Threads Beyond Fate
"It seems you have everything ready," said Chiron as he watched them with a mix of calm and pride. The three stood before him with their backpacks on their shoulders… or rather, Grover was the one carrying most of them. His pack was enormous, so loaded that it looked like it could crush him at any moment, and his neck was covered with necklaces of amulets, his inseparable reed pipes hanging among them. Still, what stood out the most was his expression—more nervous than Percy's and Annabeth's combined.
Annabeth, on the other hand, had her bag slung across her shoulder and held a baseball cap in her hands. She looked at it with a kind of ritual seriousness, as if by gazing at it she was making a silent vow.
Percy's expression appeared calm, though a faint flicker of anxiety betrayed his serenity. Not having Miraak nearby unsettled him. Since the day before, his master had vanished without a trace—something that had happened before, but this time felt different. Perhaps he just longed for his presence, a way to confirm that everything would be fine as long as he was there.
"Take this, Percy. It will help you on your quest," said Chiron, handing him a pen.
Percy looked at it with confusion. In his mind, he couldn't imagine how an ordinary pen would be useful on a journey that would take them all the way to the Underworld itself.
Chiron seemed to notice his doubt and, with a smile, added, "Uncap it."
Percy obeyed. As soon as he removed the cap, the pen transformed into a celestial bronze sword that shone with a soft glow. Ancient Greek letters engraved along the blade gleamed with golden light, and the weapon fit perfectly in his hand, as if it had been waiting for him all along.
"Its name is Riptide," Chiron explained with a proud smile. "It's special. You'll never lose it; it will always find its way back to you. It can only harm monsters, not humans, and its power comes directly from the sea. A weapon worthy of an ocean-born hero… perfect for you."
Percy swung the sword curiously, watching his reflection in the blade. "Not bad. Almost as good as the one my master gave me. Though his has more enchantments… and it also returns to me," he said casually before turning it back into a pen and tucking it into his magic pouch, as if it were just another tool.
Chiron's eyes widened, surprised by how casually Percy treated an artifact that most demigods would consider a priceless relic.
Even Annabeth frowned slightly as she watched him. She was still holding her cap—a gift from her mother, Athena—as if it were an irreplaceable treasure. She shook her head in disapproval, thinking Percy didn't understand the true value of magical weapons… or of his mentor. She had heard rumors about him, but had never seen him in person, unlike Grover, who held a mix of respect and fear toward the man. Still, his nerves about leaving camp kept him distracted.
"Here, this will help," said Chiron, pulling out a paper envelope and handing it to Annabeth, ignoring the previous exchange. He knew she was the most sensible one to handle it. Inside were mortal money and a map—basic yet necessary tools for moving through the human world.
"Remember," he added gravely, "this quest is important. You must recover the bolt before the summer solstice, or it will be too late to stop what's coming."
The air grew heavy. Annabeth and Grover understood perfectly, but Percy barely heard him. His true mission was different. To him, this wasn't about a bolt or a war between gods. There was only one goal: to save his mother. And if he had to descend into the Underworld to do it, he would—no matter who stood in his way.
His gaze hardened, and Chiron recognized it instantly. It was the look of a hero accepting his fate.
The three set out toward the edge of camp. When Annabeth crossed the boundary where the trees rose like a wall between the mortal and the divine worlds, she paused and looked at one in particular. That tree, now a silent guardian, reminded her what happened to those who failed. And at the same time, it fueled her resolve never to stray from her path.
…
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world—in the most dangerous continent for a child of a god—an insane number of monsters roamed the streets as if they were ordinary humans. Some walked among them without hiding their fangs or glowing eyes. Others used weak illusions, just enough to blend in with the crowd.
The number of mortals was overwhelmingly smaller compared to that of those creatures. They weren't just monsters from the Greek pantheon; there were also beings from other mythologies, drawn by the divine energy still lingering in the land left behind by the past. The result was such a massive concentration that if a single demigod set foot there, they would be devoured within seconds.
In the middle of that chaos walked Miraak, perfectly calm. His black jacket fluttered in the wind, and his sword, in his hand, vibrated occasionally—reducing to ashes any monster that came too close. It seemed as though he wasn't even moving his arm… or rather, no one could perceive the speed at which he struck.
"Mmm… this place seems perfect to train the kid," he murmured with a faint smile. "I should bring him here when I get the chance."
Around him, the ground was covered with remains—horns, tails, claws, scales, and fragments of armor. Trophies from the monsters he had slain. Before killing each enemy, he often forced at least one of their materials to fall intact, always assessing whether it could serve him to forge new weapons or armor. His mission there was simple.
A demigod was about to be born—the child of a minor god. Something unusual in those lands, especially among pantheons that preferred to keep their realms separate. Yet love—or foolishness—had overcome divine blood. And Miraak, better than anyone, knew that such things never ended well.
Sending the child to the western continent, of course, had been rejected.
Not only because the monsters there were stronger—though fewer in number—accustomed to facing, day after day, the endless wave of Greek demigods who outnumbered all others combined,
but also because such a move could ignite conflict among the minor gods themselves… or even with the greater ones, especially if the child happened to share any connection with the Greeks.
From that, Miraak understood one thing clearly: the other pantheons did not look kindly upon the gods of Olympus.
Although, in truth, he didn't care. The only thing that mildly interested him was the supposed payment he would receive for his work.
A man dressed in an elegant red suit and a turban appeared before him, his expression serene and his gesture full of sincere gratitude.
"Thank you for coming from so far to help," said the stranger in a soft yet dignified voice. "I wish I could offer you more… after all, the one about to be born carries my blood. But we minor gods… we cannot interfere too much in mortal affairs."
His tone carried a mix of guilt and resignation. He seemed calm, composed, but his words held an ancient weight.
Miraak regarded him in silence, one brow arching with mild curiosity.
"And why is that?" he asked, his tone halfway between interest and boredom.
The man sighed and replied evenly,
"That is the problem when too many divinities share the same territory. All of them compete for faith. In ancient times, minor gods did everything they could to increase their power—blessing, cursing, meddling in mortal lives… sparking an invisible war for worship. And, as always, it was the humans who suffered the most."
He paused for a moment, as if unwilling to continue. But Miraak didn't seem interested in the conversation. He simply raised a hand and pointed toward the sky.
A cascade of lightning burst from his palm like a radiant storm. In a matter of seconds, dozens of birds flying overhead disintegrated, reduced to shimmering dust.
The man's eyes widened slightly, surprised by how effortlessly this being—who looked human but clearly wasn't—unleashed such power.
"It'll only take about ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds," Miraak murmured, observing the efficiency of the purge. Then he nodded to himself. "Though with this cleanup, you might not have to worry about anything else. When the child is born, I'll seal his divinity so no one can detect it until he reaches maturity."
The god spoke with calm assurance, preparing to depart. Yet before disappearing, he gave Miraak one last look. It wasn't a simple glance—
for a brief instant, it seemed as though he were peering deep into him, examining his very essence.
A faint surprise crossed his face before, with a flick of his sleeve, he tossed a small vial toward him.
Miraak caught it midair. Inside, a golden liquid shimmered brightly, radiating a tangible divine energy. He studied it with interest for a few seconds, then tucked it carefully into a secure compartment of his cloak.
"Hmph. That brat will kneel before me when I hand him this," he muttered with a barely perceptible smile. Then he inhaled deeply, gathering an immense surge of energy within his chest.
Since everything was finished, he thought it was time to clean the area… completely.
"STRUN BAH QO!" he roared to the heavens.
The power of the Word thundered through the air like the roar of a thousand storms. At that instant, Miraak felt multiple divine gazes fall upon him—vast and distinct presences belonging to different pantheons. All of them shared something in common: a blend of attention, fury, and curiosity.
The wind turned wild. The clouds began to spiral above his head, heavy with crackling electricity. But Miraak did not flinch. With complete composure, he activated his teleportation magic and vanished—just before a colossal tempest erupted across the land.
The sky roared.
Bolts of lightning fell like spears of fire, annihilating every monster that dared approach. The ground quaked, the rain crashed down with overwhelming force, and within minutes, every trace of the abominations had been reduced to ashes.
…
Meanwhile, the man in the red suit had returned to a small secluded house, where an exhausted woman smiled softly, holding in her arms a newborn crying with all his strength. Sweat glistened on her forehead, but her eyes shone with relief and tenderness.
She looked out the window, unaware that the god stood beside her, watching the same scene.
The man fixed his gaze on the horizon as his voice resonated with a calm, almost philosophical tone.
"A being so powerful… greater than the minor gods, second only to the great ones. How long can he remain so free?" he murmured thoughtfully.
His eyes glowed briefly, as if glimpsing something beyond the present. Then he smiled.
"It seems my gamble wasn't so bad after all. If not even the Fates can find his path, it means his destiny will be written by his own hand."
He spoke with the serenity of one who had seen countless futures. For the first time in ages, his face reflected a pure emotion—expectation.
To witness something that escaped the control of destiny was… fascinating.
As the woman cradled her child—a boy who should not exist, who by all logic should have died an hour ago—the god felt, for the first time, that something truly unpredictable had occurred.
And that simple fact filled him with hope.
The child would live.
His life would not be bound to the thread of fate, but to the power of his own choices.
And for a god who had seen everything, that was… truly exhilarating.