The Sea Tyrant's Obsession (PJO x ROR) *18+* WTM/WTS Book 1

*We Find Out The Truth, Sort Of

Zeus, looking over at his mother with a hint of admiration, nodded. "You're right, Mother. I never expected him to act with such courage. Perhaps there's more to the boy than I thought."

Hades gave a slight nod. "He showed fearlessness when it was needed. His actions spoke of his bravery."

Apollo smiled slightly. "The boy has officially earned my respect. It's rare to see someone who can outsmart a monster."

Susano'o chuckled, his voice filled with approval. "I'm impressed. Cerberus might be a monster, but it's clear the boy knew how to tame him. Not just with force, but with patience."

"My son showed that facing an opponent isn't always about brute force; it's about understanding them and knowing when to act," Athena added.

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room from the rest of the gods.

Poseidon scowled, his arms crossed as he glared at the wall ahead. He hated that his mother and the other gods around him were now accepting the half-breed, their praises ringing in his ears like a dull echo. He shook his head, clearly disapproving.

He seemed to be the only one who didn't see Athena's son as anything special.

New title:

We Find Out The Truth, Sort Of

"Oooh, the next scene we'll watching will be super important. I wonder what she will find out," Zeus said, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Maybe it will be revealed who stole the bolt," Shiva said.

Imagine the largest concert crowd you've ever seen, a football field packed with a million fans.

Now imagine a field a million times that big, packed with people, and imagine the electricity has gone out, and there is no noise, no light, no beach ball bouncing around over the crowd. Something tragic has happened backstage. Whispering masses of people are just milling around in the shadows, waiting for a concert that will never start.

If you can picture that, you have a pretty good idea what the Fields of Asphodel looked like. The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the breath of a swamp. Black trees—Grover told me they were poplars—grew in clumps here and there.

The cavern ceiling was so high above us it might've been a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites, which glowed faint gray and looked wickedly pointed. I tried not to imagine they'd fall on us at any moment, but dotted around the fields were several that had fallen and impaled themselves in the black grass. I guess the dead didn't have to worry about little hazards like being speared by stalactites the size of booster rockets.

"Not much different from the Asphodel Meadows in Helheim," Hades murmured.

Anthony, Grover, and I tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls. I couldn't help looking for familiar faces among the spirits of Asphodel, but the dead are hard to look at. Their faces shimmer. They all look slightly angry or confused. They will come up to you and speak, but their voices sound like chatter, like bats twittering. Once they realize you can't understand them, they frown and move away.

The dead aren't scary. They're just sad.

Percilla's remark about the dead being "just sad" drew the gods' attention.

"Sad, you say?" mused Beelzebub, his tone thoughtful. "They wander aimlessly, yes, but to call them sad? They have no will left. Perhaps they were sad once, but now they're simply... empty."

"Sad? That's not what I would call it," Poseidon scoffed. "They may be lost, but they're not pitiful."

"Sadness is the right word," said Hades. "What is worse than being forgotten? To be trapped in an endless haze of uncertainty."