𝐂œ𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬é𝐬 [Percy Jackson]

107

Hadrian woke staring at the shadows dancing across the hut's ceiling. He hadn't had a single dream. That was so unusual, he wasn't sure if he'd actually woken up.

He was curled up against Percy, he felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, his soft snores. Hadrian had seen him poisoned, he'd seen him throwing up, he'd seen him hurt, dying. He looked up a little, at his sleeping face. 

He looked peaceful. He looked... to say godlike would be an insult to Percy. He looked celestial, bewitching, heavenly...

Falling for Percy was abrupt, it was tedious because Hadrian had been fighting with himself for it. He'd refused to accept it at first. He had gone on the boat with one mission. Rescue his best friend. And now he was in Tartarus with the most angelic boy he had ever seen. 

Hadrian tried to ignore the flush of his cheeks. Was it suddenly very hot in here?

He turned his hair back to brown. No use alarming their hosts.

He heard the steady beating of Percy's heart. Back with the arai, for a terrible moment, Hadrian could have sworn Percy's heart had stopped. He had never heard a more deafening sound than the silence of Percy's heart not beating anymore.

He wanted to make sure that never happened again. His ear was pressed against Percy's chest and he felt the blood pumping through his veins, the rise and fall of his chest. But most importantly— he could hear and feel the beating of his heart. 

Hadrian could have memorized the sound.

Small Bob was purring near his leg. Hadrian heard Bob and Damasen deep in conversation.

"You haven't told him," Damasen said.

"No," Bob admitted. "He is already scared."

The giant grumbled. "He should be. And if you cannot guide them past Night?"

Damasen said Night like it was a proper name—an evil name.

"I have to," Bob said.

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

"Then why did you heal the boy?"

Damasen exhaled. "I have been wondering that myself. Perhaps because the other boy goaded me, or perhaps... I find these two 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," Bob said, uncomfortably. "But... do you like our fate?"

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

"I liked being Bob," Bob murmured. "Before I started to remember..."

"Huh." There was a shuffling sound, as if Damasen was stuffing a leather bag.

"Damasen," the Titan asked, "do you remember the sun?"

The shuffling stopped. Hadrian heard the giant exhale through his nostrils. "Yes. Like the boy said- it was yellow. When it touched the horizon, it made beautiful colors."

"I miss the sun," Bob said. "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. "What? What—where—what?"

He sat up so fast, Hadrian slipped off his chest and sat up too. "It's okay." 

When he registered that they were together in a giant's bed with a skeleton cat, he looked more confused than ever. Hadrian wasn't sure if he imagined the pink color across his cheeks. "That noise... where are we?"

"How much do you remember?" Hadrian asked.

Percy frowned. His eyes seemed alert. All his wounds had vanished. Except for his tattered clothes and a few layers of dirt and grime, he looked as if he'd never fallen into Tartarus.

"I—the demon grandmothers—and then... not much."

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."

The drakon returned, did that mean a whole day had passed? How long ago had he and Percy fallen in? How long had they been suffering here?

Hadrian's pulse quickened and it had nothing to do with the fact that Percy was basically shirtless next to him. "What will you tell the Giants when they get here?"

Damasen's mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone."

He tossed them two drakon-leather satchels. "Clothes, food, drink."

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Hadrian as if still pondering Damasen's words: What have the demigods given you? We are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children.

Suddenly Hadrian was struck by a thought so sharp and clear, it was like Kira had slapped some sense into him. 

"The prophecy of seven"

Percy had already climbed out of the bed and was shouldering his pack. He frowned at him. "What about it?"

Hadrian grabbed Damasen's hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed. His skin was as rough as sandstone.

"You have to come with us," he pleaded, he wasn't even sure if he could charm touch a giant. But he had to try. "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 need you to close the Doors!"

The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away.

"No, child," he murmured. "My curse is here. I cannot escape it."

"Yes, you can," Hadrian said. "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."

Hadrian's mind raced. "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, Hadrian heard the voice of a giant, urging his followers forward. "THE SEA GOD'S SON! HE IS CLOSE!"

"Mon cœur," Percy said urgently, "that's our cue to leave."

Damasen took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the weapons looked like toothpicks; but when he offered them to Hadrian, he realized what they were— Dragon bone tipped arrows, honed to a deadly sharp edge. There were only three. 

"One last gift for the child of Eros," rumbled the giant. "I cannot have you walking to your death unarmed. Now, go! Before it is too late."

Three arrows could be the difference between life and death. Hadrian wanted to cry. He took the arrows, but he couldn't even make himself say thank you. He knew the giant was meant to fight at their side. That was the answer—but Damasen turned away.

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

"He's right, mon cœur," Percy said.

They ran for the entrance. Hadrian didn't look back as he followed Percy and Bob into the swamp, but he heard Damasen behind them, shouting his battle cry at the advancing drakon, his voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.