Rewriting to improve writing.
"Gods are born out of the need of humans but they shall die at the hands of the ones they've wronged."
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
The world of demigods has never been a safe one, plagued by monsters, the wrath of gods, and the impending d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oh what have I done? I tried to play God, I paid with my own son.
༺♥༻ Tw- talks about cultural and generational trauma.
*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿
The AV wasn't quiet often, and when it was, the silence wasn't comforting. It wasn't like the silence of a library or the calm of a countryside night—it was the heavy kind, the kind that clung to your skin like grease and made you painfully aware of how many other heartbeats shared the same room as yours. That's what it felt like right now, shut up in Annabeth's cabin aboard the Argo-analog vessel, all of them trying not to stare too hard at the girl who'd just been branded with a trident like she was fresh merchandise.
Maliah had pressed herself into the corner of the bed nearest Y/N, knees drawn up, fingers knotting themselves in the loose ends of her hair like they were rosary beads. She was trying to pretend she wasn't the main character of the universe's latest reality show, but even pretending takes effort, and she didn't have the stamina for that anymore. Y/N leaned against the bedframe, shoulder brushing hers, because somebody had to be a buffer between her and the onslaught of curiosity thickening the air like cigarette smoke.
Annabeth had her legs crossed on the other side, back straight as a ruler, her posture already giving off the vibe of a UN diplomat about to address the floor. She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, but the way her fingers tapped against each other in restless rhythm betrayed her. Her storm-grey eyes flicked from Percy, to Grover, to Luke, and finally to Maliah, who still wouldn't lift her gaze from her lap.
The lamp overhead buzzed faintly, fighting the hum of the ship's mechanics. The storm outside had faded into something less biblical, but the wood still groaned with the aftershocks. Rain whispered against the window in uneven streaks. Y/N caught her own reflection there for half a second—h/c hair plastered messily against her cheek, golden freckles glowing faint as ever like embers waiting for oxygen. She looked like she'd crawled through hell, because she had, and now hell had followed them home.
No one wanted to say the obvious: We just watched you bend the weather like it was a prop in your one-woman theater production. That's not the kind of thing you just casually forget to mention.
Annabeth finally broke the spell, her voice cutting clean through the room. "Before we try Iris-calling Hunter, I want everything on the table." The phrasing was diplomatic, but her tone carried that Athena-blessed edge of judgment that turned statements into scalpels. Her gaze locked on Maliah, narrowing just slightly, sharp enough to nick. "You knew, didn't you? About your abilities."
It wasn't phrased like a question. It was a test.
Y/N felt Maliah tense beside her, like her spine had been strung tight as a bowstring. For a moment, the girl stayed perfectly still, eyes glued to the floorboards like she could disappear into them if she focused hard enough. Then, almost like ripping off a bandage, she nodded once, her hair slipping over her face as her hand finally dropped from its compulsive twirling.
