Climb (Percy Jackson x Reader)

twenty-eight

✺ SOMETHING LIGHTER THAN AIR ✺

"'Thanks for patching mine up'?" (Y/N) hisses to herself, curses rolling through her mind without pause. She strides through the camp, her gait so determined that half-bloods rush out of her way. Her pace intensifies the chill of the air that she cuts through, calming the heat that flares under her skin. "What the fuck, (Y/N)? You're better than that."

Her stomach churns with embarrassment at the thought of her slip-up, true as it may have been.

For so long, she'd had Annabeth and Grover to stand at her side and support her, and for so long, they'd endured similar circumstances and grown from them in their own ways. Her friends had accepted her decisions, her hyper-independence, as a result of what she'd been through. It was only when Percy entered her life that she gained someone who was determined to fully understand her.

He wanted to know the nuances of her past and the intricacies of her thought processes. He wanted to be available for her whenever she needed it, encouraging her to share her concerns or accept his help for even the most mundane things.

His friendship—his determination to know the tiny details that shaped her—brought even more light to the fact that she had never been alone. Annabeth and Grover had always been there for assistance, were always able to snap her back to reality whenever she got too involved in something that was hurting her; but ever since their first quest together, Percy made it clear that she could turn to him for support. For comfort. That when she was terrified of the future and buckling under the weight of her past failures, he was there—ready to listen, waiting to help.

In his presence, as he stood by her side, the burden atop her shoulders shrank to something lighter than air. Under his eye, the problems of her past became as they were: history.

Percy Jackson had waltzed into her life, taken stock of the struggles beneath her surface, and pulled her together with nothing more than a kind smile and an open invitation.

And she'd been stupid enough to say so when their friendship was in shambles.

The rhythmic drumming of her sword against her leg snaps her back to reality, and she gives her head a firm shake. She couldn't afford to dwell on her relationship with Percy when she had far more important matters to address.

When she steps onto the beach, the tide extends her way. She puts more distance between herself and the water.

Her lungs fill with crisp ocean air as she focuses on the power that pulses through her veins. Hades's gift no longer granted her the control over fire that she'd once had—now that his power was more than a mere anchor, her former pyrokinetic ability had matured into what it was always meant to be. And stepping into hellfire would quickly melt her from the inside out.

Hestia's power, on the other hand, proves sufficient enough in allowing a small collection of flames to sprout up from the sand. The cliffside shadows seem to stretch closer as (Y/N) now reaches for the traces of the Underworld within her. When the image of the palace foyer appears in the flames, she steps into the fire. It swallows her, engulfing her body in a swirling mass of warmth and light. Her surroundings shift around her, and she clambers out of the fountain that streams liquid flame.

The second her feet hit the onyx floor, the halls on either end of her echo with barks and growls. Her hand brushes against the hilt of her sword as three hellhounds bound towards her, hackles raised. She looks at them in turn, ready to raise her guard when they quiet at the sight of her.

"Geiá sou [Hello]," she greets cautiously.

One of them wags its tail. A footstep sounds, followed by a command in an unfamiliar voice—(Y/N) guesses the language to be Italian. The hounds sit, looking to the shadows of one hallway.