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

Decision

Note: Surprise! My mind was still active so I wrote this.

(Present)

The chamber was quiet.

Too quiet.

Percy lay sprawled across the luxurious bed, arms flung wide, eyes locked on the ceiling as if she could stare holes into the obsidian above. The sheer black canopy draped like cobwebs, delicate and suffocating all at once, casting faint shadows that danced with the firelight. Despite the velvet sheets wrapped around her like a cocoon, she couldn't shake the chill skimming her skin.

The fire still burned in the hearth—blue, soft, almost beautiful—but its warmth didn't reach her. Nothing here truly felt warm. It all just seemed that way. A carefully curated illusion.

And that illusion was cracking.

She turned onto her side, the silk sheets whispering under her movement. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow like ink, but sleep was as distant as the sun in this godforsaken place.

Persephone's words echoed in her skull like a whispering wind through dead leaves.

"Power, control, love... they're all the same to him."

Percy rolled onto her back again, arms flopping out in exasperation. She stared upward, feeling the weight of invisible eyes—Hades', perhaps—watching from somewhere beyond the walls. Maybe even from the shadows in her room.

Then Hades' voice echoed behind her ribs:
"There are no illusions here. Only truths."

She exhaled, long and sharp, rubbing her face with both hands.

"Gods," she muttered aloud to the empty room. "They're both nuts."

Her voice sounded small in the vastness of the space. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet pressing to the marble floor, cold and smooth like a tombstone.

She stood and padded toward the tall windows, pushing aside the sheer curtains that swayed ever so slightly, even with no wind. Outside, Helheim sprawled—an endless plane of muted grays and silver fog, rivers that reflected no stars, and jagged hills carved by time. The sky above was a perpetual dusk, caught in a limbo between night and dawn. It was beautiful in a haunting, unnatural way.

But to Percy, it looked like a prison without bars.

And beneath it all, she felt the weight of death pressing against the glass like a breathless ghost.

She hugged her arms around herself tightly.

Hades had saved her from Poseidon. That was true. He hadn't hurt her. That was also true. He hadn't demanded anything from her—not yet. And compared to Poseidon's obsessive, feverish pursuit, Hades had been... restrained. Polite. Calculating.

But that didn't mean she trusted him. That didn't mean he was safe.

He had that look—the one that said he didn't just want to protect her.

He wanted to possess her.

And Persephone? Percy wasn't sure she was much better. She was elegant, enigmatic, her words always carefully chosen, wrapped in poetic metaphors. The garden she'd shown Percy was the only place in Helheim that had truly felt alive, but even that had a twist to it—because life in the underworld was always borrowed. Always fleeting.

The way Persephone spoke in riddles, the way she said just enough to worry her but never quite enough to explain—it was like she enjoyed the game.

The half-truths.
The breadcrumbs.
The sympathy that came too late.

It all felt like a trap wrapped in flower petals.

"Would you like to leave this place?"

The question resurfaced like a lure yanked from deep water.

Yes.

Absolutely yes.

Percy turned away from the window, a cold resolve starting to form in her chest. She began pacing the room, bare feet soft against the rug, hands twitching with the need to do something. To move. To fight. To run.

"Okay. Let's just lay this out," she muttered to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Poseidon wants me because he thinks I'm some fantasy he owns. Hades wants me for... what? A distraction? A new Persephone? And Persephone wants to save me from him, but she's still married to him, still living here. So... yeah. Dysfunctional immortal couple, check."

She barked a humorless laugh. Her voice sounded more bitter than amused. Maybe she was finally going insane in this underworld dollhouse.

She ran her fingers through her dark hair, pacing faster now, the movement helping her think.

"I'm not going to be anyone's pet," she snapped, voice rising. "Not Poseidon's. Not Hades'. Not even Persephone's pretty little protégé."

That last part surprised her.

She hadn't realized she'd started resenting the queen, too—not just the king.

But Persephone had made her feel like a pawn. A well-meaning, softly spoken pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.

Percy moved to the vanity, its surface lined with delicate glass bottles and gilded combs. She rarely touched them. It all felt too fake, too curated.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back: a girl caught between worlds. She looked tired.

"I'm getting out of here," she whispered to herself. "Before they decide what I am for me."

Her reflection didn't argue.

It looked back at her with grim determination.

She turned back to the bed and stalked toward the tall armoire standing like a silent sentinel in the corner. She threw it open, fingers rifling through the silken dresses and formal robes Hades' servants had given her—none of which she'd asked for.

She was looking for her boots and the clothes she was wearing when she came to this world—such as her Camp Half-Blood T-shirt.

Her fingers grazed something cool and smooth at the very back of the wardrobe.

A flower.

Blue. Silver-veined. One of the blooms from Persephone's garden.

Percy froze, eyes narrowing.

A chill ran down her spine as she carefully lifted it from the fabric and cradled it in her palm.

She left it for me.

It could only mean one thing.

The queen wanted her to leave.

Helped her, even after Hades had interrupted them.

But now... it didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a test. A choice Persephone had dangled in front of her like bait. Like a trap that might snap closed the moment she picked a side.

Maybe it was a trap.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Percy tucked the flower into her pocket anyway.

Then she turned to the fire, watching the blue flames flicker lower now, casting long shadows against the stone walls.

She didn't know what the flower did. Didn't know how to use it. But she'd figure it out. She had to. Staying here wasn't survival. It was surrender. A slow erosion of self.

Not when two ancient gods were circling her like vultures.

"Sorry, Hades," she said aloud, stepping closer to the fire, her voice low and fierce. "You're not the first creepy immortal to think he could own me. And you won't be the last. But you're not winning this one."

The flames flared briefly—as if answering her. Or warning her.

Either way, Percy didn't flinch.

She was done being afraid.

Tomorrow, she'd find her way out of Helheim.

Even if it meant breaking the rules of the Underworld—and the hearts of its king and queen.