I Planned Our Perfect Home, Now We're Fighting for Our Lives in a Motel Room

The soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the apartment, illuminating the controlled chaos of their life. Annabeth’s architectural blueprints were spread across the large table we used for everything, a city of lines and angles that promised a future made of wood and stone. My own textbooks on marine biology were stacked precariously close to the edge, forgotten.

She was completely absorbed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her brow furrowed in concentration. The faint scent of her lemon soap was the only thing that could pull my attention from the mind-numbing chapter on oceanic currents. I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping quietly against the floor, and moved to stand behind her.

My hands came to rest on her shoulders, and I felt the tension there, the knots of a mind that never truly stopped working. I began to knead the tight muscles, my thumbs pressing into the space between her shoulder blades. She let out a soft sigh, her head falling back against my stomach.

“You’re supposed to be studying, Seaweed Brain,” she murmured, not opening her eyes.

“I am,” I said, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of her neck. Her skin was warm. “I’m studying the anatomy of a very overworked architect.” My hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms, my fingers tracing the lean muscle there before lacing with hers. “You need a break, Wise Girl.”

“I’m almost done with the load-bearing calculations for the west wing,” she argued, but her voice was soft, her protest half-hearted. She turned her head, and her gray eyes, stormy and brilliant even in the dim light, found mine.

That was all it took. I released her hands and turned her chair to face me, sinking to my knees between her legs. I framed her face with my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheekbones. The world narrowed to just this: the silver in her eyes, the faint parting of her lips. I leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn't a soft, teasing kiss. It was deep and certain, a confirmation of something that needed no words. Her lips opened for me immediately, and my tongue met hers. She tasted like the coffee she’d been drinking and something else that was purely Annabeth. Her hands came up to tangle in my hair, her fingers gripping the short strands at the nape of my neck as she pulled me closer. A low sound vibrated in her chest, and I felt myself hardening at the response. I shifted, pressing my hips forward just enough for her to feel the thick ridge of my erection against her thigh through the fabric of our jeans. Her breath caught, a small gasp against my mouth, and her hips tilted into mine in a silent, perfect answer.

My own body answered hers, a deep, primal pull in my gut that had nothing to do with the tides and everything to do with the woman in my arms. I was about to slide my hands from her face, down her throat to the buttons of her shirt, when a shimmering light flickered in the corner of my eye. It was out of place, a prismatic rainbow that didn't belong in the warm, yellow lamplight of our apartment.

Annabeth must have seen it too. Her hands stilled in my hair, her body going rigid beneath mine. The soft, pliant heat of a moment before was gone, replaced by the coiled tension of a warrior. We broke the kiss, both turning our heads toward the light. It coalesced in the middle of the room, a misty, shimmering window that smelled faintly of ozone and magic. The familiar, worried face of Chiron appeared, his expression more grave than I’d seen it in a long time. The background behind him was frantic; I could see campers in orange shirts running, hear the distant clang of a sword being drawn.

“Percy, Annabeth,” he said, his voice strained. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “There’s been an incident. Chicago.”

I pushed myself up, moving to stand beside Annabeth’s chair. She was already on her feet, her focus absolute. The lingering haze of our interrupted passion evaporated, replaced by the cold clarity of a threat.

“What happened?” Annabeth asked, her voice sharp and clear, all business.

“A monster,” Chiron said, his eyes dark. “A Gegeine, one of the Earthborn. Six arms, unnaturally strong. It tore its way out of a subway tunnel downtown. The Mist is working overtime, but the mortals saw it. It’s chaos.”

I felt the familiar, unwelcome clench in my stomach. Just another monster. But Chiron’s expression told me it wasn't that simple. “We’ve fought Gegeines before,” I said, my hand instinctively going to my pocket, to the familiar weight of Riptide in pen form.

“Not like this one,” Chiron corrected grimly. “The first response team from the local safe house was… ineffective. Their Celestial bronze weapons barely scratched its hide. We sent a secondary team with Imperial gold. Same result. It’s resistant, Percy. Deeply, primordially resistant. We need you both. Now. Get to Camp Half-Blood immediately.”

The Iris message wavered, the image of our old mentor flickering. He gave us one last, desperate look before the rainbow shimmer dissolved into nothing, plunging the room back into a heavy, sudden silence. The blueprints for our future house lay scattered on the table, a stark reminder of the life we were trying to build. For a long second, neither of us moved. Then Annabeth met my eyes, her own gray ones like storm clouds gathering before a battle. The desire that had been between us moments ago was still there, but it had changed, forged by the urgency into something harder, a shared resolve. There were no words needed. The quiet was broken.

The drive to Long Island was a blur of highway lights and tense silence. We didn't talk about the blueprints on the table or the kiss we’d left unfinished. There was no room for it. The moment we passed Thalia’s pine tree, the change in the air was palpable. The camp wasn't asleep; it was on high alert. Torches burned brighter than usual along the paths, and the sounds of the forge were loud and frantic, the ring of hammer on metal echoing through the valley. Campers moved with a purpose I hadn't seen since the war, their faces grim.

Chiron was waiting for us on the porch of the Big House, his human half pacing in the wheelchair he used for convenience. The worry etched on his face seemed deeper in person.

“It’s worse than I said,” he began without preamble. “The Gegeine is contained for now, thanks to the Hecate cabin reinforcing a mortal containment field, but it won't hold. Every weapon we have is useless.”

“So we just need a bigger weapon,” Clarisse La Rue’s voice cut through the night. She stood near the porch steps, her arms crossed over her armor, her electric spear crackling faintly at her side. “Send me. I’ll turn it into a pile of dirt.”

Annabeth didn't even look at her. Her gaze was fixed on Chiron, but her mind was clearly miles away, processing, analyzing. “No,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, cutting through Clarisse’s bravado. “This isn’t about force. Celestial bronze and Imperial gold are divine metals. If they don’t work, it’s not because the monster is too strong. It’s because the rules have changed.”

Without waiting for a response, she brushed past Chiron and went into the Big House. I gave him a quick, reassuring nod before following her. I knew where she was going.

The camp library was small, but it held more dangerous knowledge than any mortal institution on earth. It smelled of old parchment and dust. Annabeth went straight to the restricted section, a locked cabinet containing scrolls that were ancient when Rome was just a village. She produced a key from a thin chain around her neck—one I hadn't even known she had—and opened it.

I stood watch by the door, my hand on Riptide, while she worked. She unrolled scroll after fragile scroll, her eyes scanning the faded Greek text at a speed that always baffled me. She muttered to herself, dismissing entire volumes with a shake of her head. “No, that’s Titanomachy… too recent… that’s just a standard summoning…”

Then she stopped. She was holding a thin scroll, bound in what looked like faded snakeskin. It was so old it was practically transparent. Her fingers traced a line of text, her knuckles white.

“What is it?” I asked, moving to her side.

She didn't look up. “It’s a text on chthonic bindings. The very first ones. Before the Titans, before the gods solidified their power on Olympus.” She pointed to a specific passage, a diagram of interlocking circles and runes that made my head spin. “The primordial gods—Ouranos and Gaea—they didn’t kill their enemies. They couldn’t. They bound them. Imprisoned them with seals made from their own divine essence. Seals that anchored them to the deepest, most dormant parts of the earth.”

She finally looked at me, and the fear in her eyes was sharp and intelligent. It was the kind of fear that saw the whole problem, not just the monster in front of us.

“Percy, this Gegeine isn’t an invader. It’s a symptom. It’s not being sent, it’s… leaking. One of the seals is failing. And if one can fail, they all can.” Her voice dropped, heavy with the weight of her discovery. “This isn’t a fight we can win by hitting something. This is a problem of architecture. The very foundation of the mythological world is cracking.”