"The God Who Walks Among Stars"
The universe was old before the first Titan ever rose from Chaos. Long before Gaia sang life into being, before Nyx veiled the cosmos in shadow, and before Kronos raised his sickle against his father, there was another.
Percy.
Not a Titan. Not a Primordial. Not bound to the loom of Fate.
A being who simply was — an eternal force clothed in flesh, walking between eternity and the flow of time. His domains—Time, Space, and Earth—were the veins through which existence itself pulsed. Where he stood, worlds bent. Where he willed, reality shifted.
But to mortals and immortals alike, he appeared as a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like storms caught between emerald and sapphire, holding both serenity and destruction. When he walked among Olympus after the Titanomachy, even the gods felt a tremor in their essence, for here was one older than their myths, yet he smiled with a warmth they could not fathom.
The Titanomachy Aftermath
When the war ended, Olympus rejoiced. The Titans were chained, Typhon had been cast down, and the gods raised their thrones upon the highest peak. Yet beneath the revels lay unease, for they knew victory had not been theirs alone.
Percy had fought with them — not out of allegiance, but out of choice. Where Kronos sought to devour the world, Percy had raised his hand, and entire battlefields froze in time while Olympians struck down their foes. When Hyperion unleashed the fury of the sun, Percy tore space itself, swallowing the flames into nothingness. When Atlas crushed mountains, Percy answered with the pulse of Earth's core, reminding all who watched that his strength was not of Titan or god, but something far greater.
The Olympians whispered.
Why does he aid us? What does he seek?
He asked for nothing.
And so he remained, a silent guardian at the edge of their pantheon.
The Huntress and the Strategist
It was Artemis who first approached him.
The Maiden of the Moon, unbending, untouched, sworn against men — yet her silver gaze lingered on Percy longer than she allowed herself to admit. She had seen his calm in war, the way he shielded even the weakest nymph from the wrath of Giants, the way his presence stilled even her restless hunters.
"Why do you stay?" she asked one night beneath the stars, bow in hand, her hunters asleep.
Percy looked up at the endless sky, a canvas he knew more intimately than any. "Because war is never truly over. Someone must stand when the next shadow rises."
Artemis should have scoffed, yet she did not. Instead, she felt the strange warmth of his words, the certainty that he spoke not as a man but as eternity itself. For the first time, her vow trembled.
Athena was slower to yield.
The grey-eyed goddess of wisdom studied him from afar, analyzing his every move. He unsettled her because she could not predict him. His existence was outside Fate, his choices immune to prophecy. Strategy meant little when the board itself bent to his hand.
So she tested him with words.
"With your power, you could rule Olympus."
"I could," Percy agreed. His tone was casual, as though she had asked if he wanted wine. "But then I'd be nothing more than another tyrant in golden armor. I prefer freedom."
Wisdom told Athena to distrust him. Yet something deeper—something not of mind but heart—thrummed when he smiled. His defiance was not arrogance, but truth. In him, she found a mystery no logic could solve. And in her chest, a fire kindled.
The Bond Forged
It began slowly—stolen glances across council halls, brief touches in battle, the brush of fingers when offering wine. But immortality is long, and desire, once born, is not easily quenched.
One evening beneath the constellations, Percy stood between Artemis and Athena. His hand brushed Artemis' as he pointed at the constellations she had crafted. Her pulse quickened, a sensation foreign to her immortal heart. Athena, standing close, felt the same pull when his other hand rested lightly at her back as though guiding her without force.
Their eyes met—goddess to goddess—and in that silent moment, an understanding passed between them. A choice neither would have believed possible: to share what should never be shared.
Percy turned, confused at first by their silence. But when Artemis stepped closer, moonlight framing her silver hair, and Athena mirrored her with eyes burning like storm-lit skies, he understood.
"Are you certain?" he whispered. His voice carried not the arrogance of a god, but the reverence of a man afraid to break what he cherished.
Artemis, the untouched Maiden, placed her palm against his chest. "For once, I will not deny my heart."
Athena leaned forward, her lips grazing his ear. "And wisdom tells me love is the greatest victory of all."
The First Night
The stars burned brighter that night.
What began as tentative touches became a surrender centuries in the making. Artemis' resolve melted as Percy's lips traced reverence along her skin, worshipping not her divinity, but her soul. Athena, ever composed, trembled as his hands learned her curves, as if her body itself had waited eons to be known.
They did not compete; they completed.
Silver moonlight wrapped around them, wisdom's fire guiding their rhythm. Every gasp, every whisper, every moan was a hymn, not of conquest but of devotion. Where others might claim them as trophies, Percy gave himself as wholly to them as they did to him.
And when dawn broke, the vow that bound Artemis shattered, not in shame but in joy. Athena's reason yielded to passion, yet she felt no defeat—only triumph in unity.
They were no longer three, but one.
Kaal's Watch
From the shadows, another presence stirred. Kaal, Percy's eternal familiar, watched with molten eyes. Part phoenix, part dragon, wings like fire-tipped storms, he lowered his head, as though blessing the union. His bond with Percy thrummed deeper, now linked with Artemis and Athena as well.
So it begins, Kaal whispered into their shared bond. Not as mortals, not as gods, but as eternity intertwined.
And thus, the tale began.
Percy, the timeless god, bound not by Fate but by love.
Artemis, the untouched Maiden, who found her heart's first surrender.
Athena, the wise strategist, who chose passion over prophecy.
And Kaal, their eternal guardian, flame and shadow entwined.
The world would never be the same.
"The Goddess of Magic"
The Calm Before
The halls of Chronos Manor pulsed with quiet radiance, its walls older than Olympus itself, etched with runes that shifted as though alive. Within, Percy lay with Artemis and Athena, their limbs tangled after nights of passion that blurred into days. The air itself hummed with their bond, a living tapestry of love, lust, and power interwoven.
Artemis rested against his chest, moonlight caressing her pale skin. Athena traced idle patterns over his arm, her touch delicate yet claiming. They had become accustomed to sharing him, not in rivalry but in harmony, and Percy could feel their divinity merging deeper into his essence each time they touched.
"Do you ever tire of being pulled in all directions?" Athena murmured, though her lips brushed his skin with the softness of devotion.
Percy chuckled, rolling slightly so both goddesses were beneath his gaze. "If eternity is to be filled with you both, then I hope I'm pulled apart a thousand times over."
Artemis' silver eyes softened, rare vulnerability flickering across her features. She kissed him, slow and reverent. "You speak as though you were mortal, yet your words could melt the stars."
Their laughter faded into heated kisses, hands exploring once more. Desire was constant between them, not frantic but inevitable—like the tide's pull to the moon.
The Rift in the Manor
It was then the air cracked.
A rift of green flame tore into existence, ancient wards sparking in alarm. Percy sat up instantly, energy coiling around his form like a storm contained. Artemis' bow shimmered into being, while Athena conjured her shield of pure thought and light.
But Percy raised a hand. "No threat. I know this presence."
From the rift stepped a woman cloaked in twilight and fire. Her eyes burned with shifting colors, her aura thick with raw sorcery. Hecate, goddess of Magic, mistress of crossroads and keeper of hidden realms. Even Artemis lowered her bow, though her jaw remained tight.
"Percy," Hecate's voice rang like bells laced with thunder. "We must speak."
The Warning of Hecate
Percy stood, unbothered by his own nakedness. Power flowed through him like a second skin. "It's been some time, Lady of Magic. What need drives you to breach my wards uninvited?"
Hecate's gaze flicked briefly to Artemis and Athena, then softened into something like envy. "I would not disturb your… union, if the matter were not dire."
Athena, ever sharp, spoke first. "Dire enough to bend the laws of domains? You risk much, Hecate."
The goddess of magic inclined her head. "And yet I must. A world not far from this one trembles. A world I wove in curiosity millennia ago, when I blessed mortals who touched the fringes of magic. Their descendants have hidden themselves, thriving unseen—a society of wizards."
Percy's eyes narrowed. "I have felt its pulse on the edges of Time. Their craft is crude, but… promising."
"It is also fragile," Hecate said, stepping closer. "And now, a shadow rises within it. A dark wizard who styles himself Lord Voldemort. His power, though mortal-born, approaches that of my strongest demigod sons. He threatens to unravel everything I seeded."
The Law of Non-Interference
Artemis crossed her arms. "Then intervene. You are their progenitor."
Hecate's jaw tightened. "I cannot. Ancient laws bind me. The world of wizards was given freedom. My hand cannot tilt its balance. Should I act, their existence will collapse beneath divine strain."
Her gaze turned fully to Percy.
"But you… you are outside Fate. No law touches you. No prophecy binds you. You may walk where I cannot."
The Task Given
Athena's voice was cool, testing. "And what would you have him do? Slay this Voldemort? Crush their ministry? Gods do not play nursemaid to every frightened realm."
Hecate shook her head. "No. He must not rule their world, nor bend it to his whim. He must guide. Protect their chosen one. The boy marked by prophecy—Harry Potter. His path is theirs to follow, yet without guidance, he will be consumed. Percy's task is to guard him until he can stand alone."
The Warnings
Her gaze hardened as the flames of the rift flickered higher.
"But beware, Percy. The threats you face are not only Voldemort. The wizards themselves will turn against what they do not understand. The Ministry clings to power with brittle claws, pure-blood families rot in arrogance, and—" her voice darkened—"Albus Dumbledore, their so-called leader of Light, weaves manipulations tighter than chains. He will see you as a rival. He will see Harry as a pawn."
Artemis growled softly. "Then he will learn why mortals should not play with fire."
Athena's eyes sharpened, already spinning strategies. "This is no simple task, Percy. It will test more than your strength. You will be stepping into politics, deception, corruption. Are you certain?"
Percy's Oath
Percy turned to his wives. He cupped Artemis' cheek, kissed Athena's brow, and drew them close. "I have walked wars that scarred eternity. I have fought Titans and Giants. But guiding one boy—protecting his right to choose his path—" he smiled, soft yet unshakable, "that is a war worth fighting."
Artemis pressed her lips to his. Athena followed, heat joining moonlight, their bodies reminding him of the bond they shared. Their love fueled him, as necessary as his domains themselves.
Hecate watched in silence, her face unreadable—until she finally whispered, "Then may Magic itself bless you. And beware, Percy: your involvement may wound the wizarding world as much as it heals. Thread carefully."
With that, the rift closed.
The Night After
When silence returned, Artemis and Athena did not release him. They drew him back to the bed, passion blazing brighter in the wake of the storm. For them, his oath was not just duty, but love—a promise that their bond would walk into every realm together.
That night, their intimacy burned like prophecy itself.
And when dawn came, Percy's path was set.
The world of wizards would never be the same.
"The Inheritance of House Chronos"
Morning at Chronos Manor
Sunlight spilled across the towering halls of Chronos Manor, catching on gilded surfaces older than most mortal kingdoms. Percy woke entangled in Artemis and Athena, the three of them still lingering in the afterglow of night's embrace. Even in rest, their power shimmered around them, subtle yet undeniable.
Artemis stretched lazily, fingers brushing against Percy's chest. "So today," she murmured, voice soft, "you enter the world of mortals who pretend to call themselves wizards."
Athena smirked, tracing a circle on his shoulder. "I'm curious. How will they greet someone who has seen the rise of Titans and walked freely through time?"
Percy smiled, brushing strands of hair from their faces. "Let's hope they manage words without fainting."
The three laughed, the sound echoing off marble floors as they dressed. Though their appearance was now crafted to seem mortal, their divine aura betrayed them subtly—strength, grace, and power impossible for mere humans to match.
Arriving at Gringotts
Percy's arrival at Diagon Alley's central bank, Gringotts, caused immediate unrest among the goblins. No ordinary wizard walked the marble halls with the presence that Percy exuded. Kaal, his phoenix-like familiar larger and more majestic than any creature they had ever seen, perched on his shoulder, feathers glinting like molten gold. Its gaze swept the room as if claiming dominion.
"Lord Percy," one goblin whispered, trembling. "Your lineage… it cannot be true."
Percy bowed slightly, voice calm yet commanding. "I am heir to House Chronos. The oldest, wealthiest, and most powerful of all wizarding dynasties. Let us proceed with the verification."
The goblins scrambled, realizing the ancient magics and charters that bound their vaults would soon be invoked. Rumors had whispered for centuries about the House of Chronos, but its lord had not appeared… until now.
Demonstrating Power
As the goblins led him toward the central vault, Percy extended a hand. The air shifted; Kaal's wings flared slightly. Vault doors creaked and opened on their own accord. The goblins exchanged panicked glances.
A young clerk dared whisper, "I… I thought these wards required master keys and spells—no mortal—no wizard—could override them so easily."
Percy's smile was faint, almost apologetic. "Perhaps you have underestimated the blood that commands this legacy."
Securing the Estate
Once the vault was opened, Percy's attention shifted to the contents: vast stores of wealth, ancient relics, and charters of lands stretching across continents. "These," he said, gesturing, "are not just trinkets. They are the foundation of influence, protection, and guidance."
Athena leaned over his shoulder, noting the inscriptions. "Most impressive, Percy. The power here could rival any ministry—or mortal king."
Artemis' eyes sparkled with mischief. "And yet, it's all yours to wield… for now."
Their shared laughter carried an undertone of intimacy, a reminder to the mortal world that the lord of this house was never alone, never untethered, always entwined with two goddesses whose presence demanded reverence.
The Shockwave Through the Wizarding World
News traveled fast. Within hours, whispers of House Chronos' return reached the Ministry, pure-blood families, and influential wizarding circles. Discussions erupted:
Who was this Percy, suddenly claiming an ancient house?
How had he remained hidden from sight, unnoticed by centuries of bureaucracy?
How could someone so young wield such authority, commanding the vaults without wand or incantation?
Even Albus Dumbledore, informed by messengers, felt an unsettling shift in the balance of power. This was no ordinary heir. His aura, his command of magic, and the silent presence of Kaal were threats that could not be manipulated or contained.
Intimate Interlude
That night, back at the manor, Percy relaxed with Artemis and Athena in the gardens, the city lights below reflecting their shared laughter.
Artemis leaned against him. "The world will be trembling before the week ends. And yet here we are, together."
Athena traced his jawline. "You hold the weight of empires, Percy, yet you remain ours first."
He drew them close, pressing kisses that left marks of both promise and possession. The mortal world could tremble; the gods' love, however, was indomitable, insurmountable, and unashamed.
Kaal perched nearby, head tilted, almost approving. Its presence reminded them: even as they indulged in intimacy, the next dawn would demand vigilance.
Closing the Chapter
Percy's path was clear: House Chronos was claimed, its influence awakened. The world of wizards was on notice, and those who would underestimate him, or worse, attempt to manipulate Harry Potter, would quickly learn that divine protection walked quietly among them.
And above all, Artemis and Athena were ever at his side. Their sensual bond, their love, and their unyielding support were the undercurrent of his power—the secret mortal and immortal alike would only sense but never comprehend.
The sun had barely risen over the rooftops of Diagon Alley, but the magical world was already abuzz. The news of House Chronos' return had spread faster than any owl could fly. It wasn't just the wealth—though their fortunes could eclipse even the combined coffers of Malfoy, Black, and Potter—it was the aura, the presence, the sense of ancient, untouchable power surrounding their lord.
At the Ministry of Magic, Cornelius Fudge fidgeted in his high-backed chair. He had convened an emergency session, summoning high-ranking officials and Aurors. The papers on his desk were thick with reports from Gringotts and whispers from every pureblood household he could contact.
"They are… enormous," an Auror stammered, barely holding back awe. "House Chronos' wealth… it dwarfs the Malfoys by a margin unlike anything we've ever seen. Entire vaults that were thought lost have reappeared, untouched for centuries. And the artifacts… sir, some of these items predate the Ministry itself."
Fudge paled. "I want full inventories, all magical protections recorded, and measures to ensure… well, we cannot be caught unawares." He avoided looking at the assembled pureblood representatives, who were themselves whispering urgently, panic laced with greed.
Across the city, the Malfoys seethed. Lucius Malfoy's usual composure was replaced with barely contained fury.
"This is intolerable!" he snapped. "The Chronos vaults alone could fund a war against us and still leave them wealthier than the Potters. They have estates, artifacts, magical knowledge… knowledge that we don't even understand!"
Narcissa Malfoy's voice was cool but tense. "Lucius… control yourself. These are not children we are dealing with. They—" she faltered, glancing at a letter, "—they possess a branch of magic older than any known to us. Magic separate from what we practice, what Hogwarts teaches."
Lucius' hand clenched the parchment. "Separate magic? What does that even mean? Are we supposed to bow before them?"
"No," Narcissa said softly. "But we must recognize what they are. Even our alliances, our schemes… they may be insignificant before House Chronos."
Other pureblood families—Greengrass, Nott, Parkinson—sent secret letters, envoys, and spies, each hoping to align themselves with the emerging giant. None dared confront them directly. The sheer scale of power surrounding Percy Chronos, combined with the presence of Artemis and Athena, was enough to make even the most confident wizard pause.
At Hogwarts, Dumbledore reviewed the reports from Gringotts, his long fingers drumming on the desk. House Chronos had awakened after centuries of dormancy. Artifacts, vaults, and estates were restored, and with them, the aura of a house that had outlasted every political upheaval, every purged bloodline, every mortal ambition.
This house… this boy… they are more than I anticipated.
He paused. Dumbledore had known of Percy's existence from whispers, legends, and ancient texts, but he did not yet know Percy intended to involve himself with Harry Potter. That realization, should it come, could change everything.
I must observe. I must learn. I must not act rashly. The boy will come into his inheritance, unaware of all the currents beneath him.
Dumbledore's thoughts were interrupted as his eyes traced the reports from Gringotts once more. The sheer scope of wealth was staggering. The Chronos family vaults contained treasures, books, and magical implements that even he had never seen or cataloged. Malfoy's vaults, Potters' holdings—even the treasures hidden in the Department of Mysteries—were like tiny streams compared to the ocean of Chronos wealth.
Meanwhile, at Chronos Manor, Percy walked through the sprawling gardens, Artemis and Athena at his side. The moonlight glinted off Kaal's immense, feathered wings as the phoenix-dragon hybrid hovered nearby, surveying the grounds.
"The Ministry is whispering already," Artemis murmured, her hand brushing Percy's arm. "They do not understand. They cannot."
Percy's fingers found hers, holding her close. "Let them whisper. Let the purebloods scheme. None of it touches us—not yet. And if they dare threaten what is ours… they will learn quickly how fragile their confidence truly is."
Athena leaned against him, her eyes tracing the distant lights of London. "And yet, they will continue to plot. Power and wealth… they blind even the wise."
He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Let them be blinded. Our concern is the boy… Harry. Everything else… we endure, and when necessary, we remind them of who truly holds dominion."
Kaal's cry echoed from the highest tower, a sharp, resonant sound that vibrated through the earth and air alike—a warning, a declaration, a presence. Even the wind seemed to bend around it, as if the world itself recognized the awakening of House Chronos.
That night, in the private halls of Chronos Manor, the trio walked side by side through the ancestral library. Shelves filled with knowledge older than the Ministry, spells lost to modern wizards, and chronicles of events that had shaped the magical world for centuries.
Artemis trailed her fingers along the bindings. "I can feel it… the weight of history here. The power."
Percy's gaze softened as he took her hand, Athena's fingers intertwined with the other. "We are guardians of it now. And with Harry… we will ensure it is guided wisely."
Athena smiled faintly, pressing her forehead to Percy's shoulder. "Wise, yes… but still with room for passion. For desire. For love."
Percy's lips brushed her hair. "Always. That is what anchors us. That, and each other."
The house slept, but the whispers of the world beyond its walls did not. Purebloods schemed. The Ministry fretted. Wizards whispered about vaults and artifacts, magic and influence, and about the enigmatic trio who had returned after centuries.
Yet within the walls of Chronos Manor, Percy, Artemis, Athena, and Kaal existed as they always had: eternal, powerful, and bound by a love older than any prophecy, any law, or any mortal fear.
And the magical world could only watch, tremble, and whisper.