[Third Person Pov]
Hades let out a low, amused chuckle. "You forgot, didn't you?"
Lucian rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks tinting with embarrassment. "I mean… with everything that's been going on, I didn't exactly think to keep track."
Hades shook his head, wiping at the corner of one eye. Lucian's gaze sharpened as he leaned forward, the grin stretching wider across his face. "Wait—hold on." Hands in his pant pockets, smile turning mischievous. "Were you crying~?"
"What? Of course not." Hades sniffed, wiping his forehead with exaggerated indifference. "It's the rain. It's getting in my eye."
Lucian scoffed, gesturing broadly at Hades. "You're as dry as Tantalus's damn cup whenever he tries to take a drink." The rain poured around them in sheets, but not a single drop clung to Hades—his clothes spotless, his hair untouched.
Hades leveled him with a flat, unimpressed stare. "Fine. You got me." He crossed his arms with a grumble. "I was mourning the loss of my son. Bite me."
Lucian laughed, unable to help himself. "You are strangely adorable, you know that?"
"You," Hades muttered, pointing at him accusingly, "are turning out to be a very difficult person to mourn and miss." He let out a long breath, irritation and lingering sadness blending together. "Anyway—come along. Walk with me. I'll guide you to the Judges of the Underworld myself. I came to personally accompany you on your journey down."
With a sweep of his hand, the ground split apart, stone groaning as a staircase spiraled downward into the darkness. He turned and extended his hand toward the stairwell. "Well? You coming?"
"Not like I have much of a choice," Lucian said, hands still in his pockets as he began forward.
Hades watched long enough to ensure Lucian was truly following, then began his descent first, each step echoing faintly beneath them.
Lucian shifted his weight, slipping one hand free. A card rested neatly between his index and middle finger—a creation of Mist. Without looking back, he flicked it over his shoulder as if he was throwing away trash.
As he stepped onto the stairway, the entrance behind him began to close, stone grinding shut like the jaws of a great beast. Light dimmed. Shadows swallowed him. Then—complete, suffocating darkness.
---
On the surface, Annabeth's eyes were raw and swollen from crying, her cheeks streaked with the residue of salt and rain. Her expression was hollow, emptied of hope or reason. Black veins crawled up her arms like poisonous vines—marks left by the miasma that clung to Lucian's corpse even in death.
She stared at his still, cold body for a long moment, unmoving. Then she reached to her side, fingers tightening around the dagger. She flipped it into her hand with practiced ease, though her grip trembled.
She raised the blade to her throat.
Just as she began to push forward, a hand shoved between the blade and her neck. The steel punched straight through the palm, blood splattering across Annabeth's wrist. A sharp gasp escaped the intruder.
Annabeth turned her head slowly. Her hair clung to her face like wet strands of ash. Her eyes were voids.
Scylla's face twisted in pain, teeth clenched. The dagger protruded from her pierced palm, stopping just shy of Annabeth's throat.
Her hand trembled violently as she slowly curled her fingers around Annabeth's. "Please… don't," she whispered, tears falling freely and mingling with the relentless rain. "One death is enough for today. We don't need two."
"Let. Go." Annabeth's voice was a dead calm—cold, emotionless, numb.
"No." Scylla shook her head fiercely, even as her blood soaked through her fingers. Her voice cracked under the strain. "I may not have known Lucian for long… but I knew enough to understand he wouldn't want this."
"It doesn't matter what he wants," Annabeth murmured, pulling harder against Scylla's grip. "What he wants or doesn't want… none of it matters now." Her voice wavered but never softened. "He's dead. And I made a promise—I would follow him to the ends of the earth." Her breath shuddered as her eyes glossed over with something dark and final. "And if that includes the Underworld… then that's where I'll go."
"Do you really think Lucian would want you to follow him in death?!" Scylla cried, her voice raw and cracking. Her hand—still bleeding—trembled as she held Annabeth's wrist in place. Around them, the others froze mid-movement, turning slowly toward the confrontation, the rain pattering against the clearing.
"Killing yourself isn't the solution!"
"It's the only solution I have left—!!" Annabeth snapped back, her voice sharp and breaking, but the words died on her tongue. Her whole body stilled. Her eyes drifted downward—toward Lucian's lifeless form—fixated, unfocused.
"Annabeth?" Thalia rasped, her voice nearly gone from crying. Miasma crawled up her arms in dark streaks, but she didn't seem to notice. She stared at her friend's suddenly empty expression.
"The solution…" Annabeth whispered, barely audible, staring into the space beside Lucian as if she were seeing something no one else could.
Her mind reeled backwards—through grief, through pain—toward the last meaningful conversation they'd shared.
The moment after he had smashed an egg over her head.
---
Flashback
Annabeth's tone had softened then, frustration fading into quiet sincerity. "Just tell me one thing," she had said, meeting his eyes without blinking. "Are you at least doing something about it?"
Lucian had hesitated. Just a second. "I'm… working on it."
---
The memory hit her like lightning.
"Lucian was working on a solution…" Annabeth murmured, blinking rapidly as the pieces began sliding into place.
"What?" Thalia asked, still lost.
Annabeth's eyes slowly ignited—faint, faint, but unmistakably alive. "Of course. We were talking especially about the prophecy. At first, when he told me he was working on a solution, I thought he meant his condition—him slowly dying, the miasma, everything."
She shook her head sharply. "But he wasn't. He never was. He was referring to the part of the prophecy that predicted his death."
Thalia frowned, confused and exhausted. "I'm still… not following. And what does it matter now? He's dead anyway, isn't he?"
"Yes," Annabeth said, breath quickening as she pushed herself to her feet. "Because that's what was foretold. He had to die. And Lucian knew that. He knew it from the beginning."
She brushed wet hair back from her face, pacing rapidly, thoughts spinning. "So instead of preventing his death—because he couldn't—he focused on what came after. He was planning around his death. Lucian didn't have to avoid his fate… because he never planned to stay dead."
Their eyes widened in unison.
"He came up with a plan to revive himself," Percy whispered, stunned.
Annabeth snapped her fingers at him. "Exactly!"
Thalia pushed up from the ground, unsteady but alert. "Okay, okay—but did he ever tell you what the plan actually was?"
Annabeth's eyelid twitched. She let out a frustrated growl. "No! And that's what pisses me off! He's always secretive with stuff like this! Always! I'm sure he left behind some clue for us to follow—probably something stupid and cryptic—and knowing him he did it just to laugh at us later!"
"What clue could he possibly have left behind?" Clarisse asked, glancing around as if expecting something to leap out.
"Yohohoho~ Yohohoho~"
Everyone froze.
A chill ran down their spines. Slowly—very slowly—they turned their heads toward the sound.
Tyson stood there, rubbing his eyes with one massive finger, quietly singing through his tears using Lucian's voice.
"Tyson…? What are you doing?" Percy asked cautiously.
Tyson sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "It was Lucian's favorite song… He always hummed it on the ship. And he told me—he told me that when I started to miss him, I should sing it." His voice cracked. "I didn't know what he meant at the time… but I do now."
He looked down at Lucian's body and broke into sobs. "He must have really loved that song. He even sang it when he was passing…"
Tyson's shoulders shook. "I didn't know Lucian for long. And he was a bit scary. But he was always nice to me. He always made food for me when I was hungry…"
Silence fell.
Everyone stared.
Blankly.
Emotionlessly.
Then, one after another, they muttered the exact same thing under their breath:
"That motherfucker…"
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