"I—" Sally hesitated, staring into his eyes. And in them, she saw the limp snake hanging from her son's small hands. The memory made her stomach twist. She realized then—this might be her only option.
"Yes," she finally whispered.
"Gre—" Alastor began, but she cut him off.
"But why?" Her voice shook. "Why make a deal with me? Why not just…" She swallowed hard, trying to steady her pounding heart. "…take him?"
Alastor tilted his head. The grin melted from his face, replaced with cold stoicism. Narrowing his crimson eyes, he leaned back.
"Do you want me to take him?" His voice was sharp as broken glass. "Free you of the burden of being the mother of a demigod?"
"No!" The word ripped from her throat, frantic. Out of reflex, she grabbed his hand where it rested on the table. "Don't. Please. It was just a question."
Alastor didn't look at her. Instead, his gaze fell to their joined hands. Following his eyes, Sally saw where her trembling fingers clung to him. She jerked away as if burned.
Only then did he lift his gaze back to hers. The silence stretched, heavy, suffocating. Finally, he spoke.
"Your son plays a role. An important one. His decisions may change the course of history. And so—" his grin returned, but tighter now, almost forced, "—he must be prepared. I'm willing to see that he is, when the time comes."
Her throat constricted. "And how do you know it's him? Why not Zeus's daughter? Or his son? Poseidon mentioned them. So why Percy? Why my baby?"
The words tore from her, hoarse with grief. It was selfish, she knew—shoving the burden onto other children. But they weren't her Percy.
Something flickered across Alastor's face. A shadow of emotion. A sad smile, there and gone in a heartbeat. If she hadn't been staring at him, she would have missed it. For that instant, she didn't feel fear. She saw someone who understood her completely—someone who had once stood where she stood now.
Then it was gone. He bared his teeth. "That's for me to know, and for you to dot dot dot." His eyes gleamed with malicious amusement, and she knew he was playing up his theatrics now that she had glimpsed something real.
"Besides," he drawled, "a deal with me is far better than the alternatives. I could drag your little boy from his bed and drown him in the river of hate—oh, the way he'd scream." His voice slithered as shadows shifted. "Or perhaps I'd give you a husband. A monster of a man. Foul, rotting, cruel. He'd bleed you dry, sell your car, strip you of this lovely apartment, ripping you away from the last for what belonged to your parents and uncle, goodbye East Village," He exclaimed as he waved mockingly at her, " And when he grew drunk, he'd turn abusive. To both of you."
Suddenly he wasn't beside her—he was behind her, his mouth at her ear. She froze as his whisper coiled through her.
"Is that what you want? Or would you rather... make a deal with me? Ensure your son lives?"
She trembled, her soul twisting under his words. Every path seemed poisoned, but for Percy—for her baby—she would gamble. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she met his gaze with all the courage she had left.
"What do you want?" she asked plainly.
The shadows writhed, twisting tighter. For a heartbeat she swore two serpentine heads rose over his shoulders, grinning sharp like his own.
She just prayed the deal she made didn't doom her baby.
Later Alastor stood atop the roof of a nearby building, watching through the apartment window as Sally Jackson slept curled protectively around her son. For the briefest of moments, he hated himself—for how small and useless he'd made her feel, for how much fear he'd left in her heart. But that small voice was quickly silenced. He reminded himself of what he was now, and what he had to do.
"Father."
The voice behind him was deep, gruff, steady. Alastor turned to see a tall figure emerge from the shadows: a broad-shouldered man in a cloak that seemed woven from night itself, tiny stars glittering and shifting across its fabric. His hood framed a clean-shaven, tanned face, and his silver eyes gleamed with translucent light.
" I do not understand," the man said. "Why mute your conversation with the mortal? What is so special about her and her child that you would ask me to cloak it from the divine world?"
Alastor smirked instead of answering. "Did your mother notice you weren't by her side?"
The younger man's lips tightened. "Of course she didn't. You know she didn't. So why deflect?"
"Why so curious?" Alastor countered smoothly, grin widening when his son growled in irritation. He strolled up and patted his cheek like he was still a boy.
"Listen, Nick. Trust your daddy, will you? Everything I do—plans, choices, actions—is for the family. And you, as my eldest, your role is to learn, observe, and to—"
"Shield our family," Nick finished, his tone flat. He'd heard it a thousand times.
"See? You already know." Alastor winked. "Now, go back to your mother. My you isn't over just yet."
Nick groaned audibly, glaring at him. "Really, Father? That joke again?"
Alastor chuckled, delighted at his son's annoyance. "What? I think it's clever."
Nick muttered something under his breath, but said nothing more.
"Good boy." Alastor's grin turned sharp again. "Now, I'm off to check on your's and your siblings' grandkids. Want me to tell them anything while I'm there?"
Nick sighed. "Yes. Tell Henry his son got sloppy. They found a bloodless body on the docks in New Orleans. The Hunters have been tipped."
Alastor grimaced. Neither Henry nor his son would enjoy the punishment that news carried. Still, he shrugged. "Oh well. At least I get some entertainment from the fallout. Anyway, bye-bye for now. And Nick—" he added with a wink, "love the new look. Reminds me of your mother."
And with that, he vanished in a flash.
Nick stayed still for a moment, his silver eyes narrowing as he turned to glance once more at the Jacksons' apartment. Then he dissolved into black smoke and reappeared within a silver chariot, knowledge of what a duplicate of himself was doing entered his mind.
"What is it, Nyxios?" asked the rider beside him, their long red hair flowing in the wind. Their own silver eyes narrowed suspiciously as he suddenly stopped talking in the middle of his sentence.
Nyxios paused, then shook his head. "Nothing. Father was simply sharing his… opinion of my current form."
The red-haired figure smirked viciously, as Nyxios tugged back their hood so their hair, red as the person's hair next to him, streamed free. "Did he hate that you no longer look like him?"
"No." Nyxios allowed himself the faintest smile. "He said he loves being reminded of you."
His mother's smirk fell instantly into a scowl.
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So what do y'all think? Leave a comment/review. Anyway I think next update, I'm going to edit it where the first 3 chapters go into 1, and the rest of the following chapters have at least 3k words each. Though that comes with having to wait at least 2 to 3 days per chapter since I think I like writing only 1k words a day. Makes it better for me mentally.
What do you think the next chapter is going to have? And did ya like the hints I left? Can you spot them, and if so, what were they.
Also, I might change the summary because of how bland it is. But that's all for the next update.