𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐚; percy jackson

𝟐𝟓 | releasing the victim

Hephaestus stood like a mountain.

Not just in size, but in presence—the very air seemed to vibrate with the force of his existence.

He wasn't a warrior like Ares, nor a tyrant like Zeus—but he was a god nonetheless, and gods did not falter.

The scent of molten metal and oil thickened the air, heavy and suffocating. Even the torches in the chamber flickered uncertainly, as if they, too, understood who held dominion here.

His gaze was sharp, assessing. One eye clouded with soot and exhaustion, the other dark, filled with something less measurable.

Percy lowered his shield slightly, but his grip stayed tight. His mind raced, yet oddly, Hephaestus's presence didn't feel like a disaster.

It felt like an opportunity.

If anyone could undo the machine, it was him.

Percy exhaled, choosing his words carefully. "Which side were you on?"

Hephaestus's fingers twitched. "Side?"

Percy narrowed his eyes. "On the council. About Meara... Zeus's daughter?"

There was a beat of silence.

And then, a flicker. A brief, near-imperceptible shift in Hephaestus's jaw, hesitation so brief that most wouldn't have caught it.

But Percy wasn't most people.

"How do you know about that?" Hephaestus asked, his voice unreadable.

Percy's stomach twisted. That confirmed it. Zeus had unlocked Meara's memories in secret, without the knowledge—or consent—of the other gods.

"She got her memories back," Percy said, pressing the advantage.

Hephaestus's mouth set into a firm line. "That shouldn't be possible."

"But apparently, it is." Percy stepped forward, fists clenching at his sides. "So I'll ask again. Which side were you on?"

The god exhaled, his voice heavy. "She's dangerous."

Percy's jaw locked.

"A prophecy so powerful it could destroy our kind is tied to her," Hephaestus continued. "You understand what that means, don't you, boy? That girl is a threat to Olympus itself."

Boy. That irritated him.

But not as much as the rest of his words.

"So you were in for her death," Percy said, tone flat.

Hephaestus didn't deny it, he simply avoided reacting.

Instead, he studied Percy. "Can you blame me?" he asked finally. "That child could be the end of us."

'End of us.'

Not her fault. Not her choice, her life, her pain, her suffering. Just them—the gods.

Percy's fingers twitched behind shield in his hands.

His gut burned with something he hadn't ever felt this strongly.

"You should know something," he said, voice even. "Even though Meara hated my guts, she never hurt me first. Not once. She was never the first to strike."

Hephaestus looked confused, uncertain of the point he was making.

Percy pressed on. "She's been through more than any of you could imagine, and yet somehow, she's still going. She's still standing. You took everything from her—her home, her family, her memories—her whole life. You let her believe she was nothing before she joined Camp Half-Blood." His voice hardened. "She lost her mother, and then relearned how it was her own father who killed her. Right in front of her. You think that's not enough for a twelve-year-old girl?"