Climb (Percy Jackson x Reader)

thirty-six

✺ THE MEMORY OF A FUTURE ✺

What have you done?

What have you done?

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

The wind whistles in (Y/N)'s ears as she ducks under a sword. She barely feels the pull of her muscles as she maneuvers her weapon, barely comprehends the movements of her opponent as her instincts begin to take control. The clanging repetition of metal on metal accents the thoughts that drum in her mind, the impacts rippling through her bones and making them ache.

Every blink brings her face-to-face with the deadened eyes of her loved ones. Every breath echoes with the haunting rasp of her voice.

This is just who I am.

With a grunt, she spins, hooking her foot behind her opponent's ankles while extending her arm across their chest. They keel off-balance, and (Y/N) disarms them in the midst of their fall.

They squeeze their eyes shut upon impact with the ground. In (Y/N)'s mind, the boy droops back, his eyes closing.

Applause.

She gives her head a firm shake.

Forcing a pleasant expression, she offers her arm to the demigod. They take it, pulling themselves up with a grateful smile. At the edge of the Field of Mars, a small collection of campers clap at the duel's completion, most staring at (Y/N) with widened eyes and opened mouths.

The daughter of Persephone fights a grimace. She mumbles quick points of feedback to her opponent before patting their shoulder and turning to leave. Her sword slides into its sheath with a 'ring'.

Light dances behind her eyelids as she closes them. Her hearing tunes out, deafened by the prolonged scrape of metal on leather. The dream glares at her.

It had been weeks.

Five weeks, and her nights had been undisturbed. Five weeks, and she had nothing but the memory of a future, the ghost of a premonition.

Five weeks, and she still couldn't go home.

It was almost worse that her sleep was no longer haunted. She would rest, preparing to see the terrible results of her handiwork, and it never arrived. She would wait, expecting to be struck with the weight of her wrongdoings, and it stayed away.

Her nights were plagued by the concerns and fears and expectations for what should have been seen—yet it never was.

But she had not been released from its grasp. Not that easily.

Instead of her dreams, the future wove itself into each moment, each opportunity, each second it could find in her days. Everything thrust her back into the images of what was to come.

No dreams. Only memory.

No foresight—only dread.

There was nothing new. And that meant that there was nothing to build on.

No hints to a solution.

No clues for an understanding.

No guarantee of safety.

In the storms of (Y/N)'s turmoil, Lupa's training was a rare touch of solace. Along with honing the Roman values of ruthlessness in her mindset, the half-blood consulted with the goddess on how to best strengthen the connection with her newer abilities. The secluded clearing in the woods was always undisturbed, leaving (Y/N) to train particular aspects of her powers—and fail repeatedly—without interruption. Lupa's watchful eye was an unfamiliar intrusion for the first week, but with time (Y/N) had grown to be grateful for her presence and insight. And her extensive training did not go unrewarded, either.