The Letter from the Underworld and The Oracle of Chaos
Percy was still unsure whether he should accept that mission. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, completely lost in thought. In moments like this, his master was of little help.
Miraak always let him decide for himself… which, according to Percy, was absurd. After all, he was just a twelve-year-old kid carrying the weight of protecting human lives on his shoulders.
He let out a weary sigh and sat up slowly, determined to reject that ridiculous responsibility.
However, just before he could do so, he noticed something on the nearby desk—a letter. A black envelope that hadn't been there before. Even at a glance, it radiated a foreboding aura.
Percy frowned. He eyed the envelope with suspicion; no one had entered his cabin, and if his master wanted to speak with him, he wouldn't need to leave a letter. Miraak preferred to say things directly… or send "that magical thing" he used to appear out of nowhere.
Still, something deep inside told him he had to read it—that not doing so would be a mistake.
He approached cautiously, picked up the envelope, and read the words written across the back:
"To Percy Jackson. From your teacher, Dodds."
Percy's eyes widened. A chill ran down his spine, and a faint fear surfaced as the memory of that day returned to him.
It wasn't just the letter that shocked him—it was the fact that the woman was alive. His master had told him she was dead.
In fact, Percy had asked about her some time ago, recalling the moment he'd been attacked—when Miraak intervened and defeated her. His master's response had been simple, direct, leaving no room for doubt:
"She's dead."
And yet… there was her name.
Percy needed to know how that was possible.
Without another thought, he broke the seal and opened the letter.
He pulled out the paper with trembling hands and began to read.
Despite his usual trouble concentrating, this time he focused with all his might. But soon he realized there was no need to force himself.
He could understand it.
Every line was written in a different language… and yet he understood each one with startling clarity.
In fact, he grasped them even better than his own tongue.
Percy pushed those distracting thoughts aside and focused on the message.
The words were simple—but carried a dreadful weight:
"Come. Your mother is with us.
If you don't bring it, she will die."
His eyes shot open.
"Master!" he shouted.
Miraak, who had been resting on the cabin's roof while enduring the constant gaze of a certain god, heard his disciple's cry. In an instant, his body dissolved into mist, passing through the roof and materializing directly in front of Percy.
The boy was on the verge of collapse—pale, trembling, clutching the letter tightly as he read it over and over again, terror carved into his expression.
Miraak frowned and took the paper from him.
It took him no effort to understand, even though the language was foreign.
After all, he had spent centuries in Apocrypha, the realm where all knowledge of the multiverse converges. Learning a new language after seeing it once was trivial to him.
"Master… they have my mom," Percy said with a trembling voice, clinging to Miraak's robes as though seeking something solid to hold on to. The fear was dragging him down like an anchor.
"Calm yourself," ordered the Dragonborn, and without hesitation, he gave Percy a sharp smack on the head—followed by a calming spell that washed over him like a wave of serenity.
Percy blinked, startled, but slowly his breathing began to steady.
Miraak, meanwhile, examined the black envelope carefully. It wasn't just a message—it was crafted to manipulate, to provoke despair.
The young demigod exhaled deeply, trying to organize his thoughts.
"Master… what should I do? My mother… where is she? Where am I supposed to go?" he asked, his tone caught between worry and determination. He didn't doubt that he had to go—he just wanted to know how.
Miraak studied him in silence, shaking his head in resignation.
It was frustrating to see how easily others could manipulate his pupil, but he knew he had to let him stumble so he could learn to rise again.
As he often said: Nords are raised through hardship.
"The god of the underworld," he finally answered. He knew exactly where that so-called "Mrs. Dodds" came from.
"It seems you'll end up taking that stupid mission after all," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. Perhaps this was part of fate.
And if there was one thing Miraak understood, it was that fate—no matter how absurd—was rarely escapable.
He had read the legends of Tamriel and knew of the Elder Scrolls, though he never touched them; he knew their wisdom could blind the reader.
Even so, he understood their truth: everything ever written eventually comes to pass.
As he rubbed his chin in thought, Percy—impulsive as always—bolted from the cabin.
Maybe to seek information about the Underworld.
Maybe to formally accept the quest.
Miraak watched him go, sighing.
"More than fate… it's like a lamb being led to slaughter," he murmured, irritation flickering in his voice at how easily his student could be swayed.
But he also knew it was normal—Percy was still a child. He lacked experience.
And if there was one thing Miraak intended to teach him… it was exactly that.
"Then you'll have to suffer a little, my student," he said quietly, watching Percy's back as the boy ran toward the Big House, where Chiron and Dionysus awaited. "So you'll learn not to let just anyone mess with that foolish head of yours."
He watched a moment longer before fading into mist.
If his student wished to embark on a mission that endangered his life, that was his decision. Miraak would not stop him. He wouldn't be his master if he didn't allow him to face danger.
After all, Miraak himself had grown up amid destruction and constant battle.
He was born in ancient Tamriel.
And if the current age was harsh and perilous… no one could imagine what the world was like when its rulers were dragons who believed themselves gods.
Miraak had spent his entire life fighting.
Constantly.
Not just to survive, but to make a name for himself.
To be recognized among his own kind.
Until, finally, he was accepted as a Dragon Priest.
And even that hadn't been easy.
Each of those priests had been more monstrous than the last—not only because of their power, but because of the mountains of corpses they left behind to be deemed worthy by the dragons who proclaimed themselves gods.
Miraak had fought them as well—
The very dragons who believed themselves divine.
His life had been an endless sequence of battles, conquests, and defeats, without a moment of rest… until he was imprisoned in that eternal place that became his cage.
That was why, now, in this new world, he had begun to enjoy—if only a little—the freedom it offered him.
He knew it wouldn't last.
Not while there existed beings stronger than himself.
Unless, of course, he became one of them.
The words of Thor, the god of thunder, echoed more vividly in his mind:
"Treasure that freedom. You still have much to learn."
At the time, Miraak hadn't fully understood them. But now he was beginning to. There had been a hint of envy in the god's voice—a spark of melancholy.
A god so powerful… and yet, he envied freedom.
…
"Are you sure, Percy?" asked Mr. Brunner, studying the boy standing before him, posture firm and serious.
"Yes," Percy answered, nodding with determination, offering no further explanation.
Brunner looked at him with pride.
Perhaps the boy had truly thought it through. Though the danger worried him deeply, it also moved him to see such resolve in Percy's eyes.
Like a true hero, the child had chosen to risk his life to prevent a war that could destroy the world.
"That's admirable, Percy," Brunner finally said. "But I must warn you—this will be a dangerous mission. You'll face trials that will test your life, your battle skills, and your ability to think clearly. That's why you'll need allies. But before that… there's something you must do first."
Brunner's expression turned solemn, his voice carrying the weight of a teacher about to impart an important lesson.
…
Percy would've left immediately if he could—run into the night and start the quest right away. But apparently, there were preparations to be made before his departure, and one of them was receiving an oracle.
For that reason, the next morning he was sent to an old attic in the camp. There, he would receive the prophecy that would mark his destiny.
Meanwhile, his master—just as always—had disappeared.
When Percy returned to the cabin, Miraak was gone.
Perhaps he disapproved silently of Percy's decision to accept something he had previously rejected with pride. Percy knew his master well; Miraak was a proud man, and he expected the same from his student.
But at that moment, pride didn't matter.
His mother was in danger.
He climbed the stairs slowly, glancing around. The attic was filled with dust, stacked boxes, and shelves covered in old junk—trophies, jars, broken decorations.
Each step creaked beneath his feet.
He walked through the dim space until he stopped, startled by what he saw at the far end: an unmoving figure seated in a rocking chair.
It looked like a mummy.
It didn't move, didn't even breathe.
Percy watched it in silence, frowning. Was that thing supposed to be the oracle?
"Uh… hello?" he tried, taking a cautious step forward.
Silence. Not even a twitch.
"Ah… great. I'm really starting to hate this place," he muttered with resignation.
Then, from the mummy's half-open mouth, a green mist began to flow.
It swirled slowly, like a small tornado, taking shape before his eyes.
"Wonderful," Percy said sarcastically.
Because that figure looked familiar.
Too familiar.
Someone who shouldn't be there.
Or rather… someone who shouldn't still be alive.
Seeing him appear as mist left only one possible explanation: a ghost, back from the other side—perhaps seeking revenge.
Instinctively, Percy drew his sword and assumed a defensive stance.
But the figure didn't move to attack. It simply looked at him… and spoke.
"You shall go west and face the god who has rebelled," said the hollow, distorted voice of Gabe.
"You shall find what was stolen and return it safely.
You shall be betrayed by one who calls himself your friend.
And, in the end, you shall fail to save what matters most."
Percy slowly lowered his sword, realizing this was the oracle.
He sighed in frustration.
"Ah, I see…" he muttered, turning to leave.
But Gabe spoke again—his voice now deeper, almost divine.
"When the echo of ancient fire awakens the slumbering titan,
the first of draconic blood shall rise before the power that devours all.
There shall be no victory, nor defeat—only inevitable ruin,
for even restraint will bring collapse, and peace shall be but a mirage.
What he seeks to protect will be lost beyond recovery,
and that which he wishes to return shall never find its destiny."
Percy stopped.
The ghost's head began to twitch violently, as if unseen hands were tearing at him. The boy stared in confusion as Gabe's voice warped even further.
"Beneath a starless sky, the ancient fire shall descend into the sunless realm.
Not for hate, nor for war, but for the weight of forgotten measures.
The Lord of Shadows shall watch with eyes of judgment,
and within his soul he shall find the balance no god has ever seen.
If the draconic one extends his hand with true purpose,
even Death shall open its gates, and the pact shall be sealed with honor."
Then, a dark energy swept through the room.
Gabe's mist-like body began to twist and writhe, as if being torn apart by invisible forces.
From the mummy came a sound—a broken wail, half scream, half sob.
And finally, with a voice that thundered through the darkness, the oracle proclaimed:
"When the son of the sea breaks his bonds and embraces the banner of chaos,
the World-Eater, the Twilight God, shall awaken unchained.
Neither gods, nor heroes, nor fates shall rise against him,
and the heavens themselves shall shatter beneath the roar that heralds the end.
Then shall he join the Bringer of the End,
and together they shall devour existence until nothing remains."
The mist that formed the ghost exploded into a thousand bright fragments, vanishing into the air.
The mummy remained still—lifeless once more.
Percy stood frozen, unable to fully comprehend what he had just witnessed.
His breathing grew heavy as his mind struggled to make sense of the words.
But something told him that, from that moment on, nothing would ever be the same again.