CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
PERSEUS          JACKSON

Percy felt homesick for the swamp.

He never thought he'd miss sleeping in a giant's leather bed in a drakon-bone hut in a festering cesspool, but right now that sounded like Elysium.

He and Sylvie and Nemo stumbled along in the darkness. The air was thick and cold, and the ground was alternating patches of pointy rocks and pools of muck. The terrain seemed to be designed so that Percy could never let his guard down. Even walking ten feet was exhausting.

Percy had started out from the giant's hut feeling strong again, his head clear, his belly full of drakon jerky from their packs of provisions. Now his legs were sore. Every muscle ached. He pulled a makeshift tunic of drakon leather over his shredded shirt, but it did nothing to keep out the chill.

His focus narrowed to the ground in front of him. Nothing existed except for that and Sylvie at his side.

Whenever he felt like giving up, plopping himself down, and dying (which was, like, every ten minutes), he reached over and took her hand, just to remember there was warmth in the world. Sylvie was all things good, real, pure, empathetic, nurturing, and loyal that he knew.

Although, Percy couldn't deny that he was worried about her. More worried than his natural level of "very worried." She was moving too slowly, and she would occasionally let out a wheezing breath. Every time Percy questioned her about it, Sylvie shrugged her issues off. She told him she was fine, and it wasn't like Percy could stop all they were doing to investigate the validity of her statement. They were in Tartarus.

It didn't make him feel better that her stomach kept grumbling. He thought about the few grapes she'd eaten back at Hermes's shrine. He wondered if Sylvie had eaten Damasen's drakon meals back in his hut, despite the fact they were meat and she was vegetarian. Sylvie had to set that aside for the sake of starving to death. Right?

Again, Percy didn't know. Sylvie wouldn't tell him.

He did know, however, that her talk with Damasen had only pulled her further into the ocean of despair. Percy knew she tended to latch onto people who showed her hospitality and kindness. As they walked, she frowned in that way that made Percy want to carve out the nearest person's smile and give it to Sylvie to make her feel better. She was convinced they needed Damasen's help, but the giant had turned them down.

Part of Percy was relieved. He was concerned enough about Nemo's staying on their side once they reached the Doors of Death. He wasn't sure he wanted a giant as his wingman, even if that giant could cook a mean bowl of stew.

He wondered what had happened after they left Damasen's hut. He hadn't heard their pursuers in hours, but he could sense their hatred... especially Polybote's. That giant was back there somewhere, following, pushing them deeper into Tartarus.

Percy tried to think of good things to keep his spirits up—his apartment with his mom, the time Sylvie had surprised him there after he'd had a particularly bad week. The lake at Camp Half-Blood, the time he'd kissed Sylvie underwater. He tried to image the two of them at New Rome together, walking through the hills and holding hands. But Camp Jupiter, Camp Half-Blood, and home all seemed like dreams. He felt as if only Tartarus existed. This was the real world—death, darkness, cold, pain. He'd been imagining all the rest.

He shivered. No. That was the pit speaking to him, sapping his resolve. He wondered how Nico had survived down here alone without going insane. That kid had more strength than Percy had given him credit for. The deeper they traveled, the harder it became to stay focused.

"This place is worse than the River Cocytus," he muttered.

"Yes," Nemo called back in agreement. "Much worse, but it means we are close."

Close to what? Percy wondered. But he didn't have the strength to ask. He noticed Marlin the cat had hidden himself in Nemo's chiton again, which reinforced Percy's opinion that the kitten was the smartest one in their group.

Sylvie laced her fingers through his. In the light of their bronze weapons, her face was beautiful. It always was.

"Every piece of my being and soul," she reminded him, like it was their own way of saying, At least we're together. "We'll get through this."

For years their entire dynamic had been Percy calming her down. Even now, he'd been so worried about lifting her spirits, and here she was reassuring him. He had to get a grip on himself.

"Every piece of my being and soul," he echoed. "Easy claps for us."

Sylvie's nose wrinkled adorably. "Okay, you... ruined it."

That was another thing. Sylvie was taking a lot longer to speak, as well as walk. Percy had to add that to his list of reasons he was worried about Sylvie and would address her with the first second they had time to talk about it.

"And... next time?" she continued, before Percy could think about the topic for too long. "I wanna go somewhere different on a date. Maybe a place where I don't have to wear a dress."

They both looked down at her tattered dress that was completely ruined. Not only was it covered in blood, dirt, slime, grime, and every other horrible substance dwelling in Tartarus, but it was torn and burned. Percy understood her newfound dislike of wearing dresses for this reason, but that dress had been tied to bad memories for him far before Tartarus. She was wearing it during their date in Rome, which had been a total disaster.

Regardless, Percy thought she looked beautiful in everything she wore. Right now, in the dark, completely ruined by the horrors of Tartarus, Percy believed Sylvie Duvall was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

"Central Park was nice," he recalled.

She managed a smile. It was months ago when Sylvie surprised him in Manhattan, far before Percy got amnesia. He took it upon himself to make their short time together as memorable as possible. He wanted Sylvie to see New York when it wasn't destroyed by the war against Kronos. Percy had put together an entire picnic date for them, bringing her to Central Park with food, a blanket, and the coral ring he'd retrieved from his father's palace—she'd given him a family ring for his camp necklace, so he only thought it fair to do the same for her.

"I was thinkin' more like New Rome," she said. "But anywhere, as... long as you're there with me."

Fuck. He had been an idiot to think Sylvie couldn't be more perfect. For a moment, Percy actually remembered what it was like to feel happy. He had an amazing girlfriend. They could have a future together.

Then the darkness dispersed with a massive sigh, like the last breath of a dying god. In front of them was a clearing—a barren field of dust and stones. In the center, about twenty yards away, knelt the gruesome figure of a woman, her clothes tattered, her limbs emaciated, her skin leathery green. Her head was bent as she sobbed quietly, and the sound shattered all Percy's hopes.

He realized that life was pointless. His struggles were for nothing. This woman cried as if mourning the death of the entire world.

"We're here," Nemo announced. "Akhlys can help."

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If the sobbing ghoul was Nemo's idea of help, Percy was pretty sure he didn't want it.

Nevertheless, Nemo floated forward. Percy felt obligated to follow. If nothing else, this area was less dark—not exactly light, but with more of a soupy white fog.

"Akhlys!" Nemo called.

The creature raised her head, and Percy's stomach screamed, Help me!

Her body was bad enough. She looked like the victim of a famine—limbs like sticks, swollen knees, knobby elbows, rags for clothes, and broken fingernails and toenails. Dust was caked on her skin and piled on her shoulders as if she'd taken a shower at the bottom of an hourglass.

Her face was utter desolation. Her eyes were sunken and rheumy, pouring out tears. Her nose dripped like a waterfall. Her stringy gray hair was matted to her skull in greasy tufts, and her cheeks were raked and bleeding as if she'd been clawing herself.

Percy thought Finley was hard to keep eye contact with, but this was a whole new level of unsettling. He couldn't stand to meet the lady's eyes, so he lowered his gaze. He inched closer to Sylvie. He tried to remember why they were here, but the sense of despair made it difficult to think. The goddess radiated pure pain.

"Nemo," Percy said, "we shouldn't have come here."

From somewhere inside Nemo's chiton, the skeleton kitten mewled in agreement.

The Titaness shifted and winced as if Marlin was clawing her armpit. "Akhlys controls the Death Mist," she insisted. "She can hide you."

"Hide them?" Akhlys made a gurgling sound. She was either laughing or choking to death. "Why would I do that?"

"They must reach the Doors of Death," Nemo said. "To return to the mortal world."

"Impossible!" Akhlys said. "The armies of Tartarus will find you. They will kill you."

Sylvie turned the blade of her dagger, which Percy had to admit made her look pretty intimidating and hot. "So... you're sayin' your Death Mist is useless, then?"

The goddess bared her broken yellow teeth. "Useless? Who are you?"

"Nice to meet you, I'm Sylvie." She sounded like she was introducing herself to a new friend in school, though how she did it, Percy didn't know. "And I didn't walk—halfway across Tartarus to be told what's impossible by... pardon me, who are you again? A minor goddess?"

The dust quivered at their feet. Fog swirled around them with a sound like agonized wailing.

"Minor goddess?" Akhyls's gnarled fingernails dug into the ground. "I was old before the Titans were born, you ignorant girl. I was old when Gaea first woke. I am Misery, and misery is eternal. Existence is misery. I was born of the eldest ones—of Chaos and Night. I was—"

"Right, yeah, that's lovely," Sylvie said. "Sadness and misery... But you still don't have enough... power to hide two demigods with your—mist of death, or whatever."

Percy cleared his throat. "Uh, Sylv—"

She flashed him a warning look: Work with me. He realized how terrified she was, and he felt horrible for forgetting until now what Sylvie's fatal flaw was timidity. Of course, she was terrified. She was always terrified. But right now, she had no choice. This was their best shot at stirring the goddess into action.

"I mean... Sylvie is right!" Percy volunteered. "Nemo brought us all this way because she thought you could help. But I guess you're too busy whining and crying. I can't blame you. I would too, if I looked like you."

Akhlys wailed and glared at the Titan. "Why did you inflict these annoying children on me?"

Nemo made a guttural sound of offended protest. "Well, I thought—"

"The Death Mist is not for helping!" Akhlys shrieked. "It shrouds mortals in misery as their souls pass into the Underworld. It is the very breath of Tartarus, of death, of despair!"

"Awesome," Percy said. "Could we get two orders of that to go?"

Akhlys hissed. "Ask me for a more sensible gift. I am also the goddess of poisons. I could give you death—thousands of ways to die less painful than the one you have chosen by marching into the heart of the pit."

Around the goddess, flowers bloomed in the dust—dark purple, orange, and red blossoms that smelled sickly sweet. Percy's head swam. Sylvie almost looked entranced.

"Nightshade," Akhlys offered. "Hemlock. Belladonna, henbane, or strychnine. I can dissolve your innards, boil your blood."

"That's very nice of you," Percy said. "But I've had enough poison for one trip. Now, can you hide us in your Death Mist, or not?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Sylvie said.

The goddess's eyes narrowed. "Fun?"

"Sure," Sylvie promised. "If we fail, think of how great it... will be for you, gloatin' over our spirits when... we die in agony. You'll get to say 'I told you so' for eternity."

"Or, if we succeed," Percy added, "think of all the suffering you'll bring to the monsters down here. We intend to seal the Doors of Death. That's going to cause a lot of wailing and moaning."

Akhlys considered. "I enjoy suffering. Wailing is also good."

"Then it's settled," Percy said. "Make us invisible."

Akhlys struggled to her feet. "It is not so simple," the goddess said. "The Death Mist comes at the moment you are closest to your end. Your eyes will be clouded only then. The world will fade."

Percy's mouth felt dry. "Okay. But... we'll be shrouded from the monsters?"

"Oh, yes," Akhlys said. "If you survive the process, you will be able to pass unnoticed among the armies of Tartarus. It is hopeless, of course, but if you are determined, then come. I will show you the way."

"The way to where, exactly?" Sylvie asked.

The goddess was already shuffling into the gloom.

Percy turned to look at Nemo, but the Titaness was gone. How does a ten-foot-tall misty lady with a very loud kitten disappear?

"Hey!" Percy yelled to Akhlys. "Where's our friend?"

"She cannot take this path," the goddess called back. "She is not moral. Come, little fools. Come experience the Death Mist."

Sylvie wheezed in a rattling breath that certified the theory in Percy's brain that she was hiding an injury from him. She grabbed his hand. "Well... how bad can it be?"

The question was so ridiculous Percy laughed, even though it hurt his lungs. "Yeah. Next date, though—dinner in New Rome."

They followed the goddess's dusty footprints through the poison flowers, deeper into the fog.

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Percy missed Nemo.

He'd gotten used to having the Titaness on his side, lighting their way with her misty aura and her fearsome war windshield wiper.

Now their only guide was an emaciated corpse lady with serious self-esteem issues.

As they struggled across the dusty plain, the fog became so thick that Percy had to resist the urge to swat it away with his hands. The only reason he was able to follow Akhlys's path was because poisonous plants sprang up wherever she walked.

If they were still on the body of Tartarus, Percy figured they must be on the bottom of his foot—a rough, calloused expanse where only the most disgusting plant life grew.

Finally they arrived at the end of the big toe. At least that's what it looked like to Percy. The fog dissipated, and they found themselves on a peninsula that jutted out over a pitch-black void.

"Here we are." Akhlys turned and leered at them. Blood from her cheeks dripped on her dress. Her sickly eyes looked moist and swollen but somehow excited. Can Misery look excited?

"Uh... great." Percy asked, "Where is here?"

"The verge of final death," Akhlys said. "Where Night meets the void below Tartarus."

With much effort, Sylvie inched forward and peered over the cliff. "I thought there was nothing below Tartarus."

"Oh, certainly there is..." Akhlys coughed. "Even Tartarus had to rise from somewhere. This is the edge of the earliest darkness, which was my mother. Below lies the realm of Chaos, my father. Here, you are closer to nothingness than any mortal has ever been. Can you not feel it?"

Percy knew what she meant. The void seemed to be pulling at him, leaching the breath from his lungs and the oxygen from his blood. He looked at Sylvie and saw that her lips were tinged blue. That was the last straw.

"We can't stay here," he said.

"No, indeed!" Akhlys said. "Don't you feel the Death Mist? Even now, you pass between. Look!"

White smoke gathered around Percy's feet. As it coiled up his legs, he realized that smoke wasn't surrounding him. It was coming from him, as if he were Nemo. Except, his whole body was dissolving. He held up his hand and found they were fuzzy and indistinct. He couldn't even tell how many fingers he had. Hopefully still ten.

He turned to Sylvie and stifled a yelp. "You're—uh—"

He couldn't say it. She looked dead.

Her skin was sallow, her eye sockets were dark and sunken, and her face scar seemed to tear down her skin. Her beautiful hair had died into a skein of dead grass. She looked like she'd been stuck in a cool, dark mausoleum for decades, slowly withering into a desiccated husk. When she turned to look at him, her features momentarily blurred into mist.

Percy's blood moved like sap in his veins.

For years, he had worried about Sylvie dying. When you were a demigod, that went with the territory. Most half-bloods didn't live long. You always knew that the next monster you fought could be your last. But seeing Sylvie like this was too painful. He'd rather stand in the River Phlegethon, or get attacked by arai, or be trampled by giants.

"Oh, gods," Sylvie choked. "Perce, you look like..."

Percy studied his arms. All he saw were blobs of white mist, but he guessed that to Sylvie he looked like a corpse. He took a few steps, though it was difficult. His body felt insubstantial, like he was made of helium and cotton candy.

"I've looked better," he decided. "I can't move very well. But I'm alright."

Akhlys clucked. "Oh, you're definitely not alright."

Percy frowned. "But we'll pass unseen now? We can get to the Doors of Death?"

"Well, perhaps you could," the goddess said, "if you lived that long, which you won't."

Akhlys spread her gnarled fingers. More plants bloomed along the edge of the pit—hemlock, nightshade, and oleander spreading toward Percy's feet like a deadly carpet. "The Death Mist is not simply a disguise, you see. It is a state of being. I could not bring you this gift unless death followed—true death."

"It's a trap," Sylvie wheezed.

The goddess cackled. "Didn't you expect me to betray you?"

"Yes," Sylvie and Percy said together.

"Well, then, it was hardly a trap! More of an inevitability. Misery is inevitable. Pain is—"

"Yeah, yeah," Percy growled. "Let's get to the fighting."

He drew Riptide, but the blade was made of smoke. When he slashed at Akhlys, the sword just floated across her like a gentle breeze.

The goddess's ruined mouth split into a grin. "Did I forget to mention? You are only mist now—a shadow before death. Perhaps, if you had time, you could learn to control your new form. But you do not have time. Since you cannot touch me, I fear any fight with Misery will be quite one-sided."

Her fingernails grew into talons. Her jaw unhinged, and her yellow teeth elongated into fangs.

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Akhlys lunged at Percy, and for a split second he thought: Well, hey, I'm just smoke. She can't touch me, right?

He imagined the Fates up in Olympus, laughing at his wishful thinking: LMFAO, YOU THOUGHT!

The goddess's claws raked across his chest and stung like boiling water.

Percy stumbled backward, but he wasn't used to being smoky. His legs moved too slowly. His arms felt like tissue paper. In desperation, he threw his backpack at her, thinking maybe it would turn solid when it left his hand, but no such luck. It fell with a soft thud.

Akhlys snarled, crouching to spring. She would have bitten Percy's face off if Sylvie hadn't screamed, "HEY!"

Akhlys wasn't the only one who could manipulate plants. All the poisonous vegetation spreading towards Percy's feet started receding back toward Akhlys. When Percy looked, he saw it was because of Sylvie's doing.

He'd gotten used to seeing Sylvie use her powers. He was accustomed to the leafy green glow of her eyes. But she'd never seen her do it when she looked undead, and he'd certainly never seen this. Her right eye was glowing green as it always did, but her facial scar was doing just the same. Her left eye, however, was glowing the same white misty color of Nemo's eye. The product of absorbing the Titaness's powers, Percy assumed.

Akhlys lashed out at Sylvie, but Sylvie was better moving than Percy. She threw her hands to the side, which sequentially tugged the plants underneath Akhlys's feet. Akhlys fell to the ground with a thud, wailing.

She lunged straight for Sylvie again, but Sylvie dodged. Her eyes and scar glowed brighter. Percy hadn't even known she could manipulate the poisonous plants, but she was. She conjured vines that started wrapping around Akhlys's figure and gluing the miserable goddess in place.

"And stay down," Sylvie muttered.

Akhlys screeched—either because she was suffocating or feeling the effects of the poison. Percy was too stunned to really figure it out. He stared at corpse Sylvie, shrouded in must but using her powers as confidently as ever. Then it occurred to him why she was doing this: to buy them time. Which meant Percy needed to help.

He thought furiously, trying to come up with a way to defeat Misery. How could he fight when he couldn't touch anything?

Sylvie was cut off from using her powers by sudden, painful coughs. Something in her seemed to break. She doubled over, her focus broke, and maybe something inside of her was broken too. As she wrapped her arms around her torso, Percy heard her breaths come out short and agonized.

But it wasn't because of Akhlys. And, now, Akhlys was free from her plant-made binding. She grabbed Sylvie's wrist and pulled her hard, sending her sprawling.

Before the goddess could pounce, Percy advanced, yelling and waving his sword. He still felt about as solid as a Kleenex, but his anger seemed to help him move faster.

"Hey, Happy!" he yelled.

Akhlys spun, dropping Sylvie's arm. "Happy?" she demanded.

"Yeah!" He ducked as she swiped at his head. "You're fucking cheerful!"

"Arggh!" She lunged again, but she was off balance. Percy sidstepped and backed away, leading the goddess father from Sylvie.

"Pleasant!" he called. "Delightful!"

The goddess snarled and winced. She stumbled after Percy. Each compliment seemed to hit her like sand in the face.

"I will kill you slowly!" she growled, her eyes and nose watering, blood dripping from her cheeks. "I will cut you into pieces as a sacrifice to Night!"

Sylvie was in too much pain to even struggle to her feet. That didn't mean she wasn't trying, though. She was trying to push past her anguish and make it to Percy and Akhlys, no doubt wishing she was taking the brunt of the force rather than him.

Too bad for her. He would take the brunt of the force for Sylvie a million times over if it meant she was out of harm's way.

"Cuddly!" Percy yelled. "Fuzzy, warm, and huggable!"

Akhlys made a growling, choking noise, like a cat having a seizure.

"A slow death!" she screamed. "A death from a thousand poisons!"

All around her, the poisonous plants Sylvie previously manipulated grew and burst like overfilled balloons. Green-and-white sap (like Sylvie's glowing eyes) trickled out, collected into pools, and began flowing across the ground toward Percy. The sweet-smelling fumes made his head feel wobbly.

"Perce!" Sylvie's voice sounded hoarse and far away. She was too weak to do anything more than yell—and she could barely even do that. "Uh, hey, Miss—Wonderful! Cheerful!" She was cut off by shattered coughs that put her in more pain. "Over here!"

But the goddess of misery was now fixated on Percy. He tried to retreat again. Unfortunately the poison ichor was flowing all around him now, making the ground steam and the air burn. Percy found himself stuck on an island of dust not much bigger than a shield. A few yards away, his backpack smoked and dissolved into a puddle of goo. Percy had nowhere to go.

He fell to one knee. He wanted to tell Sylvie to run, but she couldn't speak. His throat was as dry as dead leaves.

He wished there were water in Tartarus—some nice pool he could jump into to heal himself, or maybe a river he could control. He'd even settle for a bottle of Evian.

"You will feed the eternal darkness," Akhlys said. "You will die in the arms of Night!"

He was dimly aware of Sylvie screaming in both worry and pain, trying to manipulate the plants again, but her body was too battered to do so. The white-green poison kept pooling, little streams trickling from the plants as the venomous lake around him got wider and wider.

Lake, he thought. Streams. Water.

Probably it was just his brain getting fried from poison fumes, but he croaked out a laugh. Poison was liquid. If it moved like water, it must be partially water.

He remembered Sylvie being able to create and manipulate poison despite her godly mother having no connection to the toxin. He figured, if she could find a way around the system of her powers, then why shouldn't he be able to do that too?

It was a crazy idea, but Tartarus had its own rules. Fire was drinkable. The ground was the body of a dark god. The air was acid. Demigods could be turned into smoky corpses.

So why not try? He had nothing left to lose.

He glared at the poison flood encroaching from all sides. He concentrated so hard that something inside him cracked—as if a crystal ball shattered in his stomach.

Warmth flowed through him. The poison tide stopped.

The fumes blew away from him—back toward the goddess. The lake of poison rolled toward her in tiny waves and rivulets.

Akhlys shrieked. "What is this?"

"Poison," Percy said. "That's your specialty, right?"

He stood, his anger growing hotter in his gut. As the flood of venom rolled toward the goddess, the fumes began to make her cough. Her eyes watered even more.

Oh, good, Percy thought. More water.

Percy imagined her nose and throat filling with her own tears.

Akhlys gagged. "I—" The tide of venom reached her feet, sizzling like droplets on a hot iron. She wailed and stumbled back.

"Percy!" Sylvie called. "It's okay. You can stop."

He didn't want to stop. He wanted to choke the goddess. He wanted to watch her drown in her own poison. He wanted to see just how much misery Misery could take.

"Please," she exhaled raggedly.

Almost immediately, Percy looked back at her. She'd finally managed to stand up and had retreated to the edge of the cliff, even though the poison wasn't after her. She was slightly bent over, an arm around her waist. Her face was still pale and corpse-like, but her eyes weren't the same as always.

Sylvie was here, and she was hurt, and just because she said please, Percy did as she asked. He stopped. Just like that. Because Percy would do anything for Sylvie, and one simple word out of her mouth had Percy's anger fading.

He turned to the goddess. He willed the poison to recede, creating a small path of retreat along the edge of the cliff.

"Leave!" he bellowed.

For an emaciated ghoul, Akhlys could run pretty fast when she wanted to. She scrambled along the path, fell on her face, and got up again, wailing as she sped into the dark.

As soon as she was gone, the pools of poison evaporated. The plants withered to dust and blew away.

Sylvie stumbled toward him. She looked like a corpse wreathed in smoke, but she felt solid enough when she gripped his arms. She stared at him, like she couldn't remember if what just happened was a trick of her mind or not.

She heaved, "Did you—?"

"Yeah," panted Percy. "Did you...?"

"Yeah," Sylvie answered. She knew what Percy had been asking—she'd manipulated poison just as he did, though in completely different ways. They'd found a particularly dark power that they both shared. "But I think some things aren't meant to be controlled."

His whole body tingled with power, but the anger was subsiding. The broken glass inside him was beginning to smooth at the edges.

"You're right," he said. "Yeah, okay."

"We have to get away from this cliff," Sylvie said. "If Akhlys brought us here as some kind of sacrifice..."

Percy tried to think. He was getting used to moving with the Death Mist around him. He felt more solid, more like himself. But his mind still felt stuffed with cotton. There was only one thing he could really focus on.

"Your stomach," he mentioned. "What's wrong? What happened to it?"

Sylvie blinked up at him. It almost seemed like she tried to straighten up at the accusation, but was in too much pain to even hide it. She just ended up wincing again.

"It's nothin'," she deflected. "Come on, we need to—"

"Tell me what happened, Sylvie," Percy said, his voice stern.

Sylvie had to pause for a breath, but he could hear how her body rattled at the action. He frowned just as she did.

"The arai," she said. "They broke... my ribs. You didn't remember, and I didn't think it was important. I'm fine."

He blinked, trying to process. The arai. That was... a long time ago. "You didn't think it was important?" he repeated, his voice quieter now, but no less strained.

Sylvie wavered, her expression somewhere between defiance and exhaustion. She was pale—more so than he'd noticed before—and her breathing had an uneven, gasping sound that made his chest ache just to hear.

"I didn't want to worry you," she said, her voice thin, as if even speaking cost her too much.

Percy's stomach churned. He felt like someone had yanked the ocean floor out from under him. She had been in pain this whole time, pushing herself for his sake, and he hadn't even realized. Worse, it was his fault. He'd forgotten.

The memory came rushing back—the arai's curses, the weight of guilt crushing him, the chaos of the battle—but Sylvie's injury had been lost in the haze.

"You didn't think it was important?" he said again, louder this time, his voice edged with frustration.

Sylvie flinched, and he immediately hated himself for it. She tried to square her shoulders, to look steady despite the way her body was clearly failing her, but the act fell apart when another cough racked her frame.

Percy stepped closer instinctively, his hands twitching at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to hold her steady, but he was afraid he'd only hurt her more.

"I'm fine," Sylvie said weakly, though her voice wavered as she pressed an arm tighter around her ribs.

"You're not fine!" Percy snapped. The words came out sharper than he intended, and Sylvie winced again. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Sylvie... You could've asked Damasen to heal your ribs. You could've told me. And you're not eating either, and you keep putting yourself in danger on purpose, and—Fuck. You have to stop this. Whatever it is. I don't know what it is. But you should've told me."

She looked away, the faintest hint of shame crossing her face. "You had enough to worry about."

"That's not—" Percy stopped himself, his hands clenching into fists.

The heat of anger bubbled again under his skin, but he couldn't tell if this time it was directed at her or himself. She shouldn't be hiding this. He should've noticed. They shouldn't be tense against each other.

His jaw tightened. "We're not doing it like this, okay? Your self-neglect will get us nowhere. Let me look out for you."

Sylvie glanced up at him, her expression softening despite her pain. She opened her mouth to respond, but her breath caught on another sharp cough. Percy moved without thinking, catching her misted shoulders as she doubled over. Her skin felt more solid under his hands now, but he could still feel how fragile she was.

"Easy," he said, lowering his voice. "Don't push yourself."

She straightened slowly, her breaths shallow and ragged. "I'll be fine," she murmured again, though it sounded like more of a plea than a statement.

Percy swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to argue, to tell her she didn't have to downplay her pain for him, but they didn't have time. She was right about before: they had to get away from this cliff.

He forced himself to focus, shoving his guilt and agitation to the back of his mind—for now. "We'll talk about this later," he said firmly, his eyes locking with hers. "But first, we're getting out of here. Together."

Sylvie hesitated, then nodded.

"Akhlys said something about feeding us to the night," he remembered. "What was that about?"

The temperature dropped. The abyss before them seemed to exhale.

Percy looped an arm around Sylvie and backed them away from the edge as a presence emerged from the void—a form so vast and shadowy, he felt like he understood the concept of dark for the first time.

"I imagine," said the darkness, in a feminine voice as soft as coffin lining, "that she meant Night, with a capital N. After all, I am only one."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

BAILEY YAPS...

Prime Sylvie with no broken ribs who wasn't starving herself would've ran circles around Akhlys I'm just saying

We got a couple of sometimes-dark poison benders over here folks

Like Percy "Poison. That's your specialty, right?" Jackson and Sylvie "Don't recognize your own game?" Duvall that's my power couple right there

Well. Heh. The power couple isn't really power coupling right now. I don't know why Sylvie's forcibly harming herself more than she needs to be harmed guys DON'T ask me. She has a crazy mind and that is out of my hands.