Chapter Text
A/N: Hi all! This OC has existed for yearsss since I wrote The Other Castellan probably, and I never had the motivation to write her a story ‘til now. I don’t think I’ll write any other PJO/HoO fics after this; this is the only one of my OCs I’m truly passionate about and I also don’t want to rewrite TOC (I think it was cringey but I don’t know how to make it better, really). I’ll include pictures of my OC at the start of Chapter 2. I look forward to writing this fic and appreciate comments :)
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Camp Half-Blood, Summer 2009
She arrived at the Big House in chains.
Her feet dragged as they pulled her into the Recreation Room, a place so utterly unserious she had to sneer. A ping pong table was visible out of the corner of her eye as the demigods holding onto her deposited her in front of the table filled with scrutinizing faces.
Eleven demigods– children– and a centaur would decide her fate. She almost wanted to laugh because it was so stupid. They might as well pass the sentence and kill her now. How could anyone here show an ounce of mercy after what she’d done?
They’re all beneath you, Kronos would have said. He remained a lingering shadow over her shoulder, his voice carrying even though he was gone, existing in her conscience though he was so fractured he’d never speak again. Her mind filled in the blanks, imagined what he would have told her. Their power is nothing compared to yours. Without those chains, you could bend them all to your will, you could crush them. You wanted revenge when you joined me, now take revenge for me…
“We’re all here,” said Chiron, beckoning the demigods holding her to lower her into a chair opposite the head of the table. “This council has met many times in the past week to decide the fate of the surviving demigods who sided with the titan Kronos in the Battle of Manhattan. As we await the restoration of Olympus and prepare for the influx of newly claimed demigods, we will assess those we have now and determine the best course of action.”
“Just kill me,” the girl muttered under her breath.
While the demigods looked amongst each other with unspoken resignation, Chiron stared at her, smiling warmly. “My dear, that does not seem a wise solution to me. Many among your ranks have told us their reasoning, they’ve been shown a new path and have seized it happily.”
Weaklings! He’d have thundered. They were pawns that you brought to me, I should have known they’d break under pressure. But you, you’re not like them, you are stronger and you will die a warrior in my name rather than live a coward, servant to the gods.
She laughed, so hollow the other demigods shifted uncomfortably. She couldn’t control it; Kronos still willed her to feel as he did, even though there came a chill down her spine that told her he wasn’t safe. Something about this room, this place, these people, it was warmth. “They’re fools. Their anger was delicious but temporary, fleeting. No, I see the way you all look at me. Spare me a lecture. Be done with it. I know Olympus has no love for me or my mother, and it will have no love for me.”
“And who is your mother?”
The demigods stared at her, examining her shining black eyes, a cold smile forming that made her resemble a serial killer. She felt remorse but her expression couldn’t reflect that. To them, her glare made it seem as if this was all a game for her. Inside, she knew she was better off dead. She was a danger to everyone present. She’d already hurt them and she’d continue to hurt them, that’s what Kronos said she would do. “Eris, Goddess of Discord: daughter of Nyx, niece of Gaia and Tartarus, granddaughter of Chaos.”
The others at the table shared concerned looks, but Chiron didn’t falter. “We’re giving the same chance to all,” he said. “You were deceived by the Lord Kronos and manipulated into serving in his army. We wish to help you. We wish to give you an opportunity for a new beginning. You were misled and we blame you for nothing, none of the things that happened are your fault.”
“Oh, but they are,” she whispered, holding up her chained hands. “You all figured that out easily enough. Spelled chains that prevent me from using my abilities… I could drown this room in darkness, I could kill you all without a second thought. Except you, of course,” she eyed a dark-haired boy at the table, sea green irises all too easy to recognize. “You, I’d have some trouble with. But darkness finds all weaknesses. In time, you’d yield, too. I already have a theory about where your Achilles spot is.”
“This is pointless,” huffed a girl in red, slamming a tight fist on the table. “Ares moves to destroy her. She doesn’t feel bad about what she’s done.”
Oh, but you do, don’t you? I taught you better than that and you’re already faltering. Don’t forget the lessons, don’t forget the things I showed you that make you a better version of yourself. Don’t forget that you can turn it all off… you can focus on what you were made for…
“Why would she?” said a girl who’d been filing her nails. “Look at her, she’s all darkness. There’s not a single ounce of love in that.”
Kronos would’ve sneered, Love, they say, love has never won a war, it has never reset the rightful balance. You saw it yourself, you were not loved by your family and so you joined mine. And love is not what held us together, it was pride and strength, the knowledge that we are superiors and rightful rulers of the world. Break them, show them what their love buys.
“Love is a weakness, daughter of Aphrodite,” the child of Eris said curtly, though she felt a tightness growing in her chest as she considered a lack of love got her into this mess. Its presence or absence could do nothing at this point.
“Clarisse has a point, Chiron,” said a young, golden-haired boy. “Why are we here if she doesn’t want to hear what we have to say?”
See how easily they give up? Kronos would’ve crooned. These are all children of the Olympians, they do not know what it is like to be an outcast. You are the spawn of someone who lingers in Tartarus while their parents have golden thrones and lord over everything that belonged to us.
The son of Poseidon studied her carefully. “I know you,” he realized. “I’ve seen you before, in dreams.”
The voice of Kronos did not come into her head. She was dumbfounded. How many times had Kronos called her his secret weapon? His most prized lieutenant? The piece to flip chaos in their favor? No one was supposed to have seen her or known her until that final battle, she worked in shadows, behind scenes. How could this boy know who she was? She’d heard his name but it was impossible for him to know hers…
For the first time since her arrival, the girl faltered. The veil that concealed her fear flickered, the usual discomfort of darkness beginning to slither up from her toes. She fought to keep her voice steady, for the shadows meant to choke her, “Dreams?” She seemed genuinely confused, all could see it. Her skin was becoming more pale, the golden bronze fading into an ashen gray, as if she was losing all blood flow and was seconds away from going unconscious. “I cannot invade dreams. I never chose to. I was never… allowed to. No one was supposed to know about me.”
Percy Jackson was insistent. “Yes, you were in my dreams. Several times. I never knew who they spoke of. But I saw you… I think it was you… wearing a dark robe, meditating in corners almost every time. There were these tendrils of darkness, like fingers, curling off your hands. You moved it outward and inward… over and over again. No one ever called you by a name. Even Luke…” he hesitated, glancing at a girl with stormy gray eyes, “He called you something else. Many names but never your own.”
She narrowed her eyes, unbelieving. “Such as?”
“The Dark One, Sower of Sorrows, Mistress of Chaos. I thought you were some Titaness we’d never heard of but the whole time, you were a half-blood. You were with Atlas on Mount Othrys, you called the monsters to Kronos’s army. In my dream, a telkhine said that even they were afraid of you.”
She was beginning to look agitated, the shadows rising in her throat like cursed, acidic bile. She gulped, unable to keep any of it at bay, unable to redirect it as she usually did. Kronos’s control didn’t exist the way she thought, the veil had dropped and only now was it starting to form a noose around her throat.
“I don’t see any less fear in your faces,” she said defensively, trying to play off her discomfort, trying to pretend she didn’t feel the darkness churning inside of her, begging to burst out like a storm. “Here I am in chains because you know what I can do. They were aware of the same thing.”
“Tell us,” urged the girl with the gray eyes, seeing there was more to her. She displayed a curiosity bordering on sympathy, something the prisoner wasn’t used to. How could she be? “Tell us… please. How did you end up serving Kronos? We simply want to understand.”
The girl swallowed hard, considering it. The darkness didn’t rush back down to her toes, it stayed in her heart and coiled over it, clutching it tight like a fist threatening to break it open. They knew more about her than she imagined, they weren’t attacking her and they sure weren’t going to be executing her any time soon.
They lie, they lie, they mean to lower your guard. Rise, take what is yours.
Was that true? If they wanted to hurt her, wouldn’t they have done it already? Was it possible that they were more merciful than he said they could be? Was it stupidity or kindness? She was alive, after all…
She could feel a pain boiling in her chest, desperately needing a release of the shadows before they bottled up too tight within her and seared everything in their path. Her arms ached, she could feel the burn spreading, she knew her eyes must be darkening and that if she didn’t let it out, it would only hurt more…
“I need to be free of the chains,” she said in a small voice. She meant for it to sound commanding, threatening, but it hurt too much, it was starting to bother her more than usual. The veil was falling, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t afraid. The demigods weren’t seeing it, she was sure they were believing it all to be a trick…
“Yeah, right!” scoffed Clarisse. “As if we’re giving you any chance of attacking us.”
The girl put her chained hands over her heart, beginning to breathe heavily. “I need to be free of them, I need…” She winced in discomfort, blinking as her eyes began to burn. “I need to let it free.”
Chiron studied her for a moment then snapped his fingers decisively. The chains fell away and the demigods leapt back as a female figure dark as night burst right out of her form, the room flooded with a growing shadow that burst into fragments that chased every speck of light and snuffed it out until the room was swallowed by darkness. They were left blind but she continued to see their faces perfectly fine, accepting their shock, their disgust.
They’ll never respect you, they’ll never value you, they’ll use you and leave you to die…
With a sharp exhale, she drew the shadows back. The darkness flooded back into her, light restored. As the bulbs flickered overhead, her face drooped with exhaustion, dark circles becoming visible beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept properly in months, becoming more pronounced as the warm color returned to her face.
“You cannot control it,” realized Chiron after a beat of shocked silence. “Your powers, no one has taught you…”
“I was taught what was necessary,” she said with a scowl, though even that was difficult to maintain. She was tired, so tired, a nap would be very nice. “And he never chained me. I was always free to release it. It’s rarely a problem.”
“It should not happen. You’ve been harming yourself unnecessarily. Kronos has used you, has exploited powers you haven’t come to fully understand. We can teach you to hone these abilities. To protect yourself. And we will not demand you pay a price for it.”
As she began to steady her breathing, the room seemed to vibrate, shadows curling behind her and flicking toward the bulbs overhead. It was a small boy in an aviator jacket that swept his hand to push them away, letting her have a moment to herself.
Don’t fall for their false kindness, they still fear you, they still hate who you are, they know you shouldn’t exist…
Swallowing hard, she thought to tell them everything she could. If it was true they could help her, if it was true that they didn’t despise her…
“I was in high school,” she said quietly, closing her eyes and trying to drown out the voice that rang in her ears. “I… I don’t know how long ago. It was my last year. Everyone steered clear of me. It was better that way, people wouldn’t talk. All my life, they’ve said being around me makes them confused, scared, angry. Kids on the playground preferred to play elsewhere, kids in middle school chose a different table, kids in high school wouldn’t choose me for any projects. They hated how they felt when they were around me so they avoided me entirely.”
She tried to keep her face neutral but her lip twitched as she summoned the memories she’d suppressed to remain focused on the war. “My own father pushed me away so that his other children wouldn’t suffer. My stepmother thought I needed an exorcism and would’ve orchestrated one if my aunt hadn’t taken me in. I was…” she furrowed her brows and shook her head as if she could scarcely recall it. “Six? No, five. My father and his other family stayed in San Diego while my aunt took me to San Francisco.”
“The worst place for a demigod,” murmured the girl with gray eyes.
And the worst place for a girl who didn’t know why everyone hated her.
“Quiero que me saques de aquí a esa maldita chiquilla.” (Translation: I want you to get that wretched girl out of here.)
The man rubbed his face tiredly, hazel eyes flickering to where the girl sat in the darkest corner of the room, staring at the floor as if in a trance. “Es mi hija, Ximena.” (T: She’s my daughter, Ximena.)
His wife scoffed, eyes filled with anger and betrayal. “Ya no sé qué creer contigo, Emilio. Primero me dices que no la engendraste, que jamás estuviste con otra cuando nosotros ya estábamos para casarnos. Te la creí porque sé que siempre has sido honesto, pero ahora me tienes dudando. Con cada año se parece más a tu mamá, es tu sangre aunque no la hayas querido. De la nada apareció, así que no te debería dar ningún problema aventándola a la calle para que alguien más la cuide.” (T: I don’t know what to believe anymore, Emilio. First you tell me you didn’t create her, that you were never with another when we were already engaged. I believed that because you have always been honest, but now you have me doubting. With each year she looks more like your mother, she’s your blood even if you didn’t want her. She appeared out of nowhere, so it shouldn’t cause you any problems to throw her on the street so someone else can take care of her.)
She gestured to where their children cowered, as far away from their sister as possible. The oldest, a boy of four, was shielding his two-year-old brother and newborn sister as they slept. Their half-sister paid them no attention, still staring at the shadows. “¿Y qué de nuestros hijos? Nuestros. Le tienen miedo, ella los hace llorar. Se van a traumar y ella allí se va a estar como criatura endemoniada. Si no la quieres sacar, entonces que vayamos a Nayarit o a Colima y que le hagan un exorcismo. Comala también sabe sacar demonios, no solo Ixtlán del Río. Pero como no quieres ir, capaz que allí vive tu otra vieja.” (T: And what of our children? Our. They are afraid of her, she makes them cry. They’ll be traumatized and she’ll just be there like a demon creature. If you don’t want to get her out of here, then let’s go to Nayarit or Colima and let’s have them do an exorcism. Comala also knows how to withdraw demons, not just Ixtlán del Río. I bet your other bitch lives there, since you don’t want to go.)
When he simply scowled, she shouted even louder, “Elegiste casarte conmigo. Me dijiste que me respetarías, que dejarías atrás tus años de estar de escandaloso en protestas, que ya no volverías a quedar arrestado y acusando al gobierno de cosa y media. Si es cierto lo que me dices, si realmente quieres que yo crea que tú no me pusiste los cuernos, que esa escuincla es producto de magia– ya parece que fuera una Santa María esa babosa– entonces haz lo que te digo. Nuestra familia– nuestros hijos y yo– o ella. Escoge.” (T: You chose to marry me. You told me that you’d respect me, that you’d leave behind your scandalous years of protesting, that you’d never again end up arrested and accusing the government of everything and anything. If it’s true what you say, if you really want me to believe that you never cheated, that this brat is a product of magic– as if that idiot girl was a Holy Mary– then do what I say. Our family– our kids and me– or her. Choose.)
He turned back to the girl, then to his wife, his other children, and with a sign, picked up his phone. “Deja le hablo a mi hermana. Cuando ella se vaya a San Francisco, que se la lleve.” (T: Let me call my sister. When she leaves for San Francisco, she’ll take her with her.)
(Without protest, Evangelina Gonzalez took her niece in. She knew it wasn’t the girl’s fault that any of this had happened, she firmly believed magic was involved even if her brother denied it. He confessed to no affairs but wouldn’t deny that this girl was his daughter. In the end, he cast her aside as easily as if she wasn’t his blood at all.)
“No monsters bothered me,” continued the girl bitterly. “Never, I didn’t even see them. I was always safe outside, even in the dark. I saw perfectly fine, people avoided me. My aunt let me do what I wanted as long as I kept up with school. I did my best, but I couldn’t focus and I could hardly read anything in English or Spanish. We both worked a lot, we didn’t see each other much. We went to church on Sundays, sat in the back alone and prayed. She had me journal, talk to nuns and therapists, anything that would make me feel better. No matter how much I tried, I was never really happy. I felt everything with different intensities than other people. Less fear, sadness, and joy but more anger. I couldn’t control it.
“I got used to keeping myself company. I’d draw or write, create my own friends. I always thought the shadows responded to me, they made sure I wasn’t really alone. I worked independently revising essays through an anonymous forum, I occupied myself with homework because there was nothing else to do. The only classes I excelled in without much effort were the ones about Greek and Roman stuff. I wanted so badly to be good at science– everyone made it seem like that was the only way to get a good job– but the ADHD and dyslexia made it near-impossible and something about living organisms never felt right, in ways I couldn’t explain. So I worked after school in the library organizing books and it made me happy, but other people’s opinions mattered… a lot. I hated it. My life felt like it was amounting to nothing.
“I remember one day waiting for my aunt to pick me up after school. I’d just submitted my application to Berkeley, I was planning to major in 'Greek and Latin'— or maybe 'Ancient Greek and Roman Studies'— and minor in Spanish Literature… whatever the full name was. I was even considering 'Comparative Literature.' I figured that after I got my degree I could go into a non-teaching academia job working in a library or museum or just doing research on things I liked. Somewhere secluded where no one would bother me. That’s what I was thinking of, anyway, when I was under the bleachers, the shadows keeping me company. This man came up to me out of nowhere. He said his name was Atlas and that he had a place for me in the greatest army, that I had the power to tip the scales, that I had a purpose to serve.”
“You’re far from the other children.”
She tilted her head up from her journal to behold a strange muscular man in a suit, standing so regal she felt he was the one out of place. Why had someone who resembled a King come to the dusty bleachers to have a conversation?
“I don’t know who you are,” she said blandly, figuring he’d walk away soon enough. Almost everyone did. Even the most persistent guidance counselors and annoyingly stubborn therapists would elect to listen when she told them to keep their distance. “And I don’t care. It’s after school, I can be anywhere I want.”
“Anywhere you want,” he repeated, his voice seeming to rumble around them. She felt the ground tremble beneath her but figured it was the trucks passing by on the street. “But there are limits to that. You cannot go home, can you? Not your real home. The people in San Diego want nothing to do with you.”
She got to her feet, glaring indignantly. Anger rose in her and she knew that with this extra push, he’d leave even sooner. Everyone grew afraid when she was angry; she never understood why. She didn’t perceive herself as particularly threatening. She wasn’t very tall or lean, if anything her greatest weapon was a glare that shot daggers. If looks could kill, everyone who ever glanced her way would’ve been dead ten times over.
She shot back, “If you’re another social worker, then go fuck yourself. I’m aging out in a few months and I don’t need shit from anyone. My aunt and I are perfectly fine.”
“Perfectly fine,” he repeated again, only serving to make her angrier. Was he really just here to mock her? “Except even she avoids you. She cares for you because you’re her family and you’re a child, but even she’s grown more distant the older you get. Your siblings, they might as well have had their memories wiped in the Lethe– Daniel and Alejandro don’t remember you, Xochitl was a baby when you left, and I bet you don’t even know you have another half-sister now, Blanca. Your stepmother has left the memory of you dusting away in her mind. There is no place for you in the mortal world, Emilia Gonzalez. But I have a position for you in the greatest army, where you can have the family you desire and the revenge you crave. When we win our war, we will have the power to bring your mother up from Tartarus. She would be so very proud…”
“I don’t have a mother,” she said, though she was so confused she didn’t argue against anything else that he’d said, no matter how upset it made her. “And I don’t know what kind of crack you’ve been smoking but Tartarus isn’t a real place.”
“You know so little. It’s surprising, really, to see such a powerful half-blood reaching nearly eighteen years old without learning anything about themselves. We can correct this. I can teach you, I can show you what your abilities mean. You’ve noticed by now that everyone avoids you. Such is the power that swirls within you, making mortals listen to their worst impulses just with your presence. Every negative and paranoid thought rises, every fear manifests before their eyes. Your magic is wasted on mortals. In our army, you will have the freedom to use that power to bring us support. You will tip the scales in our favor. You will show other half-bloods the truth and you will call forth monsters from every corner to serve the Titan King. All you need to do is say yes.”
She wasn’t fully convinced, but something about this felt real, it felt like it made sense. It was another option, it was a new life that she could create for herself. She had no choices to call her own, no delights that made her want to cling to San Francisco. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but you do, deep down. You’ve wondered for years how you came to be. I am Atlas and I can tell you the truth. You know your father was such a prominent political figure in Mexico, he organized large-scale movements protesting every democratic issue he became aware of. He fought for labor rights, he tried to expose the occurrences of fraud in elections, he resisted authority and well… sowed discord so great to unearth the troubles of mankind that he caught your mother’s eye. From Tartarus, the goddess Eris began to stir. She is the child of Nyx, residing in the Mansion of Night. They call her Lady Strife, Lady of Sorrow. Most know her as the Goddess of Discord. And you are her only child.”
“Eris?” she scoffed. “Yeah, right, like that purple lady in Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas?”
Was she stupid to think this could have any semblance of truth? Why did she want to believe it? Why did it feel like she finally understood the meaning of the word ‘family’? To Emilia, it was too good to be true. She shook her head, “You know what, I’m out of here, you’re delusional.”
“Am I?”
He wove his hand and beside him appeared a black mastiff with glowing red eyes, which grew in seconds to be the size of a rhino. Emilia leapt back, animals never having come so close to her because they, too, were afraid, but the mastiff simply regarded her with curiosity. “It won’t hurt you,” said the man. “Hellhounds are half-siblings to your mother. They work in the shadows, as you do. The shadows delivered you to this realm, allowed you to be born through the personification of discord and darkness churned between your parents. Like a child of Athena, you were manifested into this world by Eris and now you hold a power unlike anyone else.”
He offered his hand. “Come, Emilia Gonzalez. Let me show you what you’re capable of.”
(She’d never taken the concept of ‘stranger danger’ seriously because no stranger had ever been a danger to her. She was the dangerous one all along, every single stranger knew it the moment they got too close. She didn’t think to let her aunt know, didn’t think to collect her things. She followed Atlas into the unknown and never looked back.)
Emilia continued, “Atlas took me to Mount Othrys and he gave me an audience with Kronos himself. The voice, it spoke to me, it told me that the Olympians had abandoned me. Hermes used my mother for his stupid delivery service, no one thought we mattered. In his army I’d find the respect I deserved, I’d learn to use my powers, I’d find others like me. I was so very important to him, I was a strong anchor to the mortal world because my mother was in Tartarus and I was here… he made it sound like I was valuable for all the traits people despised for the longest time. I accepted and began my instruction under Atlas.
“Atlas showed me that the monsters I read about were real and they avoided me because I reminded them of Tartarus. He reviewed the old stories with me, he taught me to tap into my natural fighting abilities and most importantly, the gifts I received from my mother. Manipulating emotions, creating darkness. That became my job. I’d work my magic to sow discord as far as I could reach. I’d find every demigod questioning their existence, their place in the world, and I’d plant the ideas that would bring them to us. No chains, I’d simply let my shadows out constantly and draw them back in along with demigods who’d join our cause. Kronos wouldn’t allow me to feel remorse about it, he taught me to control my emotions and soon it… it didn’t bother me that I was leading children younger than me to this army. I thought it was the right thing. The Titan King was convincing.
“When Atlas was placed back under his burden, Kronos began to speak to me more. He told me I was an anomaly, that I shouldn’t exist, that the gods would destroy me if they had the chance. He told me he valued me, that I was his most important lieutenant even if I wouldn’t be his vessel. When I found the first dozen entrances to the Labyrinth, he gave me a spear of Stygian Iron. He told me that when we won the war, even mortals would bow to us. We’d have complete power, we could have all the revenge we wanted. He said I would have a special place in his kingdom, I could be his Queen of Shadows, I could be made immortal if I continued to serve him.”
She began to tense, leaning back in her chair and hating the way the demigods were staring at her. Only with the veil down could she feel doubt. Kronos had had her place a mask up every day, a curtain of darkness that kept her serious and obedient. He told her it was because fear was debilitating, because caring made a person falter. She hadn’t felt normal emotions in a very long time, and even what she had memories of wasn’t as consistent with what she saw in other people.
Yet now she suspected that all along, he’d used it to keep her from detecting the manipulation in his lies, the exaggerations that made her hate the wrong sort of people. She couldn’t feel uncertainty with the veil; she’d do what he asked without questioning it. Her loyalty became unwavering, her admiration solidified without contest.
“All my life,” she mumbled, “no one had ever told me I was worthy. No one told me they cared. My aunt had protected me but my powers influenced her, too, and she couldn’t be warm even when she wanted to. Lord Kronos and Atlas had been the first to show no fear and they made such promises of a better life, telling me my anger had a place and purpose, that I could do unimaginable things at his side. It sounded perfect. It sounded even better to be told that I was powerful with and without my abilities, that I exuded a regality that made me worthy of being a Queen.”
“And then when he entered Luke’s body I… I became even more involved in our plan. I’d never spoken much with Luke before that—even he kept his distance— but when Kronos was in him, he kept me constantly at his side. I wasn’t in corners casting out my shadows, I was following him as he prepared his troops, I was training alongside them, taught to wield dark energy like a shield and sword. I could cover and cut using darkness, I could create it and disappear in it to confuse my enemies.
“He taught me everything himself, he guided my hands, he showed me how to reach further with everything I could do. He said I reminded him of himself, because everyone had been afraid of him, too. He said everyone underestimated both of us, everyone thought we were worthless when really we were the best of our kind. My cold smile reminded him of his, even without the veil he said my emotions were hard to trace. We both wanted power, revenge, control over our fate, we both wanted to prove that we are the best. If everyone was going to fear us for what we were, for the strength we had, we might as well use it to the fullest extent.”
She began to twitch nervously as she admitted, “I’d always admired him as much as I feared him. I thought he was cunning, ruthless, and intelligent. I thought he was brave and that his selfishness and lust for power came from a place of reason; how couldn’t he want to show he was incredible? I thought myself to have a dark and strange sense of humor that Kronos apparently shared, and both our tempers flared up easily. Eventually, despite the veil that kept my emotions at bay, my admiration grew into something else. I didn’t have friends among the demigods because I was so isolated and even if I wasn’t the oldest, they were made to stay away from me. Atlas was gone, and suddenly the voice that counseled me had a body that… drew me in. I thought he cared about me. I thought… he could feel for me, too, if he thought I was worthy of being his Queen.”
“Atlas was right to bring you to me,” said Kronos as he walked around her, examining the armor that’d been fashioned for her. A helm similar to the one Hades wore, her spear glittering with shadows dancing around it as she twirled it and pushed darkness around it, swallowing the room whole and giving herself an advantage. Even with the helm off it would have been hard to make out her dark eyes, as she’d smeared black war paint over her face creating streaks that dribbled down the side of her face like dark, splattered enemy blood. “You’ve learned to cut with a spear and with your shadows. You’ve brought many to our army and you’ve helped monsters rise to our cause. It’s time for you to join me in battle.”
She looked up, stunned. He’d always told her she was powerful, he’d always implied she was valuable to him, but this was the highest of praises. She assumed she’d stay to defend Mount Othrys, not charge Mount Olympus at his side. “My lord? I don’t want to question you, but are you sure that I’m ready?”
“I am. After all, the future Queen of Olympus should march with me when I take my throne. You will lead the attack on one flank while I take the other. Soon, I will make you immortal and you will be able to bend every puny mortal to your will, including that pitiful family of yours. Our victory is close. Typhon will overwhelm the Olympians and we will have what is ours.”
He put his hand under her chin, the veil flickering as admiration tried to burst in, as affection lingered right at the edge and made her cheeks redden in a way they never had before. Luke’s gaze made Kronos seem so alluring, his voice much less rough, almost laced with a sweetness that she craved.
He tilted her head up to look at him and held out his scythe, slowly bringing it closer to her face. She showed no fear and he dared to offer it to her lips as if to have her bless it. She stared up at him and reached out to kiss the blade of the scythe, keeping her mouth pressed to it until he chose to pull it away, chuckling darkly and crooning, “You’ll have everything your heart desires when the battle is won.”
(He’d watched her for a moment, before he chose to leave her behind and continue into Olympus past the defenses. He knew she’d plunge the opposing demigods into darkness and reap their souls with her spear. For a brief moment, she’d looked like a demon herself, shadows swirling around her as she led the monsters forward.)
“I didn’t make it to Olympus with him,” Emilia finished. “I remained on the battlefield trying to destroy your motivations, trying to overwhelm you with discord so you’d abandon hope. At some point I was knocked unconscious. Next thing I knew, I woke up here in chains, and I learned that Kronos failed.”
There was a heavy beat of silence as she finished speaking. She was breathing hard again, the shadows palpating behind her and coiling around her head. She didn’t mean them to. She’d never let the veil down, not since she learned what her powers were for. There were emotions she hadn’t felt in years creeping up on her– apprehension, self-loathing, sadness, grief, fear. Contrary to what her family had always believed, she could feel remorse and she felt a great deal of it now. What had she done? What had she contributed to? How many demigods had died because of the choice she made, because she stupidly believed Kronos’s promises?
“You’ve been through a terrible ordeal,” said Chiron sympathetically. “You were led to believe falsehoods, your anger was weaponized. You were taught to use your abilities in a way that would slowly begin to destroy you. That won’t happen here, not if you allow us to help you. You’d receive your own cabin, you’d be trained just like all other demigods. We’d show you to control your power in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm you. Many other demigods were led astray by Kronos—“
“I led them to him,” she said weakly, their scrutinizing looks reminding her of every person that’d ever turned her way before Atlas and Kronos gave her a place at the palace. “I brought in the recruits, demigods and monsters alike. I choseto.”
“You thought you had no other choice and Kronos made sure you could not question his will. You are nineteen years old, I estimate. You could remain here, eventually enroll in college if you wished. You could have a family that won’t require you to hurt yourself.”
“Is it even safe to have her here?” asked one of the other boys at the table. “Until she learns to control it, she’d make us feel…” he gulped when he realized everyone was staring at him. “Well, she could…” He trailed off and let the subject die.
“Tell us,” asked Chiron, “what name do you prefer?”
She hesitated. “My name is Emilia.” If there was a chance to be reborn, to have a second chance in this life, it was all she wanted to be. Nothing else mattered. Not her family name, not her nicknames. She was Emilia, just Emilia.
Chiron smiled, “All in favor of welcoming Emilia, daughter of Eris, into Camp Half-Blood?”
The boy with the sea-green eyes and the girl with the gray raised their hands first. Then, the boy in the aviator jacket. The golden-haired one, the boy who spoke last, the three who didn’t speak at all, the girl with the nail file, a girl with kind eyes, and at the end, grudgingly, the girl in red.
“All that remains is for you to accept,” said Chiron. “Will you join us here, Emilia?”
She wasn’t sure she’d be welcome anywhere else. Did she have any other choice? “Yes. I accept.”
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A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Comment for more :)