Power of the Unseen|DC/Young Justice

Chapter 3 : New Arrivals of Olympus

The night was steeped in an ancient, reverent silence as all twelve Olympian gods gathered in the grand council chamber of Olympus, each seated upon their thrones as they gazed upon the group of demigods standing before them. The room pulsed with an energy so powerful it felt like the air itself was alive, thick with the magic and authority of the gods. Fires in the great braziers along the walls crackled with hues of green and purple, casting shadows that danced across the marble floors and columns, lending the atmosphere an eerie, almost ethereal glow. Despite the grandiosity of it all, it was Hestia, the smallest of the gods, seated on her modest hearth near the center, who drew my attention. The warmth radiating from her was like a silent promise of peace—a peace that I knew I'd likely never truly experience. As her soft, compassionate gaze met mine, I felt an overwhelming urge to kneel before her, to rest and unburden myself, if only for a moment. But the intensity of the gods' scrutiny pulled me back, and I remained standing, shoulder-to-shoulder with my friends.

"Demigods!" boomed Zeus, his voice crackling with authority, reverberating through the hall like thunder. He sat upon his towering throne, carved from storm clouds and lightning, and looked down upon us with a mixture of pride and caution. 

"You have proven yourselves worthy not only of our gratitude but of rewards fitting for heroes. Today, the council will recognize your deeds and offer you the honors you have earned. Step forward, Nico di Angelo. "Nico's face was an unreadable mask as he approached the throne of his father, Hades. The god of the Underworld, dressed in robes that seemed woven from shadows themselves, leaned forward, his eyes solemn as he spoke to his son. 

"Nico, you have not only endured the darkest paths but thrived within them, standing as a guardian for the world and for your friends. I grant you a rare honor—the mantle and powers of Hecate, goddess of magic and the Mist, to fill the void her absence has created.

"Nico's eyes widened, his usual impassive demeanor breaking for a split second as the enormity of his new role settled over him. As the godhood took root within him, Nico's appearance shifted slightly, his form cloaked in an aura of shadow and flickering silver light. He gave a small nod, his gratitude evident in his usually reserved expression.

As Annabeth approached, Athena herself, the goddess of wisdom and warfare, leaned forward, her gaze filled with both pride and a tinge of sorrow.

 "Annabeth Chase, you have proven to be not only a hero but an architect of futures. I offer you immortality and the title of goddess of architecture and strategy. You will shape the future of civilizations, free from the boundaries of mortality.

"Annabeth's eyes shone with a blend of longing and acceptance. As she accepted, her mortal form shimmered, transforming with a brilliance that matched her accomplishments. She turned to look at me, and in that one glance, we exchanged a silent, bittersweet farewell.

Then, finally, all eyes turned to me. I felt a chill run down my spine as Zeus rose from his throne, lightning sparking in his beard, and leveled a gaze of piercing intensity. "Perseus Jackson," he intoned, his voice carrying a dark undercurrent, "you have defied the gods as much as you have served them. You are a force we respect, but also one we cannot ignore. Therefore, before your reward, we require a vow of loyalty to Olympus—and to me."

I clenched my fists, feeling the tension of the room press upon me like a physical weight. "No," I said, my voice unwavering. "I've done everything you've ever asked of me. I fought, I bled, I lost friends, all for Olympus. I want no godhood, no vow. I want only a chance to live free, without your interference." A dangerous glint flashed in Zeus' eyes, and the room tensed as he raised his Master Bolt. But then, to everyone's surprise, the Fates themselves intervened, gliding forward with an aura of quiet authority. Clotho, the eldest, spoke in a voice that was like the rustling of ancient parchment. "Let the boy be sent to another world, one beyond our reach. He shall live without the weight of our prophecies."