like liquid shadow with each precise movement. Their identity remained concealed beneath an enchanted hood that seemed to drink in the light around it, leaving only darkness where a face should be.

Who was this mysterious figure? Why were they helping me escape?

I risked a glance over my shoulder, immediately regretting the decision. The wave of destruction had accelerated, a tsunami of disintegrating reality bearing down upon us. What had once been ornate halls crafted from celestial marble and stardust was now an all-consuming cloud of nothingness, erasing everything it touched from existence itself.

In that moment of distraction, my foot caught on an unseen obstacle. I tumbled forward with a startled cry, crashing into the warrior ahead. We collided in a tangle of limbs and fabric, the momentum sending us both sprawling across the dissolving floor.

The cosmic cloud swept over us in one horrifying wave. My stomach lurched as the ground beneath us gave way, and we plummeted into what should have been oblivion.

Instead, I found myself sprawled atop the warrior, both of us somehow intact, lying in the center of an imposing throne room. The abrupt transition from falling to solid ground left me momentarily disoriented.

"Get off of me before I slaughter you!" A muffled, feminine voice growled from beneath me.

I scrambled to my feet, preparing a sharp retort—until my eyes adjusted to our new surroundings, and all words died in my throat. My knees buckled, sending me crashing back down in a deep, instinctive bow of submission.

"My-My l-lady," I stammered, pressing my fist against my chest in the traditional salutation of fealty. The warrior beside me mirrored my position, though I caught the whispered self-recriminations under her breath.

The throne room stretched impossibly far in all directions, its walls composed of what looked like solidified shadows interspersed with swirling galaxies. At its center stood not one throne, but two—one wrought from darkness so absolute it hurt to look upon it directly, the other crafted from blinding light that seemed to bend reality around it. Only one was occupied.

"My Lady, we tried our utmost, but this buffoon—" The warrior began, her voice tight with controlled anger.

"Silence." The command wasn't spoken loudly, yet it resonated with such authority that it seemed to vibrate through the very atoms of my being.

Order—Queen of Creation, the Void's Firstborn, She Who Exists Beyond Time—rose from her throne of light. Her form shifted constantly, simultaneously ancient and youthful, terrible and beautiful. Her hair, a cascade of pearlescent white that stretched to the floor, seemed to contain entire star systems within its strands.

"You will try again tomorrow, and the next day, and every day thereafter until you are ready to face Chaos's heir," Order decreed, her voice like the harmonious discord of a thousand celestial choirs.

The warrior beside me stiffened almost imperceptibly—a slight tension in her shoulders betraying her disagreement—but she concealed it quickly, bowing her head in acquiescence.

"Ophelia." Order paused, her gaze fixing upon the warrior with unsettling intensity. With a casual flick of her wrist, unseen forces pulled back the warrior's concealing hood, revealing features that sent a jolt of recognition through me.

Cascading waves of midnight-black hair framed a face of unearthly beauty—high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes of such a uniquely mesmerizing sea-green that they could belong to only one bloodline in all of creation. They were Percy Jackson's eyes... but set in a feminine face that bore the unmistakable stamp of immortality.

"You are tasked with returning to Earth and eliminating your brother," Order continued, her tone conversational, as if discussing something as trivial as the weather rather than fratricide.

"Wait," I interjected, foolishly forgetting my place in my confusion. "Who exactly is your brother on Earth? Perhaps I could assist in his elimination when I return." The words tasted like ash on my tongue, but I forced them out. One did not survive in Order's court without demonstrating loyalty—no matter how distasteful the task.

Ophelia turned those haunting eyes toward me, her expression coldly contemplative. "My brother is Percy Jackson—the same one you've tried and failed to destroy multiple times."

My mind reeled, struggling to process this information. "But... he's dead. His soul resides in the Underworld. I confirmed it myself."

A chilling smile spread across Order's perfect features. "His mortal form perished, yes. But did you truly believe death could contain the essence of Chaos's chosen heir? His soul lives on—reborn as the lead warrior of Chaos's armies."

"Wait." I rose slowly to my feet, my thoughts racing to connect the impossible dots. "You're saying that Torture is... Perseus Jackson?"

"WHAT?!"

The thunderous exclamation came not from anyone in the throne room, but from a shimmering Iris message that had materialized unnoticed during our conversation. The magical window showed the amphitheater at Camp Half-Blood, packed to capacity with gods, goddesses, and their demigod children. At the center stood Zeus, his eyes blazing with fury, twin lightning bolts aimed directly at a figure I recognized immediately as Torture—and a third bolt pointing threateningly at the Iris message itself.

My gaze darted frantically across familiar faces: Jason, my former champion, staring open-mouthed with a mixture of horror and betrayal; Piper, her kaleidoscope eyes wide with shock; Annabeth, her analytical mind visibly struggling to process this revelation. Even Ares, the god of war himself, looked unsettled, his flaming eye sockets narrowing in suspicion.

But it was Torture—or rather, Percy—who commanded attention. He stood with the unnatural stillness of a predator, Nightmare gleaming in his hand as tendrils of darkness coiled around him like living shadows. His eyes, once sea-green, now swirled with cosmic energy, galaxies and nebulae dancing in their depths. The power emanating from him was palpable even through the Iris message—ancient, primordial, and unmistakably divine.

"You have betrayed us all, Aphrodite," he stated, his voice overlapping with echoes of something far older than himself—the voice of Chaos speaking through his chosen vessel.

My breathing accelerated, panic clawing at my throat. If not for the countless miles separating us, I would have already been obliterated by the murderous glares of those I had once called allies. The gods themselves looked ready to smite me from existence, while the demigods—especially those who had followed Percy into countless battles—radiated a killing intent that even Ares might have envied.

"Well, mortals..." Order rose to her full height, her divine presence expanding until it filled the vast throne room with suffocating power. "The war...Has begun"