The giant's hut, Tartarus

Percy didn't really understand much of what happened next, or how much time had passed, for two reasons: 1) time, as Bob kept reminding them, was hard in Tartarus, and 2) Percy was barely conscious.

He was vaguely aware of being carried by Bob—no one he'd met in Tartarus was that big and still friendly, or smelled so much like cleaning supplies. Something small, furry, and warm vibrated on Percy's back—maybe Small Bob? The kitten's purring right on the small of his back caused shivers to race through Percy's body. Through his blurred vision the few times he managed to crack open his eyes, he saw Annabeth struggling to keep pace with the Titan.

Percy could barely feel his body, consumed with pain. He felt warm and cold at the same time, his mouth was scratchy and dry, his lungs felt like they were being cooked in his chest, and every part of him hurt. It was like the ache Percy felt when he had a head cold and was congested, only a gazillion times worse—plus the burning sensation of the poison and the sting of the other curses Bob hadn't cured.

Percy hadn't been this messed up in a long time. He knew Annabeth must be worried out of her mind, and he hated that he couldn't do anything to help. There was no way around it—Percy was in bad shape, and if they didn't find help soon, he wouldn't make it to the Doors of Death, let alone back to the mortal world.

He hated the Fates. And the gods. And every other creature that had conspired and schemed and manipulated others until Percy and Annabeth landed here. With each new obstacle they faced on this quest to stop Gaea, Percy understood more and more how Luke had felt, and was starting to agree with him. That worried him.

He felt delirious, probably because of the fever. Groans of pain fell out of him. Percy's thoughts jumped around randomly, and sometimes words escaped his mouth—Grover, Nico, Gaea, Chicken nuggets, Calypso, Gorgons, Enchiladas, Mom, and Annabeth. He said her name the most. He didn't really know why. The poison was eating at his mental faculties with alarming speed.

His thoughts momentarily centered on Grover Underwood. Percy hadn't seen him in a long time. He would have given anything to be back at Yancy Academy with him, back when things were simpler and there weren't gods or monsters or empathy links or​​—

The empathy link. Grover had once said that if one of them died, the other might too. Could he sense what was happening to Percy right now? Would it really kill him if Percy died?

The thought only frustrated Percy more. He might have gotten his best friend killed if Annabeth and Bob couldn't heal him.

He heard Annabeth and Bob talking a few times, but he had no idea what they said. He also heard what sounded like roaring and screeching and hissing, but he didn't know if it was near or far. The few times Percy's head cleared enough for him to make a coherent thought, he wished he wasn't out of commission so he could tell what was going on and help if he needed to. After all, they were still in Tartarus—nowhere was safe.

Then something changed. Percy smelled something like stew, smoke, and spices. The air was still hot, but more the heat of a home rather than an oppressive, self-aware pit. The weight on Percy's back disappeared and, eventually, after what might have been minutes but could very well have been hours, he realized he was lying in something that felt remarkably like a bed, tucked into wool blankets.

More voices. Annabeth and someone Percy didn't recognize. The word "friend"?

A hand propped Percy up, and it felt big. Something touched his lips, and murmured words of encouragement filled his ears. It was an effort, but Percy started swallowing, tasting something like beef broth but not quite the same.

With each sip, Percy felt better. He felt stronger as the pain leached out of him. His thoughts formed easier and the burning sensation vanished. By the time Percy drained the cup, he felt almost as good as new.

Percy's eyes fluttered open. He looked around, dazed, and saw just enough to determine that he was in a hut and there was a giant hovering over him. He spotted Annabeth and gave her a drunken grin. "Feel great."

And then Percy passed out.

A drakon roar in the distance jolted Percy back into consciousness. He bolted upright and said, "What? What—where—what?"

Annabeth sat up next to him and took his arm. "It's okay." She looked well-rested.

Percy scanned their surroundings, now able to fully take them in. The hut was constructed of bones, mud, and drakon skin, and felt a little cozy. In the center blazed a bonfire made of pitch and bone; yet the smoke was white and odorless, rising through the hole in the middle of the ceiling. The floor was covered with dry marsh grass and gray wool rugs. At one end lay a massive bed of sheepskins and drakon leather—the bed Percy, Annabeth, and Small Bob were in. At the other end, free-standing racks were hung with drying plants, cured leather, and what looked like strips of some kind of jerky. A flock of sheep huddled in a pen at the back of the hut, reminding Percy of Polyphemus' cave. A giant sat by the fire with Bob.

Percy's first instinct was to run, but if Annabeth had felt safe enough for both of them to sleep while Bob and the giant watched over them, he trusted the giant. For now.

Percy turned to Annabeth, and the confusion must have been written all over his face. "That noise . . . where are we?"

"How much do you remember?" Annabeth asked.

Percy frowned and looked down at himself. For the first time since Tartarus, he felt alert and pretty healthy. All of his wounds had healed and he didn't feel any trace of the Gorgon's blood poison in his system. He didn't know how long he had slept, but it definitely had taken care of the residual Curse of Achilles tiredness.

"I—the demon grandmothers—and then . . . not much."

The giant loomed over them. "There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others—my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."

Annabeth sat up straighter. "What will you tell them when they get here?"

The giant's mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone."

He tossed them two drakon-leather satchels. "Clothes, food, drink."

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Annabeth like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Percy had a million questions, but he knew now wasn't the time to ask them. He climbed out of the bed and shouldered the pack.

"The Prophecy of Seven," Annabeth said suddenly.

Percy frowned at her. "What about it?"

Annabeth grabbed the giant's hand, startling him. His brow furrowed.

"You have to come with us," she pleaded. "The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that's not it. The line means us—demigods, a Titan, a giant. We need you to close the Doors!"

The drakon roared outside, closer this time. The giant gently pulled his hand away.

"No, child," he murmured. "My curse is here. I cannot escape it."

"Yes, you can," Annabeth said. "Don't fight the drakon. Figure out a way to break the cycle. Find another fate."

The giant shook his head. "Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture."

"There is another destination. Look at me! Remember my face. When you're ready, come find me. We'll take you to the mortal world with us. You can see the sunlight and stars."

The ground shook. The drakon was close now. Farther away, Percy heard the voice of the giant Polybotes, urging his followers forward. "THE SEA GOD'S SON! HE IS CLOSE!"

Percy's blood ran cold. "Annabeth," he said urgently, "that's our cue to leave."

The giant took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the white shard looked like a toothpick; but when he offered it to Annabeth, Percy realized it was a sword—a blade of bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather.

"One last gift for the child of Athena," rumbled the giant. "I cannot have you walking to your death unarmed. Now, go! Before it is too late."

Annabeth almost looked like she was going to cry, but she took the sword and stared at the giant.

"We must leave," Bob urged as his kitten climbed onto his shoulder.

"He's right, Annabeth," Percy said.

They ran for the entrance, Percy between Bob and Annabeth as they crossed the swamp. Behind them, the giant shouted a battle cry at the enormous, unfairly-beautiful drakon Percy caught a quick glimpse of.

As they walked, Annabeth filled Percy in on what he'd missed—the endless fight between the drakon and the giant, Damasen, his tendency for peace due to his birth as the opposite of Ares, and his exile in Tartarus. He was grateful to Damasen for curing him, but it felt strange to know there was a good giant. All the giants he'd ever heard of or fought had been evil. Even if Damasen was born to oppose Ares, it was hard to believe he really was peaceful.

"I was so worried about you," Annabeth said after she finished explaining.

Percy didn't know how to tell her how afraid he'd been, too, so he just took her hand and kissed her forehead. Annabeth leaned into him immediately, and he took strength from her warmth. Enough strength to tell her the thing he'd been mulling around for days now.

"I want to get rid of the Curse of Achilles," he said.

Annabeth looked up at him, surprised. "Is that even possible?"

"Yeah," Percy said. "The Little Tiber, back at Camp Jupiter. Juno told me."

Annabeth frowned. "Okay, but why do you want to?"

Percy shivered, feeling like spiders were crawling down his back. "I've gotten too used to it. It's made me sloppy. And the constant sleepiness—it makes me a liability."

"That's not—"

"You've seen what it does to me even after a short fight," Percy reminded her. "What if something happens and I pass out, thinking we're safe, but we're not? We're demigods, there will always be danger coming for us."

Annabeth sighed. "I guess. But you're our strongest fighter right now, and—"

"I know," Percy said. "I won't be able to get rid of it until after we defeat Gaea, anyway. But I've been thinking about this for a while. I—"

He paused, deciding whether or not to tell her. But after all they'd been through, he wanted to tell her. She was a part of him, and that meant she needed to know what was going on with him.

"Ever since the quest to Alaska, I've been afraid of drowning," Percy admitted. "Or suffocation. Or both."

Annabeth furrowed her brow but didn't say anything, seeming to sense that he needed time to explain.

"When we were in Alaska, trying to find a way to the Hubbard Glacier, I fell into some muskeg."

Annabeth's eyes widened, and he knew that she knew what muskeg was.

"If it wasn't for Frank and Hazel, I would have suffocated. Being stuck down there in the dark, with mud pressing in on me from all sides, my lungs about to burst, I understood what it felt like to drown for the first time. And before that, Ella had said something we thought was part of a prophecy: the son of Neptune shall drown. I thought I was gonna die down there. And the Curse of Achilles was useless."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Annabeth asked.

Percy shrugged. "I was embarrassed. And you were, you know, dealing with the Mark of Athena. I thought I could handle it on my own. After Phorcys' aquarium and the harbor in Charleston, I thought I was making progress. But then there was Chrysaor and you almost died, and the nymphaeum in Rome and I couldn't breathe underwater, and I was right back to where I started. I was terrified. Even when we dropped into the Cocytus, I was afraid of drowning."

Annabeth squeezed Percy's hand.

"And now here with the arai, how close I came, I . . ." Percy took a deep breath and forced himself to say it. "I'm scared. I'm worried about what could happen if our enemies find my weak spot. I think . . . I think Gaea knows." He told her about his nightmare back at Hermes' shrine. "Besides that, there are still so many things that can hurt me. I don't want to keep wondering what can and can't hurt me. I don't want this curse weighing me down anymore. I know it's risky, but I want to go back to before. If I only have myself to rely on and not some curse . . . I think it'll help me overcome this fear. And if our enemies can hurt me again, maybe they'll stop using the rest of you to get to me. I can protect you."

Annabeth was silent for a bit as she digested his words. He felt nervous, like he'd just bared his soul to her—which he kind of had. But this was Annabeth. If he couldn't trust her to know this, he couldn't trust anyone.

"I'm sorry that you couldn't tell me sooner," Annabeth finally said. "I would have helped you with this."

"I know—"

"But I'm also impressed by you," she continued. "You've thought this through. You make some good points."

Percy bumped Annabeth with his shoulder, trying to lighten the situation. Annabeth chuckled, and then suddenly looked sad.

"You're not the same Seaweed Brain I met all those years ago."

Percy frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No!" Annabeth hurried to say. "No, it's a good thing. I just miss him sometimes."

Percy grinned. "You mean the confused little kid who had no idea what was going on and wouldn't shut up to save his life? I hate to break it to you, but he's still here. When Ares—Mars showed up at Camp Jupiter, I didn't remember him at the time, and still I refused to kneel at first, told him we'd fought before, and kept questioning him. Even when everyone was telling me to shut up. And when Terminus, that Roman statue god, 'patted me down' and asked me if I had anything to declare when we left for our quest, I said 'I declare this is stupid.'"

Annabeth actually laughed that time, and the sound filled Percy with happiness. "Okay, maybe you are still my Seaweed Brain."

"See?" Percy nudged her and waggled his eyebrows. He leaned down and kissed her, a long proper one.

Annabeth sighed into Percy's embrace. "Back to the Curse of Achilles," she said, and Percy's mood dropped a bit. "I . . . think it's a good idea. I support you. And if you need help overcoming this phobia, I've got you there, too."

Percy felt like the weight of the sky had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first time since he began doubting the mark of Achilles, he felt good. He felt like he'd passed a checkpoint. He felt like he had something to look forward to—not just surviving, but living.

"Thank you," he said, and kissed Annabeth again. And even though they were still in Tartarus, he almost felt happy.