The Legacy of a Demigod

Demon Ladies

[Annabeth's POV]

Later, Annabeth made a resolution: Never EVER sleep in Tartarus.

Demigod dreams were always bad. Even in the safety of her bunk at camp, she'd had horrible nightmares. In Tartarus, they were a thousand times more vivid. First, she was a little girl again, struggling to climb Half-Blood Hill. Luke Castellan held her hand, pulling her along.

Their satyr guide Grover Underwood pranced nervously at the summit, yelling, "Hurry! Hurry!" Thalia Grace stood behind them, holding back an army of hellhounds with her terror-invoking shield, Aegis.

From the top of the hill, Annabeth could see the camp in the valley below, the warm lights of the cabins, and the possibility of sanctuary. She stumbled, twisting her ankle, and Luke scooped her up to carry her.

When they looked back, the monsters were only a few yards away, dozens of them surrounding Thalia. "Go!" Thalia yelled. "I'll hold them off."

She brandished her spear, and forked lightning slashed through the monsters' ranks; but as the hellhounds fell, more took their place. "We have to run!" Grover cried. From above, Annabeth heard the rustling of trees, and then she heard some screaming that wasn't Thalia's.

It almost sounded like the monsters, but Luke froze in his tracks. Then they both heard screaming that belonged to neither Thalia or the monsters. It was another kid. Luke handed Annabeth to Grover, and took off running.

Grover carried her into camp, with Annabeth crying, beating at his chest, and screaming that they couldn't leave Thalia and Luke alone. But it was too late. Annabeth felt her eyes go dark, and that was the last thing she remembered that night. The scene shifted.

Annabeth was older, climbing to the summit of Half-Blood Hill. Where Thalia had made her last stand, a tall pine tree now rose. Overhead a storm was raging. Thunder shook the valley. A blast of lightning split the tree down to its roots, opening a smoking crevice.

In the darkness below stood Reyna, the praetor of New Rome. Her cloak was the color of blood fresh from a vein. Her gold armor glinted. She stared up, her face regal and distant, and spoke directly into Annabeth's mind.

'You have done well,' Reyna said, but the voice was Athena's. 'The rest of my journey must be on the wings of Rome.' The praetor's dark eyes turned as gray as storm clouds.

'I must stand here,' Reyna told her. 'The Roman must bring me.'

The hill shook. The ground rippled as the grass became folds of silk, the dress of a massive goddess. Gaea rose over Camp Half-Blood, her sleeping face as large as a mountain.

Hellhounds poured over the hills. Giants, six-armed Earthborn, and wild Cyclopes charged from the beach, tearing down the dining pavilion, setting fire to the cabins and the Big House.

She saw a shadow crawl across the world, and felt the ground beneath her feet rumble. Suddenly, she heard an evil whisper, something more like a hiss of laughter as the shadows stretched around her.

'Hurry,' said the voice of Athena. 'The message must be sent.' The ground split at Annabeth's feet and she was swallowed up by the darkness.

Her eyes flew open. She cried out, grasping Y/N's arms. She was still in Tartarus, at the shrine of Hermes. "Hey, hey. It's okay." Y/N promised. "You have a bad dream?"

Her body tingled with dread. "Is it... is it my turn to watch?"

Y/N smirked, "No, we're okay. I let you sleep."