ROYAL CRIES
━━ chapter eleven

━━ ELISA WOULD NEVER admit this to Clarisse, but it was a miracle that the daughter of Ares had shown up. She drove the enemies away from the Empire State Building. Even without her armor or spear, she was a demon. She rode her chariot straight into the Titans' army and crushed everything in her path.

She was so inspiring even the panicked centaurs started to rally. The Hunters scrounged arrows from the fallen and launched volley after volley into the enemy. The Ares Cabin slashed and hacked, which was their favorite thing. The monsters retreated towards Thirty-fifth Street.

Clarisse drove to the drakon's carcass and looped a grappling line through its eye sockets. She lashed her horses and took off, dragging the drakon behind the chariot like a Chinese New Year dragon. She charged after the enemy, yelling insults and daring them to cross her. As she rode, Elisa realized she was literally glowing. An aura of red fire flickered around her.

"The blessing of Ares," Thalia said. "I've never seen it in person before."

For the moment, Clarisse was as invincible as Percy was. The enemy threw spears and arrows, but nothing hit her.

"I am Clarisse, drakon slayer!" she yelled. "I will kill you all! Where is Kronos? Bring him out! Is he a coward?"

"Clarisse!" Percy yelled. "Stop it. Withdraw!"

"What's the matter, Titan lord?" the daughter of war taunted. "Bring it on!"

There was no answer from the enemy. Slowly, they began to fall back behind a dracaenae shield wall, while Clarisse drove in circles around Fifth Avenue, daring anyone to cross her path. The hundred-foot-long drakon carcass made a hollow scraping noise against the pavement, like a thousand knives.

Meanwhile, everyone else tended to their wounded, bringing them inside the lobby. Long after the enemy had retreated from sight, Clarisse kept riding up and down the avenue with her horrible trophy, demanding that Kronos meet her in battle.

Chris said, "I'll watch her. She'll get tired eventually. I'll make sure she comes inside."

"What about the camp?" Percy asked. "Is anybody left there?"

Chris shook his head. "Only Argus and the nature spirits. Peleus the dragon is still guarding the tree."

"They won't last long," Percy said. "But I'm glad you came."

Chris nodded sadly. "I'm sorry it took so long. I tried to reason with Clarisse. I said there's no point in defending camp if you guys die. All our friends are here. I'm sorry it took Silena ..." He trailed off, noticing the pained expressions from everyone.

"My Hunters will help you stand guard," Thalia said. "Annabeth, Elisa, Percy, you should go to Olympus. I have a feeling they'll need you up there—to set up the final defense."

"Oh," Elisa's voice was hollow and raw, "great."

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The doorman had disappeared from the lobby. His book was face down on the desk and his chair was empty. The rest of the lobby, however, was jam-packed with wounded campers, Hunters, and satyrs.

Connor and Travis Stoll met them by the elevators.

"Is it true?" Connor asked. "About Silena?"

Percy nodded. "She died a hero."

Travis shifted uncomfortably. "Um, I also heard—"

Elisa's eyes were cold. "You heard something else?" she challenged him to continue the topic.

The son of Hermes shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Right," he mumbled. "Listen, we figure the Titans' army will have trouble getting up the elevator. They'll have to go up a few at a time. And the giants won't be able to fit at all."

"That's our biggest advantage," Percy said. "Any way to disable the elevator?"

"It's magic," Travis said. "Usually you need a key card, but the doorman vanished. That means the defenses are crumbling. Anyone can walk into the elevator now and head straight up."

"Then we have to keep them away from the doors," said the son of Poseidon said. "We'll bottle them up in the lobby."

"We need reinforcements," Travis said. "They'll just keep coming. Eventually, they'll overwhelm us."

"There are no reinforcements," Connor complained.

Percy looked outside at Mrs. O'Leary, who was breathing against the glass doors and smearing them with hellhound drool.

"Maybe that's not true," the son of Poseidon disagreed.

He went outside and put a hand on Mrs. O'Leary's muzzle. Chiron had bandaged her paw, but she was still limping. Her fur was matted with mud, leaves, pizza slices, and dried monster blood.

"Hey, girl." He tried to sound upbeat. "I know you're tired, but I've got one more big favor to ask you."

Percy leaned next to her and whispered in her ear. After Mrs. O'Leary had shadow-traveled away, the boy rejoined Annabeth and Elisa in the lobby. On the way to the elevator, they spotted Grover kneeling over a fat, wounded satyr.

"Leneus!" Percy said.

The old satyr looked terrible. His lips were blue. There was a broken spear in his belly and his furry goat legs were twisted at a painful angle.

He tried to focus on the half-bloods, but Percy doesn't think the satyr really saw the three.

"Grover?" Leneus murmured.

"I'm here, Leneus." Grover was blinking back tears, despite all the horrible things Leneus had said about him. "Did—did we win?"

"Um ... yes," Grover lied. "Thanks to you, Leneus. We drove the enemy away."

"Told you," the old satyr mumbled. "True leader. True ..."

He closed his eyes for the last time. Grover gulped. He put his hand on Leneus's forehead and spoke an ancient blessing. The old satyr's body melted, until all that was left was a tiny sapling in a pile of fresh soil.

"A laurel," Grover said in awe. "Oh, that lucky old goat."

He gathered up the sapling in his hands. "I—I should plant him. In Olympus, in the gardens."

"We're going that way," Percy said. "Come on."

Easy-listening music played as the elevator rose. Percy thought about the first time he had visited Mount Olympus, back when he was twelve. Annabeth, Elisa, and Grover hadn't been with the boy then, but he was glad they were with him now. He had a feeling it might be their last adventure together.

"Percy," Annabeth said quietly. "You were right about Luke."

It was the first time she'd spoken since Silena Beauregard's death. She kept her eyes fixed on the elevator floors as they blinked into the magical numbers—400, 450, 500.

Grover and Percy exchanged glances.

"Annabeth," the boy said. "I'm sorry—"

"You tried to tell me." Her voice was shaky. "Luke is no good. I didn't believe you until—until I heard how he'd used Silena. Now I know. I hope you're happy."

"That doesn't make me happy," Percy said hotly. "I'm sad it has to be this way."

Annabeth put her head against the elevator wall and wouldn't look at anyone. Elisa watched the numbers climb with a blank expression on her face. And Grover cradled his laurel sapling in his hands.

"Well ..." the satyr said, looking between the three, "sure good to be together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look. It's our floor."

The doors dinged and the four stepped onto the aerial walkway.

'Depressing' is not a word that usually describes Mount Olympus, but it looked that way now. No fires lit the braziers. The windows were dark. The streets were deserted and the doors were barred. The only movement was in the parks, which had been set up as field hospitals. Will Solace and the other Apollo campers scrambled around, caring for the wounded. Naiads and dryads tried to help, using nature magic songs to heal burns and poison.

As Grover planted the laurel sapling, Annabeth, Elisa, and Percy went around trying to cheer up the wounded. They passed a satyr with a broken leg, a demigod who was bandaged from head to toe, and a body covered in the golden burial shroud of the Apollo Cabin. Percy didn't know who was underneath. He had an idea already.

His heart felt like lead, but they tried to find positive things to say.

"You'll be up and fighting Titans in no time!" he told one camper.

"You look great," Annabeth told another camper.

"Leneus turned into a shrub!" Grover told a groaning satyr.

Elisa spotted her brothers leaning against a tree. She didn't waste a moment before hurrying over to them. Pollux was propped up against a tree and Castor was going through his bag. Pollux had a broken arm, but otherwise, he was okay. And Castor had some scraps and bruises but no other immediate injuries.

"I can still fight with the other hand," Pollux told his younger sister, gritting his teeth.

"No, you need to stay here," she said. "Help with the other wounded. You've fought enough. You've done enough."

Pollux looked at her. "But—" he tried to protest.

"Promise me to stay safe," she said, sounding desperate. Elisa didn't want to tell them their dad had asked for her to keep them safe as it would only embarrass them, but she would if she had to.

The twins frowned uncertainly. But eventually, Castor and Pollux promised. When they sat by the tree, Elisa could tell they looked a little relieved.

"I'd ask you to stay safe but I know what you would say," Castor spoke up, grinning at her.

"Don't tell me what to do?" she offered.

"That, or 'Fuck off.'" He shrugged.

She, Annabeth, Grover, and Percy kept walking toward the palace. That's where Kronos would head. As soon as he made it up the elevator—and Percy had no doubt he would, one way or another—he would destroy the throne room, the center of the gods' power.

The bronze doors creaked open. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The constellations twinkled coldly on the ceiling of the great hall. The hearth was down to a dull red glow. Hestia, in the form of a little girl in brown robes, hunched at its edge, shivering. The Ophiotaurus swam sadly in his sphere of water. He let out a half-hearted Moo when he saw Percy.

In the firelight, the thrones cast evil-looking shadows, like grasping hands. Standing at the foot of Zeus's throne, looking up at the stars, was Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She was holding a Greek ceramic vase.

"Rachel?" Percy said. "Um, what are you doing with that?"

She focused on the boy as if she were coming out of a dream. "I found it. It's Pandora's jar, isn't it?"

Her eyes were brighter than usual, and a heavy feeling settled over Elisa. "Put that down," the daughter of madness commanded.

"'I can see Hope inside it." Rachel ran her fingers over the ceramic designs. "So fragile."

"Rachel," Percy spoke.

His voice seemed to bring her back to reality. She held out the jar and he took it, holding it carefully. The clay felt as cold as ice.

"Grover, Elisa," Annabeth mumbled. "Let's scout around the palace. Maybe we can find some extra Greek fire or Hephaestus traps."

"But—"

Elisa gave him a cold stare. "You love traps, don't you, goat boy?"

"Right!" the satyr yelped. "I love traps!"

The three left the throne room. Over by the fire, Hestia was huddled in her robes, rocking back and forth.

"Come on," Percy told Rachel. "I want you to meet someone."

The two sat next to the goddess.

"Lady Hestia," he said.

"Hello, Percy Jackson," the goddess murmured. "Getting colder. Harder to keep the fire going."

"I know," the boy said. "The Titans are near."

Hestia focused on Rachel. "Hello, my dear. You've come to our hearth at last."

The redhead blinked. "You've been expecting me?"

Hestia held out her hands and the coals glowed. Percy saw images in the fire: his mother, Paul, and himself eating Thanksgiving dinner at the kitchen table; his friends and him around the campfire at Camp Half-Blood, singing songs and roasting marshmallows; Elisa's sixteenth birthday where the two had spent the day together the Long Island Shore; Rachel and him driving along the beach in Paul's Prius.

Percy didn't know if Rachel saw the same images, but the tension went out of her shoulders. The warmth of the fire seemed to spread across her, too.

"To claim your place at the hearth," Hestia told her, "you must let go of your distractions. It is the only way you will survive."

Rachel nodded. "I—I understand."

"Wait," the black-haired boy said. "What is she talking about?"

The redhead took a shaky breath. "Percy, when I came here ... I thought I was coming for you. But I wasn't. You and me ..." She shook her head.

"Wait. Now I'm a distraction? Is this because I'm 'not the hero' or whatever?"

"I'm not sure I can put it into words," she said. "I was drawn to you because ... because you opened the door to all of this." She gestured at the throne room. "I needed to understand my true sight. But you and me—that wasn't part of it. Our fates aren't intertwined. I think you've always known that, deep down."

Percy stared at her. He wasn't the smartest guy in the world, he'll admit, but he was pretty sure he was getting dumped—which was odd considering him and Rachel were never together.

"So ... what," he said, his ears burning. "'Thanks for bringing me to Olympus. See ya?' Is that what you're saying?"

Rachel stared at the fire. She never gave him an answer.

"Percy Jackson," Hestia said. "Rachel has told you all she can. Her moment is coming, but your decision approaches even more rapidly. Are you prepared?"

The son of Poseidon wanted to complain that, no, he wasn't even close to prepared.

He looked at Pandora's jar and for the first time, he had the urge to open it. Hope seemed pretty useless to him right now. So many of his friends were dead. Rachel was cutting him off. Elisa was angry with him. His parents were asleep down in the streets somewhere while a monster army surrounded the building. Olympus was on the verge of falling, and he had seen so many cruel things the gods had done: Zeus destroying Maria di Angelo, Hades cursing the last Oracle, and Hermes turning his back on Luke even when he knew his son would become evil.

Surrender, Prometheus's voice whispered in Percy's ear. Otherwise your home will be destroyed. Your precious Camp will burn.

The boy looked at Hestia. Her red eyes glowed warmly. Percy remembered the images he had seen in her hearth—friends and family, everyone he cared about. He remembered something Chris Rodriguez had said: There's no point in defending Camp if you guys die. All our friends are here. And Nico, standing up to his father Hades: If Olympus falls, he said, your own palace's safety doesn't matter.

Percy heard footsteps. Elisa, Annabeth, and Grover came back into the throne room and stopped when they saw them. The boy probably had a pretty strange look on his face.

"Percy?" Elisa called. She didn't sound angry anymore—just concerned. She watched at him worriedly. "Do we need to go away again?"

Suddenly the son of the sea felt like someone had injected him with steel. He understood what to do.

Percy looked at Rachel. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you? I mean ... you talked to Chiron, right?"

The redhead managed a faint smile. "You're worried about me doing something stupid?"

"But I mean—Will you be okay?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "That kind of depends on whether you save the world, hero."

Percy picked up Pandora's jar. The spirit of Hope fluttered inside, trying to warm the cold container.

"Hestia," he said, "I give this to you as an offering."

The goddess tilted her head. "I am the least of the gods. Why would you trust me with this?"

"You're the last Olympian," the boy said. "And the most important."

"And why is that, Percy Jackson?"

"Because Hope survives best at the hearth. Guard it for me, and I won't be tempted to give up again."

The goddess smiled. She took the jar in her hands and it began to glow. The hearth fire burned a little brighter.

"Well done, Percy Jackson," she said. "May the gods bless you."

"We're about to find out," he murmured. He looked at Annabeth, Grover, and Elisa. "Come on, guys."

And he marched toward his father's throne.

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The seat of Poseidon stood just to the right of Zeus's seat, but it wasn't nearly as grand. The molded black leather seat was attached to a swivel pedestal, with a couple of iron rings on the side for fastening a fishing pole ( or a trident ). Basically, it looked like a chair on a deep-sea boat that you would sit in if you wanted to hunt sharks, marlins, or sea monsters.

Gods in their natural state are about twenty feet tall, so Percy could just reach the edge of the seat if he stretched his arms.

"Help me up," he told the three with him.

"Are you crazy?" Annabeth asked.

"Probably," the boy admitted.

"Percy," Grover said, "the gods really don't appreciate people sitting in their thrones. I mean, like, turn you into a pile of ashes don't appreciate it."

"I need to get his attention," the son of Poseidon said. "It's the only way."

Annabeth, Elisa, and Grover exchanged uneasy looks.

"Well," Elisa spoke up, "this is one way to get his attention."

With her bad shoulder, Elisa stepped back and let the other two handle it. Annabeth and Grover linked their arms to make a step then boosted Percy onto the throne. Percy felt like a baby with his feet so high off the ground. He looked around at the other gloomy, empty thrones, and could imagine what it would be like sitting on the Olympian Council—so much power, but so much arguing, always eleven other gods trying to get their way. It would be easy to get paranoid, to look out only for his own interest, especially if he were Poseidon.

Sitting on his throne, Percy felt like he had the entire sea at his command—vast cubic miles of ocean churning with power and mystery. Why should Poseidon listen to anyone? Why shouldn't he be the greatest of the twelve?

Then the boy shook his head. Concentrate.

The throne rumbled. A wave of gale-force anger slammed into Percy's mind: Who dares—

The voice stopped abruptly. The anger retreated, which was a good thing, because just those two words had almost blasted the boy's mind to shreds.

Percy. Poseidon's voice was still angry but more controlled. What—exactly—are you doing on my throne?

"I'm sorry, Father," the son of the sea said. "I needed to get your attention."

This was a very dangerous thing to do. Even for you. If I hadn't looked before I blasted, you would now be a puddle of seawater.

"I'm sorry," the boy said again. "Listen, things are rough up here."

Percy told him what was happening. Then he told Poseidon his plan.

The god's voice was silent for a long time. Percy, what you ask is impossible. My palace—

"Dad, Kronos sent an army against you on purpose. He wants to divide you from the other gods because he knows you could tip the scales."

Be that as it may, he attacks my home.

"I'm at your home," Percy said. "Olympus."

The floor shook. A wave of anger washed over Percy's mind. He thought he had finally gone too far, but then the trembling eased. In the background of his mental link, he heard underwater explosions and the sound of battle cries—Cyclopes bellowing, mermen shouting.

"Is Tyson okay?" he asked.

The question seemed to take the Sea God by surprise. He's fine. Doing much better than I expected. Though "peanut butter'" is a strange battle cry.

"You let him fight?"

Stop changing the subject! You realize what you are asking me to do? My palace will be destroyed.

"And Olympus might be saved."

Do you have any idea how long I've worked on remodeling this palace? The game room alone took six hundred years.

"Dad—"

Very well! It shall be as you say. But, my son, pray this works.

"I am praying. I'm talking to you, right?"

Oh ... yes. Good point. Amphitrite—incoming!'

The sound of a large explosion shattered their connection. Percy slipped down from the throne.

Elisa was studying him nervously. "Are you okay? You turned pale and ... you started smoking."

Percy looked at her oddly. "Like smoking hot?"

"No! Like, smoke curling off your clothes!" Elisa shook her head, looking like she was flushed red.

Percy looked at his arms. Steam was curling off his shirtsleeves. The hair on his arms was singed.

"If you'd sat there any longer," Annabeth said, "you would've spontaneously combusted. I hope the conversation was worth it?"

The Ophiotaurus swam around in his sphere of water.

"We'll find out soon," Percy said.

Just then the doors of the throne room swung open. Thalia marched in. Her bow was snapped in half and her quiver was empty.

"You've got to get down there," she told the four. "The enemy is advancing. And Kronos is leading them."

👑  MAR. 25TH, 2023  /  this is very tame and idk what to do with myself

kinda a filler chapter but also needed to have things make sense

anyways,, thoughts?? opinions??