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Son of Hades (Percy Jackson) Chapter 367: Pieces of a Puzzle
🕑 Added 2025-11-22 04:05:20 +0000 UTC[Third Person Pov]
Thalia let out a long, exhausted sigh as she ran a hand over her tangled hair, pushing the damp strands away from her face. “If whatever insane plan Lucian prepared actually works out in the end—if we somehow manage to revive him—I'm going to kill him again the second he wakes up.”
“I’ll join you,” Clarisse scoffed without missing a beat. Her arms were locked across her chest, her glare fixed on Lucian’s still form as if she could physically intimidate a corpse back to life. Her foot tapped impatiently against the dirt, radiating her usual aggressive frustration.
“Find anything?” Percy asked, turning toward Annabeth. She had her notebook out, pages already filled with half-scribbles from her frantic attempt to decipher the lyrics. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed thin in concentration.
“I literally just started… give me a minute,” Annabeth growled. The storm that had swallowed the island earlier had finally cleared once Thalia wrestled the emotional chaos under control, giving Annabeth enough clarity to dig into her pouch and pull out her battered notebook. She muttered under her breath as she copied down every line of the song.
“Maybe the first letter of each verse is a hidden message,” Percy suggested unhelpfully, peering over her shoulder.
Annabeth froze mid-stroke. Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head toward him. “Percy,” she said with the calm tone of someone about to commit a felony, “if you don’t shut up, I’m making you go ask Lucian personally in the Underworld.”
Percy threw his hands up in instant surrender. “Just trying to help!”
“Maybe the clue is that we toss his body to the sea,” Thalia chimed in dryly, leaning back against a tree with her arms crossed. “And then a new Lucian shows up—gold and silver edition. We'll tell them he isn't our Lucian, and our honesty will be rewarded and we'll get the real one”
Annabeth snorted, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. “If only it were that simple.”
“Yeah, if only,” Thalia said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “But no, he had to go out of his way to compose a whole dramatic song and leave us to figure it out like we’re characters in his personal scavenger hunt.”
“Lucian didn’t write the song,” Annabeth said suddenly, highlighting one line and underlining another, her expression shifting as the gears in her mind clicked rapidly into place.
“Huh?” they all chorused, staring at her with matching confusion.
Annabeth sighed and clicked her pen shut for a moment. “Lucian didn’t make this song. It’s from One Piece. A manga he reads—well, loves. The song is sung by a skeleton character, and the context behind it is pretty sad, actually. The story itself isn’t bad either.”
Feeling their collective stares, she looked up defensively. “What? I only started reading it because Lucian once called it ‘the modern-day Odyssey.’ I wanted to see if he was exaggerating.”
Her pen hovered midair, then she abruptly slapped a hand over her face. “Oh my gods. Oh my fucking gods. That’s actually hilarious.”
“What is?” Scylla asked, blinking like she’d missed five steps of the conversation.
“The island we’re on…” Annabeth gestured around them. “It’s a major location in the Odyssey. It’s where Odysseus fought the Cyclops and then got cursed to wander the sea for ten years. Lucian picked that song because he considers its story equal to the Odyssey. He was trying to make a parallel.”
Thalia raised an eyebrow as she caught the growing grin on Annabeth’s face. “I take it that means you finally figured out the clue?”
“Yes,” Annabeth said, though her expression quickly folded into frustration. She tossed her notebook to the ground, the pages fluttering. “The clue was never in the stupid lyrics! It was in the singer.”
“You mean the skeleton?” Clarisse asked, wrinkling her nose. “Besides the fact it’s… well, a skeleton that sings, what’s so special about it?”
“It had the ability to separate its soul from its body,” Annabeth said flatly. She pinched the bridge of her nose as if pained by Lucian’s level of theatricality.
“Right… and the clue is…?” Percy asked, blinking like an underperforming computer waiting for Annabeth to finish.
“Who here has a power similar to that?” Annabeth demanded, exasperation dripping from every word.
Percy looked around the group. And kept looking. As if someone else might magically appear and volunteer.
Annabeth let out a strangled noise. “Me, Percy. It’s ME. Oh my god.” She dragged her hands down her face. “Is your brain literally made of seaweed?”
“How was I supposed to know that?!” Percy shot back, crossing his arms defensively. “It’s not exactly obvious!”
Thalia chuckled, shaking her head before shooting Annabeth a knowing smirk. “So the clue was for you to astral project yourself… He really went the most roundabout way possible to say that.”
Annabeth let out a breath that sounded like her entire soul was exhausted. “Tell me about it,” she muttered, lowering herself onto the muddy ground without caring about the mess. She crossed her legs, rested her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply. The others stepped back instinctively, watching.
“Well… here goes nothing,” she whispered.
Her body jerked like someone had yanked her forward by an invisible string—and then she slipped out of herself entirely.
The Astral Plane swallowed her in an instant.
The world around her transformed into a silent, muted landscape, as if someone had drained all the color and sound from reality. Everything—trees, sky, dirt, her friends—appeared washed-out and lifeless, like they’d been sketched in pencil and abandoned halfway through. Only she glowed: her soul-body was a bright wisp of white-gold energy, shimmering like a flame caught in a windless space.
Annabeth flexed her fingers, watching the light ripple through them. “Okay,” she muttered to herself, “focus.”
She drifted forward, scanning the bleak world. It didn’t take long before something out of place caught her eye—a single, colorful object lying face down on the ashen ground. The only thing in the entire plane that wasn’t drained of color.
She rushed over, crouching as her incorporeal hand reached out. When she flipped it over, she blinked.
“A Tarot card…?” she whispered.
The card practically glowed with vivid gold and warm yellow hues—so bright it looked alive compared to the dead gray around her. She stared at it for another long moment, then scanned the surroundings again. Nothing else stood out.
With no reason to linger, she soared back toward her floating, limp body. Her spirit dove in, and a forceful gasp ripped out of her lungs as she reentered. Her body dropped gently from its levitation back to the ground.
“That fast?” Percy asked, leaning forward with wide eyes.
“Did you find anything?” Clarisse added, equally curious despite her usual tough act.
“Yeah… this.” Annabeth lifted her hand and revealed the card.
“…The Sun?” Scylla read aloud, her voice soft with confusion. Tyson, misunderstanding, looked straight up at the moon.
“A Tarot card?” Thalia echoed. “Since it’s connected to the Sun, maybe it’s pointing to Lucian’s Brightheart form.”
“Maybe…” Annabeth murmured. She crouched beside Lucian’s body and tore open his shirt without hesitation. Everyone gathered around, staring at the black tattoo of a sun encircling his heart like an eclipse fossilized into his skin.
“Do we activate it?” Lucerna asked quietly. Her small hands hovered near the mark. “Father told me… that form is tied to his divine blood. Maybe activating it will cleanse him, or heal him entirely?”
“I doubt it’s that simple,” Annabeth replied. “Lucian used that form before. It didn’t help—it just sped up the corruption a little. And it’s night time. His Brightheart form draws power from the sun.”
She pressed a hand to her chin, mind racing.
‘Think, Annabeth. Think. What’s the clue? Why this card? What’s special about the Brightheart form? Divine blood… His lineage… sunlight…’
Her gaze drifted toward Lucerna again. The little spirit had her hands gently pressed over Lucian’s chest, but miasma was creeping across her tiny fingers, staining her like spilled ink spreading through water.
Annabeth’s fingers curled reflexively—and the card crumpled slightly in her grip.
Her eyes widened. “That’s it!”
She snapped her fingers and shot to her feet.
Everyone snapped their attention to her, waiting.
“The Tarot card—the Sun—it represents purity of heart!” Annabeth explained, talking with rapid-fire energy. “Lucian wants us to use his Brightheart form to purify the miasma infesting him!”
“But didn’t you just say it made him worse the last time?” Scylla asked, brows raised.
“Yes! Because last time, the Brightheart form was acting alone! It wasn’t enough. But—” Annabeth pointed a dramatic finger upward—“you add the Golden Fleece into the equation, and everything changes.”
She stood fully now, addressing the group like a general giving orders before battle.
“At first I wondered why Lucian didn’t leave a straightforward clue like ‘Use the Golden Fleece.’ But then I remembered—”
She paced in a small circle, mind whirling.
“—the Golden Fleece doesn’t purify. It only heals. If we used it on Lucian right now, it would heal his body… but the miasma would still infect him. He’d just get sick again. He’d have to constantly wear the Fleece like a bandage forever.”
Annabeth let out a breathless laugh, eyes shining with exhilaration.
“Lucian needed a way to purify the corruption,” Annabeth continued, words tumbling out in excited clarity. “He already had the means, he just didn’t have the power. His entire plan was for the Fleece and his divine blood to create a resonance—something strong enough to amplify both of their properties. With the power of the Golden Fleece boosting his Brightheart Form, he’d finally have enough divine force to completely burn away the miasma inside him. It would cleanse every trace of corruption. It would free him from it entirely!”
Her explanation left the entire group frozen, their expressions stunned as the revelation sank in.
But Annabeth… stopped.
Her lips halted mid-sentence. Her shoulders tensed. Something about her own logic had made her hesitate.
“Annabeth? What’s wrong?” Thalia asked carefully. Her voice wasn’t sharp this time—she sounded almost afraid of the answer. She had just begun to hope again.
Annabeth slowly lowered herself into a crouch. Her brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as her brain fired relentlessly.
‘It’s too roundabout,’ she realized. ‘Why go through this whole elaborate puzzle? Why not just leave a clue saying to revive him with the Fleece, then once alive, let him use the Fleece on himself in Brightheart Form? The results would be the same…’
Annabeth stared at the Tarot card. Then at Lucian’s tattoo, the dark sun inked over his silent heart.
And then—something clicked.
Her body jerked. Her eyes widened like she’d been struck by lightning. She went utterly still for two seconds…
Then burst into laughter.
“Hahahahaha!!” Annabeth threw her head back, laughing with wild disbelief and sudden clarity.
Everyone stepped back. Staring. Horrified. Concerned. Ready to intervene if she started foaming at the mouth.
“Annabeth?” Percy squeaked.
She didn’t answer—she was still laughing. Then she finally leaned over Lucian’s unmoving face, her expression shifting into something heartbreakingly soft.
“He left a clue… inside a clue,” she breathed, her smile trembling with awe. “Gods, Lucian… just how much faith did you have in me to figure all this out?”
Gently, she took Lucian’s cold hand in hers. Her fingers trembled as she lifted his hand to her cheek—then she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
The corruption reacted instantly—dark miasma bloomed across her lips like inky smoke staining her skin.
But Annabeth didn’t flinch.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t care.
“Thank you for trusting me,” she whispered against his mouth. “You brilliant, brilliant man. Now let me show you that your trust wasn’t misplaced.”
Thalia cleared her throat loudly, trying to disrupt the suddenly intense atmosphere. “Okay, Annabeth—if you’re done being dramatic and crazy, the rest of us would really like to know what the hell that was all about.”
Annabeth stood slowly, releasing Lucian’s hand as she exhaled a long breath. Her lips were still stained with miasma, but her expression was calm—almost serene.
“We need to hold a funeral,” she said quietly.
“Eh?” they all echoed, blinking in total confusion.
Before anyone could respond—
“Did someone mention a funeral?”
Every single head in the group snapped toward the new voice.
And they stared. All equally stunned.
“…Nico?” Percy gaped.
Nico di Angelo was strolling toward them across the clearing, hands behind his head, wearing a black-and-white skull shirt, his brown jacket now tied around his waist. His expression was unreadable, eyes shadowed but alert. At his side, Bianca walked with the easy stride hands in her back pockets, bow swung over her shoulder. Markus followed just behind them, hood up, hands buried in the pockets of his open sweater.
“What are you guys doing here?” Thalia demanded, brows shooting up.
Annabeth blinked, startled—but not surprised. Somehow, deep down, she had expected this.
She smiled—a sharp, confident grin.
“You three are right on time.”
Comments
Empereur3
TYFTC I WANT MORE PLSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!
Bryan Vargas
What is confusion you my child?
Àñthòñý Ćrućíál
??????? I'm lost!!!
