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“I am your mother, Annabeth! I gave birth to you, and I infused part of my essence into your body so that you can use these gifts! You owe your existence to me! Why can’t you just - “
“A mother is supposed to be there for me when I get hurt! To protect me and stand up for me when no one else will! To show me love and care when I need it the most! When have you done anything for me? For Malcolm? For any of your children? You certainly didn’t care for any of us before!” Annabeth spat out lividly. The goddess stayed silent, fury and guilt pooling together, churning in her gut. She wanted to vehemently deny the accusations, to say that she did care, that she loved each one of her children, but the words were lodged in her throat, unable to escape her mouth. “You have no right to barge in here and demand anything from me!” Annabeth seethed, slapping her hands on the coffee table.
“Annabeth, please – “ She was cut off by Annabeth, raising a hand to stop her from continuing.
“You know, I used to think that making you proud of me was the greatest possible thing I could do. That I needed to do something, anything, so that my own mother would spare me a bit of her time. That I needed to prove my worth as your investment before I could earn your love. That a mother’s love was conditional, a mutual transaction between both parties.” Annabeth confessed in a quieter tone, and Athena could feel the heartache and longing rolling off Annabeth in waves. It made her want to pull her hair out. Why couldn’t her child see the truth? Athena did the best she could – she gave her daughter the tools needed to succeed in both the mortal and godly worlds, allowing her to exercise creative freedom. She gave her the opportunity to make decisions for herself while advising her against choices that would derail her life. What more could Annabeth want?
“Just accept immortality daughter! Is it so wrong for a mother to save her favorite daughter from the inevitable? The tale of a hero always ends in tragedy. I don’t want that to happen to you!” Athena pleaded, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Did Annabeth not understand how much her death would break her? How much she would miss her? Yes, she had other demigod children, all of whom she adored, but Annabeth was by far her favorite. She reminded Athena of a younger version of herself: a perfect combination of strength and wisdom, bright-eyed and armed with a determination to change the world, with the correct blend of instinct and logic. Beautiful and deadly, capable of both attacking and defending. She reminded Athena of herself during her formative years on Olympus.
(An Athena who was still innocent, who wasn’t covered in the blood of those crushed underneath her feet due to her pride, who wasn’t tainted by the woes and mistakes of godhood. She reminded the goddess of an Athena that no longer existed.)
“I guess it was foolish of me to expect anything from a God, least of all understanding. How disappointing. If you have any more complaints about my life choices, feel free to stop by. That is, if you even bother.” With a glare, Annabeth stood up from her chair and grabbed her coat. The door slammed behind her, leaving a red-eyed, frustrated wisdom goddess behind. She cursed herself for passing her headstrong attitude to her children; it was rather annoying to deal with. With a slight sigh, Athena stood up from her chair and smoothed the kinks out of her dress. Annabeth would come around eventually – Athena just knew she would.
(Dear goddess, I thought you were supposed to be wise?
But here you are, believing your own fabricated lies.)
Athena knew that half-bloods had a very short lifespan, and that death was inevitable in their future, especially for powerful heroes like Annabeth and Perseus. She just didn’t expect Thanatos to collect their souls this early.
Five days later, her gaze was trained on the pair of shrouds located in the center of the Camp Half-Blood beach: an elegant, stormy grey shroud embroidered with owls, and a glittering emerald and gold shroud, shimmering in the moonlight like fish scales. Behind the shrouds, the waves churned and crashed on the shore angrily, and strong gusts of wind constantly blew her hair in her face.
Clearly, Poseidon was devastated – and why wouldn’t be? The child he cherished and loved so deeply (and that left a bitter taste in her mouth – he was just a child. They all were.), the boy with fire in his veins - whose soul burned bright and short – was now gone forever, lost to the clutches of death. Yet despite the stormy conditions, the night sky was clear, with the stars glowing and lighting up the darkness like fireflies.
(It was supposed to be a simple mission – infiltrate a monster nest situated within the warehouse by the docks. Get in and get out, no lingering. Athena had no idea on what activities the warehouse was privy too, but she did know it was a small detachment of Cyclopes and Dracaena – child’s play for the Saviors of Olympus. Athena didn’t bother checking in on Annabeth – why would she? Compared to everything that happened in the past few years, this task was nothing. She reassured herself that Annabeth would return home, successfully completing the mission.
That was before fluorescent green flames illuminated the sky and a deafening boom was heard all the way in Olympus.
Not even Annabeth and Perseus could escape a warehouse rigged with Greek fire, an ambush clearly intended to lure demigods to their deaths.)
Athena had an unobstructed view of the ceremonial shroud burning from the ridge overlooking the beach. Chiron was present, in his wheelchair form. Behind him stood a various ensemble of individuals – Athena recognized them all as veterans of both the Titan war and the Giant war. Every single one of them was crying or staring at the shrouds in disbelief, and maybe denial. They each wore shell-shocked expressions, as if they were unable to fathom the situation. She was struck by how old each of them seemed to look, even though they were all under the legal drinking age.
Yet those observations lasted only for a fleeting moment, before her mind went blank again. Annabeth. She couldn’t be gone. Not like this. Immediately, Athena cursed herself for her naivety. Of course, she would go out like this. The Fates made no exceptions: demigods were destined to live tragic lives. At times, it seemed like a natural law of the universe – like the existence of time or the physics of the universe. Death was timeless – it was a perpetual cycle, like a broken record player – doomed to repeat for eternity. Athena has seen so much – the rise and fall of Greece and Rome and so many other empires and nations afterwards. She has seen the cycles of hope and despair, of peace and war, of life and death for centuries, and will continue to watch these cycles for centuries after. Why was the death of Annabeth any different? What made this event hurt so much?
(The rain pitter-pattered on the docks, and groans were released by the rotting wood above her. Yet for all that she noticed, she still felt numb to everything around her. Two charred, nearly unrecognizable corpses were in front of her. She ignored the first body, instinctively shuddering when a few spiders escaped from under the burnt clothes of the corpse, and gravitated slowly to the second body.
Golden-blond hair was covered in soot and ashes, and a multitude of burn scars lined the base of her neck. Stray sparks and flames crackled around the rotting corpse, and a fine layer of dust and concrete powder coated the rest of the body. The orange shirt and blue denim shorts looked like they were ripped apart, and jagged bite marks were visible around the legs of the body. A viscous layer of blood oozed out of an open wound near her stomach, and a dislodged section of stone crushed the left hand of the body.
Athena bit back a sob, and knelt down near her daughter’s head, cradling it gently with her arms. Annabeth’s eyes were still open – lifeless grey irises as stone cold as granite stared back at her. They were so familiar and yet so different from what Athena usually expected from Annabeth’s eyes. They looked so hollow, so dead and unnatural and empty. So devoid of emotion and innocence and feeling.
They were the same eyes that Athena saw every time she looked in the mirror.
Her mouth was etched in a permanent snarl, and her facial features looked oh so aristocratic and jagged and beautiful, all sharp edges and tight contours.
It was rather fitting that Annabeth resembled Athena perfectly only in death.)
“Perseus and Annabeth were two of my favorite pupils, who exemplified what it meant to be a demigod.” Chiron began, a slight rasp in his voice that indicated he was barely holding back his own tears. “They were the best of both the mortal and immortal worlds. As demigods, I watched them survive all the challenges the world threw at them, and defeat the odds every time. As mortals, they made mistakes, but always learned from them and evolved into the best versions of themselves,” Chiron continued, and oh, that hurt. Athena flinched, the jab attacking her pride, but she quickly squashed it down, shame now filling her gut. In that moment, Athena wished she was mortal, to learn humility instead of being born with arrogance, to earn her place in the world instead of being gifted the world on a silver platter.
Athena was great – it came naturally with being an Olympian - but in that moment, she wanted to be good.
With a heartbroken sigh, Athena backed away from the scene. She placed her head on her knees, finally letting the tears flow. Her sobs echoed through the forest clearing. It wasn’t fair: why was it her fate to witness everyone dear to her heart wither away, to have her mistakes result in nothing but blood and tragedy, to have her innocence stripped away as the world became crueler?
(Maybe it was her becoming crueler and colder as the innocence of man faded.)
Footsteps echoed behind her, and Athena swiveled her head, only to find Poseidon blankly surveying the shroud burning. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, with a navy-blue Victorian-era overcoat. A Marine officer cap was placed on his head, tilting slightly to the right. Clearly, he didn’t bother with choosing his wardrobe today. Jade-colored eyes, normally alight with joy, were red-rimmed and darkened with sorrow, and his mouth was quivering slightly. For him to keep a lid on his raging emotions was impressive, especially because he felt so much more deeply than she did. Athena sensed that her uncle wanted to talk.
(Athena thanked the Fates that it wasn’t Neptune she was facing. The Roman Sea god was vengeful and calculating, and especially enjoyed drowning souls who disrespected him. She would have already been thrown in one of the Atlantean jail cells. After all, she was once part of the Sea, and the Sea doesn’t easily release those it already claimed.)
“Niece.”
“Uncle.”
An uncomfortable silence fell upon them. Normally, she wouldn’t be so cordial with her uncle, spitting insults and threats towards him, but seeing as they were both grieving the loss of their respective children, Athena decided to pass on starting another argument. Besides, Poseidon could be volatile, and she didn’t wish to risk his wrath, especially not today. So they continued to bask in the silence, until it was broken by Poseidon’s halting voice.
“The last conversation I had with Percy was about meeting Medusa on his first quest.” Athena was intrigued now, and motioned Poseidon to continue. “He mentioned how enamored Medusa was with his eyes, reminding her of myself. He also talked about the anger she held when mentioning how cursing her was your fault.” A white-hot ball of anger unfurled, and she clenched her teeth.
“It takes two to tango, uncle, so don’t pin her punishment, and her fate, solely on me!” Athena hissed, pushing herself up. “We both made mistakes with her, but don’t you dare insinuate that I was the only reason her life was ruined.”
“I’m not.” Whatever arguments and retorts Athena had to say fizzled out, and she reverted back to her sitting position, slumping as she stared at the ground.
“Then what’s the point of bringing this topic up? Spit it out, Poseidon.”
The sea god sat down next to Athena, shoulders touching shoulders, and tentatively placed a calloused arm around her waist. A beat passed, before Athena slowly leaned into him, embracing her former father figure. For a moment, she felt almost at peace, before Poseidon cleared his throat.
“Immortality truly is a beautiful lie.” At this, Athena tilted her head, curious to understand what he meant. “Many mortals are convinced that immortality is associated with perfection, and our pride feeds off it. But we make mistakes Athena.” The goddess was still slumping, but raised her eyebrows minutely. Where was he going with this? “The sins of the parents always reflect on the children. This is true for both mortals and immortals alike. We aren’t perfect, but we pretend to be, and the consequence is that our children have to pay for our mistakes.”
Athena nodded her head mutely, feeling a fresh pool of tears churning in her eyes, ready to fall at a moment’s notice. She looked up at her uncle, and was shocked by just how old he looked. Grey hair, fraying at the edges, scraggly white beard and weathered skin were all clearly visible now. Poseidon’s face was now creased, something dark and primal churning in his irises. Athena was used to loud Tommy Bahama shirts and Ray-ban sunglasses and blinding smiles from her uncle, behaving like a child and having fun with his family. Now, she truly saw just how ancient he was, how time had changed him over the millennia.
(Aunt Hestia once mentioned how Poseidon resembled Kronos the most out of all the Elder Six Gods, and now Athena wondered if Hestia wasn’t just talking about his looks.)
“Our lives were perfect before we knew of the woes of immortality. Before vanity and anger and blood and power corrupted us. The mortals associate us with perfection, but really, we should be associated with tragedy.” Poseidon finished with a mocking smile, tears leaking out of his eyes now. His eyes flitted towards the beach. Chiron and the other campers were long gone, leaving behind a mess of footprints and two funeral shrouds engulfed in bright yellow flames.
“Aren’t demigods the ones who always have a tragic fate? They suffer and scrape and work twice as hard just to get by in life. Their lives are terrible, worse than ours!” At this, her uncle started to laugh, a caustic, wheezing laugh that gave Athena shivers, even if the night was warm. It filled her ears and mind like poison, dulling the rest of her senses and muffling her hearing. Never had Poseidon sounded like Neptune more than in this moment – so acidic and stinging and scornful. As if to confirm her thoughts, the figure of her uncle blurred for a moment, and Athena caught a glimpse of cruel royal blue eyes, glaring at her. The figure resolidified back to Poseidon, who raised an eyebrow and stared at Athena with dark amusement.
“You know, a hero will always have a tragic fate, but at least death is the end of their suffering.”
And just like that, Athena finally realized why Annabeth’s passing ached so much, why this was different than when any other child of Athena died: it reminded her of events millennia ago, when she accepted her status as a member of the Olympian council. That was the day the old, perfect Athena truly died and the pride-filled Wisdom goddess was born.
Annabeth reminded Athena of herself, before logic replaced emotions, before pride replaced humility, before tragedy replaced perfection.
She released a scream, and the ground rumbled. The smoke from the shrouds continued to flow into the night sky until the final embers of yellow were extinguished. Soon, only dust and ashes were left behind, until they too, were swept away by the rising tides.
(It was never your fate to die.)