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Son of Hades (Percy Jackson) Chapter 361: Scylla's Lament
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 02:50:16 +0000 UTC[Third Person Pov]
Reyna and Hylla were both in the midst of an intense training session under the sharp eyes of Thalia and Clarisse. They moved with determination, their weapons flashing under the afternoon light as they faced off against Lucian’s shadow soldiers. Each swing and strike was followed by a correction, a shouted instruction, or a sharp comment from their mentors. Sparks flew when steel met shadow, and the air was filled with the sound of effort, grunts, and the rhythmic clash of combat. Thalia barked orders like a commander on a battlefield, while Clarisse’s booming voice offered a mix of scolding and encouragement.
Lucian stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold. ‘It would honestly be quicker to send them both to Camp Jupiter,’ he mused, folding his arms, ‘but I’d rather keep things closer to the original. It’s better this way—having both the Queen of the Amazons and the praetor of the Roman camp owing me a favor.’
His gaze lingered on them as the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. ‘Connections are everything when war is on the horizon. Kronos will not go down easily, especially now that Luke is using the potions. The more influence I hold, the better. I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have too many allies, does it?’
“Lucian…” Annabeth’s voice broke his train of thought. She was standing nearby with her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised in mild suspicion. “Why are you still riding Sébastien?”
Lucian looked down at the shadowy beast beneath him, then at Annabeth. “I wanted to give the little guy some fresh air,” he said casually, running his gloved hand through the creature’s dark mane as its tendrils shimmered faintly. “Besides, he was starting to miss me.”
“Uh-huh…” Annabeth said, unconvinced, her storm-gray eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Before she could continue, a faint whimper reached Lucian’s ears. He turned, puzzled, then sighed. “Oh—right. I almost forgot about you.”
Behind him, bound and gagged, was Scylla. Her normally fierce, serpentine eyes were wide, and her body trembled with quiet sobs. The ropes dug into her pale wrists, and muffled cries escaped from behind the gag.
Lucian raised his hand, and with a swirl of shadow, Scylla was lifted gently from behind him and brought before him. “Now,” he said, untying the ropes with a flick of magic, “why exactly was she like this again?”
“She was about to attack Lady Circe,” Annabeth said, crossing her arms tightly. “So, for her own good, I restrained her. I wasn’t about to let her do something stupid.”
As the bindings fell away, Scylla rubbed her wrists, red and raw from struggling. Her breathing was uneven, her shoulders trembling. When she finally pulled off the gag, she let out a shaky breath and lifted her gaze toward Lucian—then, without warning, leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Lucian stiffened in surprise. For a moment, he didn’t move, the gesture so unexpected that it left him silent. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing—but stopped himself when he felt her trembling against him, the sound of her restrained sobs filling the air.
Annabeth’s expression shifted instantly, anger flashing in her eyes. She took a step forward, ready to scold or intervene, but Lucian raised one hand calmly, shaking his head. His quiet signal was enough to make her pause, though she huffed in clear frustration, folding her arms once again with a glare that could cut through steel.
Lucian turned back to Scylla, his tone awkward but soft. “Umm… there, there?” he said uncertainly, patting her shoulder as though she were made of fragile glass. “Want to tell me what happened?”
He gently took her by the arms and pulled her back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were red and wet with tears that still streamed down her cheeks. Her long, glossy black hair hung messily over her face, one eye hidden beneath the tangled strands. Her delicate, pointed ears drooped low, giving her a pitiful, almost childlike appearance.
“Listen,” Lucian said quietly, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” To ease her, he removed his helmet, and met her gaze directly. His voice softened further. “So talk to me.”
Scylla took a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling unevenly. She wiped at her eyes, though it did little to stop the tears. “She didn’t even remember me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “After everything she did to me… after everything I suffered because of her…” Her voice trembled harder with every word. “I was a monster for millennia—because of her curse. I killed thousands… maybe millions. And I didn’t just kill them. I devoured them.”
Her hands clawed into her dark hair as she spoke, her fingers trembling. “I wasn’t in control. I couldn’t stop myself. But I remember it all. Every scream, every drop of blood in my tongue.” Her voice cracked as she forced the words out. “I didn’t even do anything wrong. I was innocent… I didn’t deserve any of it.”
The entire clearing had gone silent. Even Thalia and Clarisse had lowered their weapons, and the shadow soldiers stood motionless. Reyna and Hylla stopped sparring, their eyes wide as they listened to the tormented girl’s confession.
Annabeth’s scowl faded as her gaze softened, pity slowly replacing suspicion. The anger that had once burned in her eyes was gone—replaced by quiet empathy.
“I didn’t do anything…” Scylla murmured, the words tumbling from her lips again and again like a broken mantra. Her voice was shaking, hollow. Her hands clawed desperately at her own hair, tugging and shaking as though trying to rip out the memories themselves.
Lucian reached forward slowly, his movements deliberate, careful not to startle her. His gloved fingers brushed against her trembling hands, gently prying them away from her head. Her fingers were cold, stiff with tension, but he uncurled them one by one until they rested loosely in his palms.
“I know,” Lucian said softly, his voice calm but weighted with understanding. “The gods are often cruel like that. You don’t have to tell me you’re innocent, or that you didn’t do anything wrong. I already know.”
His eyes softened, and he met hers directly, steady and sincere. “I believe you.”
The words struck something deep inside her. Her trembling worsened, and the dam she had been holding back shattered completely. Scylla broke down, her tears falling in thick, unrestrained rivulets that streaked down her face. With a quiet sob, she buried her face into Lucian’s shoulder, her voice muffled and raw.
“I went through hell… a hell she created,” she cried, her voice cracking as the emotions she had buried for eons spilled out. “And she didn’t even bother to remember! She didn’t care!” Her breath hitched, and her body shook violently. “She was proud of herself—for what she did to me. Proud of the suffering I went through!”
Her fingers clutched at Lucian’s armor as if afraid he would vanish if she let go. When she finally managed to catch her breath, her next words were barely above a whisper — fragile, full of exhaustion and despair.
“And the worst part…” She swallowed hard. “When she stood right in front of me, I couldn’t even do anything. Nothing. I was as powerless as I was then. She’s a goddess… and I’m just a Nymph. It’s not fair.”
Lucian looked down at her quietly for a long moment before replying. “You’re right,” he said at last, his tone calm, almost too calm. “It’s not fair. So what are you going to do about it?”
Scylla blinked, her tear-streaked face tilting up toward him. “W-What?” she asked weakly, her voice trembling with confusion.
“I’m not telling you to forgive Circe for what she did,” Lucian continued. “She deserves every ounce of your hatred. But you aren’t doing yourself any favors by just saying it isn’t fair. The world isn’t fair. It’s cruel, it’s unjust, and it doesn’t care who suffers for someone else’s amusement.”
“Lucian,” Annabeth interjected sharply, her arms crossed. Her tone carried that unmistakable edge of reprimand “That’s not exactly what she needs to hear right now.”
“What?” Lucian turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Am I wrong? There are countless crimes and injustices in this world that go unpunished. Some get what’s coming to them eventually… but others never do. Sitting around complaining about it, saying life isn’t fair—well, that’s just wasting time.” His tone wasn’t cold, but resolute, almost philosophical.
Scylla sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her trembling hand. “T-Then… what should I do?” she asked, her voice small, almost childlike.
Lucian leaned forward slightly, meeting her gaze again. “Instead of wasting that time crying over the unfairness of the world,” he said gently, “use it for something meaningful. Use it to grow stronger. Train, learn, and if you must, seek your own retribution. Make sure that if you ever face her again, you’ll be the one holding the power.”
Annabeth frowned, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Lucian… you’re kidding, right?”
But Scylla, still caught in the weight of his words, stammered, “B-but… isn’t she your aunt? Would you really—?”
Lucian cut her off with a dry, humorless chuckle. “She’d be getting what’s coming to her. It’s not vengeance—it’s consequence. Consequences of her actions.” His expression didn’t waver, his eyes unreadable.
Scylla fell silent, her head lowering as she stared at Lucian’s chest plate. Her mind raced — part of her feared the idea of revenge, yet another part clung to it desperately, like a drowning soul reaching for the surface.
“Or…” Lucian’s voice interrupted her thoughts again.
She blinked up at him. “Or…?”
He smiled faintly, his tone softening as he reached out, brushing a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Or you could use that time to appreciate the fact that you aren’t a monster anymore. You’re free now. You can live again — laugh, explore, do whatever you want. You can be Scylla, the beautiful sea nymph, instead of Scylla the beast feared by sailors.”
Scylla stared at him, her lips parted slightly, her eyes wide and glimmering like the surface of calm water. It was as if for the first time, someone had given her permission to see herself as something other than cursed.
Annabeth, however, was visibly grinding her teeth, her brow twitching with irritation. Her patience with Lucian’s charm was wearing thin by the second.
From a few feet away, Clarisse leaned closer to Percy, lowering her voice with a smirk. “Oh, he’s good,” she whispered, her tone a mix of amusement and begrudging respect.
Percy exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “Tell me about it. I’m starting to see exactly how he’s managed to get so many girls to like him.”
Thalia, standing off to the side, had her palm pressed firmly to her forehead. “Unbelievable…” she muttered, shaking her head.
Comments
Antonio
but will the prophecy of Lucien's death still come true?
Bryan Vargas
Not really but it's not too far
Ahmed
Is there any way to know how many more chapters until he heals and gets his next sequence
