CHAPTER 9

₊˚࿐࿔ 𖥧‧₊⚘ ❀༉. 𓏲｡

They ended up stealing Blackbeard's pirate ship, because why the fuck not?

There was an actual reason, though—Percy had chosen it for sailing and Sylvie and Annabeth didn't have time to protest. They hopped on the ship, mostly believing that they were fucked, but to their surprise Percy made a pretty good pirate.

The Queen Anne's Revenge responded to his every command. He knew which ropes to hoist, which sails to rise, which direction to steer. The group of three plowed through the waves—to quote Percy—pretty fucking fast for a sailing ship.

They sailed through the night.

Percy told Sylvie and Annabeth that he would be fine by himself and made them try to get some rest below deck. The moment Annabeth lied down in her hammock, she was out like a light (which, Sylvie didn't blame her—Annabeth had saved their collective asses today). However, sleep did not find Sylvie as easily.

Sylvie didn't really remember the images that plagued her mind this time, but she did know it kept her up. All she could recall were voices and quick flashes of five people, and maybe even mentions of the two decisions that the hero would be making in the Great Prophecy. When Sylvie gasped awake, there was a bone-chilling feeling crawling in her gut.

After that, Sylvie couldn't fall asleep again. She had only been sleeping for around an hour, and she was pretty sure that was the best it was gonna get for her tonight. Sylvie let out an exhausted exhale as she got up from her hammock—not tiresome exhaustion, but a bone-deep exhaustion that never went away; it was a product of so many years living her life like this, not really living at all.

Sylvie came up from the deck, but Percy didn't seem to notice. That didn't surprise Sylvie, because he never really noticed her.

He was just watching the horizon of the sea—a breeze flying through his messy, black hair and the moon bathing him in an otherworldly glow. Sylvie remembered now why she had been so enamored by him from the very first day. Percy had this natural ability to look like he belonged—like he didn't even have to prove himself because he was the person everyone wanted to prove themselves to. Right now, manning the Queen Anne's Revenge, he was in his element. You could've told Sylvie that he owned the sea beneath their ship, and she would've believed you. The whole ordeal had Sylvie paralyzed, enraptured in a whole different kind of sea—a sea that came in the form of Percy Jackson.

Gods almighty, she might need a lobotomy.

Sylvie utilized the fact Percy hadn't seen her yet. She let herself watch him for a few more moments, before she made her presence known. It wasn't every day that you were sailing on a pirate ship with the boy you'd been yearning for since May 29th of last year—and there was no threat currently attacking them, which was definitely a bonus. Sylvie would only be his quest-mate for so long before it all ended, and she'd go back to being that hazardous Demeter kid no one tried befriending.

In the water, there were Nereids, the glowing lady spirits of the sea. Sylvie saw Percy try to wave at them, but they disappeared into the depths. It hit Sylvie then that she was smiling, maybe had been the whole time.

"Yikes," Sylvie finally announced her presence. "Harsh."

Percy whipped his head around in fear, like he was on edge. But then his body deflated at the sight of Sylvie, relaxing when he realized it was just her. Just incapable, non-threatening Sylvie.

"How long have you been out here?" he calmed his breathing.

Sylvie shrugged as she walked over to where Percy was, her shoulder next to his. "I just came up," she lied.

"Couldn't fall asleep?" Percy asked.

"More like, couldn't stay asleep."

Percy sent her a sorry grimace—he was a demigod too, and he much understood the tormenting visions that haunted them at night. Once you were up, you were up.

Silence settled between them. The quiet tended to be Sylvie's demon—rare yet harrowing when present. It was a place where her rampant thoughts ran even more wild, and the last thing Sylvie Duvall needed was to be more anxious. She was a moment away from speaking up to break the silence when—

"I'm sorry again," Percy blurted. "By the way."

Sylvie looked at him funny, confusion painting her face. She glanced behind herself on either side, because she couldn't see why he was saying that to her. Was he sorry for forcing her onto this quest? Was it because he realized just how much of a screw up she was, and regretted letting her tag along?

But then, he clarified, "On Circe's Island. I—I messed up so bad. If it wasn't for Annabeth and the vitamins, I'd still be a fucking guinea pig. It's... so embarrassing."

Sylvie probably shouldn't have laughed at Percy for confessing a deep regret of his, but it bubbled out of her anyways. "Percy, seriously? Stop apologizing. You think I have room to talk about messing up? Being embarrassing? That's my default."

"No, it's not?" Percy argued, genuinely confused.

Sylvie raised an unamused eyebrow—there was no way he wasn't just trying to be nice. She snorted humorlessly, "All I'm trying to say, is... Trust the expert: we all fuck up. Sometimes it's our fault, sometimes it isn't, but it still always happens. Who cares if you were a guinea pig for, what, two hours? You guys didn't give me crap for setting the Hydra off on all our asses... or, maybe you did, but at least not to my face—"

"We didn't," Percy protested adamantly. "Give you crap, I mean. We didn't..."

Care. He trailed off as he realized Sylvie had proven his point. Percy was going to say We didn't care.

Sylvie tried to hide a smug grin. "Exactly." Then, "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I'm the quest's resident screw up. So... sorry."

She'd said it all to lighten the mood, to try and make Percy feel better about himself. Sylvie couldn't stand the thought of him being upset with himself just for—what?—being a natural human, she supposed. There was something instinctive that craved to make him smile again—that troublemaker smirk of his.

Unfortunately, Percy did not seem all that too overjoyed by this.

"Well if I can't be sorry, then you can't be either," he stated, very offended.

"Yeah?" Sylvie huffed. "Well, you're not a screw up—"

"Would you stop calling yourself that?" Percy struggled, looking frustrated. Sylvie watched him in confusion, and she was very lucky it was dark enough that he couldn't see her flushed face (the makeup was long gone by now). He shook his head, glaring about something. "Sylvie, you're not—I—I thought we already told you Luke was wrong about what he said."

Gods, did everything have to involve Luke? Could Sylvie go one conversation without somebody bringing him up? Why couldn't it be easy? The facts were simple: Sylvie was a mistake. She didn't belong. The only thing about this she could tie Luke to was being right about it all.

"It's not just about Luke," Sylvie told him, suddenly feeling very defensive. "This isn't about Luke. It's about me. I've always been this way. You just haven't been around to see."

Percy said, "There's nothing wrong with the way you are, I don't know why you keep saying that like there is."

Any other moment, hearing this from Percy Jackson would've had Sylvie toppling over where she stood. Right now, though, there was something familiar closing Sylvie from herself—from what she could be, could have. Fear. Anxiety. Timidity. These three fundamental beings of Sylvie Duvall wrapped around her neck, threatened to strangle her like a vine.

"Dude, I'm an utter failure of a human. Literally," Sylvie tried to tell him, through a sarcastic smile that hid all the ugly insecurities that lay beneath. Why couldn't he see the point?

"That's not true."

Suddenly, Sylvie let out a humored scoff. "You of all people should know that it is, Fishstick."

"'Me of all people?'" he quoted in confusion. "Why?"

"You don't remember?" Sylvie asked, wondering if she was that unimportant.

"Remember what?"

Yeah, okay, she was that unimportant.

Sylvie sighed to herself, letting her eyes close for a moment. When they were back on him, she reluctantly explained, "It was when you first arrived at camp, and Chiron was giving you a tour. You passed me working on our crops, and..."

She trailed off. It was too embarrassing for Sylvie to finish the rest—her face flushed again when the realization hit Percy's features. Sylvie didn't know if it was worse when he did or didn't remember.

"Oh," he nodded. "That."

"Yeah. That."

Percy spluttered, like his world was being flipped off his axis. He stammered, "I thought you were just—well—picking on me!"

"I know," Sylvie exhaled with a little frown. "And I've always felt really guilty about that, but then I figured it's less embarrassing for me if it seemed like I purposely did it. Everyone's just so used to me causing all these accidents, I... I dunno. I'm sorry. It just felt good to fit in, for once."

If even for a second, a voice whispered in her ear. Damned wind, or something.

Then Percy declared, "I don't get it," which caught Sylvie completely off guard. She'd just basically poured her soul out to him and all she got was I don't get it. "I get that it was an accident you attacked me and all, but you still did it. You're still capable of doing that. What you can do—it doesn't have to be a big deal."

Gods, he sounded just like Eurydice right now. Everything was a big deal to Sylvie, she could never get her brain to calm down enough to think otherwise. More unwarranted images were popping into her head—twirling vines and a leafy-green glow, a little girl screaming Nobody knows who you are! every moment of her life. You don't even know who you are. Nobody will ever know who you are. It was fear. Unadulterated, pure fear. A fear that stood above the rest and pulled her under to drown. The concepts of being unknown—of being forgotten—brought Sylvie to the brink of all out panic.

But she looked at Percy. Then, she breathed. A fear, momentarily being calmed.

"You know when you first come to camp and everyone tries helping you find what you're even good at?" she asked suddenly, conversationally. "Yeah, I still feel like I'm at that stage of life. All the time."

Percy shook his head, like he didn't believe her. "I don't know, Applejack. That's not what I've seen."

"What have you seen?" Sylvie asked desperately. Know me, she pleaded internally. Gods, please, someone know me.

But Percy didn't seem to have an answer for her. No one seemed to have an answer for her. She was Silviana, forgotten by her loved ones and unknown by everyone else.

Things were getting awkward, and even though Sylvie was quite used to awkward, she couldn't bear the thought of it right now. Percy's mouth hung open, like he was going to say something, but couldn't decide what. Sylvie didn't know why it coated her in humiliation; it made her want to cower away like she always did.

Though, there was another force preventing her from doing so—the urge to be standing next to Percy was too strong. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

"Um—what's New York like?" she blurted randomly, but her internal dialogue was something on the lines of Gods, shut the hell up. Shut the hell up. Go back to sleep. Shut the hell up.

The question calmed Percy down completely, washing over him like a wave. If you hadn't been looking at him closely, you would've missed the small smile that snuck onto his features. Sylvie was, so she did.

"I love it," he let out in a puff of air. Sylvie knew then that he really had a home there. "It has so much... life. Like, even the buildings are always making noise. Everything's constantly moving. I could walk down Broadway and see two idiot businessmen fighting each other, then look to my other side and see everyone coming together to support a street artist. There's just so much going on there, you know? I can never get bored, and—trust me—I get bored a lot. So... it's nice."

Percy had been staring off into the sea as he spoke, nodding with a warm smile gracing his face. Sylvie was unable to look away from him. When he felt Sylvie's glued gaze, he turned his head over to meet her stare—like he'd just remembered she was here. Percy saw Sylvie, who was smiling too, and his face went red. Sylvie thought it was a nice sight.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed with his own rambling. "Uh—plus my mom is there," Percy looked away from Sylvie, finishing. "And I love my mom."

Sylvie didn't think she could grin wider at the whole ordeal, but she did. She honestly couldn't describe what she felt right now, listening to Percy talk about his home. This wasn't the usual, overwhelming feeling that took her over whenever Sylvie was around him. This was just... something pure, maybe. Plain fondness for the boy next to her. It was simple. Calming.

"That does sound nice," she told him, voice soft. "And having your mom like that, too. That's... really nice, Percy."

There was something in her tone that had him unable to shy away this time. "Sure—Yeah," Percy muttered. He felt obliged to ask, "You, uh, said you lived in Louisiana, right? On a farm?"

"Yeah," Sylvie blinked, shocked, "how'd you...?"

How'd you remember that? She'd mentioned each fact only once, on two, separate occasions. Neither of them was directly to Percy.

Percy shrugged nonchalantly. Then, "What's the country like?"

Sylvie still wasn't over Percy remembering any of that, but Percy was looking expectantly at her, and Sylvie had to at least pretend she wasn't a loser. She turned her gaze away from Percy for the first time their whole interaction, trying to think.

"Believe it or not, there's so much life, there, too," Sylvie started. She let the fields of wildflowers claim her thoughts, breathed in the ghostly scent of austral air. "I mean, I basically live around no one, but—it's not about the people."

Percy was looking at her curiously, so much so that Sylvie found herself continuing.

"I guess it's hard to explain," Sylvie's face felt hot as she struggled through her sentence. Now she understood why Percy had gotten so bashful. It was an overwhelming thing, trying to talk about yourself because someone was listening. "We have, like, every farm animal you could possibly imagine. When I'm not feeding the pigs, I'm collecting eggs for the chickens, or I'm milking the cows, or doing something. Then there are just these huge fields of crops and flowers," she smiled as she got lost in her rambling, growing comfortable, "and sometimes I just get so caught up that I have to stand in them and stare... Like, I really live here, you know?"

Sylvie should stop. She probably very well should stop—Percy hadn't spoken this much about Manhattan. What the hell was she doing going on about Albany? Percy didn't care. She knew that.

And yet—

"It feels like even the stars are alive," Sylvie continued. "I could be having the worst day of my life, but then I'll just go outside and stare at the stars. There's so many, and they're so bright, and I'm like... They make me feel so small, but everyone is that way compared to the sky. I'm not the only one, for once," she grinned. "Oh! And a little bit's way into the trees, there's this creek, and I—"

Sylvie realized what she was doing. She wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back up. Oh, my gods. Sylvie was genuinely done for—this was the worst, possible scenario that could ever come out of speaking to Percy. She'd just really rambled for so long like that? Why didn't he stop her? Now she was genuinely contemplating jumping off the ship to drown.

"I'm sorry," Sylvie groaned, shaking her head in self-hatred. She didn't even want to see the judgmental expression that was probably on Percy's features. "Shit. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry. Gods, sorry, sometimes I just don't know when to shut up—"

"That sounds beautiful," Percy said suddenly.

Sylvie blinked. Her heart betrayed her mind, daring to meet Percy's gaze once again. He could definitely see Sylvie's embarrassed flush now, but she couldn't help from staring at him in shock. She searched his features, but she saw absolutely no trace of judgment or sarcasm.

Percy meant it.

"Um," Sylvie cleared her throat, trying to act totally casual. "Well, so does New York. So..."

He snorted, shoulders jolting a little. "Now, I didn't say that. The city has far too many imperfections."

Sylvie her head tilted at him curiously, like she was genuinely confused. To her, anything was beautiful if Percy Jackson was associated with it. It was a foreign concept for Sylvie to be the one seeing something he didn't.

"Isn't that what makes it more beautiful?" she asked.

Percy had to take a few moments to even fully digest what Sylvie had asked, something about it too profound in its entirety. When Percy gazed at Sylvie next, it was as if he had come to a realization of sorts; something had dawned on him. Like he was seeing Sylvie now.

She knew it was just vanity and false hope for thinking it all, because what came out of Percy's mouth next wasn't at all related to what she assumed.

"You know, Applejack," Percy's eyes shined in a way that even the sun couldn't replicate, "you're really down to earth."

Sylvie stilled completely. She registered the budding smirk on Percy's face, and for a second, honestly believed she hated him a little bit.

Percy nudged her arm with his. "Get it? 'Cause you're a Demeter kid?"

She just stared at him, incredulous. He was such a dork. Maybe Sylvie did hate him—or, maybe she hated the fact she was trying so hard not to fully beam his way. Sylvie scoffed instead, shaking her head.

"Oh, come on!" Percy pleaded, terribly pleased with himself. "That was funny!"

"You're so stupid," protested Sylvie, looking away. She'd never wanted to forever stay in one moment like this before.

"You're totally smiling."

"I'm not."

But there was no mistaking it. Sylvie was grinning like an idiot.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Annabeth came up on deck. They were just passing a smoke volcano island. The sea bubbled and steamed around the shore.

"One of the forges of Hephaestus," Annabeth said. "Where he makes his metal monsters."

"Like the bronze bulls?" Sylvie asked.

She nodded. "Go around, Percy. Far around."

Percy didn't need to be told twice. They steered clear of the island, and soon it was just a red patch of haze behind them.

Suddenly Percy was looking at Annabeth as he spoke, "The reason you hate Cyclops so much... the story about how Thalia really died. What happened?"

It was hard to read Annabeth's expression.

"I guess you deserve to know," she said finally. "Both of you. The night Grover was escorting us to camp, he got confused, took some wrong turns. The worst wrong turn was into a Cyclops's lair in Brooklyn."

"They've got Cyclopes in Brooklyn?" Percy asked.

Sylvie sighed. "I doubt that's the point, Fishstick."

Percy shrugged defensively.

"This Cyclops," Annabeth ignored them, "he tricked us. He managed to split us up inside this maze of corridors in an old house in Flatbush. And he could sound like anyone. Just the way Tyson did aboard the Princess Andromeda. He lured us, one at a time. Thalia thought she was running to save Luke. Luke thought he heard me scream for help. And me... I was alone in the dark. I was seven years old. I couldn't even find the exit."

She brushed a dangling braid out of her face.

"I remember finding the main room. There were bones all over the floor. And there were Thalia and Luke and Grover, tied up and gagged, hanging from the ceiling like smoked hams. The Cyclops was starting a fire in the middle of the floor. I drew my knife, but he heard me. He turned and smiled. He spoke, and somehow he knew my dad's voice. I guess he just plucked it out of my mind. He said, 'Now, Annabeth, don't you worry. I love you. You can stay here with me. You can stay forever.'"

Sylvie shivered. The way she told it—even now, six years later—freaked Sylvie out worse than any ghost story she'd ever heard.

"What did you do?" Percy asked.

"I stabbed him in the foot."

Sylvie stared at her. "Are you kidding? You were seven years old, and you stabbed a grown Cyclops in the foot?"

Sylvie was fourteen years old, and she couldn't walk without tripping over.

"Oh, he would've killed me," Annabeth said. "But I surprised him. It gave me just enough time to run to Thalia and cut the ropes on her hands. She took it from there."

"Yeah, but still," Percy stammered, "that was really fucking brave, Annabeth."

Annabeth shook her head. "We barely got out alive. I still have nightmares. The way that Cyclops talked in my father's voice. It was his fault we took so long getting to camp. All the monsters who'd been chasing us had time to catch up. That's really why Thalia died. If it hadn't been for that Cyclops, she'd still be alive today.

They sat on the deck, watching the Hercules constellation rise in the sky. Percy looked eagerly at Sylvie, like Look! Stars! You were just talking about how much you loved those! and Sylvie—despite the tense nature of their current conversation—smiled with a roll of her eyes.

"Go to sleep," Annabeth told Sylvie and Percy at last. "You two need some rest."

╰━━━ ◦ ❀ ◦ ❀◦ ━━━╯

Sylvie was woken up by Annabeth shaking her with grim news. Over the night, they'd reached land. Now the boat was approaching the island of the Sirens.

She could barely make out the island ahead of them—just a dark spot in the mist.

"I want you two to do me a favor," Annabeth said. "The Sirens... we'll be in range of their singing soon."

Sylvie remembered stories about the Sirens—one of the few stories her father had told her. He would tell Sylvie about how they sang so sweetly that their voices enchanted sailors and lured them to their death. Sylvie would get worried, but her dad would say Luckily we're not sailors, and suddenly it wasn't so scary anymore.

"No problem," Percy assured her. "We can just stop up our ears. There's a big tub of candle wax below deck—"

"I want to hear them."

Sylvie blinked.

"Hey, Chase," she started, "are your ears already stopped up? We're passing the Sirens. Si—rens."

Annabeth sighed. "I know. But they say the Sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They tell you things about yourself you didn't even realize. That's what's so enchanting. If you survive... you become wiser."

"'If you survive,'" Sylvie repeated fearfully. "If. Hello? I don't think we're hearing ourselves."

"Sylvie, I want to hear them. How often will I get the chance?"

Her quest-mates were crazy. She was traveling with a dorky son of Poseidon and a girl appealed by deadly Sirens. Someone save Sylvie, really. This was a cry for help.

(No one? Okay. Fine.)

Annabeth told them her plan. Reluctantly, Sylvie and Percy helped her get ready. As soon as the rocky coastline of the island came into view, Percy somehow ordered one of the ropes to wrap about Annabeth's waist, tying her to the foremast.

"Don't untie me," she said, "no matter what happens or how much I plead. I'll want to go straight over the edge and drown myself."

"Maybe I should join in, then," Sylvie joked, at the exact same time Percy quipped, "Are you trying to tempt us?"

"Ha-ha."

In all seriousness, they did promise to keep her secure. Then Sylvie and Percy set into motion—each of them took two large wads of candle wax, kneaded them into earplugs, and stuffed their ears.

Annabeth nodded sarcastically, letting them know the earplugs were a real fashion statement. Sylvie made a face at her, and Percy turned to the pilot's wheel.

The silence was eerie. Sylvie couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood in her head. As they approached the island, jagged rocks loomed out of the fog. Percy steered the Queen Anne's Revenge to skirt around them. If the trio sailed any closer, those rocks would shred their hill like blender blades.

Sylvie glanced back and let out a breath of relief. Annabeth seemed totally normal.

Until.

Suddenly there was a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes widened, and she strained against the ropes. Annabeth called their names—Sylvie could tell just from reading her lips. Her expression was clear: She had to get out. This was life or death. Sylvie and Percy had to let her out of the ropes right now.

Sylvie turned away. Yeah, that was not happening.

She still couldn't see much of the island—just mist and rocks—but floating in the water were pieces of wood and fiberglass, the wreckage of old ships, even some flotation cushions from airplanes.

How could music cause so many lives to veer off course? Well, sure, there were sometimes in the cabin during Florian constantly playing his guitar that made Sylvie want to take a fiery nosedive, but still... What could the Sirens possibly sing about?

Sylvie didn't want to know. Not at the expense of her own life.

Annabeth was pleading with them, Sylvie saw, when she dared another look back. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She strained against the ropes, as if they were holding her back from everything she cares about.

Sylvie tried hard not to look at Annabeth. She managed it for about five minutes.

That was her big mistake.

When she looked back again, she found... a heap of cut ropes. An empty mast. Annabeth's bronze knife lay on the deck. Somehow, she'd managed to wriggle it into her hand. They'd totally forgotten to disarm her.

Sylvie slapped Percy urgently, at rapid speeds. He whipped himself around to face her in annoyance, but Sylvie just slapped him again before hastily pointing toward the mast.

Percy's eyes widened when he saw it—when he realized what Annabeth had done. They rushed to the side of the boat and saw her, paddling madly for the island, the waves carrying her straight toward the jagged rocks. She was entranced, swimming toward her death.

Somehow, although Sylvie couldn't hear, she had the feeling that both she and Percy let out simultaneous, wild curses.

Percy was suddenly gripping Sylvie madly—his hands clamped on her shoulders, and his eyes had never been more serious. STAY, he yelled, or at least Sylvie thought he did. He pointed from Sylvie to the pilot's wheel, and she suddenly got the hint.

Sylvie had to captain the ship.

She was only a moment too late from protesting, because Percy had just jumped over the side. They were absolutely, positively screwed.

Now, for those of you who might be new here: Sylvie sucked. At a lot of things. Of course, she'd never tried steering a centuries old pirate ship, but she doubted she would be any better at that. Sylvie more so stumbled back over to the pilot's wheel, eyeing it in a panic.

"Uh," she said, drowned out by the silence in her ears. Sylvie's shaky hands latched onto the wheel. She had no clue what to do. "Fuck!"

The ship was heading right towards a big, fat rock. Titanic style—or had that been an iceberg? Sylvie didn't know. She was so panicked right now. She spun the wheel as hard as she could in the opposite direction, swerving the Queen Anne's Revenge away from an untimely collision.

Gods, she fucking hoped Annabeth and Percy were alright.

Sylvie found that, luckily, she wasn't that bad at steering this pirate ship. Actually, it was kind of easy, and the only issue on the table was that the ship couldn't go fast enough without Percy's supernatural powers guiding it. But to Sylvie all that meant was that this problem wasn't her fault, for once! Maybe in another life, she and Percy could be two, idiotic pirates together sailing the seven seas.

In this one, however, Percy was saving Annabeth from being killed by Sirens and drowning in the depths of the water. In this one, Sylvie was guiding a ship a million time's her size away from this terrible island.

Sylvie's happiness that she could steer a boat was quickly washed away. Percy and Annabeth were still gone—still nowhere to be seen. She searched the desolate sea desperately, but there was absolutely no sign of them. Not even bubbles or significantly larger waves. It made Sylvie's chest hurt. She knew Percy could breathe underwater considering his parenthood, but Annabeth very well could not. She was also under the trance of Sirens. Suddenly her father's words of Luckily we're not sailors didn't comfort her anymore. It was foolish to think that any demigod could be lucky at all.

Still, Sylvie kept the sailing of the Queen Anne's Revenge steady. She couldn't afford to fuck up another thing—no matter what Percy said. Their quest was in enough danger right now as it was, and Sylvie had to step the fuck up. For once in her goddamned life, she set aside her fear, because Percy told her to steer the ship and she was going to do it.

Please be alive, she thought, or maybe she whispered it.

But it wasn't looking too good for her quest-mates. By Sylvie's judgement, she had sailed the ship out of earshot of the Sirens by now. There was still no sign of either Percy or Annabeth. The Queen Anne's Revenge was pretty far away from the island of the Sirens, and there was still no sign of them.

Until.

Two figures rose out from underneath the water, gaining Sylvie's attention by the way water burst up and splashed back down. It was Percy and Annabeth, and they were alive.

Sylvie ran quickly toward the side of the ship they were swimming at. She made sure the rope ladder was secure, then dropped it over the side of the ship. They climbed aboard. They were alive. They were alive. They were alive. Sylvie hadn't realized until now how relieved those three words would make her feel. She'd grown rather attached to the two over the course of their quest.

Sylvie and Percy kept their earplugs in, just to be sure. They weren't going to risk another incident like that, so they sailed until the island was completely out of sight. Now that Percy was manning the ship again, the Queen Anne's Revenge sailed much quicker.

Annabeth sat huddled in a blanket on the forward deck. Finally she looked up, dazed and said, and mouthed, Safe.

Sylvie and Percy took out their earplugs. No singing. The afternoon was quiet except for the sound of the waves against the hull. The fog had burned away to a blue sky, as if the island of the Sirens had never existed.

"You okay?" Sylvie asked Annabeth. She didn't know what happened there, under the water, but judging by Annabeth's current state she knew it wasn't good.

"You were right," she murmured.

Annabeth's words were so sad. Nothing about them made Sylvie feel proud or accomplished. She just wanted Annabeth to be okay.

"I didn't realize how powerful the temptation would be."

Sylvie shook her head. "This shit happens, alright? It's okay, Annabeth."

Look at you, a voice taunted her thoughts, comforting others with the words you wish to hear.

"I saw the way you rebuilt Manhattan," Percy blurted, like it was unfair to keep those words hidden to himself. "And Luke and your parents."

Annabeth blushed. "You saw that?"

"What Luke told you back on the Princess Andromeda, about starting the world from scratch... that really got to you, huh?" he asked.

She pulled her blanked around her. "My fatal flaw. That's what the Sirens showed me. My fatal flaw is hubris."

"That brown shit they spread on veggie sandwiches?"

Sylvie sighed, and Annabeth rolled her eyes. They were trying to have a moment here.

"That's hummus, idiot," Annabeth said. "Hubris is worse."

"What could be worse than hummus?"

"Hubris means deadly pride, Percy. Then she explained, "Thinking you can do things better than anyone else... even the gods."

Do you ever think about how much greater we can be?

Greater than... the other cabins?

Than the gods.

Sylvie urged Eurydice's voice to get out of her head. She asked, "You feel that way?"

Annabeth looked down.

"Don't you ever feel like, what if the world really is messed up? What if we could do it all over again from scratch? No more war. Nobody homeless. No more summer reading homework."

"I'm listening," said Percy.

"I mean, the West represents a lot of the best things mankind ever did—that's why the fire is still burning. That's why Olympus is still around. But sometimes you just see the bad stuff, you know? And you start thinking the way Luke does: 'If I could tear this all down, I would do it better.' Don't you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?"

The thought alone was getting Sylvie worked up. She panicked, "Definitely not. I can't even run my own life, let alone the world."

"Yeah, um, no," Percy huffed. "Me running the world would kind of be a nightmare."

"Then you're lucky. Hubris isn't your fatal flaw."

"What is?" Percy asked.

It was Sylvie, surprisingly, that said, "We're not the ones to know that, Percy. But everyone has one—Every hero."

"If you don't find it and learn to control it... well, they don't call it 'fatal' for nothing," Annabeth added in agreement. Then, her eyes were on Sylvie curiously due to the way Sylvie had spoken up. "Do you? Know?"

There weren't many things that Sylvie knew in this life, but, unfortunately (or fortunately?) her fatal flaw was one of them. Surprising absolutely no one, Sylvie answered, "Timidity."

Sylvie figured that Percy and Annabeth already had a feeling that was coming, but confessing something so personal and vulnerable had her overwhelmed. She couldn't meet their eyes.

"Like, I'm not confident. At all," Sylvie frowned. "And I'm easily frightened. I rarely have any spirit or courage. I know it's gonna get me killed one day, but I... It's not like I can't brave—it's that I stop myself from being it, because I can't help myself from worrying, you know? What happens if I finally decide to be fearless, and end up worse off then I started?"

Annabeth's eyebrows furrowed contemplatively as both she and Percy listened to what Sylvie said. It was only Annabeth's reaction she caught, because Sylvie couldn't dare to see what Percy thought. She was already so ashamed of herself for her fatal flaw—finding out that Percy Jackson thought she was too weak and pathetic for her liking would kill her. Sylvie would rather not know.

"But what happens if you decided to be fearless and were greater for it? What if you could do so much more?" Annabeth theorized. There went Eurydice's voice again—I wouldn't know if you suck. You're not even trying for me to see—and then, surprisingly, Percy's—You still did it. You're still capable of doing that. What you can do, it doesn't have to be a big deal.

"Yeah, that's a nice thought," Sylvie laughed humorlessly, "but... it's my anxiety that's the problem. I can't calm it down. I'd rather not try at all than try and find out Sylvie Duvall was better off being forgotten by the world."

She was already being forgotten by her father, she couldn't handle anyone else.

"Sylvie," Percy spoke up almost incredulously, "you steered a whole pirate ship today. For the first ever time. With no experience. How do you think you're so incapable?"

"You're steering a 'whole pirate ship' right now."

"Yeah, but I'm the son of Poseidon," he said, as if Sylvie could forget. "My powers and father are helping me do it. You were just doing it on your own, by yourself."

Sylvie fidgeted with the edge of her glove, and Percy took note. "I just turned a wheel. It's really not that cool."

"I still don't get it," Percy confessed. "No one would forget you."

Sylvie scoffed.

"Are you sure about that?"

She had told Percy about the good parts of her home, but was he ready to hear about the darkness that came with it?

"Uh—" he looked around awkwardly, suddenly hesitant, "not so much anymore... now that you've said that—"

"Guys?" Annabeth suddenly spoke up. Her eyes were wide.

Sylvie and Percy turned.

Up ahead was another blotch of land—a saddle-shaped island with forested hills and white beaches and green meadows.

They had reached the home of the Cyclops.

╰━━━ ◦ ❀ ◦ ❀◦ ━━━╯

BAILEY YAPS...

No swapping Sylvie with the Sirens scene because I provided you with 3,168 words of straight persylv brainrot I hope I did the scene justice. If i didn't, let me know now I can go kms in the backrooms

But Persylv is totally living their KISS ME ON THE MOUTH AND LOVE ME LIKE A SAILOR!!! fantasy right now oh my god

Sometimes I'm writing Sylvie and I'm like how can somebody be so happy yet so miserable at the same time. Outwards she's like "lalala i'm talking to percy" while simultaneously thinking about a soul collapsing fear that haunts her at night. Oh you are about to get along with a twink named leonidas sooo well

She was Silviana, forgotten by her loved ones and unknown by everyone else.

Sorry just making you read that again

Guys my ass does NOT live in new york i've been there ONCE if my description was completely off come onto my page and SHOOT ME

Sylvie, Percy, Annabeth... SPA 🧖‍♀️✨😊💞