A heavy fog clouded Cyrus's senses. He wasn't awake, yet he wasn't asleep either. Somewhere in the space between dreams and memory, he saw her.
A woman—clad in a bloodstained, military-style tunic that once might've been fashionable—stood amidst the bodies of slain monsters. Her belt gleamed with brass buckles, her epaulets were torn, and crimson soaked the fabric like war paint. She wielded a heavy, double-bladed axe, her swings sharp and calculated, keeping every monster from stepping past a crumbled altar behind her. She was a lone wall—unyielding, unbroken.
And then… it arrived.
Cyrus couldn't make out the being's form—his eyes slid away from it, like it existed on a different plane—but its presence hit him like an avalanche. The air chilled. His knees buckled. And when it spoke, its voice was layered, as if a dozen dark gods whispered in sync.
"Give it to me, Half-blood. I only need it. If you don't want to die… hand it over."
Cyrus wanted to scream, wanted to move—to rush to the woman's side. But he was frozen, bound by invisible chains of fear and awe. He could only watch as the woman turned toward the voice, blood trailing down her arms. With grit in her teeth and fire in her eyes, she lifted her axe.
"No."
One word. Defiant. Final.
The being huffed, and with the simple exhale of power, the woman staggered, blood streaming from newly opened wounds. Still, she stood tall, shielding whatever lay behind her with the last of her strength.
"I admire your courage, Daughter of Ares," the being rumbled. "So I will grant you a peaceful death."
A sword formed in its hand—blacker than night—and with a flick, it pierced her heart.
Cyrus screamed. Not aloud, but in his soul. His heart cracked, and tears ran freely down his cheeks as the woman collapsed to the ground, her lifeblood seeping into the dirt.
Suddenly, a wind howled through the space, and Cyrus saw three old women—hooded, severe—standing together. The Fates. Behind them appeared Apollo, older and fiercer than Cyrus had ever seen him, his hair a shade of deep sunset red, his eyes blazing blue. Artemis stood beside him, strangely aged, watching with sorrow.
Then—
"Cyrus! Wake up!"
A hand gripped his shoulder. His eyes snapped open.
Annabeth's panicked face hovered above him. Her cheeks were smudged with ash, and her gray eyes shimmered with tears. Behind her, Thalia fought two Cyclopes, lightning dancing along her spear.
"Luke and Grover… they're unconscious!" she gasped, pointing toward the two boys dangling upside-down over a boiling pot. "I need time to wake them. Fight with Thalia—go!"
Still dazed and aching as if he'd been trampled, Cyrus nodded. He reached instinctively toward his chest, light glowing faintly from his palm. Healing magic trickled into Annabeth, closing the gash on her leg. Then, with a deep breath, he grabbed his bow and sprinted toward Thalia.
"HEY, UGLY!" Cyrus yelled.
An arrow pierced the Cyclops's eye.
It roared, staggering. Before it could recover, Cyrus leapt, transforming his bow into an axe mid-air and slammed it down onto the creature's skull with a sickening crack. Dust.
Thalia kicked the second Cyclops into a tree, electrocuted it with her spear, but it shrugged off the blast and backhanded her across the clearing.
Cyrus screamed in fury. His axe gleamed gold—his mother's axe—and with a spinning arc, he hacked at the monster's legs, driving it to its knees.
Then he planted his boot on its back and brought the axe down into its neck.
BOOM.
It exploded into golden powder.
Two more barreled toward them from the trees.
Thalia, back on her feet, shouted, "Together!"
Cyrus threw his axe. It boomeranged mid-air, slicing off a Cyclops's arm. Thalia followed with a lightning bolt that turned it to smoke.
Cyrus caught the axe, ducked under the second Cyclops's punch, and jammed the blade into its gut. He spun and ripped it out sideways, letting the creature collapse as it wailed and disintegrated.
Five Cyclopes down. The rest turned and ran.
Thalia stared at him, mouth open. "What the Hades was that?"
Cyrus blinked. "...I don't know."
The remaining monsters fled, stumbling over one another in panic.
Behind them, a groggy voice muttered, "Damn… That's awesome, bro. Why didn't you fight like that earlier?"
Luke, bruised and bleeding, clutched his side, grinning. Annabeth wept quietly beside him, the weight of fear and relief crashing down.
"You were so brave," Luke told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Thalia and Cyrus approached. They both knelt beside Annabeth and gently patted her head.
"You did great," Cyrus whispered. "You saved all of us."
Annabeth sniffled but managed a teary smile.
Grover's ears twitched suddenly. "Guys… we need to move. More monsters. Lots of them."
They ran. Wounded, exhausted, but alive. The hill to Camp Half-Blood was in sight. Just a little more.
But then came the howls.
The sky darkened. Shadows lengthened. Behind them thundered an army—hellhounds, skeleton warriors, and worst of all, the Three Furies, flying above with shrieks that chilled the bone.
Annabeth stumbled and fell. Cyrus reached for her, but Luke had already lifted her onto his back.
"I've got her," he said, breath hitching. "Just keep moving."
But even Luke was faltering.
"We're not all going to make it," Cyrus said grimly. "Let me distract them—buy you time."
"No!" Thalia barked. "They're after me. I'll do it."
"Guys, I'm the oldest," Luke added, teeth gritted. "I should—"
"NO!" they all shouted.
Grover meekly raised his hand. "I—"
"Shut up, Grover," they all said.
The argument continued until they reached the final slope of Half-Blood Hill.
The camp was just ahead.
In the end, Thalia and Cyrus shared a glance.
"Both of us," Thalia said. "We'll hold them off."
Luke hesitated, then nodded, eyes full of reluctant trust. "I'll be back with help. Promise."
He bolted with Grover, carrying Annabeth.
Cyrus and Thalia turned to face the horde.
A black tide of monsters approached: three Furies, ten hellhounds, a dozen skeleton warriors with glowing eyes and rusted blades.
Lightning cracked overhead. Rain began to fall in sheets. The wind screamed through the trees.
Cyrus tightened his grip on his axe. "You ready?"
Thalia rolled her shoulders, lightning dancing along her arms. "Let's go, Sun-boy."
They charged.
Thalia electrocuted the first hellhound mid-pounce. Cyrus leapt over its smoldering body and cleaved through two skeletons in one spin. A Fury dove, shrieking.
Cyrus blasted it mid-air with a pulse of sunlight, blinding it before slicing it into smoke.
Another hellhound tackled Thalia. She stabbed it in the throat but not before it clawed her shoulder. Blood flowed.
"Thalia!" Cyrus yelled.
"Keep going!" she shouted, hurling her shield into a group of skeletons like a discus. CRACK!
Cyrus's axe pulsed with light as he roared, slashing left and right. The heat from his body lit up the storm like a beacon.
The monsters hesitated.
But only for a second.
Then one of the Furies struck from behind—slashing Thalia across her back. She cried out and dropped to one knee.
Cyrus abandoned his fight and dove to shield her. He caught the Fury's next blow on his axe, his arm numb from the impact.
"Close your eyes!" he yelled.
He gathered every ounce of power inside him.
Golden light burst from his body—blinding, burning. Monsters screamed in confusion and fear.
Cyrus dashed forward, decapitating the stunned Fury.
Then he turned on the others.
He was a storm of vengeance—his mother's axe flashing like a sunburst. Each swing drove the monsters back. The battlefield smelled of ash and ozone.
His legs buckled. His lungs burned.
Then—
Thwip!
An arrow shot past him.
Then another. And another.
Demigods poured in from the hilltop, weapons drawn, raining projectiles down on the enemy.
At the front, Luke charged with sword in hand.
And beside him, a centaur galloped through the storm—Chiron.
Thalia, leaning on Cyrus, let out a weak laugh.
"We're gonna live," she said, smiling. "Great. Now I don't have to say my last words."
She collapsed beside him.
Cyrus, watching the last monster turn to dust, felt the tension bleed from his body.
"It really does feel great to survive," he thought, before his world turned dark once more.