Chapter One  𝄞
The Beginning of the End

Watch Hill, Rhode Island
Winter Break, 2006

The ocean whispered like it knew something the rest of the world hadn't caught up to. Waves lapped the shore in slow, sleepy hushes beneath a sky the color of old slate. Through the beach house windows, the horizon blurred—fog-laced, silver-edged, like the edge of a dream dissolving into the sea.

Inside, the warmth still clung to every surface, steeped in the scent of breakfast—maple, burnt toast, cinnamon, citrus. The kind of comfort that sank into your bones and stayed there.

Her parents had left not long ago, their presence still echoing faintly in the air. Their breakfast had been loud and full of gentle bickering, fatherly affection hidden beneath sarcasm and fruit bowls stacked too high. Aysel had smiled through it all, even when they fussed. She always smiled when they were together like that—as if she didn't want them to know how much it meant to her.

Now, it was just her and Luke.

The silence wasn't awkward. It rarely was between them. He was sprawled out on the bed, long limbs tangled in the duvet, flipping through a paperback he wasn't really reading. She was near the window, arms crossed as she stared at the shoreline.

It should've been perfect. But something was off. A small, sharp thing buried beneath the skin.

She reached for her throat absentmindedly—and froze.

Her fingers brushed skin.

No chain. No pendant.

Her heart skipped.

Slowly, she turned back toward the room. Her gaze swept across the desk. The dresser. The small dish on the nightstand where she sometimes tossed her jewelry. Nothing.

No sign of the necklace.

She crossed the room in three swift steps, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. She dropped to her knees beside the bed, yanking up the dust ruffle.

"Damn it," she muttered, already half under the frame.

Behind her, Luke's voice came light and amused. "You good?"

She didn't look at him.

"What are you looking for?"

"My necklace," she snapped, voice muffled as she swept her arm beneath the bed, fingers groping for something—anything.

There was a pause.

Then: "Can't you just get another one?"

That made her stop.

She pulled back from the bed and sat up on her heels, eyes narrowing at him.

"It was a gift from Percy," she said. No heat in her voice. Just exhaustion.

Luke raised his brows, but said nothing.

She stood and sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders folding inward, as if the weight of remembering had settled into her bones.

"It was a silver chain. Star-shaped pendant," she added softly, looking down at her hands. "I've had it for years."

Luke closed the book he hadn't been reading. He shifted slightly, digging into the pocket of his hoodie.

When his hand emerged, something gleamed between his fingers.

"Like this?"

Aysel's breath caught.

It was her necklace.

She reached out instinctively, hand brushing his as she took the delicate chain. The star pendant shimmered faintly in the soft winter light.

"Where did you find it?" she asked.

Luke leaned back, stretching his arms overhead. "Found it this morning. On the beach. Looked like it'd just washed up."

Her brows furrowed. "I always take it off before I go near the water."

"Maybe you forgot about it last time we went to the beach," he said with a shrug.

She didn't answer. She just kept looking at it, her fingers tightening around the chain.

And then she swayed.

Luke sat up fast, alarm flickering in his eyes. "Aysel?"

Her hand dropped from the necklace.

The lights in the room flickered.

She blinked once, twice—and then her body went still. Her back straightened with eerie precision. Her head tilted—not in thought, but like a puppet on a string.

Luke stiffened. His pulse kicked like it had somewhere better to be.

"Aysel?"

She didn't answer.

Her eyes opened.

Glowing green.

Luke froze—not with fear, but with familiarity.

Not again.

"Sel?"

Her voice didn't belong to her.

"You shall go west, and face the god who has turned..."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fists clenched against the mattress. His body wanted to move—to grab her, shake her out of it—but he'd learned better. You don't touch prophecy mid-broadcast. Not unless you want to end up as a cautionary tale.

"You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned..."

The lights sputtered. Shadows twisted.

She lunged.

His wrists screamed as her nails sank in, sharp as truth. But he didn't pull away.

"You shall be betrayed by one who calls you friend..." Aysel hissed, her grip tightening.

"And you shall fail..." her voice dropped into something low, something broken, "...to save what matters most, in the end."

Then, like a match burned out—

Darkness.

Her body collapsed, heavy and small.

Luke caught her on instinct.

"Got you," he muttered. His voice cracked on the last word.

He laid her down with reverence he didn't understand. Something curled inside his chest, half-guilt, half-something else.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. His hand shook.

"Sel..."

She stirred, and for a second—just a second—her eyes focused.

Then they moved to his wrists. The blood.

What—what does that mean?" he asked at last. "Has something been stolen?"

She swallowed hard.

"It happened during the Winter Solstice," she said, her voice low and steady, though not without an edge. "Someone managed to sneak into the throne room. Someone stole the Master Bolt."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "That's impossible."

She gave him a look. "I know."

A long breath left her lips.

He looked away, running a hand through his hair. "But... no one's said anything. Not at camp. Not—"

"Because the gods are doing what they always do," Aysel cut in. "Pretending everything's under control when it's not. Whispering in corners. Snapping at their children. Paranoid. On edge. They've been a nightmare ever since it happened."

She exhaled, a bitter laugh slipping from her throat.

"You can't imagine what it's been like. Every time I talk to my father, I can feel it. The tension. The fear they're trying to hide. They've all got suspects, theories, grudges—pointing fingers behind each other's backs. And now..."

She looked at Luke, her expression tightening.

"Now there's this—the prophecy. And if it's connected, then we're not just screwed. We're doomed."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the ocean outside seemed to have stopped breathing.

Luke didn't argue. Didn't try to talk her down. He just reached for her.

Wordlessly, he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her with ease. She didn't protest. Her head dropped against his shoulder, her hand gripping the fabric of his shirt like she was afraid he'd disappear.

He carried her to the bed, careful and quiet, and laid her down gently as if she were made of glass. His hand brushed her hair from her face, fingers lingering just a little too long.

"I'll bring you nectar," he whispered, stepping back—

But her fingers caught his wrist, weak but determined.

"Don't," she whispered. "I'm fine."

She wasn't.

He knew that.

He always knew.

But he didn't argue.

He slid into bed beside her, pulling the blankets around her carefully. She turned slightly, just enough that her shoulder rested against his chest, and closed her eyes.

Silence wrapped around them again.

But something twisted inside her—deep and sharp—and the moment her mind let go of the waking world, the vision returned.

She was no longer in her house.

She was somewhere clinical, white and blue and humming with sterile light.

A man stood near the window, rocking a baby gently in his arms. He was tall, his features strong, eyes deep like the sea before a storm.

The woman in the bed nearby looked exhausted, but she smiled like the world had just begun.

Her face was soft. Familiar.

"Welcome to the world, Perseus," the man said, voice rich and warm.

The baby opened his eyes.

They glowed.

Aysel gasped.

Back in the room, her fingers clenched the sheets.

Luke, who hadn't stopped watching her, leaned in slightly.

"Aysel?" he whispered.

But she didn't answer.

Not yet.

Because the light in the vision had started to flicker again.

And somewhere beyond the veil of sleep, something was stirring.

[...]

The house had fallen quiet hours ago.

The kind of quiet that came only in winter—heavy, complete, sacred. The kind that wrapped around everything like snow, muffling sound and thought alike.

Aysel waited in silence, watching the clock tick past midnight.

Luke was asleep. She'd checked twice.

The first time, his breathing had gone slow, steady. The second, he muttered something in his sleep—her name, maybe. Or someone else's.

Her parents? Gods knew. Apollo and Klaus had disappeared after dinner, again. Something about "letting her rest," which was their polite way of pretending they didn't hover.

She didn't trust it.

She moved like a shadow, barefoot across the cold floors. Her fingers ghosted over the front door's lock, opening it in a single, practiced motion. Outside, the air bit into her skin, sharp and wet from the sea. It was freezing. Her hoodie—Luke's hoodie—was three sizes too big, hanging off her frame like a borrowed promise.

She crossed the rocks without hesitation.

The wind whipped through her hair, biting at her cheeks, but she didn't flinch. She'd grown up on this coast. She'd learned to listen to the silence between waves, the warning in the tide. Tonight, the ocean wasn't whispering. It was watching.

Aysel stopped where the sand dipped low, close enough for the foam to lick at her toes. The moon hung heavy and full over the water.

She dropped to her knees beside a blackened patch of driftwood and pulled a small bag from her hoodie pocket. Blue cookies. Slightly crushed. Still sacred.

With a flick of her wrist, she struck a match. The flame sparked, trembling in the wind before catching. She built the fire with care, feeding it scraps of dry bark, coaxing the flame into a slow, hungry dance.

Then she whispered—not loudly, not dramatically, but with purpose.
Ancient Greek rolled off her tongue like it had been waiting.

    "I seek an audience with the sea. Lord of the depths, son of Kronos, Poseidon Earthshaker."

She reached into the bag, pulled out a single cookie, and tossed it into the flames.

The smoke that rose was not ordinary. It twisted, shimmered, turned a vivid, unnatural blue. It spiraled upward, toward the moon, and then—

The tide stopped.

The ocean fell eerily still.

And then he was there.

Not with lightning. Not with thunder. Just a sudden pressure in the air, a stillness that burned. Poseidon rose from the edge of the waves like he belonged to the dark. His form was nearly translucent, shaped of salt and storm, solidifying slowly into something humanoid. His beard dripped seawater. His eyes glowed green, endless and unreadable.

He looked like the beginning of the world.

"My nephew won't appreciate you making offerings to me," he said, voice calm and resonant, like water echoing in a vast cavern. "Though I rarely say no to a good cookie."

Aysel didn't look at him yet. "I won't tell if you won't."

There was a hint of amusement in his expression. But it didn't last.

He tilted his head, studying her more closely now. "You didn't call me just for small talk."

"No," she said, finally meeting his eyes. Her voice was soft. Even. Laced with frost. "I called you because I know."

The wind picked up.

Poseidon didn't answer.

"I know what you did," she continued, gaze steady. "I know about Percy Jackson."

His expression didn't change. But the sea did. Waves surged behind him, crashing against the rocks like war drums. The sand at Aysel's feet trembled. Power radiated off him in thick waves, shifting the air, bending the night around them.

But she didn't move.

She didn't cower.

She just watched him—face framed in firelight, eyes reflecting the ocean's wrath with eerie calm.

He stepped forward, and though his voice was low, it shook the earth.

"You tread dangerously, child."

"And you broke an oath," Aysel replied, not flinching. "You and your brothers swore on the Styx that there would be no more children. Then Zeus had Thalia Grace. And now you?"

Poseidon's jaw clenched.

"He's a child, Poseidon," she went on. "My friend. A good kid. Funny. Loyal. Brave. And you've doomed him."

"I protected him."

"You hid him."

"I saved him from the world Olympus would have devoured him in."

"You saved him from nothing." Her voice grew colder. "Because now they'll come for him anyway."

Poseidon's eyes burned. "He's mine to protect."

"And you've done such a great job," she said, a bitter smile playing at her lips.

Lightning cracked far out to sea.

"I'm not here to argue," she added. "I'm here to tell you what's coming. There's a new prophecy. I saw it. I felt it. And I think... I know it's his."

Poseidon went very still.

"He's going to be blamed for the theft," Aysel continued. "The master bolt. He'll be accused. Hunted. They'll use him as the excuse they've been waiting for. To punish you. To restore order. To start a war."

"No," Poseidon whispered. "No, the others wouldn't dare—"

"They would. And they will. He's not safe anymore."

Poseidon clenched his jaw. "His mother doesn't want him going to Camp Half-Blood."

Aysel smiled darkly.

"This isn't about what you want. Or what Sally wants. This is about what has to be done."

Poseidon's power surged. His glow brightened.

"You want to take my son—"

"No," Aysel said, stepping forward, eyes gleaming with divine light. "I'm telling you what's going to happen. And if you or Sally try to stop me from protecting him, I will take him to Solaris. Where no god—not even you—can follow."

The beach fell silent.

Even the waves held their breath.

Poseidon's eyes were burning now. Not with fire, but with the weight of the sea. Deep. Crushing. Primordial.

And yet—he said nothing.

Because in her gaze, he saw something that gave him pause.

Not defiance. Not arrogance.

But truth.

Her eyes didn't just hold conviction.

They held prophecy.

Poseidon stepped back slightly. His form dimmed.

"You speak like someone who's seen the thread before it's spun," he said, quieter now.

Aysel didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

Poseidon looked at her—truly looked—and in that moment, he felt it.

She was her father's daughter. Not just in name, but in weight. In fire. In fate.

There was something in her presence that reminded him of Delphi—of the Oracle before Apollo ever touched the stone. Of ancient songs and destinies that lived beneath the skin.

Poseidon exhaled, and it sounded like a storm collapsing into the sea.

"You speak like Delphi once did. Before your father claimed the Oracle. Back when I—"

"Watched over it," she finished for him. "Yes. I know. You were a caretaker of prophecy. Once."

His gaze was no longer angry.

It was reverent.

Wary.

She took a step back, her voice softer now. "I'm not here to steal your son, Poseidon. I'm here to keep him alive. Let me get him to camp by the end of the school year. That's all I ask. Then we'll be ready. For what's coming."

The god said nothing.

Not right away.

Then he nodded slowly.

"Until summer."

"That's all I need."

Poseidon's shoulders rose and fell like the tides.

She turned without another word, leaving the god of the sea alone in the sand. Her steps were soft, deliberate, vanishing into the hush of night. She hummed as she walked—a haunting melody that didn't belong to this century, or perhaps any at all.

And when he turned to the waves, he realized they were humming it back.

AUTHOR'S NOTE!!

I'm finally back! After months of feeling stuck and unsure where to take this story, inspiration has finally struck. With school behind me and no responsibilities (at least until I find a j*b) I'm pouring all my time and energy into this book... and others :)

Tysm for reading and don't forget to
comment! <3